By His Wounds: The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Jesus Falls for the Third Time

Wassup dudes and duddettes? Thanks for reading this far into my story. This time, Jesus has fallen for the 3rd and final time. I struggled with making this fall different than the last two, so I decided to add some more thoughts of Jesus into there. How'd I do? Please review and give me suggestions! I'd appreciate it!

Jesus Falls for the Third Time

It was past eleven o'clock, Jesus assumed. The sun was beating down upon his face and his back. He could almost feel the blood boil upon his skin. His arms ached, as his did his back, legs, bones, face, neck—his everything.

Jesus was completely drained. Literally and totally. When a Roman soldier's whip smacked his back with great force, his knees gave out and he lost his equilibrium. He could feel himself falling...swinging backwards onto his back. His helper, Simon, was grasping his hand tightly, trying to keep him to a stand and from crashing to the ground, but Jesus was already there. Dirt and rocks pushed into his skull, as did the thorns. His left arm remained pinned behind his back, causing great pain. He cried out, but no sound escaped his lips. His teeth greeted together, and he could taste blood.

Jesus barely noticed that the soldiers had stopped moving, as did Simon and the two other executioners. He simply remained lying on his back on the ground, his deathbed hanging over him, a giant shadow of darkness enveloping him.

He was exhausted. He couldn't move, though he tried. He honestly couldn't do anything but lay there, and even that hurt him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to cry, and begged his Father, "Abba, bevakasha." It even hurt him to think. He wanted to scream—to cry and to wail and plead for his Father's help—but he could only managed a simple prayer: "I am completely drained of all my strength. Please, help me stand. Help me continue...on my journey. I can't give up. The souls of my Children are counting on me. I have to do this...for them. Father, please... I can't just lay here and...die. I can't. I...can't have my journey end here. I must...fulfill it. Please...let me finish this. I must drink the chalice you have set before me. I must do this for my Children. Please, Abba."

Though he could hardly see anything, he saw a flicker of white in the left portion of the sky. He fluttered for a moment, then flew closer to Jesus so he could see it better. A dove. He watched as the birth remained hovering in the air. Then, after a moment, it flew off.

Overcome with love from his Father, Jesus struggled to regain a stand. He grasped Simon's outstretched hand and pushed himself off the ground—which was quite difficult. He quieted all of the chanting men and women surrounding him and only focused on his life's goal—completing this mission in order to save the souls of those he had created, those whose names were etched in his palm, and those he loved with everything in his being...and then some.

Regaining himself, he wobbled to a stand and gingerly wrapped his right arm around the cross. He literally just hung there. He knew he wasn't contributing that much to carrying his cross—but he just couldn't. He had the weight of all the sins of the entire world pressed upon his back. He had every murder, every rape, every theft, every lie, every jealous thought, and every curse word pressing his body down lower and lower with every step. He glanced lovingly at the soldiers and the angry pedestrians, realizing the great weight simply they put on him. The unjust beatings...the name-calling...the anger and jealousy....

As he began to drag his body along the little bit farther, Jesus felt his face sadden even more with each sin they committed.

How he wept for the blackened souls he was giving his life to save.