Disclaimer- Really, if I owned any of this stuff I would be living in a beach house in Hawaii, not here where it is cold.

This is a little story about Jesus. Nah, actually it’s about the feelings of the characters during the movie, which is the 1973 version. It’ll portray the thoughts of the characters through these events. Song lyrics will appear in different areas in italics. So please, any JCS fans out there, read and review! And please, for all of the 2000 version fans out there, at least watch the 1973 version with an open mind. It is NOT just a bunch of hippie’s dancing around; it’s so much more. Think about it.

Jesus Christ

A young man walked through the streets of Jerusalem, his hands folded as if deep in prayer. Although he looked to be no older than thirty, he appeared to have the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He headed slowly for a small plaza in town, his face sad. This man was very celebrated, much loved by his disciples. This man was Jesus of Nazareth. He stepped onto a large stone, placing him slightly above the crowd.

“Christ you know I love you, did you see I waved. I believe in you and God so tell me that I’m saved,” they sang. Jesus smiled slightly.

“Christ what more do you need to convince you that you’ve made it and you’re easily as strong as the filth from Rome who rape our country, and who’ve terrorized our people for so long!” Simon Zealotes sang happily. Jesus couldn’t help but be amused at that, but he knew what Simon was thinking. And it saddened Jesus that they couldn’t see the truth.

“Jesus I am with you, touch me, touch me Jesus! Jesus I am on your side, kiss me, kiss me Jesus!” the crowd sang, praising their Messiah. Jesus did love all these people, but they were missing the point.

“There must be over 50,000 screaming love and more for you. And every one of 50,000 would do whatever you asked them to. Keep them yelling their devotion, but add a touch of hate at Rome. You will rise to a greater power, we will win ourselves a home! You’ll get the power and the glory forever and ever and ever!” Simon cried in excitement. The whole crowd cried out their praises in jubilation, then fell to their knees at Jesus’s feet. He glanced around, seeing his disciples around him, and his heart swelled, at the knowledge that he had made an impact on these people. Until he turned, and saw Judas off in the distance, and he began to feel sad again. How could this have happened? And what his followers were all saying, that wasn’t what was supposed to happen either. If only they could see. He looked at them, wishing he could somehow make them see.

“Neither you Simon, nor the 50,000. Nor the Romans nor the Jews. Nor Judas, nor the Twelve, nor the priests nor the scribes, nor doomed Jerusalem itself understand what power is, understand what glory is, understand at all. Understand at all,” he sang softly. They had no comprehension of true power, true glory. But they were human. They were flawed. They were ignorant and foolish. Naïve. But he loved them so.

“If you knew all that I knew, my poor Jerusalem, you’d see the truth, but you’d close your eyes. But you’d close your eyes. While you live, your troubles are many, poor Jerusalem,” he paused for a minute, unsure of whether he should say what he had in mind. He knew they wouldn’t understand. But he had to try. They deserved that much.

“To conquer death, you only have to die. You only have to die,” he whispered gently, willing them to understand. But all he saw were blank, uncomprehending faces. He sighed. They would never understand. Not for a long, long, time.

Jesus left the place sadly, feeling even more under the pressure of what he must do. What would it matter if he saved these people if they would never understand what it would mean? But no, he must do it. He had to die. For the sake of the world, he had to die. There would be someone who would understand. There had to be.

Judas Iscariot

A young man sat on the sand, pondering all these things. Jesus didn’t seem to understand what he was risking anymore. If he kept this up, they would all be killed. Every single one of them. The Romans wouldn’t tolerate competition like Jesus was unknowingly providing. Judas knew that this wasn’t what Jesus had wanted. He wouldn’t want war. But his followers would.

Should I just do it? Hand him over to Caiaphas and have him imprisoned until things cool down? Or just…just…let him continue? And kill us all. He stood up slowly, knowing what he must do. Jesus couldn’t continue like this. He had to go to Caiaphas and turn him over. It would be for Jesus’s own good. And for the good of everyone.

Judas set his jaw, not letting any emotion betray his confused mind. He had to do this. Jesus had to be stopped. He couldn’t control it like he had before. Judas paused for a moment, wishing there was another way to solve this problem. But he had no choice. Jesus must be arrested. Judas knew what he had to do. To save everyone from imminent death, he must do this.

He ran to the wire structure where the priests always stood. He climbed up, knowing there was no turning back now.

“Now if I help you, it matters that you see, these sordid kinds of things are coming hard to me…”

Mary Magdalene

Long black hair whipped around the face of a heartbroken young woman. She gazed steadily down at the man she loved. He had been arrested, beaten, and now a whole mob of people wanted to kill him. How could this have happened?

“I’ve been living to see you, dying to see you but it shouldn’t be like this. This was unexpected, what do I do now? Could we start again please?” she sang, hoping Jesus would hear her desperate pleas. She had known since the night before that he was the Lord, her Messiah. But there was something wrong about this whole situation. Shouldn’t God be able to save himself? Jesus seemed powerless. It was almost as if…he wanted to die. And that was what Mary of Magdalena feared most of all.

She wanted him to live. She knew he was her God, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. She had fallen in love with him. It was difficult, for she now knew that it would most likely be unrequited. The Lord couldn’t pick favorites. He couldn’t fall in love with her, but despite the pain of that, she wanted him around. Before the man she loved, he was her best friend.

“I’ve been very hopeful so far. Now, for the first time, I think we’re going wrong. Hurry up and tell me this is just a dream! Or could we start again please?” she sang, hoping against hope that he would hear her. She reached out to him, as if to touch him and pull him close to her. He looked up at her. His gaze was sorrowful, helpless, as if to say ‘there’s nothing I can do.’ Mary sighed, knowing it was hopeless. Jesus had made his choice. She knew that there must be some sort of motive to his actions. He was not a man known to be straightforward about things. Everything he had done before had had a reason. So this must as well. But she still wanted nothing more than to rewind time so that this never happened. She didn’t want Jesus to die. But she knew that if there was a good reason, Jesus would do it. He would die if he must. She knew there was some purpose to it. But what?

She watched as Peter sang to Jesus, asking him the same thing Mary had been: “Could we start again?”

Pontius Pilate

“And so the king is once again my guest. And why is this? Was Herod unimpressed?”

“We turn to Rome to sentence Nazareth. We have no law to put a man to death.” Pontius Pilate gulped, his stern gaze twisting in fear. He listened as the people cried for this ‘king’s’ crucifixion. He stood up quickly, silencing the crowd.

“Talk to me, Jesus Christ. You have been brought here, manacled, beaten, by your own people. Do you have the first idea why you deserve it? Listen, King of the Jews, where is your kingdom? Look at me, am I a Jew?” Pilate asked, making himself sound more supercilious than he felt. Something about this man was different. He could sense it.

“I have no kingdom. In this world I’m through. There may be a kingdom for me somewhere, if you only knew.” Jesus answered. Although this would be confusing for most people, Pilate knew what this cryptic message must mean.

“Then you are a king?”

“It’s you that say I am, I look for truth, and find that I get damned.” This was not the answer Pilate had expected. What was Jesus saying? It’s you that say I am…did Jesus imply that he was not truly a king, and that Pilate was only saying this? No, it was the crowd saying this. Pilate wanted nothing to do with this man. I look for truth, and find that I get damned…this was easy to respond to.

“And what is truth? Is truth unchanging law? We both have truths. Are mine the same as yours?” Pilate smiled inwardly, knowing that this remark ought to confuse even this strange king. From Pilate’s estimation, Jesus seemed to be nothing more than a mad man. But it was only from previous experiences that he drew his judgment. He could hear the cried of “Crucify him! Crucify him!” from the angry mob. Pilate knew that this man was different. Beyond his mad appearance, Pilate sensed much wisdom in Jesus. And right then and there he did not want to kill Jesus.

“What do you mean? You’d crucify your king?”

"We have no king but Caesar!"

“He’s done no wrong, no not the slightest thing.”

“We have no king but Caesar! Crucify him!” This angry crowd of hypocrites disgusted Pilate. Since when had they ever respected Caesar?

"Well this is new! Respect for Caesar! 'Till now, this has been noticeably lacking!" Pilate sang cynically. He frowned, wanting answers.

“Who is this Jesus? Why is he different? You Jews produce Messiahs by the sack full!” And it was true. How many times had a crowd come in with a man they claimed to be the Messiah? And even so, they had never been so passionate as they were with this one. Most of the time Pilate had let these false Messiahs go. The rest of the time they were arrested, but never killed. Why did they want this man dead? The mob of people ran up to Jesus, beating him, yelling and screaming in anger.

“Talk to me, Jesus Christ,” Pilate sang softly, raising his hand forcefully to stop the crowd from destroying him before a sentence was given. He walked slowly forward, examining Jesus thoroughly. An overwhelming mixture of emotions welled up in Pilate. Pity, anger, sorrow, respect and disgust were just a few of them. He turned away, unable to bear looking at Jesus any longer.

“Look at your Jesus Christ. I’ll agree, he’s mad. Ought to be locked up. But that is not a reason to destroy him! He’s a sad little man, not a king or god. Not a thief, I need a crime!” Somehow Pilate didn’t totally agree with his words. This man was more than what he appeared to be. Somewhere inside him, Pilate knew that Jesus ought to be set free. But he also knew that this crowd would never be satisfied with that solution.

“Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!” the crowd yelled. Pilate turned away from them, feeling more harried than he ever remembered feeling in his life. Anger and confusion welled up in him, threatening to overflow. He turned, shouting, “Behold the man, behold your shattered king!”

“We have no king but Caesar!”

“You hypocrites! You hate us more than him!” There they went again about Caesar. Caesar had nothing to do with this!

“We have no king but Caesar! Crucify him!” Pilate glared at them all.

“I see no reason, I find no evil! This man is harmless, so why does he upset you? He’s just misguided, thinks he’s important,” he stopped for a tenth of a second, hoping against hope that this would satisfy the crowd. He continued unhappily, “But to keep you vultures happy I shall flog him!”

And so he did. 39 times he whipped Jesus, each one more unbearable for him to watch. Pilate was a just man. You had to be to be a prefect. And Jesus didn’t deserve this.

“39!” Pilate yelled in anguish at the pure injustice of this whole thing. He stepped forward, kneeling down. He held the broken Jesus in his arms, grief filling his entire being.

“Where are you from Jesus, what do you want Jesus? Tell me. You’ve got to be careful, you could be dead soon. Could well be. Why do you not speak when I hold your life in my hands? How can you stay quiet? I don’t believe you understand!” But in his heart, Pilate knew that Jesus did understand, and that made the pain all the worse.

“You have nothing in your hands, any power you have comes to you from far beyond. Everything is fixed, and you can’t change it!” Jesus said weakly. In shock and awful realization Pilate let go of him, saying “You’re a fool, Jesus Christ! How can I help you?” He knew his words were meaningless now. He looked down at the blood staining his hands in horror. This could not be happening. It could not be happening. He stood up slowly, turning away from the crowd and from Jesus.

Everything is fixed, and you can’t change it! Those ominous words swirled around in Pilate’s head. Everything is fixed. Jesus was at the very least a prophet. And he was supposed to die. Nothing Pilate did or tried to do would change this. He tripped slightly, then turned to face the crowd. Anger filled his soul, anger that he couldn’t stop this. He was too weak to save Jesus.

“Don’t let me stop your great self destruction! Die, if you want to, you misguided martyr! I wash my hands of your demolition! Die, if you want to, you innocent puppet!” His voice broke on those last few words. It was done. Jesus would die. The crowd cheered. Pilate turned away, tears falling slowly. What had he just done?

A/N- BUM-BUM-BUM! Sorry, I felt like it needed some dramatic music! Anyways, I may write a sequel, but only if people request it and REVIEW!!