Crucified on the cross, Jesus’ black skin sharply contrasts with the blue sky above him. This marks the end of an old tragedy. Or it could be the beginning of a fresh one. The last drops of blood fall from the nail that is driven through his right hand. Jesus is gone, but his sacrifice will inspire compassion and love for many generations to come. Especially love. Especially love.
His hand trembles. Jesus is still alive! The nail shakes when his fingers bend and form a black fist. His soul is not ready yet to let go and fly away to the skies above.
With his head tilted down, the furious gaze of Holy Jesus is glued to the earth, bearing witness to something unholy, unjust. Something that diminishes the unthinkable atrocity of crucifying Jesus Christ to just another forgivable sin. Something unforgivable. Only a few feet below his toes, the devil himself is plotting the most heinous deed yet, using all his powers to bring about a development so wicked that no man could withstand. Not even crucified Jesus Christ.
Below the cross stands a young, beautiful woman with wisps of red hair poking out from under her white headscarf. Her charming smile and dark skin give her the appearance of an innocent angel sent directly from heaven. There is a light in her eyes that speaks to the chastity of her heart. A sinless heart. A heart so pure that could inspire love wherever it sets. No wonder in the last moments of his life Jesus’ eyes are on her. But why with fury? Why would Jesus, who embodies compassion and forgiveness, be enraged at an innocent woman?
The beautiful woman offers a flirtatious smile. The subject of her flirtation, however, is a Roman soldier, a handsome man with an athletic body and long blond hair. His eyes betray a repulsive lustfulness that she seems to ignore, basking in the satisfaction of his attention. Using her white ribbon, she kindly attends to the wound on the soldier’s hand. ‘Wound’ is too much of a word though; it is more like a small scratch on the tip of his middle finger.
While his right hand reaches toward the pretty woman, the soldier still rests his left hand on the cross, which is soaked red from blood. Does she not see that he has Jesus’ blood on his hand? Some drops of blood also drip on her white headscarf, each carrying with it the pain of Jesus. If the droplets could speak, every one of them would scream, ‘Look at me. I’m right here.’ But she doesn’t notice them. Or perhaps she does and conveniently ignores them. All her attention is on treating the scratch on the extended middle finger of the Roman soldier. Could Jesus ever forgive him for the crucifixion? Yes, he could. Or yes, he should. After all, this is Jesus Christ. But could Jesus ever forgive her?
The fury in Jesus’ eyes becomes wilder and wilder.
The soldier rests on his cross. Jesus’ cross.
The woman keeps treating his wound. Jesus’ the soldier’s wound.
An uncontrollable rage burns in Jesus’ eyes.
The soldier licks his lips.
The woman grins.
Jesus clenches his teeth.
THUNDER strikes! And half the Roman soldier’s face turns black.
Untouched by the lightning, the young woman is still smiling at him.
Another bolt of THUNDER strikes, this time mixed with a furious scream. The soldier’s face is now fully engulfed in blackness.
Time freezes in the fictional world of the painter, the absurdity of its scene captured on the canvas. While thundering at the Roman soldier in the painting, he hits the canvas with his brush harder and harder until it tears.
The painter’s scream gradually turns into a pitiable sobbing. The brush drops from his hand, and he himself falls to his knees, his head hitting the palette that has fallen on the ground. He rolls and lies on his back as he is still crying. The rainbow painted on his black face now reflects all the colors of mankind; white on his forehead, yellow on his nose, and brown and red on each of his shaved cheeks.
His name is Jesus. A Black man from Generation Z.
“God, how can I ever forgive you?” Jesus says with excruciating pain. He looks up at the canvas torn around the Roman soldier. He then looks at the portrayal of himself in the painting, innocently crucified like Jesus Christ, for a sin none other than being in love. And then he turns his look down to the young woman below the cross. She still has the flirtatious smile on her face. The smile, however, no longer looks innocent.
“God, how can I ever forgive you?” Jesus repeats in agony.