{Matt.
27:54; Mark 15:39; Luke 23:47; John 19:34-35}
I
will never forget it! It was the middle of the day, yet the skies had gone as
dark as my soul. I am soldier… or I was a soldier. After that incident, I retired
from Cesar’s service. I had seen death; I had been desensitized to the horrors bloodshed.
Something, however, was different about that day.
I had
seen the lush, green fields along the Fertile Crescent transformed into ruddy
and rosy seas of blood – the blood of Rome’s enemies. When the commands were
given, I would kill without question. I suppose I would call myself an acquaintance
with death. Even then, though, my neighbors have called me a friend of murder. Still,
something was very different about that day. There may have been more, but I could
only remember three deaths that afternoon – three, not thousands.
It was
not unusual to receive a mandate from the State. I was commissioned to perform
as an executioner. For the three who had received the death sentence, one of
them was different. He was very different. I had performed in this role before,
but I had never seen anything like that. Every time before, the accused (those
found guilty of breaking law) would protest, incessantly plead innocent, and beg
for a different verdict. But not this man – not Jesus. He was silent. He didn’t
even respond to the false accusations of his accusers. As far as I can
remember, he only responded once to Pilot, and even then he did not try to
change the verdict. I had never seen anything like it. It was almost as if he
wanted to die. It did not make sense!
The
trek up the hill to Golgotha was remarkable as well, but it was what happened
upon the hill that impacted me the most. I stood by the crosses; the papers for
the execution of those three criminals tucked between my chest and my
breastplate. As I waited for the final order from my captain, I was disgusted
by what I saw. For the first time in years, I was truly distraught. Usually, a
few citizens of Jerusalem would come out to watch a crucifixion. This time,
though, they came out in droves. They did not come out to watch; they came out
to cheer. They cheered on the death of Jesus. They mocked and spit and hurled
insults at him. The crowds celebrated the coming of his death, like an empire
celebrates the fall of its long-time enemy. It was a horrible scene. I am
pretty sure I had never seen anything like it before. There was so much hate and
hostility, it almost did not surprise me that the skies had gone black.
I remember
having to strain my ear over the curses of the people. It was difficult to hear
what was being said from the crosses. Even the other two criminals scoffed and
insulted Jesus. I watched intently to see what Jesus would do. He did the
unexpected. Even as he hung there, he showed compassion to his mother –
providing for her needs by offering her to the care of one of his few
sympathizers. What is more, even in his pain, he offered a prayer to God. He
begged God to forgive them for what they had done; he did not beg God to
release him from his suffering. I was unfamiliar with this kind of mercy. I still
ask myself why (and how) he could be so gracious. It is not like he was an
angel or something – I watched the blood fall from his wrists. He faced death
like no other human I had encountered.
It was those acts of
compassion and love that even won over one of the criminals next to Him. It was
His patient endurance what impacted me. You could have almost sensed a kindness
in Him – even though we did everything we could to ensure the most excruciating
and painful death. What happened next, I will never forget. He, again, cried
out to the God of the Jews. But that time He screamed what seemed to be a
declaration. He announced that “it was finished.” It was bone-chilling; I was
convinced I had heard that before, by the victors of war or by triumphal
gladiators. It was mysterious! You could tell He was in pain, but He was by no
means defeated by the thought of His impending death. Following that, He
shouted again. Somehow it appeared that He was still in control of His horrible
situation; He offered up His spirit to the Lord. It seemed to me that He had
extended His hand to God, and God responded. He finally breathed His last
breath. I was relieved to see the suffering end.
It was getting late,
and the Sabbath was coming with the dawn. I heard my captain yelling again. “Break
their legs,” he said, “we can’t work on the Sabbath. Put them to death so we
can bury them before the Sabbath!” I broke the legs of the other two so they
would die quickly. Then I came to Jesus. It was pointless to break His bones
because He was already dead. I howled for my captain. I tried to tell him that
Jesus was already dead. My captain was suspicious, so he handed me a spear and
told me to make sure. It was an order. I obeyed. I did what I was trained to
do; I pierced His side. But the result was like nothing I had ever seen. It was
not just blood that appeared, there was water as well. I remember being too
close to Jesus’ side – the blood and water flowed over me. This mystery covered
my hands and my chest, it reminded me of baptism. It was as if Jesus, from
beyond the grave, was cleansing me of my wrongs – forgiving me. It was at that
point when I changed. When I had seen the separation of the blood and water, I realized
I had been separated from the truth. Jesus was who He said He was. He did have
the power to forgive sins and offer life. Until that day, the only authority I had
known solely had the power to take lives. But Jesus gave His. He gave His for
me.
As I stood beneath that
cross, I reached for my chest. I slid my fingers between my breastplate and my
heart, and I took my papers of execution. Held loosely by shaky fingers, I looked
upon the command I had been given. It said I was commissioned to execute Jesus.
I couldn’t look at it any longer; I was disgusted. I loosened my grip of that
cursed document – those orders of sin – and I watched as it fell to the ground.
It seemed an eternity before it landed in the deep pool of His blood. His blood
seemed to wash away its filthy directive - the assignment for such sin covered
effectively by His blood. That was the last thing I could remember about that
terrible day. I chose, that day, to let my sin fall also into the deep-pool of
Jesus’ blood. As I stood beneath that cross, my burden was lifted and I was
given a new one. I walked away from that place, dedicated to following in His
ways. If He could show love, mercy, and compassion while suffering at my hand, I
could do the same for Him.
