You wonder at me, a Roman soldier, so far from Jerusalem alone?
My friend you wonder no more than I, myself.
The happenings of the past few days have been enough to water the courage of any man. There's the dust of the road upon you as you came down from the hills. You were not in Jerusalem, so you don't know, of course, but the world has been turned upside down.
No, I haven't lost my senses though it would be no great surprise if I had. I was there. I saw it with my eyes. I saw the darkness settle like the coming of night, though the sun rose high in the heavens. I heard the thunder and felt the earth quake beneath my feet. I was in the company that took Jesus in.
You may have heard of him. A strange fellow who called himself the King of the Jews. Oh, we had great sport. I plaited a crown of thorns on his head and another threw a robe of scarlet about his shoulders. When the mob began to clamor for him we brought him out, clad in his kingly garments. I was astounded by the crowd.
There's no explaining the strange people or their strange god-no offense to you, of course. This man seemed harmless enough to me. He was silent, even when we stripped him and beat him. But the cry went up, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" I shall always hear that ringing in my ears. A soldier is used to suffering and death, and I guess I'm no different than the others. I've warmed my blade on human blood often enough, but I soon lost my stomach for this business.
There were guards, but there was no need of them as we marched him up the mount of Golgotha. He made no move to escape. It was almost as if he had been born for that very moment. The cross was so heavy he stumbled under the load of it. I would have liked to have carried it myself, but I did not. Instead I helped to stretch out his hands and drive nails through his palms. And the darkness came. It was different from any darkness I have ever seen, or ever expect to see again. One moment the sun was shining, and the next it was so dark I could scarcely make out the dying figure on the cross. My stomach crawled within me.
There was a small group of men and women standing off to one side, looking at him with longing eyes as they wept quietly. They must have been relatives--if he had any-- and a few followers. But that blood-thirsty mob continued to taunt him and rail at him. "Save yourself" they shouted. "Come down from there?" I'd scarcely have been suprised had he stepped down from that cross and killed them all with his bare hands. His hands! I can still feel the cold sweat upon them--the tendons tightening in his wrists as the spikes tore through his flesh.
Forgive me, friend, if I seem to ramble now and then. My mind is jumbled and twisted until I scarcely know what I'm saying. I've seen brave men die before. I've heard their bitter cursing, their screams of terror. But never have I seen another like this. His face was twisted with pain and yet he did not so much as lift his voice, excepting near the end.
Then he raised his head with an almost super-human effort and loudly called, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
That stopped them; that struck them dumb. For his voice carried a tone of authority. They stood there, looking silently at one another, wondering, and then the shout went up again.
Don't ask me what happened after that. I only know that I was standing guard when the earthquake came. I tell you sir, the ground shook beneath my feet. There was thunder and the rocks on Golgotha were torn apart. Cracks opened in the gound and buildings trembled on their foundations.
Frightened? I was so frightened at that moment that I realized I had never known fear before. So frightened that I could not reason. I was suddenly overwhelmed with a mad desire to flee. I forgot all my training and loyalty. I wanted only to get as far from that cursed spot as possible.
Don't ask me how I came here, or how long since these things have taken place. It may have been yesterday-the day before-a week ago, I don't know
How can one measure the length of hours when one's very soul is burning? I know for a truth that this Jesus was the Son of the Living God!
You smile sir, there's nothing in this story about which to smile. There can be no joy in the crucifixion of God, Himself.