"The 14 Stations of the Cross" for Lent & Easter

A sample from the 1st Chapter of “The 14 Stations of the Cross” by Mimi L Thompson - All rights reserved

In this Christian fiction intended for the devotions of Lent & Easter the author, who is a biblical scholar, linguist and practicing Christian, creates real stories behind the pious façade. The heartache, the blood and the disappointment. In a series of frank and painful short stories, you will confront a new and - at times - upsetting Theology of the Cross.

Chapter 1 - Jesus condemned to death

There were moments, especially early on, when it really seemed as if we might just succeed. If we might actually manage it. Pull it off. Create something entirely different, a new heaven and a new earth. It's really hard to describe the euphoria we all felt, after those first mass meetings. Even Jesus, especially Jesus, felt that we were on the cusp of something Really Big. That we could really change the world. That we could start again, go back to the beginning. Smash the stinking old world! Make a bright, shining new world! A new heaven and a new earth. And fill it with love. Love! Love! Love! Love was the buzz word. The word on everyone's lips. The love of God. The love of your neighbour. Even the love of yourself. And I'm not the easiest of people to love.

One night, after a particularly successful - and long - sermon, we went off together, just the inner circle, his real friends, his colleagues if you like. And we had a party. Eating, drinking, dancing. It was the best party ever. We sat on the mountain, in the moonlight, and talked and talked, as the sun set over the lake. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen. We were all a bit drunk, I suppose. I even had a little dance with that hoity-toity Mary from Magdala and she is so not the kind of woman to lark about with an ugly short-ass like yours truly. But we were all infected with something mad. We were, almost literally, on top of the world.

It was all so insanely exciting. All the stuff I'd been taught at Saturday School came flooding back. All that stuff about the land flowing with milk and honey, about the prisoners going free, about everyone having his own little house and sitting under his own date tree. About swords being bent into plough-shares, spears into pruning hooks. About God wiping away all our tears and God himself living with us.

I kept looking round to see if the stream had turned into wine, if manna and honey were pouring from the sky, if Moses and Elijah had come to join the party. If the wolf was lying down with the lamb, if babies were playing with snakes. If the Roman soldiers had gone back to their families. If the High Priest had opened his palace to the homeless. Anything and everything was possible.

It was always like this. Whenever he spoke. And it wasn't just us. The crowds loved it. They lapped it up. Hung on his every word. Came in their thousands from all over Judea. They stayed for hours, all night sometimes, just to hear what he said. They came without any food and without any shelter. Well, wasn't that like he always said - don't worry about what you'll eat or what you'll wear?

John was popular, too, of course he was. I should know; I was even baptised by him way back when. But his message was so very different. He was scary. With his wild eyes and crazy clothes. He frightened us. Cowed us into submission with his fire and brimstone sermons. We'd all be going to hell if we didn't buck up our ideas. With Jesus, it was all the other way round. He assured us that we'd all be going to heaven. He loved us. Killed us with kindness. The people couldn't get enough of him.

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Published March 1, 2018

Free on Kindle Unlimited

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