Broken Chains

I wrote this one quite a while back, but I had fun with it. It's also one of my notes on facebook. It's not very good, but it meant a lot to me, and was one of the first times I took a character from the Bible and turned him into something real, and tried to imagine the rest of the story that the Bible didn't give us.



To all those who are bound by the chains around them: because you can be free.

Light pierced my dark cell and forced my burning eyelids open. The rats scurried away from my plate of inedible bread, hiding in the cracks and holes in the stones. I raised my head up from my knees and watched them, and their eyes gleamed back at me in the inky blackness. I stared through the darkness at the bobbing torch coming down towards my cell. I wearily wondered what brought the guard way down here in the prison. Most likely another prisoner. We’d been getting a lot lately.
The torch came closer, moving up and down, up and down, to the rhythm of the guard’s stride. I could begin to make out the outline of two men, and my theory of it being another prisoner was confirmed.
Another idea hit me. Was it Passover already? I’d been wondering why so many were being brought in, but this happened every Passover. I myself could claim the honor of being picked up for murder during the time of the Passover.
But that was a long time ago, and I didn’t like to think about when this dark part of my life had started. I wished they would just go ahead and kill me. Get it over with. If I’d had any opportunity, I would have done it myself long before now.
I wondered who would be the lucky one this time. Every year at Passover, Pontius Pilate released a Jewish criminal from the prison. I knew it wouldn’t be me. If Pilate did release me he was more of an idiot than I had originally thought.
I shrugged, not able to care less. I don’t know, and I don’t care. What did that mean to us? We were just down here rotting away and awaiting our execution. There is no way, I repeated to myself, that any of us would be let go.
I was surprised when the torch stopped in front of my cell. I forced my vision to clear, and watched the two men more closely. The guard held a small man in his meaty grip. There was something familiar about the man that I couldn’t quite place, but I was too tired and lethargic to try to think about it anymore. I didn’t care about much anymore.
Keys jangled and my cell door was opened. The little man was quickly shoved in. The door slammed closed and the guard locked it, wanting to get out of this horrendous place as quickly as he possibly could. The newcomer threw out his hands to regain his balance, and slipped on the slimy floor, falling flat on his face. He groaned, but I ignored him. Probably another murderer like myself.
“Barabbas!”
Was I just imagining it, or was my name coming in a hoarse voice from the direction of the floor?
“Barabbas!” The little man looked up, and I could partly see his face as my eyes quickly got used to the darkness.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Well, are you Barabbas?”
“Why would I answer you?” I snapped bitterly. “Who knows who I am? All I know is that I’ve been thrown mercilessly into this cell for a long time – so long, who knows. I could have gone crazy. I could be anyone."
“Well murderers are as bad as they come. You just had to add the two bonuses of being a rebel and a thief.”
If I’d had more energy, he would have paid sincerely for that. But we’d probably be stuck in this hellish place until we died. I had plenty of time.
“You’d better start thanking me.”
Okay, now he was getting more than extremely annoying. “And why would I do that?” I said dryly.
He struggled to get up off the cold stone, and it hit me that this man had been whipped, maybe even scourged. “Because I’m here to help you get out.”
“Ha!” I spat from my safe corner in the darkest part of the cell. I wondered if he could even see me. “What a gag. Come on, man, that’s low. A crueler joke to someone in my situation there never was.” I turned my face to the wall to signify the conversation over.
He didn’t pick up the hint. “No, Barabbas. Listen to me. Listen closely to my voice. Don’t you know me?”
That stopped my throw-backs cold. He was right. I did recognize something about his voice. “Who are you?” I said coldly, more suspicious than I was intrigued. “What do you want with me?”
“A lot has changed, hasn’t it, Barabbas.”
Something was beginning to click. Energy that I hadn't felt in a long time started flowing into me again. “Elam? Elam, is that you?”
“It is indeed, my friend.”
“Oh, Elam!” I said hoarsely. I crawled over to him, the shackles around my ankles dragging across the floor in sharp, grating sounds, and held him in a firm embrace. He winced and groaned. “Man, watch the stripes!”
I jerked back, feeling more than stupid. “Sorry, Elam. I truly am.”
He waved it off. “It’s okay.” His face said it wasn't. He relaxed against the floor, though I could see the pain it cost him as it flashed across his face. “Stone’s comfy,” he said dryly. "Nice and warm, so soft…"
“I’d offer you the straw,” I said, gesturing to the lump of what had been straw when I was first thrown in. It was now un-identifiable. “But it’s probably just as bad as the stone floor, if not worse.”
“It’s okay, my friend. I’ve been in prison before – I know what to expect. And I expected nothing more.”
“At least let me help you up.” I pulled him up to a sitting position as gently as I could, but he groaned the whole way until his body was still again.
“Man, they get better and better every year,” he said, daring to touch a stripe on his bare back and wincing at the blood that came back caked on his finger.
“Practice,” I said bitterly. “They get lots and lots of practice.”
We were silent for several moments, just enjoying each other’s company as much as possible considering the circumstances. Finally I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “What was that you said about me getting out again?”
“Because I did some bribing to get you out. It’s the Passover, and I started spreading your name around as the person to let out.”
“There’s no way I’m going to be let out, Elam. Don’t you remember what I’m in here for? Let me clear your memory, as it seems to be as clouded and filled with cobwebs as this cell. I’m in here because I rebelled. Because I’m a thief.” My voice lilted, even though I did my best to keep it from doing so. “I’m a murderer. And I’m not sorry. Everyone knows that and there’s no way I’m getting out.”
“You’d be right about that except for one thing,” Elam said quietly. “Another man, who just might take your place.”
“Now I’m really confused.”
“His name is Jesus. You’ve been in here so long you don’t know about him at all, but he’s really been stirring all of Israel up. A lot of people believe he’s the long-awaited Messiah.”
“Ha!” I scorned. “There’s no way. If the Messiah really existed, he would have come long ago. The people lost their chance to be free from the bondage of the Roman Empire. But we’ve become a wicked people with sin-filled hearts. No God up in Heaven’s going to save us now.” I turned my face to the corner, intending to dismiss the subject.
“Perhaps,” Elam said. “But nevertheless, it got the Pharisees so worried, that they bribed one of his own closest followers to betray him to them. They’re holding him now, and they’re trying to convince Pontius Pilate to crucify him.”
“Well why’s the ole’ boy holding up?”
“He’s convinced he’s innocent.”
“Innocent my foot. The man’s probably just as innocent as I am. He should just crucify him for heaven’s sake, if it’ll make the people happy.” I sat down next to Elam, leaning my head back against the wall and stretching my legs out. I had shrunk during my time in prison. When I was first thrown in, I couldn’t stretch my legs out fully without hitting the opposite wall. “What’s his name?”
“Jesus of Nazareth, son of Joseph of Bethlehem.”
“So what’s the draw? Why did the people think he’s the one? Is he rich?”
Elam laughed, and it sounded strange as it caught in his throat. He coughed, and I wished I hadn’t drunk all the stale water earlier that day. “Oh no, Barabbas, he’s no rich guy. He’s from Nazareth; he’s dirt poor. Doesn’t own a thing besides the tunic on his back.”
“So why did the people follow him?”
Elam shrugged, and I could see even that simple movement cost him. Every move was going to be doing that for a while. I grimaced, remembering exactly what he was going through because I’d gone through it many times myself. If I ever did get out, my body would never be the same. Nobody would recognize me just as I hadn’t recognized Elam.
“They claim he does miracles,” Elam said. “Turning water into wine, feeding five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish, healing the sick, and raising the dead are just a few of the wild tales everyone tells. They also say he speaks as one with authority from heaven – blasphemy the Pharisees call it. He speaks in parables that nobody understands except a few. He goes all around the region, preaching and teaching and performing miracles.”
“Or so they say.”
“Or so they say.” He coughed again, and took a moment to rest. The conversation was draining him. “Anyway, they’re holding him in attempts to make Pilate crucify him. It’s obvious the man is reluctant, and for once I saw my chance. I started whispering around, suggesting Pilate make an offer: the people either get Jesus, or they get you; they can’t have both.”
“Boy, I feel loved.”
“But it worked. It spread throughout Pilate’s household, and finally reached his ears. My sources tell me he’s thinking it over, really leaning towards speaking it to the people.”
“Thanks, Elam.”
He smiled slightly at me, and I felt a pang inside me as I realized how much I’d missed my best friend. “But…Elam. What are you doing in here?”
“They caught me pick-pocketing a civilian as I told him. They’ve just thrown me in here because they have nothing else to do with me. They’re full up.”
“But now I might get free, and you’ll be in here until you die.” I was horrified at the thought of Elam taking my place. He had a gorgeous, wonderful wife, and six beautiful children. I had no one except the gang I had once been a leader of.
“No,” Elam shook his head, trying to get a good lung-full of air in the dank room filled with stale, rotten air. “My crime’s not serious enough. They’re not big enough to house every single thief they lay their hands on during the Passover. If they tried, they’d be more than bursting their seams. A more serious convict is sure to come around soon and they’ll kick me out to get room.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. I forced the thought out of my head. I didn’t succeed in the silence, so I changed the subject. “This Jesus. Is he really hated that much?”
“Yes. If Pilate decides to speak before the people, you stand a good chance to be set free, Barabbas.”
It was mind boggling to me. To be free after so long down here in this hellish nightmare. It simply was impossible to fathom.

The big, heavy metal door opened again sometime later, and two people could be heard coming down the uneven stone steps. I looked up, wondering how much time had passed. There was absolutely no way of knowing down here. I must have fallen asleep. I glanced over at Elam in the spreading light that was starting to burn my eyes again. “Elam?” I whispered.
He stirred. “Barabbas?”
I smiled. “Having fun on that floor?” While I had had time to get used to it, he was a new-timer all over again.
Before he had a chance to answer, the jailer’s voice rang out. “Barabbas, the thief, the rebel, and the murderer!”
Several voices rang out, falsely answering to the call in hopes they could deceive him and get free or end their misery by being killed. However mine was louder than all of them as I was filled with new hope of getting out again. Being free. “Here!” I yelled. “I’m here!”
The jailer looked at the big guard behind him – the same one who had brought Elam – and then nodded in my direction. “That’s him,” I heard him say. “Bring him up.”
The guard came to my cell, his keys jangling. He had a hammer in his hands, and he smashed the shackles off my ankles, then grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “Move,” he growled, giving me a rough shove.
I looked back at Elam. “What if you don’t get out?” I yelled as the guard pushed me out of the cell and closed the door again.
“Take care of my family for me, Barabbas!” Elam yelled back in reply. “Tell them I’m okay and that I’ll get out someday! But take care of them until then!”
I nodded, my heart in my throat not allowing me to say anything. We both knew it. Elam might not be getting out any time soon. And it was to him I owed getting out – if that was what was happening. I lifted my hand. “Goodbye, my friend, Elam,” I whispered, then let my hand drop back down to my side.
The guard continued to shove me down the hallway and towards the stairs. Rats scurried away at the sound of our footsteps. I slipped on some mold several times. The torch lit the way, reflecting off the cold stone walls. I’ll miss this, I said dryly to myself. I was weak, and had not been given this much movement in all the past years in my cell put together. I would not have made it up the stairs on my own, and though he was by no means gentle or kind about it, I was grateful to the guard for his assistance.
I looked back once, not quite grasping the fact that the shackles were off my feet, that I was moving, walking, and possibly getting free.
I’ll miss this, I said dryly to myself.
Free. Free. Free.
The words rang in my head during the entire exchange. It was all a blur later to me as the jailer made a mark of my being set free in exchange for the blasphemer, Jesus of Nazareth, and then nodded to the guard. I was shown the way out the door with a nice kick to my rear end.
I was free.
I looked up. I took a deep breath of the fresh air, and it burned my sore throat and battered lungs I was on my face in the dirt, in the grass. There was a gentle breeze stirring the air, chilling my skin in a way I had totally forgotten in the stillness of my prison. I couldn’t believe it.
I was free.
The sky was blue. The grass green. Millions of colors flooded my vision in a bright contrast that I had also forgotten existed in the dark world below that all consisted of two colors – black and grey.
There was so much I needed to do – so much I needed to find out about. How much things had changed since I’d been thrown in prison. I needed to see what of my gang and friends was left. I needed to visit Elam’s family, and tell them about him and his sacrifice for me. Offer my support. But something inside me whispered that it could wait.
There were other important things right now.
Like just breathing. Really breathing for the first time in what had seemed like eternity.

After a while I cleaned myself up and did exactly all that. I did find many of my gang, and they were very excited to see me, yet saddened at the news of Elam. We all tried to convince ourselves that he’d get out soon, but deep down inside, we all knew it was pretty much a false hope.
But one that still burned bright inside of us somewhere anyhow.
They were taking me to another friend’s house later that night for some visiting, to share the news about my freedom. I still couldn’t get over it. All the little things that I had never noticed before were hitting me, and hitting me hard. I didn’t brush it away. I stopped and soaked it all in, let it make its impact.
I was sure I’d never take anything for granted again.
We were crossing through one of the country roads when I looked up at the Gethsemane hill and saw a crowd and three crosses. “Another crucifixion?” I asked my best friend next to Elam.
“Yes. Jesus of Nazareth and two thieves.”
Jesus of Nazareth. The man that had more or less taken my place. “Can we go up and take a look?” I thought they’d find it a silly, stupid request, and laugh it off, but they went along with it. All the way up the hill to join the crowd, they gave me more dibs on the man known as the Christ, mocking him, telling jokes about him, and laughing at how absurd it could be that he was the long-awaited savior of Israel.
We reached the top just as a storm was rolling in. “Which one’s Jesus?” I asked.
My friend pointed to the middle cross. “That one. That’s the faker. He’s obviously not the Son of God. If he was, he could step off that cross right now. Why doesn’t he? Why doesn’t he cry out to his father and ask him to save him?”
They all laughed cruelly, and I laughed too, but then a sudden pang shot up my legs from my ankles. It had been happening all day, but this one was especially bad. I leaned down and gently rubbed at the marks and scars. Lightning flashed across the sky, startling me and making me jump. I looked up. My gaze landed on the man on the middle cross. Even from this distance, I could see it in his eyes.
I did this for you, Barabbas.
For me? But…why me? I was a murderer. A nobody. Why would he offer to take my place? To die in my stead? Suddenly I wasn’t laughing anymore.
It didn’t make any sense. I stared into his eyes again, feeling the cold walls bordering my heart crumbling all around me. Everything else faded into the background as he looked straight into my eyes, and I could feel the power, the majesty of him. I practically basked in it.
I did this because I love you.
I looked down at my ankles again. He loved me. He loved me enough to take my place, make me innocent even though I was guilty, and take my punishment and damnation
What other love was that powerful? I didn't deserve it.
And it hit me as he cried out, “Father, forgive them! They know not what they do!” I wasn’t just physically freed from my chains.
I was freed from the invisible ones as well. The ones that bound my very soul to hell.
I fell to my knees in reverence and awe. I was free. My chains were broken. And as I looked into his eyes once again, knowing he was the Savior, come to set me free, I knew he had accomplished the work he had come to do.
For I was free, and free indeed.