"Just another man."
"Just another would-be messiah."
"Just another radical we would probably crucify..."
We've had so many false messiahs here, people shouting
from the rooftops that they were the Son of God...This
Jesus, son of Joseph, the carpenter, he was no different.
Or so I thought.
I'd seen him around the area over the past few years, taking
his followers out to the hills or by the water, teaching them
about God and a life based on love.
He was peaceful, never caused much commotion, really.
There was a time at the temple when he chased out the
merchants selling religious tokens, but other than that...
His crowds were starting to become large, too large, it
wasn't surprising that word came down that he needed to be
stopped. My fellow guards and I were then summoned.
I'll never forget the scene, an eerie sight, there in the Garden
of Gethsemane. Jesus was standing there, thick beads of
blood and sweat dripping from his brow to the ground...
Judas, one of his followers, lead us to him, greeting him with
a kiss, a gesture signifying this was he that we sought. We
moved forward, and that's when my life changed.
I moved to intercept Jesus, but was stopped by Peter, his
closest follower, who drew his sword and sliced off my ear!
Jesus made a motion, causing everyone to stop...
He knelt down, picked up my ear, and with the kindest look
in his eyes, placed my ear to the wound and immediately
I felt no pain ~ in fact, my hearing was better than before!
Without a fight, Jesus let us take him to be tried as a trouble-
maker. Again, I looked in his eyes...He has such peace. I felt
horrible, what could he have done that was so bad?
In Jerusalem, we brought him before the counsel. Wanting to
appease the angry crowd, High Priest Caiaphas had him beaten
senseless three times, his head covered so he could not see.
Not satisfied with the punishment, the mob grew more angry.
Caiaphas sent him to King Herod, who found nothing, no reason
for the ultimate punishment the crowds asked for: crucifixion.
Herod gave Jesus over to Pontius Pilate for final judgement,
letting the local government deal with the nuisance. By this
time, the crowds were unruly, demanding, "Crucify him! Crucify!"
Wanting to show Jesus some leniency, Pilate had an idea. It
customary to free a prisoner on the eve of Passover as a
good-will gesture, but the crowd would have no part of that.
As a last-minute effort to spare Jesus of a punishment he did
not deserve, he offered the life of a murderer, Barabbas,
instead of the life of the humble teacher...Still they refused.
Pilate had no other option. Washing his hands of Jesus' blood,
he handed him over to us for the remainder of his punishment.
Times like that made me really hate what I did for a living...
I had the unfortunate honor of leading Jesus to the flogging
post, where I then shackled his hands so he couldn't move...
Once more, eye contact was made, and still he had such love...
Two guards took turns, first they beat him with a wooden rod,
causing his back to redden, bruise, and in some places bleed.
I watched intensely, his eyes never betraying his heart.
As customary, Jesus would then be flogged, scourged by a whip
with several leather thongs, embedded metal, bone, or glass...
Jesus would receive 40-minus-1 lashes ~ a sign of mercy!
I could barely watch at this point, my stomach was rising to my
throat. Every strike ripped flesh from Jesus's body, blood,
muscle, bone fragments...So much blood...So much blood...
I heard Jesus cry out, the horror in his voice, the pain in his
eyes, yet when he looked at me I still felt love - it was such
an odd mixture of emotion, like he took it willingly.
To add insult to injury, some of my fellow guards took an old
cloak and draped it around Jesus' shoulders, placed a rod in his
hand and crude crown of thorns on his head, cutting him deeply.
Jesus was then lead to the courtyard where he was forced to
carry the abomination that would eventually bring his death: a
rugged, blood-drenched cross, one on which many souls had died.
We had him carry his cross through the streets to the gates,
leading him to the site of execution, a hill called Golgotha, the
place of the skull, its rocks stained with other souls' remains.
To prepare Jesus for execution, we had to literally nail him to
the cross. My job was to hold one of his arms in place, this just
happened to be the first one to take the nail...
As I held his arm in place, I risked another look into his eyes. How
could he handle all this and still show love, compassion, for those
who would bring him to his death? I'll never know.
Our eyes were locked as the hammer drove that first nail through
his wrist, severing the nerves, rendering the hand useless. His
eyes winced, he cried out in pain, but the love remained.
The other hand, his feet...Although he cried, blood pouring from
the wounds...Again, so much blood...He never lost his sanity,
his eyes remained focused, he seemed to look right through me.
When he was prepared, we lifted his cross into place, sinking it
into a hole to keep it standing. As it slid in, I watched...His
body writhing in agony, when the cross landed he screamed out...
We offered him vinegar and water as an aid to numb the pain, but
he refused. He called out to God, asking why he'd forsaken him,
why has God left him there alone, like God turned his back...
Jesus looked down at us, seemed like each individually, his eyes
piercing our souls. He wept, his love poured out like the blood
falling from his wounds. Then he started gasping for breath.
Calling out again to God, he offered his spirit, saying, "It is
finished," although I had no idea what "it" was. He arched his
back one last time, screaming for all to hear, and then silence.
Deathly silence.
Then the sky grew dark - it was the middle of the afternoon!
Tremors began to rattle the hill, from what seemed the cross
outward, to the city, where we later saw the temple veil torn.
"Truly this was the Son of God," I heard a fellow guard say...
After the darkness had lifted, his follower John and others took
his body to a tomb owned by a wealthy citizen, one who, himself,
became a follower. His body was then prepared for burial.
A large stone was rolled before the entrance, one that took maybe
ten or twelve of us to move, then guards stood watch to make
sure radicals, tomb robbers, or curious seekers couldn't enter.
I volunteered, standing guard as much as possible. I had to
somehow repay the teacher for helping me, even when he didn't
have to. Every sound I hear is a testament to his loving hand.
On the morning of the third day, there was a rumbling and an
awesome light and a man appeared like none we'd ever seen. He
told us that Jesus was no longer dead, that he'd risen!
Frightened for our lives, we checked the tomb - the stone had
somehow been tossed aside like it were made of straw! Nothing.
Nothing but his wrappings and the scent of citrus anointing oil.
Days had passed, the guards and I told our commanders we'd
been ambushed and Jesus' body taken. They bought the story,
and it spared us from looking like fools before the men.
Then they started happening...Rumors that he had indeed risen.
Curiosity had gotten the better of me, for even though I was
there when the stone was rolled away, I didn't know if he rose.
On my way to the area where it was rumored that he'd been seen,
a stranger passed by, so close that I caught the lingering scent
of citrus...I turned to him, only to find him waiting, smiling.
"Do I know you?" I asked. "Yes, you do, my friend," he replied,
"in a manner of speaking. Search your heart and you will know
that it is I, the one you seek, but fear not, my brother."
His words drew me to look him deeper in the eyes, and I knew.
Before me was Jesus, but not as I last saw him, fully renewed.
My thoughts were racing out of control, I couldn't even speak.
I fell to my knees before him, tears flowing from my eyes like a
little child who was about to be punished, begging and pleading
for forgiveness for any part I took in his crucifixion.
He placed his hand again on my ear, I looked up and he smiled.
"It was for you that I died, it is for you that I am here now. Your
sins are forgiven, go in peace, and share what you've seen."
So, my friend, this is why I am here. I've since laid down my
sword and now serve alongside his followers, sharing Jesus' love
and good news of salvation and forgiveness to all I meet. To you.
Yes, I killed Jesus, the Christ, we all had a part in it, really. The love
I witnessed up until his death never left his eyes. He lives again,
today, you're forgiven, and he loves you.
Gold trophy winner
Silver trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
I'm honored, yet humbled at the same time by the "win," for the message is more important.
