This is was the only independent eyewitness account of the conduct of Jesus up to the moment of his death. I was there when Jesus was tried. I watched his beating, his whipping and his punishment. I saw him fall beneath the weight of the cross. It was me that gave the order that the nails be driven through his hands and his feet. I stood there with my soldiers throughout that dark afternoon waiting for the end, and I was there when he took his final excruciating breath, yes I was there as I had been for so many others before.
You might even say that if anyone could be the blamed for the carrying out of the death of the Son of God, it was me, because I was the final enforcer.
I was a commanding officer of one -hundred foot soldiers in the Roman Army, and I am a centurion. And I must tell you that the rank of a centurion was not easily achieved. In fact, it was the highest rank to which an ordinary soldier could hope for. Unlike any other position, the rank of a centurion was a career, one that was paid well. In fact, we were the backbone of the entire army.
And I know that some of you may think of this as a highly respected position, but the position to which I was appointed for, selected for, and hired for was anything but desirable.
I was responsible for the oversight of this execution. I was to ensure that capital punishment was carried out. And while early in my appointment, the punishments that we were to be enforced, at times were difficult to watch, and then at other times I had become somewhat desensitized, deadened and numb to the violence and bloodshed that were a part of my everyday employment.
Although, I was dealing with some criminals, and with some lowlifes of humanity, they were they who deserved the discipline that they received. May I tell you that it was tough to watch?
These criminals had been convicted of a crime, and it wasn’t my job to determine their guilt or their innocence, but it was my job to accept their guilt and carry out their sentence. And whenever the dreadful punishment would begin to bother me, I would just remind myself of their crimes. It served as a way for me to shut off my emotions, curve my feelings, and replace my reactions so that I would not get involved, because if I would’ve allowed my feeling to get involved, I never would have lasted in my position, if I would’ve allowed myself to get involved the way I did that fateful day I would’ve lost my job a long-time ago.
Allow me to tell you how the day went. You see the morning began just like any other morning. The commotion outside the walls of Antonia alerted us to a situation. My men quickly assembled themselves together when the Jewish leaders showed up with a prisoner, and he was the one that they claimed to be dangerous to the Roman Empire, he was a threat to the upper echelon, and he was guilty of treason.
In fact, when they finally pronounced his charges, they said he had claimed to be the Son of God, and they said that he must die. Now Pilate was apprehensive about the entire situation, and he tried to convince the members of the Sanhedrin council of Jesus innocence. But the record is that they wouldn’t have it. They insisted he be crucified. Finally, it became obvious to Pilate that this was not a battle that was worth fighting, so he agreed, and much to his opposition handed this innocent looking prisoner over to me to be whipped and crucified.
In the contemporary, civilized culture of which we are a part, it’s hard to understand the severity of what I’m about to describe to you. It may even make you nauseous and sick. But from what I’ve been told is that this culture has somehow glamorized this part of Jesus life, so much to the degree that we are no longer moved by what happened to Jesus. But before you get giftwrap this situation I want you to hold on to your seats, because I’m going to tell you what he went through.
The means of his punishment is known as flogging, which consisted of repeated lashes or blows, usually with a rod or a whip. In Jesus case he was stripped naked and tied to a pillar about 18 inches in diameter with iron rings about 9 feet from the ground. The soldiers then hung him by the hands from those rings so that his feet couldn’t touch the ground, which made it impossible for him to escape the lashes that he was about to receive. I know I was there I tell you!!!!!
My soldiers didn’t actually do the flogging. That duty was left to a group of convicts. These men had been convicted of murder and robbery and condemned to hard labor for life. The most disheartening thing about this situation is that these were men that didn’t have a heart or conscience to begin with; they were men that were solicited as executioners, in fact these sick individuals actually enjoyed this job.
The whip they used consisted of pieces of wood, metal balls shaped like acorns, and chips of lamb bones.
The pieces of bone dug into the body of Jesus, into his very muscles, and tore out chunks of flesh exposing the bone beneath. After a few lashes his back and limbs, were torn and cut in all directions leaving his skin hanging off of his body.
This is baddd, because I’ve seen men lose both their eyes and teeth during these floggings. I have seen the victim’s bodies that would quiver and scream to the point that many of them would even die on the spot.
May I tell you that it didn’t take long before Jesus veins were bare, and his inner muscles, even his very bowls were exposed?
When I seen this, I knew it was time to stop. I couldn’t let him die this way. His sentence was execution by crucifixion, so I gave the order and the soldiers pulled the drunken convicts off of him and cut his body lose from the rings that were holding him. He fell to the ground, his body collapsing in a pool of his own blood.
My soldiers picked him up, it was a terrible sight. By this point he had lost an enormous amount of blood, and His entire body look like it had been mutilated. They put his own clothes back on him to help stop some of the bleeding and pulled him away from the sight of the angry crowd into the guardhouse.
What took place next was really nothing new. You see, whenever the Romans conquered a king, they would clothe him in regal robes that would be placed on them to mock their throne, and to render their fall.
My soldiers took Jesus into the guardhouse and placed a garment of mockery on him and made him sit on a rock in the center of the room. They then took some thorns from a tree called the Rhamnus and interlaced a crown around his head down to his ears like a hat, and struck it on the head with the reed driving the thorns deep into his flesh to the very bone. As they did the thorns swelled causing damage to the nerve that supplies the face inflicting intense pain down his face and neck.
Then they cried Hail, king of the Jews! I’m not sure when it happened, but all of a suddenly I became aware that I had broken the rule that I had made a long time before, I had gotten involved with a victim. The mockery that my soldiers were taking part in was suddenly bothering me. It was something about this man that struck me as different. I wasn’t one to question a verdict that was handed down to me, but the evidence of this trial, the way in which this man had so graciously responded to this horrific torment, the way in which he looked with love at his executioners, caused me to wonder who this man really was.
Well, in order to get him to the place of the crucifixion there was an elaborate custom that had to be carried out.
It was the custom that the condemned would carry their-own cross through the city.
In order to lead the prisoner through the city a large belt with iron spikes was placed around his waist driven into their flesh. Chords were then tied to the belt so that if the prisoner were to collapse, which frequently happened, he could be drug. A cross piece was then brought, and placed on Jesus right shoulder with his and around the arm of the cross.
The procession then began. I went first with a messenger of blowing a trumpet to clear the way. Another soldier walked with me carrying the sign that was to be placed at the top of the cross. It had the title, the reason for his execution which was he was The King of the Jews.
Behind us were servants carrying ropes, nails, hammers, baskets and the center pieces of the crosses. The Pharisees, soldiers, leading Jews, and temple priests were followed by guards with chords tied to the victim. Bringing up the tail of this parade of death, were the four men who were to nail him to the cross, followed by some more guards and Pilate and his soldiers.
As we moved along the street people lined the way. They watched from rooftops. Some wept. Others booed, and others laughed. Whenever he would fall my soldiers would beat him and kick and him until he would continue.
We traveled the street called Hoch-Akia-Beg, the street that is now called The Via Delorosa, or “The Sad Way.”
When we turned to leave the city, the street went up a hill. Jesus couldn’t carry the cross any further. He was in shock from the amount of blood he had lost, and had used to get this far.
The soldiers called a man in the crowd who had come to offer a sacrifice at the temple, and he carry the cross for Jesus until we arrived at the hill known as Golgotha. My soldiers surrounded the hill to prevent any riots from breaking out, and from any possibility of escape. And then they began the details that would lead to his death.
I just wanted the day to be over. Maybe, I thought, I’m just getting too old to do this. After all of these years, and after all the executions that I had seen, this one bothering me the most. My head was pounding, and I needed to get away. But I couldn’t leave, not yet, not till this business was finished.
That day the sun was shining bright directly over our heads when the strangest thing happened. Something started to shade us from the heat. All of a sudden a cool breeze came through, and then the darkness covered the sky as far as we could see. Now I have seen some storms in my life before, but never anything like this one. As quickly as the darkness moved in, I was certain that a storm was about to follow. But nothing happened. There was this strange calmness that lasted about three hours.
As I sat there waiting for him to die, and while I was waiting my entire life flashed before my eyes. I knew that I had worked hard to get this position. The job paid well; I was respected; I had made a good life for myself and for my family, but at what cost? I wondered what kind of man was I?
How is it that I could supervise the injuries of another man and then go home and eat like nothing ever happened? What used to bother me didn’t even faze me any longer. This isn’t the kind of person I wanted to become. What happened to me? I knew the answer to my own question as it related to this Jesus, but also, I knew that there was something innocent about him. If my guilt were compared to his, even though I had the law on my side, I should be the one hanging there and not him.
But there he was. And here I am. As I watched him uttered some words in Aramaic and then breathed his last breath. Finally this would all be over, I thought.
But just then the ground began to shake underneath us. Rocks begin to split in two, lighten began flashing, thunder began roaring, stars were leaving their sockets, and it began to happen at the very moment this Jesus died? I didn’t think so at first, but He was the Son of God, while I thought that I was speaking to myself I realized that I had just spoken them out loud, loud enough that all those around me could hear.
This man was the His Son.
But then it hit me what I had done. I had just killed Jesus.
I was expected a lightning bolt to strike me dead on the spot. I was terrified, and I thought that God must be angry with me.
When I returned to my home that evening, I thought maybe if I stayed out of site I’d be safe. But everywhere I tried to hide, it was as if God could see me.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. And I found myself sometimes having to stop myself from shaking in fear.
The next morning I didn’t even want to go out, but a soldier of mine came and got me. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. “You’ve got to come to the graveyard sir. There’s something you need to see.” When I arrived my soldiers were surrounding the place and all of them were trembling much as I had been doing the night before. The tombs were broken open and corpses were standing around a live right there in the graveyard. It was as if they were waiting for something. For what I didn’t know, but honestly I didn’t want to stay around to find out. So I left some of my men to stand guard and I told them to notify me should they try to make an advance.
The Jews were apparently afraid that some of Jesus followers might steal the body. They said he claimed that he would rise from the dead on the third day. They convinced Pilate to have us stand by the tomb.
Now we have guarded prisoners before, but never a dead one before. But we did as Pilate instructed. I selected the men and they went and did as they were told, it was a simple task, we thought.
It was early Sunday morning when they came running to me, they said sirrrrrrr, they said, “he’s, he’s, he
He’s gone, that man named Jesus is gone!”
What do you mean, he’s gone?
There was this earthquake, and an angel like lighting showed up and we passed out. And when we came to, his body was gone.
Somehow, I knew they were telling the truth.
This man really was who he said he was.
I can hear the centurion crying I was there.
He got up just like he said that he would.
