Explore "The Greatest Story Ever Told" by Fulton Oursler on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THERE was a yellowish creep in the east that slowly took the place of the pale rose of dawn.
The start of His journey home-after His incarnation, perfectly lived-was at the barracks where they had beaten Him, the guardroom of the castle of Antonia. There Pilate had turned Him over, and from there He descended the broad stairs in the unfamiliar yellow light of a strange dawn. He came down the steps almost unnoticed, while the crowd turned in an ecstasy of welcome for the revolutionist that Pilate had just set free-Barabbas, striding, cocky, curly head twisted to one side, laughing with an I-told-you-so smugness, accepting the raucous welcome as a tribute no more than his due. In the jaundiced aurora Barabbas took the center of the stage, while Jesus, going on down, came to the second station of His journey-to a place at the bottom of the steps where the cross was waiting.