T’was on a rock the monster sat.

He was brute if ever there was one. His hair was coarse and thick and fell in muddied plait, his beard unkempt, grew wild and fearsome. The Jewish villagers from afar, knew it was some bandit rogue, some devilish highway looter who now had sat for hours on yonder rock.

 The village boys though had strange tale to tell at the village square.

“He weeps,” they said, “and repeats his name.”

“What is his name?” a maiden asked.

“Hush,” the elders replied, “it is not a name to be said aloud!”

The village boys crept closer.

“Barabas!” he cried.

“Again, he cries out his name,”

“With loathing,” they said. “He is a monster who hates his name.”
“Barabas!” he cried and then looked up and saw the terrified lads. They ran.

“Stop,” he cried. “Stop,” They stopped with fear.

“Why did you call my name.”

“We didn’t,” they said, “you did.”

“You fools you called my name, when Pilate asked who you wanted to set free! Jesus or me!”

They put their heads down in shame.

“Couldn’t you have left me in prison to die, instead of staining me with innocent blood? You fools!”

He caught the lads in a vice-like grip.

“I walked to yonder cross when they set me free. I saw him hang, where I should have been instead. I saw a body that had done no harm, nailed with rusty nails that should have pierced my flesh, instead. I heard him moan, I heard him cry, I heard him groan when it should have been my moans and cries and groans. Why did you put him there instead of me?”

The village boys sat still in his vice-like grip.

“Barabas! you shouted. Barabas! you screamed. You who heard him teach. Whose eyes he healed, whose legs he made strong, whose leprosy he caused to disappear how could you call out my name?”

T’was on a rock Barabas sat. He was a brute if ever there was one. His hair was coarse and thick and fell in muddied plaits, his beard grew unkempt, wild and fearsome. The villagers from afar, knew it was some bandit rogue, some devilish highway looter who now had sat for hours on yonder rock. The village boys who were now caught in vice-like grip had a strange tale to tell at village square that night.

“He let us go!”

“Why?” a curious maiden asked.

“I see Jesus on the cross,” he cried, “And it is for me that he is crucified.”

Suddenly he was monster no more. But, pure man with heart as white as snow!  The villagers, they crept to the rock. Gone was the monster and in its place, a new creature sat!

T’is on a rock the monster sits. I look closer; it is I.

“I see Jesus on the cross,” I cry, “Lord it is for me that you are crucified!”

Gone is the monster that I was, and instead, a New Creature am I..!

————————–