Witness to Perfect Sacrifice

As they rushed past me, I saw one man's face. It was filled with terror at what he had just witnessed.
I press on, breaking through the crowd, pushing and craning my neck as I search for what they had seen. I know what it is – it has to be him. Yes, there he is, the very man who has just been proclaimed king. He stands tall and confident, yet his body is torn so badly I would barely recognize him. He is obviously under punishment by the government, yet he looks as if he is quite in control of what is happening.
“How dare you!” screams the magistrate. “You think you can take power from me? You are sorely mistaken! You shall pay with your life for this pathetic power drive!”
I look back at the man. How solemn he stands, silently taking the chastisement. It it had been any other man, the explosion of hatred from his lips would have been overpowering. Yet this man stands, not speaking or lifting a finger to defend himself. He is on his way to the grave already; if he does not speak now he will surely be killed. Yet, his mouth remains closed.
“Do you not know that I have the power to kill you or to save you?” asks the questioner, an angry, incredulous look on his face.
This time the man speaks. His words are filled with such authority that it shocks even I, who has seen many such trials.
“You have no power except that which is given to you from above.”
Surely he means heaven, but how dare he suggest that the magistrate has no power! Who does he think he's talking to? There is nothing but death for him, yet serenity exudes from his beaten body. I have not seen a man like him in all my years.
There now, they have taken him outside. Just as I had expected, he is condemned to death. It seems, however, this his punishment is of a different sort than I would have predicted. It had seemed that stoning would have been enough for this pathetic criminal, yet they insist on having him crucified. He does not fight; he seems willing, almost eager, to go up that hill. Any other man would see this last, long walk as an opportunity to get hi final words out. However, this “king” lopes wearily up the hill in silence. He is not weighed down by the stares of the prying bystanders; he seems almost emboldened by them. Does he not know that they are the ones who have condemned him to this hideous death? Yet, when he looks at them, the deep love in his eyes overcomes the ugliness of his disfigured body. His eyes are unlike any I have seen; beautiful is too common to describe them. They are... unearthly.
Never in Jerusalem have I met such a man. I would venture to say that such a likeness will never be seen again. As he treads to the cross, I wonder. Can this man die now? Will he ever be destroyed? It seems impossible, yet the reality is that he steps ever closer to an all too real death. Can a cross hold this man, a man who seems to hold the world in the palm of his hand? It seems sure that heaven would not allow him to die this way, a type of execution that holds a curse for all condemned to it. Yet my eyes tell me otherwise. He will surely die today. What, then, is the purpose for this gruesome demise? An example, perhaps, of what our government can do to those who defy it? A silent testimony of the statement that “power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely”? Yet, I would lay this death on no fault of his own. It seems as it this man has fallen victim to the whims of another tyrannical leader. Over any man, how could this happen to him?
I stand silent, stunned. I have seen this so many times, yet I have never witnessed it before. The paradox of love and pain is almost too much to bear. I have seen into those eyes, and I shall never be the same.