Peace & Victory - Part II

Image Source

A Centurion’s Account of the Cross

It started like any other shift. Passover always made things harder. The city fills up, tempers run short, but as long as you stay alert and keep the crowds moving, trouble can be contained.

But to be honest, there was something different this year, more than other years.  The whole week felt unsettled.  There seemed to be more people than usual, and we had a harder time containing the crowds.  It started on the Sunday when people began calling this Nazarene a king.  Can you believe that? A Nazarene. Anyway, this man drew crowds wherever he went, which is a headache for us.  Where there are crowds, disorder usually follows, and so it did.  There was even an incident at their temple.  I have to say, as I stood guard trying to contain the crowds, I did find what this man Jesus was saying intriguing.  It was radical.  He definitely divided the crowd, and a divided crowd is just as bad as a united one.  But at least in this instance, they were going at each other.

He’d been arrested overnight. Things had obviously moved quickly.  He was back before the governor just as I started my shift.  The religious leaders headed the crowd and pushed hard to get things moving.  It is unusual to see them at the steps of Pilate.  They usually send their officers.  But today, they were there in person, demanding Pilate act on their behalf.

And that’s when I saw him again, as the three of them were led out. Two were what you’d expect: angry, loud, and still resisting as much as they could. The other one was different. He’d been beaten, but he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to defend himself. Most men say something eventually. With him, there was almost nothing.

He was wearing a crown made from thorns, and my colleagues were jeering, “King of the Jews!” And that got a reaction. Not from us, but from their leaders. They didn’t like it. They pushed back on it, wanted it stopped. It didn’t matter to us. It was just mockery. But they cared about it more than I expected.

The crowd swelled as we made our way from the city to the hill of execution just outside the gates. It was loud, and louder still when his cross was finally erected. The crowd shouted at him, telling him to come down if he was who they said he was. I’d heard that kind of thing before. People always want to see something. Some kind of proof. But, he didn’t respond! Not to them.  Not to the accusations.  Not even to the ones mocking him.

That stayed with me, because it didn’t match what we’d been hearing.  If this was the man stirring crowds, if this was the one people were talking about all week, you’d expect something.  Some kind of resistance.  Some kind of claim.  But there was none.  And yet, he wasn’t removed from it either.

At one point, he spoke to the woman standing near him.  His mother, I think.  Made sure she would be looked after.  He spoke to one of the men beside him as well.  It wasn’t much, but it was deliberate.  Like he was still paying attention to people, even then.

I remember him saying, “Father, forgive them.”  That wasn’t something I’d heard before.  Most men don’t speak like that at the end.  Then later, “I thirst.”  Simple.  No strength left to make it anything more than it was.

By then, the day took a turn.  That undercurrent that had been building all week seemed to surface as darkness came and covered everything in the middle of the day.  You could feel the shift in the crowd.  The noise changed.  Less shouting.  More uncertainty.  People didn’t seem as sure of themselves anymore.

I’d seen plenty of executions.  This didn’t follow the same pattern. When he spoke again, it wasn’t to answer anyone. It wasn’t to defend himself. It was like he was finishing something.

And then he was gone. No struggle at the end, no last attempt to hold on.  Just finished.

And then the ground shook. Not something you expect or can prepare for.  It came suddenly, and the whole place shifted.  People who had been standing there watching only moments before started moving, scattering, trying to get out. The same crowd that had been so sure of themselves didn’t look so certain anymore.

We’d spent the whole week trying to contain the chaos, and now it had returned anyway, only this time it didn’t feel like it was coming from them.

But standing there, watching it unfold, none of it quite lined up with what I was seeing.  I’ve seen men die before. Many times. This wasn’t the same.  This man was different.  He hadn’t fought it.  He hadn’t defended himself.  There was no anger in him, no resistance.  And yet the crowd wanted him gone all the same.

Surely this was the Son of God.