The morning sun felt good on his face. The crisp air was welcomed by his lungs. His now unshackled legs were still bleeding a little but at least they were free. The bruises on his face from the blows of his captors still stung but in time he knew they would heal. Standing outside the judgement hall he was having trouble processing the events of the last few days.

     He hated the occupiers and not just a little.  As far as he was concerned they had dominated his land for way too long.  They had come into his city and taken over everything. As a boy he remembered them ransacking his father’s business, taking whatever they wanted. As he grew older they bullied he and his friends. As a young man he stood by helplessly as they molested his sisters. Oh, how he hated the Romans. In his mind he could picture killing one of them with his bare heads. Before to long he had become a man controlled by his inner rage.

    It was no surprise to anyone when he began to hint at “doing something”. It was a disturbing when he began getting together with a few other men from the town on a regular basis. They shared a common anger. It was alarming when this band of reneges started collecting weapons and seem to have formulated some kind of plan.

     A few weeks before one of the biggest holidays of the year the plan was put in motion. They had hoped to catch their adversary by surprise and take over the Governor’s residence and kill the Governor and his family. He has ambushed a soldier and slit his throat as the battle began. However, an informant had warned the occupiers and the insurrection was over before it began.

     The other leaders had all been killed in the attack. Most of the foot soldiers involved had fled. He had been spared but only so that he could be made an example of. The occupiers intended to execute him cruelly and publicly. It was not going to be pretty. Oh, how he hated the Romans. Now he was going to hate them even more.

     He was tried quickly and unceremoniously. He was declared guilty of murder and insurrection. He was sentenced to death by crucifixion. He was turned over to  the Roman guards who stripped him, beat him and spat upon him. He screamed and cursed as they landed blow after blow. It was such sport to them.

     Someone said something about crowning him since he so badly wanted to be king. He saw near him the cross he would soon carry and upon which he would be nailed. He struggled but there were so many of them against only him. He soon ran out of strength to fight. It was going get even more ugly very soon.

     Then, all at once it stopped. All of it. The soldiers were called to their commanding officer. They huddled whispers were exchanged. He was unshackled without a word. He was led down a narrow corridor and out a back door and set free. But why?

     He began to walk cautiously toward the front of the judgement hall not quite believing what was occurring. There was a crowd of people gathered shouting a hideous chant. “Crucify him, Crucify him, they cried in unison. Someone else was watching not too far from him. “Who do they want crucified” he inquired. “Jesus of Nazareth” came back the curt replay.  Looking to the platform he saw a man tied up, beaten and bruised. His face was barely recognizable. Upon his head was a crown of thorns pressed into his forehead. It was a gruesome scene

     He had heard about Jesus. He knew he was a popular teacher. He was told that he had healed the sick, fed the hungry and even, some had claimed, raised the dead. Some of the common people in Israel had suggested strongly that he was the long-awaited Messiah, the Christ. He knew the chief religious’ leaders were jealous of him. “Why should he be crucified?” he found himself asking outload. “Because he claimed to be king of the Jews” came back the snarky answer. The stranger continued “Pilate offered to set him free, but the people said they’d rather have some guy named Barabbas.”

     The words stung like the punches he received less than two hours ago.  Barabbas, that was his name. He was Barrabas the notorious one. He was Barrabas the angry man who hated the Romans. He was Barrabas, the murderer. He was Barrabas the insurrectionist who had been sentenced to death by crucifixion.

     He should be up there on that platform. He should be beaten beyond recognition. He should be the one who would be crucified, He should be wearing the bloody crown of thorns. Jesus was in front of him. Jesus the teacher, the healer, the one who raised the dead. Jesus Christ had taken his place.

     Barrabas began to shake uncontrollably at the realization of what was happening, He never had experienced anything like this. He couldn’t get the face of Jesus out of his mind. He couldn’t believe that he had been set free instead of Jesus.  He would always remember this day, this incredible day. When telling others his story he would call it “The day he wore my crown.”