DAMIEN – THE BLACKSMITH

I’m a Roman citizen. Roman soldiers were a commonplace on our streets. Even those of us who were considered part of the infrastructure of the city, were enslaved in a manner of speaking. The Romans taxed all the merchants and craftsmen mercilessly. The Roman armies were strong and had to be outfitted with swords, shields and armor which required the mass production of many strong hands and bodies. The smaller jobs, like making tools, hardware, horseshoes and things that could be made quickly were done in shops like mine.

There was always extra cash to be made during the celebration of the Passover. Jerusalem was the hub of activity to many surrounding towns where the Hebrew people lived. Each year they’d arrive in droves to praise their God for delivering them from the bondage they endured in Egypt. I became acquainted with a carpenter from Nazareth. His name was Joseph. He was a regular customer. He always asked for a container of nails in various sIzes to fill orders back home. He crafted some things from wood, but since there wasn’t an abundance of that raw material, he often made do with what was readily available. He would probably have been more of an artisan than a carpenter. I also became acquainted with Joseph’s wife, Mary and their son, Jesus. I believe Jesus was following the same trade as his father, but he seemed more interested in things of a spiritual nature. He didn’t look strong enough to wield a hammer but there was a visible strength about him.

As the years passed, I could see the young boy grow into a mature man. He had a magnetism about him. People would gather around him to hear him speak about a new kingdom and a place of paradise. His message was appealing to most of those who were trying so hard to leave this world of poverty. Jesus seemed to be riling up the church leaders with his miracles and message. In fact, it became apparent that they were intent on taking his life.

That last week was filled with a crowd of his followers laying their robes as Jesus entered the city on a donkey. They praised him has their king. Each day brought more miracles from this man. It also brought a great deal of anger among the church hierarchy as well as the political leaders. Before the week ended, I was commissioned to make a number of spikes to be used in the torturous execution of prisoners called crucifixion.

The spikes were made of scraps of metal and formed into sharp objects about 7″ long. The prisoner would be positioned on a cross as nails would pierce through hands and feet to add to the torment. The body would be propped up just enough for the criminal to take a necessary excruciating breath. It would be a slow and painful death.

I was a witness. He was beaten to a pulp as blood poured from His wounds. Flies and other insects feasted on his blood. His eyes were swollen from the bruising He endured. He was unrecognizable as a human being. The mocking crowd eventually grew tired of waiting for Him to die and left the scene. My eyes went straight to those spikes and realized that I was as much responsible for this innocent man’s death as those who pounded the nails into His flesh. Still, I knew that I was forgiven for my part in it. As HIs eyes surveyed the crowd below, He said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”