It wasn't all the blood that caused a revolting shiver to pass through me, it was what all this meant. Conflicting feelings such as anger, compassion, nausea and a real desire to get as far away from this place as possible, were all taking turns leading my emotions.
Anger because, someone, probably a religious leader, had told him this was the Way.
Nausea, well, that was obvious, and so was the desire to escape this place.
But it was the compassion that began to exert itself over the rest. I felt so sorry for him.
I turned back to him after he began to make his way up the "Hill." Staggering, he knelt in front of that center cross.
He is devout, no one can question that fact.
He is not afraid of sacrifice, the blood flowing down his back was crimson testimony to that.
He had just endured one of the world's most extreme religious rites, willingly.
I watched him there for a while and a question began to take form...
Who met him on that hill?
Was it Jesus, or something else?
What do you think?
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