Story of the Nail - Part Two

A Nail in the Heart

By Rebecca James, Freshman SACS High School

            He was hated among the Jews. He was to be put to death for blasphemy Jesus was to be hung on cross. He was to be gone forever, despite what His followers said.  I put Him on that cross. I helped give him an excruciating death. Before Jesus even carried the cross, I was glad to put Him to death. He caused chaos among the people with His preaching, and I couldn’t wait to see the light leave His eyes. However, my view soon changed due to one nail.

            The whip sliced through the air just before it sliced his skin. I put all my strength into it. His flinches and cringes of pain fueled my anger at Him. I could not wait to drive the thin, pointed pieces of metal into His flesh, or at least that’s what I thought. Jesus continuously stumbled as he trudged up the hill with the thick and heavy cross on his bleeding back. We eventually had to get someone else to help Him. His weakness made me feel stronger. I was carrying the three cold nails in my hand as we approached His place of death.

The other guards laid Him on the cross as I grabbed my hammer. I started with His grimy feet. I placed the nail and I swung the hammer with all my might. I swung again, and the nail went in even deeper. Once more and the now bloody nail hit the wood. He cried out in pain, and the people around shrieked as they saw the Son of God being treated as a lowly criminal. I questioned their reaction. Why were they acting so wildly? I thought they must already know that the man I just nailed isn’t truly who is He says He is. I brushed this thought off, and I grabbed the second nail. I drove it into his wrist even harder. He cried even louder, and the shrieks of the people grew. One shriek in particular struck me as hard as I struck Jesus. It was one of the twelve men who followed Him. His yell sounded as if he was the one on the cross. It sunk down deep into my bones.

My hands shaking, I reached down for the final nail. As I walked over to finish my job, I dropped the nail. I stood there as I watched it roll down into the crowd. I refocused and walked into the crowd to retrieve the final nail. I went through the sea of shouting people, bent down and clutched the nail.

As I looked up, pleading eyes stared down at me. Their faces were full of despair. It seemed as if their whole worlds were falling apart. At that moment, it felt like the nail I was holding was being driven into my heart. I realized these people would have no reason to act so passionately if Jesus was not the Son of God. All of the anger I had rushed out of me. The nail in my chest was panging as I realized what I was doing. I was killing the Messiah. I was hanging the one who spoke messages from the one true God, Maker of the Universe.

I slowly walked back towards the cross. The nail that only weighed two pounds felt like it weighed 2,000. I placed the final nail on His remaining wrist and I drove the hammer down. With each hit on the nail, more tears streamed down my face. My atrocious task was over. The cross was lifted, and Jesus, instead of screaming and yelling, cried out to God to forgive us, the ones persecuting me. The nail in my heart was driven in deeper. I ran off the hill and collapsed once I passed the crowd. I did not understand how God could forgive me for what I just did. As I sat crying in the dust, I promised to God I would live out the rest of my life for Him. Because of one nail, my entire life had changed. Four days later, I heard the new Jesus had risen from the dead just the day before. At that moment I knew through God, anything was possible. I knew even the worst sinner could be forgiven.

May all have a blessed Easter weekend!

He is Risen, indeed!

(Journalism students were asked to write stories about these nails in celebration of Easter)

Photography By Erin McGrew, senior