Free Just Ask by Melody Carlson Page B

an artistic level. But it got to me on an emotional level too. Maybe even deeper than anemotional level. I'm still trying to sort that out.
    But like almost everyone else in the sanctuary, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably at scene after scene of violent brutality. It's the story of Jesus Christ's last day on earth. After being arrested, He was viciously beaten and ridiculed—over and over—and then He was finally nailed to the cross where He slowly died. It was very sad. And very gruesome.
    But it's weird that I reacted like that, because I can usually handle violence in movies. I know it's all just actors and special effects and fake blood. I watch shows like “CSI” without even flinching. And I've seen all kinds of crazy action flicks with my dad, ones that my mom totally refuses to watch. I mean, I've seen all the “Terminator” movies several times over, and they never bothered me at all. I honestly didn't think there was a violent movie that could undo me. But I was wrong.
    I didn't let on to Natalie how much this movie got to me last night. I just tried to act cool and like I wouldn't hold it against her for dragging me to her church for something like this. I even laughed afterward and told her she owed me one now. Of course, she'd noticed me crying during the film. But to my relief, she was crying even more than me. Anyway, I just pretended like it was no big deal.
    But when I got home, I couldn't get those painful images out of my head. It's like it wasn't just a movie, but something real and living, like we'd really gone back in time and witnessed that awful day And maybe it wasreal. I mean, in the sense that it really happened. History seems to support that Jesus actually lived and was even killed like that (even Buddhists believe this).
    Just the same, what does this really have to do with me? And why can't I just forget about the whole thing? Really, I keep asking myself, why should I care so much? But despite myself, I do care. And I can't deny that I do.
    I haven't told my parents about the movie. I'm not even sure what they'd think. I don't know if they've seen it themselves, but I suppose it's possible. Although it seems as if they might've told me if they had. like how can you watch something like that and not tell your own daughter? Yet here I am, keeping this to myself. I have no plans to tell anyone how I feel. I wouldn't even know how to say it out loud.
    Okay, I guess I've never really thought of Jesus like that. I mean, the way He was portrayed in the movie. A real live man—a living, breathing, bleeding, hurting man. And for some reason, this is just really getting to me. like I have this heavy feeling about what happened to Him…His pain, His death…and I know it has something to do with me. I actually feel like I could be one of those heartless people who spat on Him while He was beaten. Like that's who I really am. But I can't stand it. Its eating away at me.
    Last night, while driving home and trying to act cool about everything, I questioned Natalie about the movie. Maybe I thought this would deflect her attention from me.
    “I thought you said Mel Gibson was in the movie?” I said in a slightly accusing tone.
    “He was in it.”
    “I never saw him.”
    “It was just his hands.”
    “His hands?”
    “Yeah. He's the one who pounded the first nail into Jesus’ hand.”
    “Oh.” Like how do you respond to that?
    “I heard he wanted to do that part because he feels personally responsible for Jesus’ death.”
    “That's stupid. He wasn't even born yet.”
    “Jesus died for all of us, Kim,” she said in a quiet voice. “Even before we were born.”
    “Yeah,” I said in a voice meant to convey that I knew that. I mean, it's not like I've never been to church in my life. Maybe I don't go now, but I haven't exactly had a lobotomy to remove all the stuff I've heard over the years.
    But to be honest, I feel like none of it ever really sunk in. Almost like I've never gone to