This is one of a series of monologues that I have written about/by people that knew Christ. Barabbas I had heard of Jesus. After all, who hadn’t? He was the main topic of conversation. Face it, when someone does the miracles he did, people talk. So, sure, I had heard of him. But I never really paid attention. Religion just isn’t for me. I’m not really interested. To me it was just a lot of talk, and I’m not one for talk. If it weren’t for what happened to me I suppose I never would have paid much attention to him. But it’s hard not to pay attention to someone who saves your life. I suppose it’s pretty obvious that over the course of my life I have done some pretty bad things. I’m not proud of them, at least not now, but I’m not going to gloss over it either. After all, if I hadn’t been in prison, waiting execution, I doubt I would ever have come to Christ in the first place. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was sitting in my cell, just like I had for countless days before, when I heard a crowd nearby yelling. I couldn’t hear all that was going on but parts of it were very clear. Especially when they started yelling “give us Barabbas,” “let him be crucified,” and “let his blood be on us and on our children.” I mean, when I heard that I figured my time was up and the crowd was yelling for my death. Then I heard him coming down the corridor. When he stopped and opened my cell and motioned for me to come out, I knew that he was taking me to be crucified. You can understand, then, my shock when, instead of taking me out to be crucified, he took me to the door of the prison and let me go. Understandably, I was confused. What was going on? Why wasn’t he taking me to the cross? Why was he letting me go? That’s when I found out that Jesus was to take my place. When I heard that I started running like all the demons of hell were after me, and I didn’t stop until I collapsed. It wasn’t until I came to that I discovered where my running had led me. I was at the foot of his cross. I guess you could say that over the years I’ve kind of gotten used to Roman cruelty, but what they had done to him was hard to believe, even of Romans. He hardly looked human. But as I stood there looking up at him, something captured me. It was his eyes. As I stood there looking up, he looked down at me and the love in his eyes shown down on me like nothing I had ever experienced before. And it was there, as he hung dying, that he captured me, and I became his.