There were two trees.

On one, hung a man by a noose, swinging, swaying as the wind whistled morbidly. I can only imagine the look on the faces of the pompous men in long robes when they saw him- frantic, guiltly, unrepentant. Throw a little sand over it, they said. It's his own fault. And yet they feared. So they bought over the field with Judas' blood money, and it became a burial place for foreigners. They had no clue to the prophecy fufilled through their guilty act; less still about the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. One can only wonder if they stopped at the other tree long enough to make the connection between the beginning of time and the end of death.

The other tree was far from lonely. The crowd surrounding it roared; some for what they perceived as victory, others for a loss so dear they thought they would never recover. They did, however. 3 days later. The man, pinned to the tree by nails, was a matted mess of blood, gravel, soil and sweat. His face, you thought, would spit hatred. But when you looked up he was talking to John, with a weary look of love and longing. "Take care of my mother". The words hit hard; a life of ministry meant being at home.. well, not at all. He was human, after all. And He was fully divine at the same time. Perhaps he wrestled with the paradox, perhaps he reveled in it. Whatever it was, he knew what he had come for. The tree of life, the second Adam, was sent for one purpose, and one purpose only. Redemption.

He lifted the cup with a quiet strength, closed His eyes, and drank.