I Wish I Had Been There!Sýnishorn

Jesus is crucified

Crucifixion duty was one of the worst assignments that you could get as a Roman soldier. Not because it was gory. Violence and death were part of our job description. It was because there was no honor in it. It was not like facing a hundred men in battle or a lion in the Colosseum. It was just one of those dirty jobs that we had to do so that the higher-ups could keep their hands clean.

So, I was not too happy when my name was called this morning for crucifixion duty for two mercenaries and a Jewish rebel. But we were soldiers, and we followed our orders. Already, it had been a long day. The trials had more back and forth than usual (especially the deliberations involving the Jewish rebel, Jesus). From what I could tell, he was an innocent man caught in a political power struggle.

The hardest part was keeping the crowds in check. As the officer in charge, I had to be constantly assessing the situation and commanding my men quickly to deal with situations before they escalated. The crowd of Jewish religious zealots was seething today. I had to call for reinforcements at one point because the crowd looked set to storm the governor's house. What was it about this Jesus that roused such vehemence?

Things were much more manageable now that we were on the way to Golgotha. I had the men enlist a Cyrene to carry Jesus' cross because I felt guilty for allowing the men to have a bit too much fun at his expense earlier. They were a crude and brutish lot, likely to turn on you if they were not allowed to satisfy their taste for violence and debauchery. I constantly had to balance the right amount of strain and slack on their reins.

As we neared the crucifixion site, I began to bark orders. "Place the cross at the top of the hill! Bring the prisoner! You know the drill, men!"

They stripped Jesus of his clothes and stretched him out on the cross. As they nailed a sign above his head that read, "This is Jesus, the King of the Jews," I offered him some wine mixed with gall to numb the pain. To my surprise, he refused. Why would he refuse? I shrugged my shoulders and signaled to the men, "Do it."

They drove the nails through His hands and feet as he screamed in agony. I steeled myself against his cries, but the men delighted in the torture. I struggled to hide my contempt at their obvious pleasure. As they erected the cross, Jesus' blood ran down the wood. He was covered in blood, his flesh shredded from the scourging my men gave him earlier.

Yet, through pain-riddled gasps for air, he muttered, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing.” I couldn't believe it! He was praying for our forgiveness?!?!? I had never encountered anyone like this before. As the men gambled for His clothing, I made myself look at Him again. This King of the Jews. Who was this man who would forgive such injustice while nailed to a cross?

The crowds that followed paraded in front of him now, taking the opportunity to hurl insults and mockeries. Even the other two criminals joined in. “Look at you now!” they yelled at him. “You said you were going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days. Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!”

“He saved others,” they scoffed, “but he can’t save himself! So he is the King of Israel, is he? Let him come down from the cross right now, and we will believe in him! He trusted God, so let God rescue him now if he wants him! For he said, ‘I am the Son of God'."

Jesus said nothing.

I listened and watched the mockers warily, ready to diffuse any situations that threatened to escalate. I was becoming more and more uneasy about my part in this crucifixion.

At noon, the sky became dark and foreboding. One o'clock. It was still dark. Two o'clock. Still dark. We all looked at each other, but we did not utter a word. As though saying it out loud would force us to confront the fact that something otherworldly was happening. We just continued pretending that this was just another "normal" crucifixion.

The ominous darkness remained over Golgotha until 3 o'clock. Then Jesus shouted out in a loud grief-stricken voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?" I jumped as the gut-wrenching cry shattered the eerie silence. I asked one of the Jewish women who stood by what he said. “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” they replied. I could see the emotional turmoil on their faces and hear it in their voices. "They must have been very close to him," I thought.

Again, I was not prepared when he cried out in the final throes of death, “Father, I entrust my spirit into your hands!” and an earthquake shook the ground to the point that rocks split in half! And that was not all! Reports came to us that the bodies of men and women in the Jewish cemeteries were seen raised from the dead and walking around! At that point, all my soldiers ran and left me alone on this hill of death.

I fell to my knees before the cross, before Jesus, the crucified Son of God, my whole body trembling. My decorum as a Roman officer was forgotten. "What have I done?" I gasped as I stared up incredulously at this God-man whom I had killed.

"Surely this man was innocent."