An ominous silence hung over the crowd, accentuated by the dust
raised by thousands of sandal shod feet, as they waited for the
final proclamation of Pilate that would free Jesus, The Christ,
or condemn him to the most horrible death imaginable. The
silence was broken by the braying of a startled donkey crying in
protest to a drunk that had staggered into him. The drunk didn't
understand the protest of the donkey, but it had cried it's
lament at the injustice with the only word it knew.
Somewhere, in the back of the crowd, a small child cried softly
in deference to the heat and the smell of unwashed bodies that
surrounded it, while a lady of the evening, thinking to take
advantage of the gathering and thereby enrich her stores,
smiled provocatively at a passing stranger.
They waited!
Each, in his or her own way, waited to cast the vote that would
decide the fate of Jesus, and thereby establish a precedence
that was to endure throughout all of time. Indeed, even unto
the present day. The buzzing of flies was conspicuous in the
hot stillness.
Suddenly a great cry arose, as if one voice, from the now
frantic people. High upon the parapets of the great house
appeared Pilate. An obvious smile was on his face as he raised
his arms for silence so that he might be allowed to carry forth
the tradition of releasing one condemned prisoner and saving
him from a fate far worse than death, that of execution on the
dreaded cross at Calvary. The rule placed the burden of choice
on the people, themselves.
The dusty crowd began to settle down in anticipation of the
vote that would insure 'the will of the people,' and a nervous
murmur rose up that only served to increase the tension of the
moment.
"As is the custom of the land," shouted Pilate, "choose ye this
day the guilty one whom will be free and pardoned!"
As if in one voice, that echoed through the streets and from
the surrounding hills, the people SCREAMED:
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
And it was so. The people had been heard. The will of the
people was to be done. Long live the people!
The trial (TRIAL!) of President William Jefferson Clinton, by
the Senate of the United States Of America, is in progress;
only the second trial of it's kind ever to be held in the
hallowed halls of that distinguished organization.
Outside, in homes dotting the backbone of America in the
Rocky Mountains, in the spreading sprawl of the metropolis of
Chicago, across the wheat fields of Kansas to the squalor of
shacks in the Appalations, and from the nation's salad bowl
in the new land of California to the steaming tropical and
stagnant bayous of Louisiana, even up the eastern seaboard
and encompassing the thirteen original colonies, the people
wait, even though, if the polls are to be believed, the will
of the people has already been made known. The White House
has said it has heard the will of the people and the majority
have shouted (SHOUTED!):
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
Sometimes, in the contemplation of a journey, we fail to take
everything into consideration that can be encountered over a
long trek, say from the hills of north central Arkansas to
California. It's easy to say: "All I have to do is bounce down
to Little Rock on 65 south and grab interstate 40 all the way.
But if someone sat us down and told us of the realities of
such a trip, a blow by blow description so to speak of the
climate and terrain we will encounter, the possible pitfalls
that could happen through mechanical failure of our vehicle
and the many other hazards we might find, the simple statement
made to begin with might drastically change our minds of how
easily we might make our way to the promised land. Such a blow
by blow description has been made by the House Managers and
the staggering realities of Clinton's crimes are starting to
sink in.
Our system of laws is at stake and rests on the outcome of our
elected officials in the Senate, who must make the decision of
how we will continue. Of whether we are to continue to be "One
Nation, Under God, With Liberty and Justice For All."
The atmosphere is thick with the dust of the sandals of the
spin-masters as they continue to grind the intelligence and
conscience of the people into the dirt of a pervert. The odor
of lies and deceit permeates our very Souls as we await the
final verdict of the one most despicable President this nation
has known in two hundred and ten years while the media
continues to expound what they tout to be the cry of the
people:
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
"GIVE US BARABBAS!"
Somewhere, in the back of the crowd, a small child cries in
deference and the braying of a startled donkey can be heard.
It is the only word he knows . . . . . .!