The Solider at the Cross
Notes
Transcript
Backstory
Backstory
My name is Lucias. I was a Roman guard on the day when Jesus went to die. I saw, heard, and experienced that day. I was the one in charge of overseeing His death. That day - that encounter at the foot of the cross - changed me forever. I am here today to share my story with you.
At the time, I was a Roman centurion - commander of 100 men. I’ve seen battle, blood, and death more times than I care to count. I’ve taken life without a second glance. What the governor or the emperor said, I did. Unquestioned, unrelenting. I was a part of the Roman war machine - for the greater glory of Rome.
In the last couple of years I was stationed in the province of Judea - right in the capital city - Jerusalem. The Jews loved this place. I guess it was their “Rome.” Unfortunately, they felt the need to continually cause trouble in the region. Rome directed some resources and man power to the province under the authority of Governor Pontius Pilate to keep the peace in the region. I and my men were given the guard duty of crucifixion.
Crucifixion was a most unsavoury practice - but it got the job done. We saved that punishment for insurrectionists, murderers, and bad criminals. Steal an apple? We didn’t deal with that. Push some lady over in the street? Not our problem. But… utter threats against Caesar, or try to start a rebellion? Maybe murder some Roman citizen? Now that’s our type of guy.
As a man of battle, and then in charge of crucifixions, you get accustomed to seeing death in many forms - some of them particularly gruesome. I’m also don’t scare easy. You learn to tame your fear quick in battle. I became hardened not long in to my time here to the screams and pleas of the dying. My mind and heart both were convinced of their guilt and punishment. I was given orders; I carried them out.
Maybe that’s what made that day so different. So terrifying, astounding, and life-changing.
The Trial
The Trial
It was early in the morning when we were notified about a prisoner transfer. The Jews had brought Him in - apparently having questioned Him most of the night. He was that teacher a lot of people had been talking about. Now they were bringing Him before Pilate, angling to have Him put to death. They couldn’t put anyone to death themselves you see, so they needed Pilate’s help. This man stood before Pilate, and then went to see Herod the king, and then was brought back again. Most of time when someone was accused before Pilate, he had a hard time making them shut up long enough for the proceedings to take place. This man was different. He didn’t say a word. Only when Pilate asked him if he was the king of the Jews - then all he said was “you have said so.” Gutsy response. But to the many charges brought against Him he said nothing. “Your funeral” was my thought.
It seemed as though Pilate was conflicted: He looked for reasons to condemn the man, but found none. Regardless, the religious leaders were adamant in their want to see Him dead.
Eventually - as was custom - Pilate brought Jesus out and gave the crowd - which those Jewish teachers had incited - a choice: Barabbas (a known murderer and insurrectionist) or this man - Jesus. Easy choice, I thought. Barabbas was no good. If even the governor wasn’t convinced, this Jesus couldn’t have been that bad. Without hesitation the crowds called for the release of Barabbas. Stupid decision if you ask me, but then again my job was to carry out orders, and keep my men in line. Not provide political commentary.
“What shall I do with this Jesus then?” asked Pilate. “Crucify Him!” They shouted. Pilate must have had enough, because he literally washed his hands and proclaimed his innocence of this man’s blood. The Jews cried out:
“His blood be on us and on our children!”
Pilate than handed Him over to my custody to be crucified.
The Beating
The Beating
Now it was our turn. We grabbed the man and whipped Him. Our whips were nasty pieces: strips of leather with pieces of metal and bone in them. They made short work of skin and even muscle. Some men didn’t even survive that. Lucky them.
Beatings were also part of this pre-cross treatment, but we decided to give Him a little extra treatment. We stripped Him of all His clothes, and then tossed a scarlet robe on him. We got all the men together - the whole battalion of 600 men - and began to beat and mock Him for His alleged claim “King of the Jews.” We grabbed a bunch of thorns - 2-3 inches long - and made Him a Crown. We smashed that into His head too. By the time we finished, He barely resembled the man we had started with. He was badly beaten, bruised, and bleeding. I’ve seen a lot in my time, but I think to date that is the most battered I’ve ever seen a prisoner. How we mocked Him! “Haha, some King you are.” How I wish I had known then what I know now!
When we had finished, we put His own clothes on Him, and got ready to bring Him to the hill. In all of this, He didn’t say anything - not a thing. He just took it.
I’m not proud of those actions, or what came next. But the fact that I’m not is proof enough that this man changed my life.
The Walk
The Walk
We allow Him to keep His clothes during the walk so as to make the Jews happy. They didn’t like the condemned walking without some sort of clothing. It was custom for the condemned to carry their own cross. Laid across the shoulders with arms tied to the beam. Actually, it was the cross member of the cross they carried - the full upright as well would be too much for any man. The cross member alone weighed around 110lbs. We began the march - Jesus carrying His cross. We didn’t get far before He fell. It was clear that if we wanted to actually reach the hill, we’d need more assistance. I motioned to one of my men. Looking around, he grabbed an onlooker - Simon, I later found out. He was from Cyrene, down near Libya. We could press him into service. He helped Jesus carry the load to the place of the skull, where a lot of crucifixions took place.
The Crucifixion
The Crucifixion
It was practice to always strip prisoners before their crucifixion. We stripped Him of His clothes, and laid Him out on the cross beam. Someone offered Him wine and Myrrh - meant to provide at least some relief from the immense pain of this experience. It would also dulled your senses somewhat. The criminals we hung Him with - one on either side of Him - gladly accepted this. He would not. He chose - willingly it seemed - to experience the whole thing. No relief, no dulling.
When attaching someone to a cross, we would use either rope, or nails, or both. Most often it was nails, much like these:
Pull out nails.
This is how we attached Jesus to His cross. First one nail. Bang! Bang, Bang. Then the second. Bang, bang, bang. When attaching someone to a cross, the best place for nails is right here, in the wrist. This set up is capable of holding the weight of the person. Then my men hoisted Him up, setting him on the upright. Another nail was driven into both feet, right at the top of the foot at the ankle bone. Bang, bang, bang. Together the nails and their placement were extremely painful. My men laughed at the pain of others. After a while, this job will do that to you. But this man never cried out, or uttered curses to us or anyone else. Oh He felt it - believe me! But instead He prayed:
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
I’ve heard a lot of strange stuff in my time. People say crazy things while hanging on crosses. I’ve heard men call out to their gods in a last-ditch attempt to somehow ease suffering. Delirium and pain have a way of causing strange speech indeed. But this was new. He prayed for those who did this to Him. For the scribes, the rulers, the pharisees, the people, even it seemed my men and I were included in this prayer…
Customary during crucifixions, we hung the sign with His charges over His head. Pilate had ordered the sign to say: “The King of the Jews.” The Jewish religious leaders took exception to that. A couple of them complained to me, but I simply told them that if they wanted it changed, Pilate was the one who gave the orders. Apparently Pilate had no plans of changing it, because although they asked, my orders never changed.
So we hung Him there, with two criminals, one on either side of Him.
Now the wait. Sometimes it took prisoners days to die. Other times it was quicker. I didn’t know how long we had, but I assumed it wouldn’t be that long. Regardless, now the time to wait, watch, and jeer was upon us.
Some of the people from Jerusalem had come to watch. People from alongside the road near the site also stopped to see. A few women and one man seem particularly interested in Him. They were clearly grieving what was happening. Later, I came to know them as Mary, His mother, Mary of Magdalene, and John, His disciple.
Everyone else jeered and mocked. The religious leaders were also there. It wasn’t uncommon for by standers during executions, and this day was certainly no exception. Many onlookers laughed at Him and mocked Him:
and saying, “You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself! If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross.”
Even the Jew’s religious leaders took special interest in Jesus’ case. They mocked and jeered at Him:
“He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself! He’s the king of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him.
He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him, for he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’ ”
Even the insurrectionists crucified with Jesus were mocking Him. It seemed the whole world had turned against this man.
Some of my men had sat down as they waited and guarded. What possessions Jesus had we soldiers divided amongst ourselves, as was customary for all crucifixions. He had a long robe - all woven as one piece. Rather than cut it up, we cast lots, and gambled for the entire thing.
It was around this time I heard one of the criminals saying to Jesus:
“Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!”
The other one chimed in, and seemed to rebuke the first!
“Don’t you fear God even when you have been sentenced to die?
We deserve to die for our crimes, but this man hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Nothing wrong? How could that be? I turn to watch the second criminal make eye contact with Jesus, and then say something simple, almost silly:
“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
“Kingdom?” Yeah right. This guy really seemed to believe the sign about the man’s head. No Kingdom here, except Rome! What kingdom could this man possibly have? Insurrectionists were all the same. Yet the pleas of this man didn’t hold the crazy-eyed fire of many Jewish zealots I had faced. It was a genuine plea - it seemed - for salvation. Jesus turned to him and said:
“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
At the time my thoughts turned to mocking as well: What could this man have to offer Jesus? What could Jesus have to give this man? Their God was clearly nothing in comparison to Rome’s many gods, or so I thought. What a worthless plea! Yet at the time it struck me: this Jesus wasn’t joking. He also wasn’t a rabble-rouser or some kind of thief. In fact He’d shown much self restraint considering what He went through. Now with someone’s plea for mercy, He responds with mercy. It struck me funny, despite the unfeeling nature of my heart. Could these be more than empty promises spoken by a dying man?
Death
Death
All I had seen was somewhat unsettling, though why I wasn’t quite sure. I would certainly be happy to have this over with! It was about noon when things changed.
Though the sun was about in the middle of the sky, darkness came over everything. Pitch black. The sun’s left - like someone had turned the clock forwards to the middle of the night! People began to gasp and call out. My horse became unsettled. I could just see my men - they were clearly rattled too. No time for my own fear. I quickly gave orders - “double check the prisoners!” “Keep it quiet over there!”
Three hours that darkness remained, growing more unsettling as the hours ticked by. As 3 PM approached, the light returned, and all of a sudden Jesus cried out:
“Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It was the cry of a man not just experiencing physical pain, but some sort of deep spiritual or mental suffering. I’ve heard men cry out similar things appealing to God while on a cross, but this one was different. I couldn’t explain how - maybe the three hours of darkness in the hottest part of the day had just gotten to me. But those words - they were different. This whole thing was different. He was different! I began to wonder - why was He up here? What had He done? Clearly something terrible! Yet the words of the criminal seemed to resonate within me: “This man hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Jesus had said “I thirst.” Someone from the crowd ran, got a sponge with some sour wine, and put it on a stick. He gave it to to Jesus. I let it happen. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to try to do something to ease suffering. What little relief could be received from that would not be much, but I’m sure welcome.
Some in the crowd seemed to figure He called out for Elijah - one of the Jewish prophets of old. They called out to the man to stop assisting Jesus:
“Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.”
How could they still mock? I was too unsettled for that. Something was different about it this time around. It didn’t sit right.
After Jesus had been given the sour wine, he said something else. Something that rings in my head to this day:
“It is finished,”
“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”
With this, His head bowed, and He died. I’ve seen death many times. The moment life leaves a body. It seemed though that for Him this had been His choice. Most men I dispatched either went out fighting, and simply waiting for death to come. He seemed to willingly have yielded - willingly given up His spirit at that moment.
We had little time to consider this though. All of a sudden the ground began to shake! Strong tremors rocked the earth. I heard cracking in the distance that sounded like stones snapping in two. Later I found out that at that moment, the curtain in the temple Herod had built that separated the Holy Place and the Most Holy Place had been ripped in two - top to bottom. Later I also learned that tombs were opened and the dead - now fully alive - emerged!
The people began to scream. Panic ensued. My men looked terrified. Who was this man?? Though mocked and scorned, beaten and bruised, hanging on a cross, it seemed the earth itself mourned His death! Darkness - not physical darkness now but a spiritual one - seemed to cast over us all. The earth shook, rocks split, chaos reigned. I could do nothing but try to hold on.
When the quake finally let up, I noticed one of my men had fallen to His knees in front of the crosses, stunned. The other two were clearly shaken but tried to restore some order. Some people began to leave, beating their chests and mourning. Terror had overcome us all. We operated on autopilot - doing what we knew to do. Jesus’ body just hung there. Limp, dead.
It was then that a messenger ran to tell us: “Pilate says to break the legs of the criminals. The Jews don’t want them hanging there over Passover.” Giving orders to my men, they picked up their spears, and broke the legs of both criminals. It was a mercy - for their deaths would have been much longer in coming otherwise.
When they came to Jesus, I told them to wait. They hesitated too. I gave orders - “check to see if he’s dead.” One of my men thrust his spear into Jesus’ side. Blood and water flowed. The man was dead.
The weight of what had transpired hit me. Something inside me shifted. I got off my horse, and approached the cross. I looked up at Him hanging there. Marred to the point that he could hardly be recognized. Yet innocence had been proclaimed of Him, even from before we nailed Him to that cross. At His death, it seemed the whole earth had groaned. People who had mocked shut their mouths. I and my men, battle-hardened and unfeeling, had been shaken to our cores. Something hit me in that moment. A confession from deep inside myself rose up.
“Truly this was the Son of God!”
I don’t know how, I didn’t even understand then what that totally meant. But it was clear: We had crucified someone who was innocent. Someone who had no business being up there. Someone - I remember - who had prayed for my forgiveness even as I watched those under my command drive spikes through His wrists and feet. What had I done?
Falling to my knees, I wept.
Burial
Burial
Sometime later, a religious leader approached, bearing orders from Pilate. He acted differently than the others. He requested Jesus’ body be given to him for burial. I ordered my men to take Jesus down from the cross. For those hung on crosses - once they died - the last part of our job was to toss their bodies into unmarked tombs, unless someone came to claim them. It was like the ultimate way of showing what happened to those who opposed Rome and caused trouble. Even your name wasn’t remembered.
I was glad that Joseph - the religious leader - came along to get Him. It didn’t seem right that Jesus should have this type of grave. Gently we lowered Him from the cross. Stripping the thorns from His head, and wrapping Him in linen, they took Him away to burry Him in Joseph’s new tomb.
Afterword
Afterword
I’ve never seen anything like that - before or since. No one I’ve ever seen has died like that, or for that matter, faced death in that way. It was like He knew this was His lot and was willing to do it. I can honestly say that every man I’ve hung on a cross was guilty - in one way or another. Except one. I am convinced not of His guilt, but of His innocence! Partly because of the testimony of the criminal, and others. Partly because of who this man seemed to be, but mostly because something changed in my heart that day.
Since that moment at the foot of the cross, I’ve never been the same. I carried out my orders under Pilate after that, but eventually I was allowed to leave the Roman army, and I did. I became part of the “Church” as the followers of Jesus became known. There’s more to that story, but for the moment, I am here to share with you the moment when Jesus captured my heart. Not with miracles, shows of power, and even fanfare. It was standing before the cross, seeing who He was, how He died, and the mercy and grace He showed me whilst I hung Him there that captured my heart. I realized that I was a sinner. I came to understand later just who it was that I was indebted to. I’m glad to say that the story of Jesus also didn’t end there! He came back far more victoripus than Rome ever was. But in that moment I knew this: I needed forgiveness. The forgiveness offered by the innocent man hanging on the cross to those causing His suffering. The plea of the criminal was somehow mine too. “Remember me when you come into your Kingdom.”
Truly, this man was no criminal. He was different, and I knew. I was changed forever, as I confessed for myself my belief: “Truly, this man was the son of God.”
