Not My Will, But Thine Be Done
A Story of Good Friday, Love, and Miracles.
This is a short story I wrote back in 2017 for an Easter writing prompt in Seton Homeschool’s Bayley Bulletin. I wasn’t able to submit it in time, so here it is for Good Friday, 2024.
The hum of voices filled the marketplace of Jerusalem, and a cool breeze stirred the colorful mantles of the men and women gathered there, bartering for goods. Braying donkeys kicked up dust as they fought to free themselves from their master's burdens.
Leah ducked out of the way as one nearly escaped, and pressed through the crowd, hugging her little bundle as she hurried towards her brother's house. She was hoping to find her husband there. A whimper came from the little one in Leah's arms as she neared the street where her brother lived.
“Ssh,” she whispered tenderly, bouncing her three-month-old daughter in her arms. “Your daddy will be here soon.”
She entered the courtyard of the Jewish home, where a fountain bubbled merrily and clothes were hung out to dry, flapping in the breeze.
“Good morning, Sarah. Do you know if my husband is here?”
The old woman straightened.
“No, Mistress Leah. I have been busy with the preparations for Passover, and I hardly notice people come and go.”
“I understand. Thank you anyway, Sarah.”
Leah slipped into the building, which was cool and quiet. She found her brother, Simon, upstairs conversing with one of his friends.
“He is disliked by the Pharisees,” Simon was saying, “and I am sure that you are correct that an attempt will be made on his life. Still, they could not crucify him. He has too many followers, and is generally well-liked. However, we will be ready. We must be able to get him out, and quickly.”
Simon looked up and saw his sister standing in the doorway. The dark eyes smiled a welcome, but he looked troubled.
“Lea!” He crossed the room to meet her. “What brings you here, child? I thought Mark did not want you out in the streets alone at this time of day?”
“I know, Simon, but little Ruth was having a fit, and will not sleep; Mark is good at quieting her. Is he here?”
Simon shook his head.
“I am afraid not. He is a centurion, Leah.”
“I thought he might have time off,” his sister said hopefully, “he often does.”
Simon sighed and turned away.
“That is because he is well-favored by the governor. Pilate uses him on important tasks, which may come up at any time. Mark may be busy.”
“I will go looking for him, anyway,” Leah answered, looking down at Ruth, who whimpered again.
Simon leaned over Leah's shoulder to see the infant.
“How is she?” Leah sighed and bounced her gently.
“Not well. Her cough is getting worse all the time, and she is rarely quiet. She will hardly even drink.”
She looked down at little Ruth and gently wrapped her more snugly in her shawl. Simon's companion hesitantly stepped closer.
“I hear that Jesus of Nazareth has had miracles attributed to him,” he said. “You may try to see him.”
Leah looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with hope. “Do you believe in in Him too, Phillip?”
The bearded giant was silent for a moment before he spoke.
“I believe he could be,” he answered carefully, “but I am not an expert.”
Simon gave him a look that told him to say no more. Leah had only recently converted to the teachings of this Nazarene, and he was not sure that it was good for her. So far, it helped her, and she was devoted to Jesus, but her faith was like a fledgling, which a breath of wind could blow away.
“If you are looking for Mark,” he began, changing the subject, “I would suggest looking around the Temple. I see him there sometimes.”
“Very well; thank you, Simon.” Leah started to leave, but then turned back, her eyes still sparkling. “Are you going to try and save Him, if He is going to be hurt?”
Simon and Phillip exchanged a look.
“If it comes to that. Now Phillip will go with you; the streets are crowded, and you might be jostled and drop Ruth. Before I forget – will you come and spend the Passover with me tomorrow, Lea?”
“I will,” she promised, “If Mark will let me. I do not think that he will mind, though he may not come himself.”
Her brother sighed.
“It is too bad his parents died when he was so young; his faith may have remained intact.”
Seeing that it was almost noon, Simon sent Phillip and Leah on their way. It took them some time to reach the Temple, for the streets were flooded with Jews who had traveled here for the Passover. At last, however, they neared their destination, and not seeing Mark on the bustling steps, the pair searched for him.
Coming around the outside corner of the Temple walls, Leah finally spotted her husband in the shadows, speaking quietly to another soldier. He then saluted him and bid him good-day.
“Mark! Mark!”
The centurion looked up in surprise, then hurried towards them, coming into the sunlight.
“Lea! You should be at home. Especially with our child!” he rebuked her, seeing their infant in her arms.
“She was crying again, Mark,” Leah answered meekly. “I thought maybe you could soothe her.”
Her husband's face softened and he took his daughter in his arms, lifting her up and making her coo as she stared at the sun reflecting off his armor.
“There you are, my little girl,” he whispered, kissing her. “You have to be a good girl and go to sleep, so that your mother can take you home and rest . . . that's my girl.”
He cuddled her, and it was indeed not long until the baby was fast asleep, her tiny fingers curled around one of her father's. Mark looked up then, and studied Leah's face.
“You are thinking about something, Leah. Tell me.”
“I was thinking about Jesus,” she answered softly. “Phillip suggested taking Ruth to Him. He could cure her, I am sure of it!”
She watched her husband's face, but it was a mask as he cuddled Ruth.
“Maybe. You could try it, but not before the Passover. I am sure Jesus will want to celebrate the Passover in peace.”
Leah sighed, then smiled.
“Friday will be soon enough.” Her lips trembled as her eyes turned to her daughter. “I hope.” She came closer to him and kissed her baby.
“Leah, do not worry. You trust this Jesus. I know you do, or you would not believe his teachings.” Leah threw her head back and smiled brightly at Mark again.
“Yes, I do trust Him. Everything He says is so beautiful . . . do you think so, too, Mark?”
Mark paused a moment.
“Yes, Leah. But I am not sure about it. Now,” he said briskly, putting his daughter into her mother's arms, “take Ruth home and let her rest. I have work to do.”
He nodded to Phillip, and the pair exchanged a significant glance.
It was not until the setting sun turned the hills to ruby waves, like smooth gems set into the golden crown of Rome, that Mark the Centurion returned to his wife. They stood outside together on the steps of their small villa, bathed in the last tide of blazing light, looking over their home. Larger than the properties of their neighbors, it was eight acres of rolling hills and gardens, ripe with fruit and green with life, as orderly as the emperor's soldiers who marched the streets each day.
“The city stirs with trouble,” Mark said quietly. “I can feel it in the air. This land is being split in two, with those who love Jesus on one side-” he paused, then sighed. “And those who distrust him on the other.”
He wistfully eyed the shadowed olives and thick, thorny hedges that boxed in their home. Leah felt her heart skip a beat, and she gently squeezed his arm.
“If He can cure Ruth-”
“If he can cure Ruth,” Mark echoed bitterly. He snorted. “We have taken her to the best physicians in Palestine, and we must rely on a so-called 'Miracle Worker!'”
“Mark-”
“Lea!” He gently squeezed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “Leah, I love you. I do not want this to split our little family in two as it is splitting Palestine. If this Nazarene can heal Ruth, I will believe. If not, I do not want you to be led astray. You must obey me and come away from his teachings . . . for Ruth's sake, and mine.”
He saw Leah's head dropping as the sky slowly darkened to a velvet blue.
“Leah,” Mark whispered. “Leah, we will not have Ruth for long if he doesn’t cure her. Do not let our family be split apart . . . I beg you!”
Tears glistened in his wife's eyes, but he did not see them, for she kept her head turned aside as the sun slipped out of view and a few stars crept out into the dark sky.
“I understand, Mark,” she murmured. She sighed, steadied herself, took a deep breath, and asked quietly if she could go to her brother's home for Passover. With Mark's permission, she left little Ruth in his care the next day and helped with her brother's Passover meal.
As night fell, she and Sarah served the men while they ate and prayed together. In the other room, one of the men casually mentioned Jesus. Simon glanced up, his mind turning back to the idea that had been put forth for saving the Nazarene.
“Yes,” one man agreed, “this Nazarene may be crazy, but he is harmless. Most of his teachings seem to be alright, but easier to accept if he did not continue calling himself 'I Am'; I think he may need someone to look after him.”
“That is an ironic idea,” another muttered. “He has been performing miracles-or so they say.”
“Hm . . .yes, he has, but I believe none of it. It is probably just matter fabricated by another to gain followers for the poor man.”
“Yet,” Simon spoke, voice sober, “the Pharisees plot to kill him. They take this matter too far. He has done nothing wrong, as far as I can see.”
The men were silent for a moment.
“Either they take their duty too seriously, or they think he is a threat to themselves,” one man suggested.
“A threat? A crazy individual?” Simon shook his head. “That is unlikely. Therefore, if their plans bear fruit, we must be ready to take action.”
The men nodded in agreement. With Simon as their leader, and staying up all night long, they worked out their plans as a team.
In the other room, Leah, Sarah, and the other women were finishing their own meal. It was almost midnight before Leahput on her shawl and prepared to return home. She had changed her mind about spending the night. She was too worried about Ruth to be gone too long, though she knew Mark would take care of their daughter.
Leah spotted one last earthen dish out of place and taking it, turned to replace it on the shelf when it slipped out of her hand. It shattered on the floor with a sharp crash. One of Mark's servants stood, panting, in the doorway.
“Mistress Leah,” he said, breathing heavily. “Your husband sent me to get you. It’s urgent – Jesus has been arrested!”
The door slammed behind Leah and she whirled to a stop, drenched from her frantic ride on horseback through the swiftly falling rain. Mark caught her.
“Poor child! You're soaked!”
He drew her nearer the fire, bidding her to sit and warm herself. Once she was warm, he addressed her.
“Leah,” he said gravely, “Jesus was arrested because one of his disciples betrayed him.”
A choked gasp escaped Leah's lips and she stared at her husband in shock.
“One of His disciples?”
“Yes, a traitor. He did it for money, and led the Pharisees to the Nazarene while he was praying at Gethsemane. They took him in front of the High Priest, and I just received word saying that he has been taken before Pilate.”
“Pilate?!” Leah gasped in amazement. “What does Rome have to do with Jesus?”
Mark shook his head and moved restlessly about the room.
“Anyone who disturbs the peace 'legally' has something to do with the care and keeping of the provinces of Rome.”
Leah could hear the sarcasm in his voice and followed him anxiously.
“Mark, do you think that He is guilty?”
Mark stopped and stared out the window.
“As far as I am concerned, I believe that he is innocent; my opinion, however, is not worth much. The Pharisees have already decided that he is guilty, and it is up to Pilate now.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Mark...what about Ruth?” Leah's voice was so small it was hard to hear. In a moment, Mark was holding her tightly.
“Ssh,” he whispered. “I will do what I can to save his life, if it needs saving.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. In fact, Simon and his friends have been planning on saving him. He told me about it, and we considered the fact that he might be killed. Do not worry.”
Leah sighed and slowly relaxed, laying her head on his shoulder.
“Go to bed, Leah . . . it must be nearly two in the morning. You need your sleep.” Mark kissed her forehead and sent her to her room.
It was dawn when Leah awoke four hours later. The sky was pale and cloudless, and the villa was still. Something was wrong. In a flash, she remembered what Mark had spoken to her about last night, and leapt out of bed.
Snatching up her shawl, she wrapped it around herself and hurried outside. She paused on the steps where she had stood with Mark and shivered. It was unusually cold for April, and it bit her skin through the shawl and soft robe she wore. She could not smell the soft perfume of the roses blooming in the garden below, despite the soft breeze.
Slowly she surveyed her husband's property, hoping to see him strolling in the frosted vineyard, but the ground was so cloaked in thick, white fog that she could hardly see. Nothing stirred save a dog barking in the distance.
“Mistress Lea?”
She started and turned to see one of the servants.
“Your husband got a message from Pilate. He told me that he was not sure how long he would be gone, and that he wants you to stay home with your child. He said something about trouble that has to do with Jesus.”
Leah knew this servant believed in Jesus and His teachings as well.
“Do – do you have any idea about Pilate's decision concerning Jesus?” she asked hesitantly, hoping that the news would be better than she expected.
The servant paused, then answered soberly, “He found Him innocent, but he is offering the crowd a choice of which prisoner to be released. Your husband thinks the other one to be offered will be Barabbas.”
“Barabbas!” Leah felt a rush of relief. No one in their right mind would ask for that scoundrel's release. He was a murderer, while Jesus was innocent.
“But then, what is the trouble?” she inquired, growing tense again. “No one will ask for Barabbas. In that case, Jesus will go free, will he not?”
The servant hesitated. “I am not sure.” With that, he excused himself to go back to work. There was nothing Leah could do but wait to hear from Mark. She sighed and followed the servant, praying that Ruth would take at least a little milk.
Meanwhile, Mark was stationed beside the governor's chair. A crowd of Jews thronged outside, awaiting their usual choice of prisoner. Their murmur could have been the babble of a brook, it was so impatient and jumbled.
“Mark.”
The centurion straightened and saluted the tall, pale governor who sat in his chair, clothed in white and red.
“Send for the prisoners.”
Mark nodded and stepped down the dais, signaling to a pair of soldiers who were awaiting orders. Pilate addressed the crowd.
“Whom will you that I release to you, Barabbas, or Jesus that is called Christ?”
At that moment, a messenger came, and finding the pathway blocked, handed a note to Mark, asking him to give it to Pilate. The centurion handed it over. Pilate paused and waved for the crowd to be quiet, swiftly reading the message. The governor glanced up and caught the centurion watching him.
“My wife-” he said in a distressed murmur. “She wants me to let the Nazarene go.”
Mark looked away and viewed the crowd of Jews, who were growing irritated at the wait.
“My wife would ask the same.”
Pilate looked up and distractedly addressed the crowd, which had begun to shout for a crucifixion.
Some time later, a thick cloud of dust was kicked up and the mad drumbeat of hooves sounded on the lane leading up to the villa. Leah was trying to coax Ruth into feeding when she heard the noise.
Putting her child back in the cradle, Leah ran down the stairs, hoping that it was Mark coming to tell her that Jesus had been freed. The rider reined his horse in sharply, causing a sharp whinny to pierce the air, and swung down as the dust on the path settled.
“Mistress Lea?” the soldier panted, running up the steps.
Leah instinctively clutched at her throat.
“Yes?”
“Your husband sent me to tell you-they have chosen Barabbas!”
Simon was at work nailing together a broken chair leg when he heard the shouts. The door burst open and Phillip rushed in.
“Jesus the Nazarene is to be crucified! At least, that is what the Jews desire, and you know Pilate will give in, even though he thinks Jesus is innocent. It is so crowded that it will be slow going for them; we have time!”
Simon was up in a moment.
“You know the plan; get Andrew, Jude, and Tobias and a wagon over by the Gate of Ephraim and wait there. I will go on ahead of the soldiers and warn you when they are coming, but first I must go into the country and borrow a horse, which I want you to station with the others,” he commanded, and both hastened out of the house.
Leah's head spun. For a moment, she did not know where she was. Then, the world righted itself and she looked straight at the messenger.
“How long ago was this?”
“Five minutes ago, as soon as your husband saw how it was going. The Jews have asked for him to be crucified.”
“Crucified?” her voice was almost inaudible.
“Yes.” Leah's vision blurred with tears for a moment.
How could they do that to Him? He never did anything wrong!
Out loud, she found herself asking dazedly where her husband was. She barely heard his answer, she was so deep in thought as he rode away. Now there was no chance of Jesus curing Ruth.
Wait – Simon said he and his friends were going to try and help Jesus if something happened, Leah remembered in relief. Then everything came back into focus, and she tried to recall where the soldier had said her husband was.
“He asked Pilate to allow him to escort Jesus to Golgotha . . .”
Mark escort Jesus to His death? Leah managed to steady her nerves. Mark promised to do what he could for Jesus, she reminded herself, and shook her head to clear it. He himself had admitted to her that he thought Jesus was innocent. Leahsighed and tried to think.
Far off, she thought she could hear shouts and yells coming from the streets of Jerusalem. She figured that it must be directed at Jesus. The day was growing warm, but inside, Leah still felt cold. Without Jesus' freedom, how could little Ruth be cured?
As if Ruth had heard her mother's thoughts, she gave the little whimpering cry that always broke Leah's heart. That did it. She disregarded her husband's instructions to remain at home, and set out with little Ruth bundled in her arms.
Mark kept his eye on the soldiers ahead of him, his eyes flickering uneasily to the wooden beam of the cross that was being dragged along. The day was cruelly hot, and the sun beat down unmercifully upon the streets. He felt his heart begin to ache. This was not fair.
First the Nazarene had been dragged from Caiphas to Pilate, to Herod and back to Pilate, before spending the night in a pit; He had been mocked and scourged, and now, blood streaming from a thousand wounds that scarred His body, He was made to drag the heavy cross on which He was to die. He was weak and exhausted, as to be expected, but a crown of thorns cruelly pierced His brow, mocking Him; already He had fallen once, and struggled to His feet when the soldiers, who were not under Mark's command, struck Him and forced Him up.
Mark felt helpless. What could he do? The soldiers would not listen to him if he ordered them to be a little less harsh. Already Mark was risking his life, his position, and his family by keeping Simon and his Jewish friends' plans a secret.
On top of that, he thought, blaming himself, I aided them in planning for such a situation as this, and if the plan fails – well, an innocent man's blood will be spilled due to one man's unrealized mistake: mine.
Simon pushed through the anxious crowds lining the streets, and lengthened his stride whenever he came to less crowded spaces. A heavy silence was draped over the city. Some of the onlookers understood what was happening, some interested and others frightened, while other passerby were perplexed, and still others wept.
Gradually, far-off shouts broke the stillness, and everyone tensed. From the mere sound of the marching men, they could tell what was coming: a crucifixion.
Simon stopped and waited as the sounds slowly grew nearer. He was perfectly calm. There was plenty of time for him to get to the wagon where a group of his friends were waiting to take Jesus away. He was wrong.
Five minutes later, Jesus stumbled and nearly fell, just as Simon was turning to hurry off to give his friends the warning. Some of the soldiers roughly struck Jesus in an attempt to get him to move faster.
“Come on, come on! At this rate, it will be nearly sundown by the time we reach Golgotha! You there!” one bellowed at someone near Simon, but he paid no attention until a rough hand grabbed his sleeve and dragged him out of the ranks of frightened onlookers.
Giving the startled Cyrenian a rude shove that made him nearly stumble into the wooden beam being dragged by the condemned Man, he shouted, “Get over there and help him carry his cross!”
Dusting off his sleeve with an angry look at the detested Roman soldiers, with flashing eyes Simon roughly snatched up one end of the beam, with a strong desire to knock the soldier down. He knew it would only make his job take longer-but how could he warn his friends if he was stuck here?
That-that interfering, blundering- Simon straightened to help the Nazarene take good hold of his cross again, but found Him gazing at him, with a soft, tender look not unlike the way Simon's mother used to look at him when she sang him to sleep . . .
“Thank you, Simon,” Jesus said softly. His brow was bloody, His robe was plastered to His wounds, but He was not angry.
Against his will, Simon felt peace creeping into his heart. His plans melted into thin air. Somehow, he knew everything was going to be alright. He did not know why or how, but somehow . . . he picked up the cross and carried it.
Soon after, Leah pushed her way into the crowd, where several other Jewish women stood, clinging to their children and waiting tearfully for Jesus to pass by. They did not have long to wait. Soon the soldiers were seen marching down the sloping street, the sun angrily flashing across their armor.
Leah's heart beat loudly, sounding like a brazen gong in her ears. She could just make out the heavy wooden beam, and barely see the raw, red shoulder of the Man who carried it.
Red was everywhere she looked; it was in the red cloaks of the soldiers, the red mantles of the weeping women, and the red blood of Jesus on the streets. Leah saw her husband staring down at the ruby splashes of blood that sank into the dust underfoot, and saw how his heart ached.
Now the soldiers were passing by, their swords at their sides, sharp spears in their hands, their sleek armor clanking as with every step, they kicked up the dust of the streets in the face of the condemned Man. The pageant crept by, red with blood and guilt.
Then Leah realized who was aiding Jesus to carry His cross. Simon! The plan – had it called for this? Was it possible? But then again, Jesus would not be so tired . . . but oh, how wounded and weary He looked. His garment was stained red with His own blood, the dark, thorny crown bit His brow, and a rope was tied about His waist, the other end held fast by a soldier armed with a whip.
Dully, Leah heard the women crying. Ruth started to cry, too, and though the sound tugged at her heartstrings, somehow, she had forgotten what she came for. Her thoughts were focused on her beloved Master, her King, whom she loved with her whole heart. Her eyes fell, stung by hot tears.
“Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over Me; but weep for yourselves, and for your children.”
Leah started. Jesus had paused in front of the women and was gazing at them in compassion. She heard no more of His words as He spoke to them, and simply stared at Him, choking on the tears that had forced themselves out just moments before. Her infant was perfectly quiet.
Two soldiers stepped forward, prepared to sweep the women back and keep them out of the way; Jesus slowly moved forward, aided by Simon, but His gaze swept tenderly over the weeping women and stopped on Leah. He looked at her for a long moment, with such understanding that without a second thought, she stepped out onto the road.
“My King, I love thee!”
A smile crossed His bloodied face.
One of the soldiers swept Leah back into the crowd. She did not notice that it was Mark, until the soldiers had passed and Jesus had disappeared from view.
“Leah, what were you thinking?” Mark gasped. “You could have been caught!”
“No one heard,” Leah answered dreamily, only half-noticing her husband. Mark softened and did not rebuke her for coming against his wishes, but gently told her to go home; this was no place for her, he said.
Mark and Simon returned to Leah after four o' clock, during a dark thunderstorm that had been raging for only a little more than an hour.
Leah was waiting quietly for them before the fire. Ruth was in her arms. The young bride had felt the tremor at three and instinctively known that her King was dead. Mark and Simon had no need to tell her.
A lightning bolt split the dark clouds, its brilliant flash lighting up the room as if it were a day of clear skies. Leah arose and helped them take off their wet cloaks, placing them near the fire to dry. She sat her husband and brother down to warm themselves and had one of the servants bring them supper.
The fire crackled and popped, and a few sparks landed on the floor. Leah gently rocked Ruth in her arms. Her infant had not cried for some time, nor had little Ruth eaten all day. It was a long time before anyone spoke; it seemed as if they were no longer capable of worrying. The lightning flashed again.
“I left too late. It is my fault,” Simon murmured, staring numbly at the fire. Discouragement had again taken over his thoughts.
“My ideas were wrong,” Mark sighed softly.
Leah's head drooped. She, too, had failed.
“I only thought about my will, and not God's,” she whispered.
The men looked at each other, then at Leah and sighed in agreement. There was a pause.
“You should have seen him. He. . .was like no one else.”
“I know,” Leah whispered, but did not cry.
“When He looked at me . . . ,” Simon murmured, “it was like coming face to face with God. I mean – He was . . . truly.
“I know,” Leah said again.
“You should have heard Him ask His Father to forgive everyone who hurt Him,” Mark whispered. “And the blood and water – it flowed from His side when one of the soldiers pierced it – after He died-” Leah's husband dropped his head for a moment, surveying the floor. “I wished I knew the prophecies better.”
“I know.”
Mark lifted his head and looked at his wife.
“There are a lot of things I think about now that I should have thought about before.”
Simon nodded slowly. Little Ruth whimpered.
Leah shifted her daughter in her arms, stood, and slowly went up the stairs for another attempt at feeding her child. For a few moments, the men were left in silence while the flames in the fireplace flickered and danced. A sudden cry startled them and they shot wildly to their feet, their heads snapping up in surprise.
“Lea? Lea!” They heard her laugh, and Mark and Simon flashed up the stairs. Mark exploded into his wife's room, to find her bending over Ruth's cradle, a soft light on her face.
“Look,” she whispered, with a little sigh. “Just look!”
Mark came closer, Simon at his heels. The sight that met their eyes was one they had not seen in a long time: a sleepy, happy, and full little baby, with a natural soft flush of rose in her cheeks that had never been there before. Leah looked up at Mark with a joyous smile.
A laugh escaped Mark's lips as he gazed lovingly at his happy little family as the rain softened outside. “Well – any man who can cure little Ruth . . . I could call my King!” Leah laid her head on his shoulder.
“He is our King,” she whispered, “and He always will be!”
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