A story.

I stood above of a large, angry crowd on a pedestal hastily hewn from rough scraps of timber. My hands were bound in front of me and I was on display in front of the city where thousands upon thousands of people stared up at me with hate, loathing and judgment in their eyes. These were same people that had smiled at me as a child, had welcomed me without thought into their homes and had cried with me through my sorrows. My crime, they said was too great to ever be forgiven and I stood now ready to receive the punishment they said was just; Death by hanging. The faces of my friends, my family, people I loved reflected no mercy and I knew I deserved none. I was assured, as they, that my punishment was worthy of my crime and I knew I must take what I had earned.

Yet, I was afraid. I looked up at the clear blue sky with tears welling in my eyes savoring my last moments of life. The wind, warm and gentle on my face brought back memories of childhood innocence uncontaminated by the cancer of my crime. I looked at the familiar streets around me remembering with fondness the various seasons of my life which I had spent walking over their smooth surfaces. This place I had called home. I was past regret, the end of life was too near to dwell on what could have been different and my punishment was too deserved to hope for a second chance.

The mayor of the city climbed up the stairs and joined me above the crowds. He glanced at me with pure hate then read in a loud, solemn voice the details of my crime. The crowd gasped in disbelief, even as they had already known what I had done, then raised their fists and shouted condemnations and curses at me. I listened to every shout, every accusation and curse knowing that all they said was true. I did not hide from the shame that was mine. I accepted the payment for what I had done.

Life was growing short, the noose was around my neck and my nails were digging into the palm of my sweaty hands. My heart beat wildly in my chest and I gasped for my last few breaths of living air. I focused on the piercing blue sky as the crowds grew silent waiting for the release of the trapdoor beneath my feet. The heartbeat of life spent before the last moment echoed in my ears like the slow stroke a sustained drumbeat. I closed my eyes.

A man shouted, the timber platform under my feet trembled. I waited in quiet suspense but nothing happened. I opened my eyes to see a man standing before me looking at me with compassion in his eyes. He stayed the hand of the executioner and faced the crowds asking them what crime I had committed that carried the sentence of death.

Liar, thief! They shouted. Murderer, adulterer, sinner!
Death, death! The punishment must be paid,
Once and for all!

By whom? he asked and the crowds grew silent as he gently pulled the noose over my head and put it around his own. He faced the crowds and said again, Paid once and for all by whom? In that silence he looked at me the thief, the liar, the murderer and adulterer, he looked at me and said, I will pay for your crimes once and for all.

No! I cried. This should not be. I have committed the crime and my death is just and deserved. I should pay the price.

He smiled gently and said, I am buying your life with my own. Live now free from sin and guilt. I have paid your price.

The trap door suddenly swung open and the man, whose name I did not even know, fell and died there for me. I threw myself to the ground in bitter weeping, in anguish of the suffering my crime had caused another and in guilty relief of the death I had escaped. I lay there alone in my tears until the crowds left, until the sun set and the stars rose high and clear over the city.

At some point during the night a new understanding dawned upon me. My life was no longer my own. Every breath I took was owed to the man who received my death upon himself, everything I was to do in life should have been done by him. I realized that I must live my life haunted by his sacrifice and give meaning and purpose to everything I do. I must dedicate my existence to discovering who he was and carry on that which drove him. I must live for him since he died for me. Otherwise, his death would mean nothing.

I stood up and brushed myself off, purpose and resolve flowing strongly through me. I left my home that night, taking nothing with me. I left my past behind and pursued the one thing that could make my life worth his death; to know him, to understand him and persuade the world to follow him- the man who died for me.