The Mob

The crowd was loud! Shouting. Pushing. Cursing. Throwing dirt in the air – along with stones. Violence bubbled, ready to explode. They dragged and shoved him along in the middle, pinching, punching, spitting at him. 

I couldn’t get to him. I tried. I did. 

Fear made my heartbeat throb in my throat and hands. Sweat ran down me. 

“The overlook!” A voice rang out.

Dozens of voices shouted agreement.

“No…!” The overlook was at the top of the rugged hill above the village, with a sheer cliff dropping down to the plain hundreds of spans below. That was where village tales said blasphemers were cast down. It was a place of execution! Surely they wouldn’t …

But the rage of the few in the centre of the mob was contagious. It was spreading to those normally hard-working, even-tempered members of the community. This was not my home town – but its people were familiar to me. All the villages in these parts were populated by farmers, fishermen, shepherds. Salt of the Earth types. Normally. 

But now mob mentality had taken over. All the ringleaders had to shout was, “Blasphemer!” And the rage stirred. 

Yet, this was his home town. How could they turn on him so quickly? Not an hour earlier they had been amazed at his teaching and murmuring about how much authority he spoke with. 

I followed along the edge of the crowd, trying to think what to do. But I was helpless.

I caught a glimpse of his face, blood trickling from his cheek where someone had punched him or a thrown stone had caught him. Dirt dusted his hair, thrown in inarticulate anger. 

Yet, he looked at peace.

How? He must know where they were headed. He had heard the stories. He knew if they got him to the overlook they’d throw him over in righteous indignation – and feel justified.

We were almost there. My chest burned. My stomach muscles ached from being clenched so tight. What could I do? 

I called out to Yahweh. “Help him! Stop them from fulfilling this outrage. Help!” 

The front of the mob had reached the edge. The men in the centre started pushing him forward. But it wasn’t him they were shoving! Where was he? 

I scanned the faces, the backs of heads, the shoulders and shapes near where I’d last glimpsed him. He wasn’t there.

Where…?

A spot of stillness edged toward my side of the mob. A figure moved smoothly through the men, as if invisible to them. Men moved aside then closed ranks again. Him!

He walked calmly out of the crowd and paused in front of me. 

“Come,” he said, as if nothing strange had happened, clapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s be about my Father’s business.” 

And we just walked away. 

Behind us sounds of confusion and bewilderment came as someone realised their intended victim was somehow just no longer there. 

He winked at me and threw his arm over my shoulders as we walked.