I cannot claim the following story as my own...my beloved husband wrote it. He wrote about what Good Friday may have looked like from the eyes of a centurion; and the perspective he had, and creative way that he wrote was too good not to share it with you here! Praying it touches your heart as much as it did mine.
I am Centurion and This is My Story:
It was Friday and I was expecting it to be like any other ordinary day. It wasn’t. I will never forget that day and I write, not because I fear that any of the details will grow dull in my own memory, but that my children and their children may know what occurred in my life that particular afternoon!
It began shortly before sunrise with a knock at the door. It was my personal messenger and, if he was here at this hour, something was of the utmost importance. I dressed and was out of the house as quick as if Rome was being invaded.
My orders were simple: to arrest a religious teacher named Jesus the Nazarene. My soldiers and I made our way through the pre-dawn streets headed to where he was, as disclosed by one of his followers, Judas. We would arrive and wait for the signal, a kiss from the informant.
I had never met this Jesus but I knew of Him, and knew He was not a warrior, but a common Jewish teacher and religious babbler who claimed to be God’s Son. I just assume “deal” with the situation and return home for my morning meal; for the day was Passover, as the Jews call it, and it was always a longer day with all the extra comings and goings of Jewish worshippers.
We arrived in the garden and announced who we were seeking. Jesus simply stated, “I am He, ” and suddenly, without explanation, we all fell down. It was as if His words knocked us off our feet. Then, to make matters worse, one of His followers swiped off the ear of the High Priest’s slave. To my amazement, this Jesus healed his ear. I had never seen anything like it. I had heard about His “miracles” but had never seen one…He simply touched it and his ear was restored.
Other than Jesus, the rest fled…even the ear hacker. As I reflected back on those first few moments, it filled my heart with many questions: Why did one of His own betray Him? Why did we all fall down? How did He heal that ear? Why did He heal that ear? Why did the others get away when we should have rounded all of them up and why did the entire event seem out of my hands as if I was under His control rather than He, mine? Like I said, though, that was all hindsight. In those moments, none of these questions perplexed me. In fact, although I watched it all play out, it was almost as if I was blind to it, as well.
We first took Him to the High Priest where the Jewish leaders made their religious accusations. I have seen many criminals and just as many deaths. Killing Jesus had no bearing on me…if He committed a crime against glorious Rome that was worthy of death, then I would find not a twinge of hesitation to take his breath from Him. I have to admit, I began tuning out. I could have cared less about their religion and it’s debates.
Yet, as much as I tried to ignore what was going on around me, I could not help but notice something odd…Jesus said nothing. Even before Pilate, His countenance was one I have never seen before. I have seen many trials and I have seen men shout and curse, as well as cry and beg but…nothing? Silence?
As I mentioned, the day was Passover and it was customary for Pilate to release a prisoner on this day. I always hated this custom. Release a prisoner? Criminals deserve to be punished not released. And of all the criminals, Barabbas? But the crowd was full of passion, some may even say hatred, for Jesus and they wanted Barabbas released and Jesus’ blood.
As you know, I was a Centurion in Rome’s army. I was not ashamed of the service that I gave to Rome but I understood that what I did repulsed most. In Roman culture, crucifixion is absolutely degrading and disgusting. In fact, Roman citizens were never put to death in such manner. Yet, the crowd that day cried and shouted that Jesus be crucified. Pilate did not find any crime worthy of death and, trusting his judgment, I personally felt that a mocking and beating was more than enough punishment for any religious uprising He was guilty of…if He was even guilty. But the crowd was so persistent…as if He was guilty of every crime though found guilty of none.
I’ve driven nails through many a man’s hands. I have beaten more men than I care to count. I truly was numb to death. It was my job. My business was killing. Yet, on that day, I found myself pricked by the injustice. Was I pricked enough to care? No, but enough to pause momentarily. One must understand that crucifying someone is never easy. I had made sport of it at times and I had even hated it at times, but mostly all I felt was numbness. Numbness made it easier.
As customary, Jesus was to be beaten and adding some mocking and belittling was all a part of the process of humiliation and then death. I stood back like an approving father would with his son, as my men mocked Him and beat Him. I caught myself chuckling as I watched. You see, the reality is, if you do this enough, belittling becomes like an art form and my men were very good at it.
No sooner did I begin to laugh and simply allow the numbness to take over that I was again pricked. It was His eyes! Eye contact is always the toughest…to look someone in the eyes and then beat him, or take his life is beyond words. At first I could not do it and then, as the years went by, I began to be able to look…but almost as if looking through them and not at them.
This time, I did the unthinkable; my eyes locked with His and to my utter shock, I was met with a look of great tenderness…you might even say love...as if what He was experiencing was not simply about enduring it but truly embracing it! I confess, uneasiness came over me as I began to feel that this Jesus, if He so desired, could have stopped all that was going on. It made no sense to me but I believed it to be true.
I exploded into a rage. Who does He think He is? If you cross Rome, you cross me! I found a robe and put it on Him and called to my men to find a “thorn of crowns”. I was going to show this “King” who He really was! We bowed and mocked before the great, thorny-crown wearing, Jewish King; and, for the first time in many years, my numbness was gone and great delight came over me as I poured my misery upon Him.
The crowd roared and I drank from their delight, like a spring on a hot day. We led Him through the streets like great warriors leading an enemy to his death. I used to tell my men that I knew how to take a man to his last breath without taking it…Jesus was getting to that point! I was determined that the last breath He took would be on the cross, so we made a man in the crowd carry His cross.
My men and I did the nailing and lashing to the cross and I made sure that that He was completely humiliated. As this Jesus hung on the cross, the crowd shouted and mocked Him. Even the other criminals next to Him mocked Him. I felt a sense of joy, fulfillment, and satisfaction in my work as executioner. The feeling one feels after a battle won. You are aware of the men whose lives you took; that they, like you, have families and loved ones. That they, too, are fighting for what they believe in or are simply told to do. Yet, you still feel a sense of pride in the accomplishment…that, this day, you have won! I found myself standing a little taller and feeling a little more dignified.
As death began to slowly creep in, the larger crowd slowly dispersed and left a smaller group of observers. I found “my spot”. It’s an area I go to as I wait for the cross to take the life of the crucified. I have spent many hours waiting for a man to die. I have had many terrible thoughts and memories during these times: the smell of death, the groans of the crucified and my own memories of battle. Death and friends lost seemed to consume my mind as I waited. This time was different. I could not stop watching Jesus. My rage and emotions had died down and I sat quietly, reflecting on the day. My thoughts were foreign to me as reflecting on the death of a criminal is not something I had ever done.
My men cast lots for His garment, while I listened to the mocking insults that passerby's kept throwing at Him. I also heard Jesus actually pray that God would forgive them. What really struck me, though, was the conversation He had with one of the thieves next to him. It appeared that the thief was seeking forgiveness as well as a place with Jesus in what Jesus called “paradise.” Grown men have cried for their mothers while on a cross but this guy was actually clinging to the words of the Man dying next to him. He was convinced that Jesus’ words were the truth.
Soon after this conversation, something happened that can only be described as supernatural. In the sixth hour, a darkness came over the land. I have stared death in the face and death has stared back at me, yet I have not flinched; but this…this brought great fear into me! It was truly eerie. I did not want to dwell on the darkness so I focused on the criminal. He seemed to be doing fairly well considering He was enduring a crucifixion. He made some arrangements for whom I presume was His mother and not long after that He began to shout...and then He died. Shouting was not uncommon, but the timing of His shout was remarkable. When a man on a cross is able to shout, death is still some time away. You see, a man on the cross usually dies of suffocation as he slowly looses strength to pull himself up and breath. Clearly, the fatigue of the cross had not set in. Yet, after shouting, “It is Finished,” He died!
So many things happened that day that I cannot explain but, of all of them, this is the aspect I am unable to even begin to grasp. The cross takes life from a man, yet this Man’s life was not taken…it was as if He simply stopped living. It was as though He yielded up His life. He may have died on a cross but the cross is not what killed Him. Believe me, He was in much pain and I know He suffered like anyone else but, I assure you, the cross did not kill Him!
No sooner did His head hit His chest in death that the earth began to shake...really, really shake! I could see people falling to the ground and I struggled to keep my footing. I later found out that stones were split, the temple veil was torn, and that people once dead were risen to life again. The events of the day flashed before my eye: how I fell to the ground in the Garden of Gethsemane, watched Him heal an ear, saw Him endure a beating with such noble integrity, listened as He made provisions for His mother and prayed for those, me being one of them, who were mocking Him. I saw the complete turn-around of a thief, deep darkness, and Jesus dead on a cross though the cross did not kill Him.
I had seen so much that day…but it is what happened inside of me that has compelled me to share all of this with you. After the earthquake, it was as if the lights had been turned on, as if there was a veil over my own eyes that had been torn, enabling me to see. There, before me, was a lifeless Jesus….a man I had watched all day and yet, it was not until that moment that I actually saw Him for who He really was. My men and I knelt and I declare to you now as I did then, that truly He is the Son of God! The verdict in our mind was in...we had mocked, belittled, and nailed to a cross the Son of God…the Righteous One!!!
As time has passed and I have learned more about Jesus and His teachings, I have come to believe that, most likely, my soldiers and I were the first to be saved by His atoning work that crucifixion Friday…the greatest Friday of my life. The very men who pounded the nails in were graciously saved by the hands in whom those nails pierced! I am one of those men. This is my story. It is my song. He is my life!
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