The Soldier

I'm never far from the memory, and even now if I pull it up I can feel the heat of that day. Sun beating down, not a breeze stirring anywhere. Thoughts of home and family swirled in my mind like a bothersome fly. "Focus," I told myself. Why? I've done this hundreds of times. Now wouldn't be any different than the others. The dark fact was that each time I found myself participating in this ritual, I lost a little piece of my soul. Each face, each cry for mercy fell on ears that had become deaf and a heart that had become cold and hard. It was business as usual and I was good at it.

I don't remember any of the names. Too many...
I barely remember the faces, after a while you don't even pay attention any more, you just go through the motions.
But I'll never forget his.
I didn't really give it any thought during our journey to the hill. We simply plodded along, keeping that nameless criminal or insurrectionist upright, tyring  not to let them die before we got there. That was our business. Keep the condemned alive until we could kill him. Almost seems laughable now.

Here we were in a strange land, with a people we didn't understand, who had customs and laws we couldn't make sense of. So these rituals we carried out daily helped us to vent our anger and hatred. Each day that passed, I felt a little less human. This scared me. Would my wife know me when I returned home? Could I ever tell my children what I had done during my tour of duty?
Or would my time in Jerusalem become nothing more than whispered tales spoken among comrades at reunions. 

There was always a strange mixture of people who followed to the hill, as well as lining the streets as if this were entertainment for their boring lives. Cries from the crowd ranged from "Mercy!" to "Make him pay!" Such hatred was directed to the one we were guiding to death. Steep inclines coupled with the weight of the cross beam caused many a man to stumble and fall. We would snatch them up quickly, placing the beam on their shoulders, striking out at an even faster pace in order to complete the days task.

There was one though...
A particular man....
A teacher that seemed to draw a strange mixture of praise and derision every where he taught.
Some of the locals felt that this man was what the referred to as their Messiah...a deliverer....If this be true, it was all the more reason for us to crucify him. Shut down this fledgling movement before it gained popularity and keep the populace in line.

Pilate, the Roman governor, was under great pressure from Rome to put down any insurrection and to keep the peace here in Jerusalem. Caught between the religious rulers, who threatened him with correspondence to Caesar himself, Pilate walked a fine line between duty and keeping the populace in line, placated and satisfied. The last thing he needed was to be pulled from this duty station and called back to Rome. With this weighing on Pilate, he gave the crowd what they wanted........crucify the Galilean. This teacher, this rabbi, this Jesus.

Once on the crest of the hill, I knocked him to his knees and rolled him over on his back, cross underneath. Tying ropes to his hands, we stretched them out so they could be nailed in place. Funny. I remember the feel of that mallet even to this day. The weight of it as I lifted it off the ground. The balance that it carried, knowing the force needed to penetrate flesh and muscle. Wrapping my fingers around the handle of that mallet, Jesus' arm stretched out to the fullest, I swung the hammer over my head. The target? A six-inch Roman spike...forged in fire to strengthen the tinsel of the metal. This would hold any man in place. Mustering up all my strength, at the height of the arch, I brought the hammer down full force. To this very day, i will never forget the sound it made when that mallet would connect with the spike. A sickening, dull thud that pushed the nail through flesh, muscle and humanity, down into the wood. Repeated to the other side, arms were now securely in place. Turning my attention to the feet....they too were also nailed in place. The one thing I remember about this Jesus....He never cried out....He endured this like no other man I had ever seen.

Attaching ropes, we lifted the cross up and dropped it down into a hole, driving wedges all around to keep it from tilting or falling over. Then we waited. This was the hard part. Not that I felt anything, I didn't. I had lost all sense of feeling. No...we passed the time waiting for death to claim the latest victim, by casting lots to see who would possess the personal belongings of the condemned.

This man named Jesus kept talking from the cross. I don't remember much....
"Forgive them...they don't know what they're doing." I don't know who "THEY" were, didn't make any difference.
The end came after about three hours. It was as if this Jesus had summoned up every ounce of strength he possessed so he could make a final declaration....
With a voice of authority, he cried out...."It Is Finished!"
That was it.
He died...
Strange weather that day also.
Eclipse of the sun brought darkness over the entire land. This was followed by an earthquake that seemed to shake the very foundation of earth itself. Then quietness. Strange, eerie quietness.

The days that followed were filled with outrageous stories about this Jesus.
Some say he rose from the dead and was seen at different parts of the city.
Others said that his disciples had stolen the body and were perpetrating this resurrection story. All I know is that his followers didn't disband. In fact they seem to grow in numbers. They were every where talking about a coming kingdom....how we needed to change our hearts and our ways. That this Jesus had paid an eternal price for our lives. I was very intrigued by what I heard. I didn't share it with my fellow soldiers for fear they would accuse me of treason. But I never forgot what happened that day.

Now here I am back in Rome...
Back home...
Back with my wife and children.
I have traded in my long years of service to Rome in foreign countries for a softer job.
I have been assigned to over see the house arrest of one of these followers of Jesus....Someone named Paul.
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Thanks for letting me be creative this morning.
I hope you enjoyed the story....
God on you....
mb