Via Dolorosa and the wills of many

The shadows of night slumped across the streets and walls of the City on the Hill. In an upstairs room, the teacher had knelt before each of his closest students and washed their feet. They shared the bread and wine. The celebration turned somber.

Then he walked up the familiar slopes of the Mount of Olives and into a garden. The trees were blue in the moonlight. He trembled and sweated as if he were bleeding. “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away. But not what I want – what you want.”
The will of the Father.

In the courtyard near where a crowd gathered, the fisherman-turned-follower-turned-Rock kept to his story. Three times. “I tell you I don’t know him! When he realized what he had done, he cried bitter tears and ran away.
The will of the Rock.

The men in tall hats and flowing robes questioned him harshly and judged him falsely. The guards slapped and punched him around, and they spit on him. Then they sent him to the governor, who largely view the prisoner, perhaps at worst, a misguided madman. But the governor heard what the unruly spectators were demanding.
The will of the mob.

Pilate washed his hands and walked away.
The will of the politician.

After the lashing of whips, the beaten teacher took up the timber and was forced out of the city. There were cheers and there were tears. He fell to his knees, and the soldiers forced a bystander to pick up the lumber. Some say this bystander even helped. “Not much farther. Almost there,” he whispered to the convicted man.
The will of the stranger.

The sun burned down on the three men on that skull-shaped hill. They struggled against the pain of the nails and the suffocation of hanging by their body weight. His mother’s tears flowed in helpless agony and in endless love. She now had a new son to care for – and to care for her.
The will of the mother and a new son.

The dark clouds moved in at mid-day. Gasping for breath, shaking uncontrollably and eyes rolling upward. “Where are you? Then His voice grew softer, more accepting. My spirit returns to you. Then this Nazarene was gone.
The will of another Son.

A centurion witnessing all of this was overheard saying they had just killed a righteous man. He walked away from that hill and soldiered no more.
The will of the new believer.

Just after sunrise two days later, the women mourners went to the cave where his body had been placed. Then it gradually sunk in: something frightening and yet quite miraculous had happened. The tomb was empty.
The will of the Father.