The Chief Commander's Son

Tension and bewilderment overwhelmed the entire heavenly armies one day. Millions of warrior angels were taking arms; the archangels and their battalions were readying for deployment, awaiting the Chief Commander’s command.

It was a day like no other. All the angels were talking amongst themselves about a gruesome story that they have been told about thousands of years ago -- a story that was about to take place that day.

Could it be true? Is it really happening?

Yes. It was the day of the Crucifixion

The funeral cortege began marching. Slowly, very slowly. Under the scorching heat of the desert sun, hundreds of people flocked together; showing no big deal about their thirst and their sticky sweat, adulterated with dust from the dunes. They gathered not to mourn the death of a Rabbi, a doctor, a prophetic Savior; but to put to death an ambitious carpenter, a blasphemer, a dissenter of the accepted religious and social order.

Slowly, very slowly. A man carried the colossal pieces of lumber nailed together in the form of a cross, the very symbol of his death that will be remembered even thousands of years after. Blood and sweat flowed out from his beaten flesh. His eyes barely seeing, blinded by tears and blood from fatal wounds on the head. But he continued marching. Slowly, very slowly, up the hill called Skull. He was the Chief Commander’s son.

“Aren’t You going to do something?” asked one of the archangels, puzzled; troubled by the Chief Commander’s silence. His name was Michael.

But the Chief Commander was silent, probably lost in deep thoughts. What He was thinking, no one could tell.

At this, Archangel Michael, holding a spear in his right hand (the spear with which he attacks Lucifer) flew away, with his majestic wings shining in all their splendor, and convened the rest of the legions of angels. He sought the company of the other archangels: Barachiel, Uriel, Raphael, Jegudiel; all thousands of them. Michael was not the only one puzzled by the Commander’s silence.

Archangel Michael, failing to comprehend the Commander’s thoughts, approached Archangel Gabriel for he holds in his hand a mirror of green jasper that signifies the wisdom of God as a hidden mystery. But Gabriel himself was clueless, for the wisdom of God is indeed a hidden mystery. Being a warrior and a commander, Archangel Michael moved to prepare the entire Heavenly Army for battle. All of them, clad in armor and war suits, were standing mightily -- steady, but not still; mighty, but moved. Strong, but heartbroken by what was happening. One order from the Chief Commander would have been enough to send all of them -- millions of them, if necessary -- to the battlefield.

His son was about to be killed, yet the Commander refused to speak.

The cortege finally reached its destination. Up the hill of Golgotha, the Son’s feet have been burnt and wounded by the blistering earth and the jagged rocks along the road. Thirsty, weary, abandoned by his friends. He looked up… alas, no sign of heavenly rescue. Surrounding him was a throng of angry mobs -- his students, his patients -- cheering and jeering; clamoring for his death.

“Just a single order. Just say ‘go’ and we will stop them from killing the man. Why don’t you command us NOW???” Archangel Michael, now growing impatient, went back to the Commander.

But the Commander was unmoved. His eyes were near to tears. “Give me a moment alone,” He said, almost whispering. His lips were shaking. Michael, surprised at the intense emotion he felt, bowed down and left.

Everyone was looking down -- the angels, the elders, the heavenly creatures, the archangels; the entire heavenly hosts. All of them, watching as the people insult and injure the Son.

Finally, the soldiers tied him down; his back against the thick wood. He did nothing to retaliate. His blood spilling against the barren earth.

All of a sudden, a soldier, with a big nail in one hand and a hammer in another aimed for his hand. Coldly, mercilessly, the soldier lifts the hammer high above the air…

“NO!!!!!” Archangel Michael shouted. The rest of the angels covered their mouth and gasped for air. The Chief Commander looked away, sobbing silently. His eyes were drowning in tears.

And strongly, oh so strongly, the soldier hit the hammer against the rusty nail placed over the Son’s hand…

“THUD!!!”

The angels, all of them, covered their eyes with their wings. Their hands pressed against their ears. They couldn’t bear the pain and the agony they were witnessing. With every hit of the hammer -- every thump, every thud -- everyone was weeping, wailing loudly.

And they lifted the crucified Son high above the hill for everyone to see, like an exhibit to be showcased.

“Father, why have you forsaken me?” The Son asked, almost losing his strength.

Everybody’s gaze suddenly shifted to the Chief Commander.

But the Father wasn’t looking, for He himself couldn’t bear to see him that way.

“Why… why didn’t you do something…” Michael was crying.

“I love these people so much that I need to sacrifice my son for them. I know, I know… you don’t understand. Nobody would. There are things that only love can explain and only love can understand… But trust my wisdom, for I know what I am doing. My glory will be displayed. My Son will be glorified.”

A few more moments. After a long, agonizing silence, they saw that the Son was dying. Tears continued to flow. The angels’ wings, which used to be splendid and beautiful, were downcast and dull; looking sickly and without life.

And with full theatrics: massive earthquakes, graves cracking open, and thick temple curtains being torn apart, the Son pronounced the denouement.

“It is finished.”

Life escaped from his body as he breathed his last.

It was the day when the Father did nothing and everything… all for love. All for love.