Jesus Christ. His Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, Arrest, Trial, Crucifixion, Death, Burial, and Resurrection.

The Triumphal Entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.

The week before The Crucifixion.

The Arrest of Jesus.

The Crucifixion, Death, and Burial of Jesus Christ.

The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Captures the moment well.

Joy unconfined.

This really was the most momentous week of my life so far. The highs and lows are something that I will never forget. No mother should have to go through what I did. Indeed no son should have to suffer what My Son had to endure.

Still all's well that ends well, and things could hardly be better now.

My name, as you probably already know, is Mary, and I am The Mother of God. That is to say that My Son is Jesus, and as well as being, my sometimes exasperating only offspring, He is The Son of The Most High, and the earthly incarnation of The Creator of The World.

When you last saw us we were celebrating the return of Lazarus from death. Lazarus was an old childhood friend of Jesus. My Boy had performed a miracle by raising him from the dead when he had been almost a week in the grave.

Afterwards there was a party thrown to celebrate. That must have been the wildest celebration seen in Israel since Solomon celebrated the building of his temple by marrying his six hundredth wife. It culminated in a mad dash down the centre of The Jordan River, (without sinking), with Jesus leading the way.

What a night that was.

Eight days later we were approaching Jerusalem. There was me, my mother St Anne and her friend Slippery Simon, Jesus and His Twelve Apostles, Mary, the sister of Lazarus; and another woman called Mary Magdalene who used to be a prostitute, but had now given that up to follow Jesus.

Lazarus had stayed at home. He was being minded by his sister Martha. Running up and down the river had given him a severe cold. Jesus had refused to cure him. He had just been resurrected, and that was enough miracles for any man.

When we were just outside Jerusalem, my mother and Slippery Simon said that they needed to go on ahead. I assumed it must be to arrange some accommodation, so I thought nothing of it. Knowing that pair, I ought to have been more suspicious. But it didn’t take too long for us to find out what they were up to.

Jesus sent a couple of the apostles off to buy a donkey, and when they came back, we all set off to enter the city.

Imagine my surprise when, as we got close to the city, an enormous crowd of people came surging out of the gate. They were cheering, and jumping up and down waving palm branches; and they crowded round Jesus asking for blessings. It was like as if a king was entering the city.

The streets inside were even more crowded with people trying to see My Son; and there in the middle of them was my mother and her slippery friend with a most enormous pile of palm leaves. They were doing a roaring trade selling them to the jubilant crowd. Afterwards my mother told me what they had been doing when they went on ahead. She and Slippery had taken upon themselves to be the promoters of The Messiah. They had handed out a load of flyers around the market, and in the temple region, telling about the wonderful teacher and miracle worker that was coming to town; and then, when the people really got excited, they had made a fortune selling them the palm fronds, which they had previously bought up entirely.

At least the money raised meant that we could book ourselves into a decent Inn. No more stables and cows for this virgin.

So the ladies of the party, plus Slippery Simon, went to stay in the best inn. Jesus and the apostles decided to pitch their big tent in the garden of Gethsemane, just outside the walls of the town. We said we would see them during the week.

This arrangement kind of suited me, as I was getting rather a bellyful of miracles and preaching at this stage. I just wanted to play the tourist, and perhaps do a bit of shopping. I decided to leave the supernatural to Jesus for a while. It was more His kind of thing anyway.

Of course, even though we saw little of My Son and His friends during the week, we heard plenty about them. The whole city was buzzing with tales of His exploits. He seemed to be curing people left, right, and centre.

One day I was told about some disturbance in The Temple, that He had been involved in. He threw a load of pigeon sellers, and money changers out of The Court of The Gentiles; said that they were defiling His Father's House. He had always been a bit sensitive to any perceived abuse of The Temple. I was just glad that St Anne and Slippery Simon were not there that day. There had been some talk between them of opening a stall there. I had put them off. It was just as well. Can you imagine the embarrassment?

On another occasion some people asked Him about taxation, and whether it was right to pay tax to the romans He said that we should give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's. He should tell that to my mother. I don’t believe either she or Slippery have ever paid any tax to either Caesar or God.

Not everyone was full of praise for My Son. I was having my nails done in a very upmarket nailbar, courtesy of my mother, and her "palm money", when I heard this very posh woman next to me complaining that Jesus was getting the people over excited, and that her husband, (who happened to be The High Priest) would be doing something about it soon.

This was on the Thursday morning. When I told my mother about what I heard, we both decided that it was something that Jesus ought to be warned about. But we couldn’t find either Him, or any of the apostles anywhere. Mary Magdalene told us that they had hired a room for The Passover feast, but that it was an "all men" affair, and she didn’t know where it was. Wasn’t that just typical of men?

St Anne was not overly sympathetic. She thought that Jesus might get fined, or something like that. She was a bit miffed at Him for spoiling her chances of opening a stall at The Temple, and thought that a fine would "take Him down a peg or two".

Little did any of us know what was going to happen.

We were having our own Passover supper in the inn that night. There was all the ladies, plus Slippery Simon who had opted to spend the evening with us. After we had eaten our lamb and the unleavened bread, and washed it down with a few glasses of "best red", I was looking out our window. It was getting on for around one am. I noticed some activity in the street. Around fifteen men, in the uniform of The High Priest's guard, were marching down the street in the direction of one of the city gates. This kind of pricked my interest. When I saw who was with them I started to get worried. Walking alongside this group of soldiers was one of the twelve apostles. It was Judas, and he seemed to be directing them where to go.

I mentioned this Judas previously. I never really liked him. He didn’t seem to be as settled as the rest of the twelve, and a few times I had seen him giving Jesus dirty looks.

The soldiers, and Judas, marched down to the gate, and then exited the city. I and my mother decided to watch to see what would happen next. The rest of the party were gone to sleep. I had a bad feeling about all of this.

Around forty minutes later the soldiers came back. There was no sign of Judas, or indeed of the other apostles, but they were dragging My Beloved Only Son with them. There was some blood on His face, and He seemed to have a split lip.

I screamed.

My mother ran down the stairs to the street.

She stood in front of the soldiers, and told them to "let her grandson go".

One of the soldiers just hit her across the face with the back of his hand.

St Anne was left lying in the street.

The High priest's guard continued dragging My Son with them towards The Temple.

My screaming raised the rest of the party, and they all came running to find out what the matter was. I told them about Jesus being arrested. Slippery Simon went out, and gently helped my mother to her feet, and brought her back into the house.

He told us to wait where we were, and he would go to The Temple to find out what was happening. It was about two hours later that he returned. Slippery told us that he wasn’t allowed in to see exactly what was happening. There was a special meeting of all the priests, and it ended when they all came rushing out, and started tearing their clothes off in the street. They were shouting something about "Blasphemy". He gathered that this had to do with something My Son had told them inside.

He didn’t know any more. But he told us that Jesus was being kept in a cell, and that He would be brought before the romans on the following morning.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Just worrying about My Child left me frantic. The news that He was being delivered to the romans was very bad. That could only mean one thing. Jewish courts in Jerusalem were not allowed to give a death sentence, so if Jesus was being brought to the conquerors; it meant that the High Priests wanted to do away with Him. The worst thing was the feeling of complete helplessness. I wasn’t going to be let in to save Him. Just standing back and letting the inevitable happen was almost unbearable. But there was nothing else that I could do.

The next day went by for me in a fog. All I could think about was that My Beloved Only Son was in the hands of people who wanted to do Him harm. The memory of the conversation that I had overheard in the nail bar confirmed that, and I was filled with a sense of dread. None of The Apostles seemed to be around, except the very youngest of them, a spotty youth called John. I had never really paid much attention to him before, as he was the youngest of The Twelve, but I don’t think I would have got through the tortures of those awful days without his support.

We tried to get to see Jesus, but no matter where He was taken, we were not let in. I just managed to get a glimpse of Him once when He was been dragged, more dead than alive, back to the roman headquarters after a spell at the house of Herod Antipas. I understand that He was brought there to see if He would entertain Herod by performing a miracle. The chief priests were there as well, and they insulted and spat on Him.

Towards lunchtime on the Friday I was across the street from The Fortress Antonia. This was the headquarters of Pontius Pilate. He was the Roman Governor. St Anne was with me. As also was John The Apostle and Slippery Simon. Again we were not allowed to go in, although there seemed to be quite a large mob of people in there already. The rule seemed to be, that if you were an enemy of Jesus, you were welcome, but His friends were to be kept out.

There was a large courtyard inside. The actual governor’s residence was at one end of it. All I could hear was a continuous shouting of "Crucify Him". My blood just ran cold. One second I was prostrated with grief, thinking of the dreadful fate that awaited My Beloved Boy. The next minute I was cursing Him for an idiot, for not using some of His miraculous powers to turn the tables on all His enemies.

But that didn’t happen this time.

Suddenly there was an even louder burst of noise, from the crowd that were baying for My Son's blood, and then a huge cheer erupted from within the fortress.

I realised what that probably meant, and I collapsed in a dead faint.

When I regained consciousness, I was about two streets away from The Fortress Antonia. My mother later told me that Slippery Simon and John had carried me there. For a second I almost forgot where I was. But then the shouting of the crowd all around us brought a return of realisation, and I just started to tremble all over. I was in such shock and dread that I wasn’t even able to cry.

Down the street I heard the sounds of roman soldiers shouting at the crowd to make way; and the sounds of their whips as they used them to clear the street.

The people parted.

I was greeted by a sight that no mother should ever have to see, although too many have always seen, and probably always will see.

My Jesus. My Son, Who I had nursed at my breast, and watched as He grew up, was staggering up the narrow thoroughfare.

He was wearing a very fine purple cloak.

The blood was pouring down His face from a bunch of vicious thorns that seemed to have been forced onto His head.

He was dragging a huge heavy beam that must have been the crossbeam for the stake of crucifixion.

I could see the marks of the whips on His chest, and the flies were feeding off the blood.

His eyes were so swollen that I doubt that He could even see properly.

Just before He reached where we were He stumbled and fell. The crossbeam rolled into the gutter. One of the soldiers started to beat Jesus with a stick to get Him up.

Slippery Simon of Cyrene rushed to help his friend, and My Son.

He gently raised Him up, and retrieved the massive beam.

Simon the Sinner helped Jesus, the friend of all sinners, when He really needed a friend Himself most.

As He passed where I stood shaking with shock, Jesus paused for a second. I don’t know how this happened, but I do know that it did. He just looked directly at me, and straightaway I heard a voice in my head saying,

"Don’t worry Mummy. It will be alright"

It was exactly the same thing that happened all those years ago on the road to Egypt, when I was worried about the babies that Herod wanted to kill.

From that point on, even though the nightmare went on for quite a time yet, I was able to keep that little grain of comfort and hope alive in my heart.

"Don’t worry Mummy. It will be alright".

Coming along behind my son there were two other men dragging crosses. I don’t know who they were. The romans were always executing somebody or other. They hadn’t been whipped like Jesus, and there were no thorns on their heads.

One of them actually nodded at my mother, and said "Hello Anne". He must have been one of her business acquaintances. St Anne blushed. Even, in the depts of the greatest tragedies, the comic sometimes lurks.

We followed the melancholy procession to the gates of the city, but we didn’t follow it out. We knew what was going to happen, but none of us had the fortitude to watch.

After about three quarters of an hour we made our way out of Jerusalem. There was a small hill in the distance. I could see three crosses near the top of the hill. I knew that My Son Jesus was on one of the cruel instruments of torture. The trembling, that had stopped for a while after Jesus looked at me, took over my body again. Beside me, my mother started to shake as well. We both leaned on the arm of John.

The buzzing of the flies was the first thing we heard as we drew near to the crosses. Oh! those Jerusalem flies. Even now I can never think of them without shuddering.

They were covering My Poor Son. The blood must have attracted them. His head lifted slowly when He heard us approach. The cloud of insects flew up, and then settled again when it fell back down. He was groaning quietly. I thought He uttered some agonising prayers. It was torture for Him to speak, as every time He opened His mouth, some flies would crawl inside. If He tried to cough, or to spit them out, His whole body would almost spasm with the excruciating pain.

His hands and feet were also being attacked by more flies. Large rusty nails had been hammered through His feet and wrists in order to secure Him to the cross.

Between the tears that were coursing down our cheeks, all we could do was wave our robes ineffectually in an effort to get rid of the bloodthirsty pests.

On either side of Him were hanging the two men who had accompanied Him on His last walk. They hadn’t been nailed, so there was less blood on them, and nearly no flies.

I don’t know how long we had been there when Jesus looked up. The last thing that He said to me was that I should go to live with John, and that he should treat me as his mother, and that I should think of him as a son.

Even in extremis He was always thinking of others.

At around three o clock His suffering came to an end. He lifted His head up to the sky. The clouds of flies around His face flew off again. He said something, but I didn’t manage to hear it. And then He just stopped breathing.

For about an hour we just stood there, transfixed by grief and horror. The sky was suddenly darkened when My Son died, and The Earth shook violently, as if to protest the injustice of what we had just witnessed. Some buildings in the city toppled. There was damage to The Temple. But we hardly seemed to notice. Grief enveloped our whole being. Later, I remember, a soldier pierced My Dead Son's side with a lance. Blood and water flowed out onto the Jerusalem ground.

His two companions were not dead yet, so their legs were broken with hammers. Their bodies sagged down on their crosses, and their torture was ended also.

When Jesus was about fifteen years old, He went on a voyage to Britannia. He brought me back one of those primitive masks that the Britons were always making to sell to the tourists. It had been hanging on our wall at Nazareth ever since. The reason why I am telling you this is because the man that He went with was called Joseph of Arimathea. He was a merchant, and a first cousin of my mother. By the time Jesus had grown up, we had lost touch with him, but I had run into him in Jerusalem. He was delighted to see us again, and he paid for a lovely meal for us all, on the Monday before Passover. St Anne got a bit tipsy. So did Slippery Simon and Jesus. It was the last happy family outing that we had.

Anyway, Cousin Joseph came to where Jesus had been judicially murdered around six o clock in the evening. He had some written permission to take down The Body. I was too distraught to deal with anything, so Slippery, and John helped each other to take Him down. The only thing that I can really remember about the whole exercise is that some roman soldier insisted on us giving him the nails. To re-use apparently. Typical Roman!

Joseph had a tomb in a garden around half a mile from the execution site, so it was to there that we conveyed the cold stiff body of My Beloved Boy. They wrapped Him in a shroud of finest linen, and then they laid Him in the tomb, and rolled a huge boulder over the entrance.

My mother cried a lot, but I could not weep then. I just sat in dumb shock and sorrow watching the whole show. Before we left, a contingent of roman soldiers arrived at the burial site. They said that they were there to guard the body, as there was a rumour that somebody might try to snatch it, and pretend that Jesus had not died.

When I heard that, I really did start crying, and cursing The Apostles. For none of them, except for John, had been seen since Jesus was arrested. I remember calling them "a lot of stinking cowards".

I was helped away from the sad scene by John, and, the ever faithful, Slippery.

I didn’t sleep at all that night, and the next day I just wandered the streets in a daze. I didnt want to eat anything. When my mother offered me some bread, I just turned away from her. I heard someone saying, that people long dead, had been seen in the city streets. But the information left me cold. There was only one Dead Person that I would have welcomed, and of Him there was no sign.

The following night I did manage to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Exhaustion just overcame me. I was woken by St Anne and Slippery Simon. They were jumping around the room, and shouting and cheering, like someone who had won The Alexandrian Lottery. My mother actually jumped on my bed.

She literally shouted this in my face.

"Get up! Get up! Get Up!"

"Jesus is alive"

"He is downstairs with John the Baptist, and they are both asking for breakfast".

I almost rolled down those stairs. Jesus was sitting at the table, grinning from ear to ear. John the Baptist, who had been beheaded by Herod Antipas, was standing laughing by the door.

"Any chance of some toast mother". That was the greeting I got from My Son.

I ran to Him, and threw my arms around Him, and hugged Him tightly.

Then I drew back, and gave Him one almighty slap across His head. Jesus fell backwards off the chair.

"Don’t ever do that to me again" I said.

He picked Himself up.

"Don’t worry Mummy" He said. "That was definitely a one off".

When I had got over the shock, He explained how John the Baptist was there as well. It seems, that when the earthquake occurred on Friday, it opened a lot of tombs, and many that had been dead were resurrected. Cousin John was just one of them. My mother told me that Moses and Elias were buying free drinks for everyone at a bar down the street.

"I’m having a bit of that. You stay for the toast Jesus" John the Baptist was out the door like a shot.

"Go with him Slippery" I said. "You know he can’t hold his drink".

So that is almost the end of my story now, but there are a few loose ends I would like to tie up for you before I finish writing.

Jesus stayed around for another forty days. He spent a lot of His time with The Apostles, who were delighted to see Him. He went back up to Heaven then. Most of the rest of us are there as well now. It is brilliant here. You should all come sometime.

Slippery Simon married Lazarus's sister Martha. They had ten children. My mother spoils them like they were her own grandchildren. Even here in Heaven, she is always stuffing their faces with sweets.

Mary Magdalene and John the Baptist got hitched. She developed a taste for locusts, and they both went to live in a cave in the desert.

Lazarus got such a taste for wine, from people buying him drinks to find out what it was like to be dead, that his sister Mary had to get him signed into rehab at Caesarea.

He has been sober for two thousand years now, and he lives in a heavenly mansion two doors down from mine.

But the greatest delight was reserved for me, when I eventually got back to Nazareth.

When the donkey pulled up outside my little house, what could I hear, but the sound of hammering coming from the workshop at the back. There were only ever two people that ever made that noise. One of them I had just waved at as He disappeared behind a cloud. The other one had been crushed to death by a wardrobe outside my mother's house.

For the second time that year I ran like a hare.

My beloved Joseph put down his hammer, and rushed into my arms when I entered the house. I just couldn’t deal with the joy. I cried, and cried, and then I laughed.

Resurrecting his stepfather was the nicest thing that My Darling Boy had ever did.

I just wish everybody could have a son like Him.

 
http://hubpages.com/hub/Who-farted-here-I-really-want-to-know

http://hubpages.com/hub/The-First-Christmas-Marys-story

http://hubpages.com/hub/The-Three-Kings-Jesuss-first-miracle-and-The-Flight-into-Egypt-Marys-story-Part-Two

http://hubpages.com/hub/Turning-water-into-wine-The-wedding-at-Cana-Not-John-2-or-Wikipedia

http://hubpages.com/hub/Jesus-walks-on-water-and-The-raising-of-Lazarus-from-The-Dead-Not-Wikipedia

http://hubpages.com/hub/Jesus-Christ-His-arrest-trial-crucifixion-death-and-resurrection-Not-Wikipedia-or-Facebook