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The crowd lightened considerably immediately as Casey passed through the stone Damascus gates and onto a path that paralleled the Damascus Road. It was all sandy desert from here on out. Men on camels and donkeys were traveling the road. Vendors and hawkers were trying to catch their attention with everything from water stored in animal skins to little leather bags filled with dates.
The two soldiers made him veer off to the right so that he could begin scaling the hill where he would be put to death, hopefully for good this time. The path was equipped with stone stairs, but still the going was slow and rough.
Some of the city dwellers had exited the gates along with Jesus and Casey and were following the procession not out of compassion, but curiosity. It was like live, real-time television entertainment for them.
When Jesus fell yet again, Casey knew in his heart that no matter how much he helped the holy man, there was no way the holy man was going to recover from this faceplant. True to the New Testament, the Roman soldiers pulled a man from out of the crowd. He was a dark man, with almost black skin. He wore garments that weren’t filthy and that looked more expensive and well-kept compared to many of the other people who lived in Jerusalem.
Casey was right behind Jesus now.
“You,” one of the two soldiers guarding Jesus shouted. “What’s your name?”
The man’s eyes were wide and frightened.
“I am Simon,” he said. “I buy and sell camels.”
“Well camel trader,” the soldier said, “today you get to carry a cross. Got it?”
“But what if the soldiers on top of the hill mistake me for the man who is to be crucified.”
The soldier laughed.
“If that happens, can I have your camels?” he said aiming to the business end of his lance at Simon. “Now do it.”
Casey turned to Short Soldier, then Tall Soldier.
He said, “That man’s name is Simon, and he will one day become a saint after Jesus’s church is established. Also, one day, there will be a holy Roman Catholic church built on the top of Golgotha and it will be called The Church of the Holy Sepulcher.”
“What the hell are you talking about, murderer?” Short Soldier begged with squinted eyes. “You really are the devil. Or a crazy man or both.”
“Maybe he can see the future,” Tall Soldier said. “Or maybe the devil is inside him.”
Just then, the dark sky opened up with another lightning bolt that struck the top of Golgotha. Casey felt and heard the crash of thunder that followed. But there was still no rain or wind. Also, the ground shook some more. It wasn’t a massive trembling or seismic event. But it was noticeable enough to throw a scare into the soldiers attending to Casey and the two assigned to Jesus, or so the writer assumed. He couldn’t help but grin. He knew these Romans were up for one hell of a surprise when Jesus finally was put to death. They would be begging for forgiveness for having put God to death.
The closer Casey came to the summit of Golgotha, the more winded he became. It wasn’t easy carrying a ninety-pound crossbeam, especially when you’ve been beaten and scourged, and denied food and clean water for an entire day. If he had his druthers, he’d drop the crossbeam on the spot, lay himself out on the rocky desert floor, use the wood beam as a pillow and fall fast asleep.
But then, it was possible he’d be dead in a matter of hours, and he could then get all the sleep he wanted. Or would he? This was the Metaverse after all. As physically real a simulation his transportation back to the early first century was, he knew that it all came from a mid-twenty-first-century computer software coder’s imagination. But then, the coder must have been a genius for him to get everything so right, from Jesus’s physical and emotional passion to the strange weather and the coming seismic event which would be sure to inject pure terror into the hearts of the Roman Legionnaires.
But being in the Metaverse meant something else for Casey Smith. It meant that when he died, he would be resurrected again and find himself living in another place at another time. At least, that’s how it all worked out for him thus far and to believe anything else at this point was simply futile. As he carried his cross the final few steps up the treeless hill, he fully accepted his fate, not in life, but instead, in his resurrection. A resurrection that happened over and over again, without end. Amen.
It was at the top of the hill that Casey saw that a third man had been scheduled to be crucified that day. It all made sense to him too. Because the Bible spoke of two other men being put to death along with Jesus on that fateful, dark day outside the Jerusalem walls. He would be one of those two men.
As the two soldiers attending to Jesus stripped the holy man of his robes, forced him to lie down on the ground, and spread his shaking hands on the crossbeam in preparation for the nine-inch nails, Casey felt a strange wave of optimism enter into his blood and nervous system. Jesus promised one of the two who were crucified with him that he would be welcomed into paradise that day.
What if Casey were that man?
What if, finally, it would take Jesus Christ himself to save Casey Smith’s soul not from hell, but something far, far worse...the Metaverse?