The Wrights were looking for an Easter break, something a bit different from the run of the mill, been there, done that, got the T-shirt sort of break, and they were struggling.

Tommy, their 8 year old, was flipping around various travel websites, but it was the same again and again and again – a been there, done that, got the T-shirt break. Until suddenly, he let out a yell, “Dad, look at this. Quick, it’s weird.”

Dave Wright sauntered into the living room, where Tommy was still staring at the screen.

“Can we go there? Can we do really this? Look, Dad, it would be so cool. You get to be there and watch it happen right before your eyes. Go on, Dad, please.”

Dave looked at the web pages Tommy was flicking through. “Slow down, I can’t read that fast.” Tommy stopped, his eager eyes urging his Dad to look. Dave took the seat. This was different. Interesting. Would certainly be out of the ordinary.

There were quite a number of ideas. It would be hard to choose which one, but the very idea was really appealing. Dave called his wife over. “Sue, what do you think about one of these?”

Sue looked at the main page. “Oooh, yes. What do you think we could we do? Look at that destination, or that one.”

“I think one of those battles, or what about that murder,” said Dave. “That would be amazing to see, to be there and sense the anger and the power.”

The family flicked through more options. Suddenly, Tommy pointed at the screen, “Can we do that one? Can we go there? Can we go back to the crucifixion, and see it, and be there among the people? Please, please.”

Dave and Sue looked at each other – there was a pause and then that almost perceptible nod of agreement. “Well, I suppose it’s possible. Certainly interesting. I mean it would show us what really happened and such an event, so long ago seems far removed from us, but …. Well, ok. I’ll ring the travel firm. What’s their name, Tommy? …. Past Times Travel.”

+ + + + +

“This way, please. Gather round me, please.” The tour guide signalled for people to gather round her. The day had come, the wait was over and the trip of a lifetime, so the brochure said, was about to begin. The Wrights shuffled with the small crowd, straining to listen to the guide.

“Welcome everyone to Past Times Travel. Shortly we will be entering the time tunnel. Appropriate clothing for our time zone destination is provided. There are just a few important things for me to remind you of, so please listen carefully. Firstly, please remember to stay together and …….”

Dave found his mind drifting. Gathered around was the small tour group: several older couples, four families, a few others. Twenty-five in all. Wonder why they chose this holiday, thought Dave. It hadn’t been too difficult a choice for them – Tommy had been insistent and he and Sue had often thought about that Jesus, that strangely towering figure in history, but so remote from their lives.

“….. and lastly, but most importantly,” the guide stressed the word importantly, and Dave re-focussed on her comments, “we mustn’t interfere with history. We mustn’t do anything that will change events. We are observers of events and not participants, so please keep quiet, stand where I direct and enjoy your journey of a lifetime.”

Tommy pulled on Dave’s hand. “Dad, Dad, we’re going to go. Come on, Dad.” Dave felt himself dragged to the front of the group, the tour guide led them into the time tunnel. The light of the world behind quickly lessened, the dim light of the tunnel enveloped them, and ahead, there was a dim moonlight, a destination, Jerusalem AD30.

The group seemed to arrive at a high stone wall, which looked like the end of a small side street. The guide counted them carefully and motioned them quietly to follow her. The streets were eerily quiet. This was Passover time, a major festival, a celebration of freedom from slavery out of Egypt. Surely there would be singing and dancing, people glad, children laughing, the people rejoicing.

They walked down the street to the main road. The houses on each side of this small side street were closed, as if keeping out the darkness of the night. The guide reached the end of the street and gestured for total silence. The group pressed itself against the houses, stopped, waiting for why, almost holding their breath.

Tramp, tramp, tramp. The end of the street was swiftly filled with Roman soldiers marching past, shields and swords at the ready, prepared for hostility.

The guide led them to the left and the Wrights caught their first glimpse of the Temple, majestic on its mount. The group followed the soldiers, watching them march quickly ahead.

Dave glanced into the houses on each side. Families were gathered, each one seated together, as if huddled in fear. Some looked up – the eyes saying why are you out tonight of all nights – others had no time for strangers, but huddled with loved ones, as if in their closeness, the darkness of the night could be kept away.

Dave quickened his pace to catch up with Sue and Tommy. Tommy was looking excitedly ahead, sharing his adventure with another boy of the same age. Mark and Tommy could hardly contain their excitement. Dave smiled at them and squeezed Sue’s hand. It really was rather exciting, stepping backing in time, seeing the events for real.

The guide called them together. “Here is the house used for the last supper. We can go in because they have left for the Garden of Gethsemane. The group climbed the outer stairs to the upper room.

The low u-shaped table was in the centre, cushions spread around it. There was some leftover bread on a wooden platter, and a rough looking cup still had some wine in it. In the corner of the room was a bowl of dirty water and towel folded simply beside it.

Dave whispered, “It really was, Sue. We must have only just missed Jesus and his friends. But here, here, he broke bread with them, shared his thoughts with them, saw Judas leave …..” Dave’s voice trailed off. The power of the story in this room was too much to fill with words.

The group’s silence spoke for itself. Only the guide’s terse interruption broke the spell of the moment. “Come, everyone. We have time to get to the High Priest’s house before they bring him there. Follow me.”

The guide turned back down the steps, the group following, Dave and Sue hanging back for that last drinking in of the scene, until they too, grabbing Tommy’s hand turned down the stairs and followed the guide.

Each street was the same. Quiet, each house seemingly closed up, trying to keep out the darkness, trying to find comfort in a night of little comfort. When they could see in, families were huddled together, praying, watching, waiting.

The guide halted them by the High Priest’s house. The group hung back in the shadows, their eyes looking out in the moonlight for any sign of the Temple guards bringing the accused. At the end of the short street, a fire-like glow brightened the shadows; the guards’ torches announced the arrival.

Dave could feel himself straining to see, to see him, in among the guards. Tommy was pulling on his hand. The guards turned into their street and then almost immediately into the courtyard of the High Priest’s house, their prisoner pushed and pulled along. And then the street was quiet again. A single man slipped warily into the street and then into the same courtyard: Peter. It must be Peter.

The guide whispered that they would have to stay there. “It’s too dangerous to go into the High priest’s house. We could easily be challenged. We aren’t the usual crowd, so we’d stand out a bit. Better to be safe outside.” As if on cue, Dave glanced at Sue: a cock had crowed. Sue pointed down the street: “Look. Peter. He’s leaving.”

How could he have betrayed him, thought Dave. He had known him, walked with him. Surely not.

There was a sudden commotion ahead. The group stared at the courtyard entrance, lit once again by he guards’ torches. The prisoner’s party marched out and turned off towards the Governor’s Palace. The guide called the group to follow quickly. Dave grabbed Tommy and Mark’s hand, holding onto them in case they ran too hastily ahead.

Outside the Governor’s Palace, the dawn was breaking; the early crowd was beginning to gather. The group joined them, following them into the Palace grounds. There before them was Jesus, a Roman soldier on either side, Pontius Pilate seated before him. The High Priest was pointing accursedly at Jesus. The crowd was quiet.

They heard the familiar words of accusation: “He has plotted against Rome, he has claimed to be the Messiah, he has stirred up the people against you.” Pilate listened to the High Priest’s accusations. “Are you the King of the Jews?”

Pilate asked the prisoner before him. “Have you no answer to the charges they bring against you?” The prisoner made no reply. The crowd’s stillness was palpable.

“I find nothing wrong with this man. I will flog him and release him.”

“No,” the High Priest shouted. “He is guilty.”

“What then would you have me do with this Jesus?” Silence hung over the palace grounds. The crowd seemed to shift uneasily. The little group watched, eager eyed to see.

“What then would you have me do with this Jesus?”

“Crucify him.” Dave started. The clamour for death had been made. The voice was Tommy’s. Shhhh. “Crucify him,” Tommy shouted again and Mark joined in; the group, taken up with the power of the spectacle, shouted out, “Crucify him.” The crowd, shocked out of its uneasy silence, shouted, “Crucify him.”

Dave starred around. No, this cannot be. This must not be. It wasn’t us. We were meant to be observers, and we have betrayed him. Jesus is dying because of us.