AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS
[Monologue – Centurion]
Introduction
The old spiritual asks the question, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” Of course, physically, that is impossible since Jesus died on the cross nearly 2,000 years ago. Yet you do understand that He voluntarily went there to die for the sins in your life, don’t you? So in a mysterious way you and I were there, weren’t we – because His death was paying the penalty [death] for our sins? His 33 year visit to this earth and His death on that cross were brought about by His tremendous love for you and His desire to relieve you of having to pay sin’s penalty.
No, you and I didn’t see with our physical eyes Jesus being crucified. But there is one here today who was there. Someone who was at the foot of the cross. Someone who took it all in. Maybe we can see Jesus death more clearly through our guest’s eyes. His name is not important, but you can be assured that what you are about to hear is worth you getting up early on this Resurrection morning. Our guest is such an unlikely witness to step forward and proclaim his faith in Jesus. Certainly you wouldn’t expect that from a first century Roman soldier would you?
Listen to Mark’s account - And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, heard His cry and saw how He died, he said, “Surely this man was the Son of God” [Mark 15:39]
Monologue
“Another crucifixion – Yuk! I hope this darn thing doesn’t last into the night. I’ve got things to do and people to see and sleep to catch up on” Those were my thoughts as we herded the three prisoners toward the crucifixion site.
I am a career man in the Roman army. I am called a centurion because I’m responsible for 100 soldiers. I lead one of Rome’s local police forces in the occupied territory of Jerusalem. One of my responsibilities is to oversee punishment for crimes, especially capital punishment. I am responsible for the scourging and crucifixion. Over the years, I have become calloused and hardened by seeing so many men dying on crosses. I know a lot about men. I have observed enough to know what a man is made of, not only by the way he lives but especially by the way he dies.
Several days ago my life was changed when I watched a particular man die on a cross. His name was Jesus.
I was there for the last 11 hours of His life. I saw what He endured. I heard what He said. And His last 6 hours of life made a life-changing impact on me.
My orders were to have the three prisoners, Jesus and two others, up on their perspective crosses by the third hour –I guess that would be about 9 o’clock in the morning your time. So we started them in that direction over an hour before. All three were badly beaten and had to carry their own cross beam through the streets of Jerusalem and up Calvary’s hill. Some of the people looked sorry for them. Others enjoyed the cross carrying as much as they enjoyed a parade. The One named Jesus was certainly a sight – beaten more severely than the other two – by Pilate’s orders – and wearing a thorn crown which added to His blood stained face. The other two exchanged jeers with the people in the crowd who threw harsh words and jagged stones at them. Not so, with the third man. Not a word did He speak.
I remember when the last man fell. He didn’t look like a sissy or a weakling. He was thin, but seemed to possess a kind of wiry strength. The whippings and lack of sleep must have been too much for Him. Yet,
after falling, he still reached for His cross, as if He wanted to carry it – as if He wanted to be crucified. But His strength had left Him. So we drafted an onlooker to carry His cross.
“He is more willing to be crucified than any other criminal I’ve ever seen”, said my second in command. “He looks like a lamb going to slaughter”. We laughed at the idea. “A lamb going to slaughter”, now that was funny.
Finally we reached Calvary, the common people call it “Golgotha” meaning “the place of the skull”. I do have to admit from certain angles as you approach the hill it does resemble a human skull. Anyway, I had the prisoners stripped. The cross beams were laid on the ground and one by one, the criminals were stretched out on them. Spikes were driven into their hands to attach them to the cross beam. The first criminal broke one hand free and hit the one with the mallet in his desperate struggle for life. The second spat in the face of the soldier driving the spikes in.
We were ready for almost anything by the time it came to the third criminal. Yet when He was stretched out over the beam He was limp. He didn’t even struggle to get free. Just prior to nailing His first hand, someone in the crowd yelled, “The fool! Look at Him there. He could have been a great man, but He was a fanatic who didn’t take advantage of His natural control over people. He could have been king. Look at Him there.”
As the spike entered His hand, He jumped. It was a physical reaction to pain. But that’s all. There was none of the usual screaming and cursing. He almost seemed calm. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No man had ever received the cross like this man. I began to watch him closer. And the spike going into His second hand was met with the same calmness.
Again there was a cry from the crowd, “Isn’t it pitiful? Poor man. He always was so good to everybody. There can’t be a God at all if such a good man suffers like this”.
I began to wonder about this man. Who was He? What had He done that had been so wrong? I began to listen closely to what the people of the crowd were saying about Him.
One man was weeping, saying, “I saw Him with children”. How disgusting, I thought! Men shouldn’t cry! Another said, “I heard rumors about Him, but you know how rumors are. They said that He healed the sick and even raised the dead. Just look at Him now. If He could do such things, why doesn’t He help Himself?”
Having nailed their hands to the cross beam we, one by one, lifted them and the cross beam up to fit on top of the beams we left standing in the ground. Once attached the two beams make a sort of cross. We then nailed their feet to the vertical beam. Just before the feet of this Jesus were nailed, a voice of a woman could be heard from the crowd, “My son! The son I nursed at my breast. How could this happen to you? And what of the promises of the angel that You would be great among men?” As I turned to face the one speaking I had expected to see hatred pouring forth. In stead I saw a woman who, though she wept, showed an inner peace in spite of all that was happening.
As I turned back toward the crucifixion scene, I caught a glimpse of a woman I recognized. She too was weeping. What was she doing here? How could she show this kind of concern for anyone? I listened intently as she spoke. “I never thought He could look like that. His eyes were always so bright and cheerful and loving. Now they are so heavy with pain. I knew Him to be the Messiah. How could this happen to Him?” What was so shocking about her was that this woman was a prostitute. All the soldiers could tell tales about her. I was in a daze. Who or what had changed Mary of Magdalene?
My eyes and ears were open to anything that might give answer to my mounting questions about the One on the middle cross. “Look! His lips are moving. Now we will hear the cursing of a man in the pains of death. At last He can’t stand it. He’s not so different after all. These Galileans are tough and they don’t feel things like
normal people, but at last it has the better of Him. At last He will curse us all and I’ll feel better when He does.” Those were my thoughts in the split second between when His lips first moved and when those unbelievable words were spoken, “Father, forgive them,” He said, “for they know not what they do.”
A dumb silence fell over the crowd. Everyone had heard those words. No one believed what he had heard. If the sun had risen at that moment, it would have made a noise – it was that quiet. It was if the whole world stopped breathing and I stopped right along with it. The thief on the right had a strange sparkle in his eye.
A Pharisee standing in the crowd broke the silence by whispering to His companion, “See, He tears down our religion. He prays that those who kill Him be forgiven. He seems to put Romans and Jews into the same
class. Heresy! He always did associate with sinners. Where would a religion like ours be if we followed Him? It is a good thing that the Romans are crucifying Him. He would have destroyed our religion.”
I looked back at the One He was talking about. This time it wasn’t as loud but I heard those remarkable words again, “Father forgive him, he doesn’t really know what he is saying”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could this One suffering so much ask God to dispense forgiveness on me and others involved in inflicting such pain on His life? How could He ask God to offer forgiveness to those maliciously stabbing Him with words? – I needed to start getting use to such a reaction from this Jesus, because I would hear those same words spoken throughout the next 3 hours.
My mind was drawn back to the unfolding scene as the noise level started to pick up. That one statement by the Pharisee worked like a chain reaction. The silence was broken. The whispers soon turned to talking, then to loud shouting. “Come down from the cross if you can, Miracle Man”, they yelled. “He saved others but Himself He cannot save.” Even the thief on the left did his share of making fun of this Jesus. Several of my soldiers joined in on the slander. Surprisingly, I was sensing an uneasiness for this Galilean, but I wasn’t about to put a halt to my men’s participation. Our job under the hot sun was tedious and often boring, who was I to put a stop to a little fun.
My men were getting into the spirit of things. They divided the clothes of the three criminals. As a centurion I am paid well by Rome but common soldiers don’t receive much for their service. So when they have a chance to pick up a few discarded clothes of our crucifixion victims they are glad to do it. On this day as they gambled for the garments there developed a conversation above them between the men on the three crosses. “If You are the Christ, save yourself and us too,” said the first. The man on the right was filled with horror at this insulting manner and replied, “Be still. We are guilty. He is innocent.” Turning to the man they had called the Christ, he said, “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” The reply which he heard caused him sheer delight. “Truly I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise.”
A couple of hours rolled by. It seemed as though hope itself was dying. The man in the middle was closing in on death. You see, crucifixion is actually slow suffocation. The criminal pushes up on his feet in order to breath and because of the pain in his hands, then he lets down because of the pain in his feet from pushing up. He slowly suffocates when he is no longer able to push up so his lungs can expand and take in air.
Sometime late in the morning the one who appeared to be His mother and a young man approached the cross. I didn’t quite hear what Jesus said, but it was something about the woman and the young man caring for one another. What kind of man cares for others – first the criminal dying with Him and now these last two – What kind of man cares for others while His own life is being drained from His body. I tell you I’ve
seen a lot of men die, but I’ve never seen a man die the way Jesus died…As soon as this older woman and young man moved away from His cross it grew very dark, though it was only noonday.
It is still hard for me to believe but when it suddenly got black I began to feel real fear. I hate to admit it, but this veteran soldier who has faced eminent death on the front lines of the battlefield, sensed an awful gloom and fear come all over me. Think about it, it was the middle of the day and it was as black as a moonless night when the clouds block out all the starry sky… People began to leave – they must have been feeling the same fear that was overwhelming me. They began to leave in groups in order to find their way back down the hill together in the dark.
For the next few dark hours the only sounds to be heard were moans from the three on crosses. I couldn’t see them very well, but I had no concern about them going anywhere. And with each groan, my racing mind would be brought back to reality and be relieved of all the pressing questions about who was really on the middle cross. Here I was supposed to be in control of things on Calvary’s hill and yet He seemed to be charge of what was going on. Could the unbelievable darkness have anything to do with Him?
As the ninth hour approached – let’s see, that would be about 3 o’clock in the afternoon for you – almost 6 hours for these three criminals on their respective crosses – I noticed movement by this proclaimed Christ. I drew closer in the dark. He looked up toward the sky. I watched His eyes. He seemed to be searching the dark heavens, almost like a lost child searches the crowd for his father. Then He shouted, “Eloi, Eloi, Lama sabachthani.” “He calls for Elijah”, one man said. But I knew the awful truth. I knew enough Aramaic to translate His words. He said, “My God, My God, Why have You forsaken me?” That struck terror in my heart, because I felt that I was a part of the reason for this forsakenness. As He spoke, lightning ripped across the angry sky. The earth shook for just a second. What could possibly happen next, I asked myself?
Then things were silent again. And once again I was left with my thoughts, “Who is this guy? Who cares for others while He’s dying – Who asks God to forgive all those who are doing things to hurt Him – Who gives assurance to another person dying? Who is this guy? The darkness, the thunder and lightning, and earthquake are too much to be coincidence. They have to be tied in to this man’s death. Who is this guy?”
I was so deep in thought that I hardly heard Him when He said that He was thirsty. One of my men offered Him vinegar on a sponge. I wasn’t surprised because every crucified man experiences thirst from bleeding and the scourging sun and the stinging wind.
My heart was beginning to melt as I watched this remarkable man die. Not once did He make demands or curse. Not once did He look at me or anyone else with anger or hatred in His eyes. In fact when He kept saying, “Father forgive them”, He was praying for me. I’ve seen a lot of men die, but I’ve never seen anyone die like Jesus died.
The next word that came out of His mouth was strangely triumphant. It sounded like a blast of a trumpet after a battle is won. The word He shouted meant “It is finished”.
I wondered, “What is finished? Is He speaking of His life, or is it something more?” It sounded like He was saying He had finished what He set out to do. It sounded like a shout of confidence, like He had
completed a task to the very end. Never have I heard a man proclaim victory as His life ebbs away on a cross. But I’ve never seen a man die the way Jesus died.
The last words He spoke were words to God. He said, “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit”. Those words sounded like a prayer. Over my years of service in Jerusalem, I have come to know some of the
Jewish people. I recalled as Jesus said those words that they were words every Jewish mother taught her children to say before they went to sleep – “Into Your hands I commit my spirit”. Except Jesus added the word “Father”. He died like a child falling asleep in the arms of a loving, trusting father. And then – then there was just a corpse. Again lightning ripped across the sky. And once again the earth shook. I mean it shook. I lost my balance and I grabbed a hold of the middle cross to keep from falling. Was I imagining things or was my heart suddenly at peace?
Several men from the Sanhedrin, the Jewish Supreme Court, stayed around to watch one of my guards break the legs of the two men on the outer crosses to bring on their death. You can’t lift up on one of those crosses to breathe if your legs are broken. They soon died from lack of air. We suspected Jesus was dead but I had one of my soldiers pierce His side to assure us he was truly gone. Once that was certain those Sanhedrin members left to report, I’m assuming, what would be considered good news to Caiaphas and Annas, the High Priests.
Something was welling up inside of me. As I watched this man die, as I heard His words of love and forgiveness as we crucified Him, as I watched a transformed prostitute and this man’s mother, something was inside me which seemed too big to come out, but too big to hold down.
The soldier at my side was telling me about the beautiful woman he had been with the night before. I heard little of what he said. Suddenly my face lit up. He looked startled, then embarrassed, as I spoke those words which would no longer be contained within me. “Indeed, this man was the Son of God”. . .My friend politely excused himself and began talking to the other soldiers about me.
“He must be drunk,” they said as they watched me kneeling at the cross.
I didn’t miss the cross that day. I was standing at the foot of the cross and somehow I knew I was standing in the presence of God. I knew I was watching love being poured out on unworthy people like rain on sun baked soil. I knew Jesus’ death somehow was for me.
I knew also that I could do nothing but believe. On top of that I received word just a few moments ago from one of my men. One of his buddies had night guard over Jesus’ tomb. It seems that Jesus had spoken of rising from the grave, so guards had been assigned to watch over His tomb just to keep His followers from coming – stealing His body – and then proclaiming that He had risen…Well the guard on duty told my soldier an amazing story. This morning very, very early the earth began to shake violently. I can confirm that because I almost rolled off of my cot. The guard said there was a bright light which blinded him and threw him to the ground. He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he came to he noticed that his fellow guards were on the ground as well. The huge stone sealing the tomb was pushed aside. He crept toward the tomb and looked in. It was empty. He stood up and actually walked inside. Truly the tomb was empty. With that he ran. He knew he was in trouble for letting such a thing happen. He thought maybe his friend could help him. He didn’t know what to do.
Speaking of not knowing what to do, what do I do with this information? Has He truly risen? As far fetched as that sounds, I believe He has. Yes, I choose to believe. Go ahead, call me a fool. But you didn’t see Him die like I did. Rising from the grave seems to me to be the perfect way for Almighty God to honor what Jesus had done for me and others who believe.
With this exciting news of an empty tomb, I’m going to leave you now. If possible I want to go and proclaim my allegiance to Jesus in person. But, what about you? Will you believe? There’s room at the cross for you. Won’t you come to Jesus today?
