From: mdh@genco.bungi.com (Michael Hackett)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry
Subject: STORY:  A moment in time..
Date: 11 Jan 93 19:15:14 GMT
Reply-To: mdh@genco.bungi.com (Michael Hackett)
Organization: Gentry & Assoc. Excelsior Springs, MO


	The following is a Christian based, furry story I wrote about
a year ago as something of a treatment for a possible animated series.
I didn't get to take it further, but the idea had merit, IMO, and could
have been appealing to all age groups.

	The story is very familiar, just the characters aren't what
you'd think they normally would be.  If you like it, drop me a note,
if you don't like it, drop me a note.  Or, if you think the story could
go places, use bandwidth and lets talk about it.

	This story considered G, with some violence.  No foul language,
adult scenes, etc..

"Be well..."
  Michael


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~  Michael "Lionman" Hackett		mdh@genco.bungi.com	       ~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~  "In the spaceship, the silver spaceship, the lion takes control."  ~~
~~  "Hush my darling, be still my darling, the lion's on the phone."   ~~
~~  "In the spaceship, the silver spaceship, the lion waves goodbye."  ~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~Quote by They Might Be Giants~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	Mary came running up to me as I was bent over my worktable. 
She reached out and touched the back of my paw.  I turned and saw
that tears were streaming down her furry cheek.  I reached out
and held her paws in mine. "What's wrong?" I asked.
	She was broken with her crying, "They've...arrested Him. 
Taken Him away...He's gone."
	"Who dear?"
	"...Jesus.." came her weeping answer.
	I was stunned, utterly shaken.  I could only stand there and
look into her face for a long moment.  The busy sounds of
Jerusalem were drowned out by the cry of my despairing heart.  I
opened my arms and pulled Mary close to myself.
	She cried into my chest as I held her and began to weep
inwardly myself.  "Where have they taken Him?" I asked her,
trying to keep from letting a tear trickle down my own furry
cheek.
	"To..Pilate.." she replied through her sobbing.
	I collected my courage together and gave Mary a gentle hug. 
"Come...we should go to see what will become of Him." I told her
as I took her trembling paw in mine.

	The street was alive with activity as people crowded along
the thoroughfare towards the residence of Pontius Pilate, the
governor.  When Mary and I arrived, a great crowd had gathered
there.
	I held Mary's paw tightly in my own as we snaked through the
multitude congregated there.  The people were loud and we needed
to move closer to see Jesus and to hear what Pilate was saying.
	As we came into range I could hear the equine voice of
Pilate saying, "Which one do you want me to release to you: 
Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?"
	There was a murmuring among the crowd and I could see a wolf
pad up to Pilate with a message which he took and read.  Rolling
it up and sitting upon the judge's seat he asked again, "Which of
the two do you want me to release to you?"
	The masses erupted in a cry, "Barabbas!  Give us Barabbas!"
	I tried to scream out, "NO! NO!  We want Jesus!"  But my
tigerish roars were only lost in the shouts all around me.
	Pilate held out his arms, quieting the crowd so he might
speak.  "What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?"
he asked the people.
	The answer resounded, "CRUCIFY HIM!"
	I felt crushed, my ears unbelieving.  'No...nonono...please,
no..' I thought.
	I looked up once more and saw a servant walking towards
Pilate with a basin in his hands.  Jesus stood there, His leonine
head bowed, His wrists bound.
	Pilate began to wash his hands and said, "I am innocent of
this man's blood.  It is your responsibility!"
	Mary was clinging to my arm, weeping tears of soulful agony. 
I lowered my head in shame, 'Pilate knew...but my own people
could not see it, ..would not see it.'
	The wolfen guards surrounded Jesus and led him quietly away.
	I wanted to crawl away and hide...I was so ashamed of what
had happened.  As Mary and I walked silently along, several tears
seeped from my eyes to stain my fur.
	
	Mary and I had gone to Golgotha to see, still hoping that He
would not die..that Jesus would survive and escape.  We wanted so
desperately to believe that this was all a bad dream, that we
would wake with the coming of the sun.  It was no dream..and I
could see Christ coming down the way.
	Jesus looked...horrible.  He had been beaten severely. 
Blood and sweat matted His tan fur.  The wolfen guards had shaved
His mane short and crudely.  They had dressed him in a purple
sash and loincloth.  Upon His head they had thrust a crown of
thorns and mocked him as He struggled to carry the load of the
wooden cross upon His back.
	Mary fell to her knees beside me, weeping bitterly as Jesus
passed us.  My eyes had given way and were gushing with tears,
for the man who walked there was the same one whom had touched
out lives so deeply only days ago.
	Jesus stumbled and I reached out and caught Him.  One of the
guards barked at me but I had no ears for him.  I looked into
Jesus' face as He lifted His head to look into my face.
	Jesus and I only looked at each other for the moments we
had.  His face was weary and almost broken with agony.  Yet..as I
looked into His eyes, I saw something.  It was something that was
beyond words, a calling...a need to bear this.
	Our connection was broken as a cruel lash from the guard who
had called to me struck my back, tearing the fabric of my robe. 
The pain was intense and began to burn from the salted whip.  I
looked back into Jesus' eyes..and for the briefest of moments, I
could feel and understand.
	I reached up and brushed the back of my paw over Jesus'
brow, wiping the blood away.
	The soldier's paw grasped me by the collar of my robe and
pulled me back, tossing me from where I had come.  I fell upon my
back and soon found Mary there beside me, holding my head in her
lap.
	I watched as Jesus was struck with the whip several times,
and then began to walk on.  I could only put my paw over my eyes
and cry bitterly as my Lord walked on.

	The next day, the house was dark.  Mary had lit no lamps and
the curtains had been drawn.  We lay there upon our sleeping mat,
quiet and still.
	The one whom we had placed so much trust in, had listened to
for so many hours, whom had given to us a new hope...He was gone. 
His voice was now silent as His heartbeat was stilled.
	I lay there with Mary close by my side.  I rubbed the back
of my paw, looking at the blood that still stained my fur, and
thought..
	I could not work today.  I did not wish to.  I wanted only
to weep in agony at the loss of my Messiah.  Nonetheless, I
seemed drawn to my workshop that late morning.
	I stood in the doorway, not knowing why I had come there. 
The shadow of the sun was short through the window.  I sat at my
workbench and stared at the tools and materials that sat before
me.
	My hands were trembling.  I knew I could not work like this. 
I was so confused, so..empty now.  I began to cry again with the
memory of Jesus in my mind, standing before the mobs.
	I had to do something.  I knew I would never be able to get
along with my life, unless I put this behind me.  Yet, even as I
began to pick up my tools once more, the face of Christ filled my
mind.
	I could see Him clearly, as if He were looking at me in that
very moment.  He spoke with no voice, but I could still hear Him
calling me, beckoning me.  My paws began to move without my
notice or control.  I was lost with the look that Jesus had given
me that day in the street.
	After long minutes of thought, of seeing Jesus' face before
me in my mind, looking into His eyes again...I could understand
what He had done for me..for Mary, for all those who loved Him. 
He had gone there, to die for me, for Mary, for everyone.
	His whole journey in life had been for yesterday.  He had
come to die as a sacrifice.  His leonine body bruised, beaten and
broken, His mane shaven in disgrace.  His pride stripped from
Him.
	I looked down.  The blood that had matted my fur yesterday
was still there, even though I had bathed.  I had been marked by
His blood, ..by His love.  The work of my paws had stopped and I
saw what I had done.  There before me was a wooden cross, a small
one that I had carved.  It was a symbol.  It reminded me of that
day, so that I would never forget the price that was paid for my
freedom.
	I knew that no matter what the rising of the sun on that
next day would bring, I would be free of my sin, and that in the
days that followed, all through my life, I would be able to stand
tall, unashamed of what Jesus had done for me.  I understood the
price He paid for me. 
Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry