The Passion by the Centurion
Although today is Palm Sunday, this is one of the rare times when we hear a reading of the passion on a Sunday. As you will have heard, it is a long reading and one which I thought would stand best on its own. The events told in the reading are those which brought Jesus to Jerusalem on that triumphal Palm Sunday; they are the things he prayed for courage to face before he was arrested at Gethsemane and they were, for the Jews, the unexpected way in which their Messiah defeated their greatest enemy; not Rome, but their own sin!
Lent, and Holy Week especially, are times when we try to face the cross with Jesus and to understand what he went through for our sakes. It is in grasping that reality that we can know the extent of the sacrifice he made, so willingly, for us. So today, following that powerful story from Mark Chapter 15 I thought I would present a view of that last day from the eyes of the Centurion whose voice is heard in the last verse. I have done this once before but I have also been inspired by two books which I received recently as gifts and which were written by a Methodist minister from Crediton, David Gregory. They are a series of Bible stories told by witnesses; sometimes real and sometimes created for the purpose.
This is an opportunity to be near to Christ in his Passion and, perhaps grasp the chaos, terror and violence wrought that day. The centurion is not given a name and I have not made one up because it is in his anonymity in the Bible that there is so much strength in his witness. So here is his recollection of the day.
The day began much like any other day even though I knew it could be busier than usual because of the number of Jews in the city for their religious holiday, Passover. Someone told me once that over two hundred thousand people could be found in Jerusalem at this time, and judging by the crowds of the evening before, I could easily believe that.
We Roman soldiers are creatures of habit, especially when it comes to our eating habits. Having the right food, and plenty of it, ensured that we were fit for our work. Our first meal, ‘jentaculum’ was always taken at the first hour and today consisted of a wheat pancake biscuit; some porridge, dried fruits and my favourite, bacon.
I was to be in charge of the crucifixion party, something I had done many times before, but I could not see why they could not wait until after this wretched Jewish festival. Still, we always drew in some reinforcements at this time because of the risk of activity from the Jewish Zealots, who were always looking for a chance to have a go at us Roman soldiers.
I walked through the streets of Jerusalem on my way to the Praetorium prison to pick up the two thieves due to be crucified that day. I knew that there might be a third crucifixion today because that fellow Barabbas had been around in jail for a while and he deserved crucifixion after leading a violent uprising and murdering a Roman soldier. Some people say that crucifixion is barbaric but I tell you something; it works as a deterrent.
I am not sure I can think of a worse way to die; a dreadful slow and excruciatingly painful death without dignity or honour. Give me a death by the sword in battle any time; something that shows courage and bravery.
But as I got closer to the Praetorium, I sensed that emotions were running higher than normal and I could hear a crowd shouting in the square. Our Prefect, Pontius Pilatus, the fifth Prefect of the Roman province of Judaea, had been in charge for the last four or five years, I think, and as I walked into the square I could see him up on the balcony addressing the crowd. He had a rather bedraggled and tired looking Jew with him and one of my soldiers told me it was Jesus of Nazareth who had been arrested the night before.
It turned out that the chief priests, led by Caiaphas, wanted him to be executed for treason and had brought him to Pilatus for him to make the decision. It was against the Roman Law for the Jews to have someone put to death on their own orders you see; and a good thing too as far as I was concerned. There would be anarchy if the Sanhedrin were allowed to deal with everyone they felt threatened by with execution.
It was clear to me pretty quickly that Pilatus did not want to give in to their demands but Jesus did not seem to be helping him much. After some questioning, Pilatus had Jesus flogged in public and I assumed that that would be the end of it. The soldier charged with administering the flogging did a good job, presumably hoping to help Pilatus out of his predicament. I made a mental note to reward the soldier that evening. Jesus was bloody and weak but, I admired his courage for he remained calm and faced his accusers. Some of these Jews would be begging for mercy at the first stroke.
But the Chief priests were not satisfied and continued to demand that Jesus be crucified. I could see some of their people amongst the crowd stirring them up and the crowd responded by shouting ‘Crucify him!’ Pilatus, who is a clever fellow, if not a little weak, tried to use the Prefect’s custom at the festival to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd as a way of solving the problem and he offered them a choice of Jesus or Barabbas.
We had heard all about Jesus of course, everybody had heard about him since he rode into Jerusalem and was greeted with cheers and praise. People said he performed miraculous healings and were calling him King, but our investigations revealed that they expected Jesus to lead them to a victory over the Romans. We had laughed out loud at the idea, especially when we heard that Jesus told his followers to love their enemies. Everything we found proved that Jesus preached peace. Apparently he had even healed a much loved servant of a Centurion in Capernaum when he was mortally ill. But he had claimed to be the Son of God and that, if truth be told, was what really upset Caiaphas.
Not much of a threat, we thought. To be fair, we were not exactly quaking in our sandals at the idea of Barabbas doing the same thing either but he would certainly cause more damage.
I was as shocked as I was disappointed by the crowd’s decision that Barabbas should be released. I was certain we would see a few more Romans dead at his hands and for a moment I was set to shout out something to encourage the crowd to change their minds. I did not. The Prefect did not like us soldiers interfering in the politics of the Jews. Typical of the Jews; Jesus did not live up to their expectations so he was abandoned in favour of a real criminal; a vain hope that Rome could be defeated by insurrection.
That was the point at which I think my life was set to change. Pilatus gave in and his soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him and then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on his head. They put a staff in his right hand. Then they knelt in front of him and mocked him. They spat on him, and took the staff and struck him on the head again and again driving the thorns home and causing more pain.
It is the kind of thing that all Roman soldiers do with prisoners. It helps to keep the population fearful and it eases the stress of an execution. Don’t get me wrong. I am not at all squeamish about driving nails through someone’s wrists and feet, but it is not the same as killing in battle where there is more dignity.
So I made them take off the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then we led him away to crucify him. It was to be three executions then, but not the three I expected and I was not all that happy about it. As I said, I do not mind carrying out executions but there is something less than honourable in killing someone innocent who has already been punished enough, just to appease the Chief priests’ lust for blood.
It was a little before the third hour when we collected the other two prisoners and three crosses and set off to Calvaria, which is Latin for skull, an appropriate name. The Jews call the place Golgotha. Each prisoner was carrying their own cross but it looked to me like Jesus, who had been so badly scourged and then given his crown of thorns, would not be able to do it himself. So I ordered a strong looking man from the crowd, as we are entitled to do under Roman Law, to carry the cross for him.
While it was normal for prisoners about to die to abuse their captors verbally, Jesus did nothing of the sort. I never saw him once that day offer any sign of hatred or condemnation to us and this impressed me even more. At Calvaria at the third hour, we crucified the three men and, on Pilatus’ orders we put a sign upon the cross of Jesus, written in three languages. The Latin sign said, IESVS NAZARENVS REX IVDÆORVM, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. I confess to being delighted at the anger of the Chief priests when they saw the sign.
We had to have the crosses guarded until the execution was complete so I stayed on. I had to see this through for I had been captivated by Jesus. He had a few followers with him at the foot of the cross, one of whom was his mother. I felt sorry for her.
It was to be six hours before Jesus died; six hours during which the things I saw and heard changed me; six hours that changed my heart and I now believe, changed the world.
It wasn’t just the way in which he faced that painful death and in the end succumbed; it was the things he said, and the love he showed at a time when most criminals wailed with pain and hurled insults at their executioners; usually us Roman soldiers. Instead, as he was mocked by passers by he said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He had claimed to be the Son of God and now he was asking his father to forgive us; to forgive me. It made me feel, on the one hand guilty but on the other, as if I could be absolved of the killing of someone who, as I have said, I thought was innocent.
(Musing) Maybe I should take these words to Pilatus; but on second thoughts, he would not even agree to see me.
Jesus spoke gently to his mother as he arranged for one of his followers that they should care for each other. One of the thieves crucified with him called out abuse while the other quieted him and seemed to agree with me that Jesus was innocent. Jesus even found words to comfort this man as he died.
At the sixth hour, the middle of the day when the sun was at its hottest, the sky went dark; the sun just seemed to stop shining, and it stayed that way until Jesus died three hours later. I might have been afraid but by now I was with Jesus on the cross.
I have seen enough crucifixions in my lifetime to know how much agony he must have suffered there. Hung on a cross, stripped of his clothing and his dignity, exposed to the elements and the insects, and yet he was calm and peaceful. I had never experienced anything like it.
As his life ebbed away, he showed compassion and kindness; he gained my respect and I wished I might face my own end with such courage.
Near the end, as he weakened, he called out that he was thirsty; something that happens to all those who have lost so much blood and are exposed to the sun. We keep a jar of wine vinegar nearby at crucifixions and one of my men gave some to Jesus on a sponge held up on a branch of hyssop.
Then he cried out in a loud voice, something in Aramaic “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which I did not understand. Someone told me afterwards that it meant ‘my God, why have you forsaken me’. I still did not really understand.
Finally, at the ninth hour, having commended his spirit into the hands of his father, he said, ”It is finished” and he died. It was such an odd thing to say. What was finished? Then it was clear. This is what he meant to happen; this was his mission. I stood, bowing my head and said, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”
