"A Soldier's Tale"

I am a Roman soldier in the ranks of Caeser. That is all you need to know. My name is irrelevent- and I am speaking treason. However, I must tell you what I have seen, what I have heard… what I have learned.

It was spring, and I was home from war. Not neglecting my duties, mind you. I still had to do patrols, sentry duty… executions… At any rate, I was scheduled to participate in the crucifictions of two thieves and a blasphemer who had gained an enemy of the Pharisees. Not an intelligent move- the religious leaders were dangerous foes. I'd rather face a whole army than a group of them. At least if I fought an army, I'd get to take down a few with me…

But back to my story. I'd participated in myriads of crucifictions before- it was like a coliseum game, only duller. Much more duller… We did the two thieves of Golgatha, the place of the skull. Next was Jesus of Nazereth. Some say he'd done miracles, others said he was possessed. He said he was the son of God. I didn't know what to believe. I just did my duty. The only gods I worship are Jupiter and Venus and the rest. Yet, I saw nothing he'd done that made him worth crucifying- but who am I to protest? It's my job.

I whipped him as he carried that cross up Golgatha… it was my job. I had orders. The whip would be turned on me if I didn't do it…

I know not what, but something… something was different about that man. He had a presence about him that nearly frightened me- the same presence one can almost sense when around prophets or sometimes even aged veterans of war. What was this man guilty of? Thwack. Thwack. His flesh hung in ribbons. Blood streamed to the ground. This man was innocent. I was whipping him. It's my job…

The Nazerene stumbled under the weight of the cross and from exhaustion. He wouldn't get up. I turned and pointed the whip at a stocky man, told him to carry the cross. He picked it up and walked forward, Jesus stumbling behind him.

It was a relief when we finally reached Golgatha and I could look away. I stood on the sidelines of the watching crowd as I sorted out my feelings. I'm a veteran of war. I have killed, tortured, executed, and whipped countless people. I have seen friends killed and lost family. I am no stranger to pain and suffering.

Then why was this flogging and crucifiction bothering me?

Screaming agonized thrashing, the hammer striking the stake, driving it through innocent, olive-skinned arms and feet. The cross was raised up, put it its post. I was in for a long night…

"Father… forgive them… for they know not… what they do…"

I was jerked from my light doze by the words of the dying man. A chill ran up my spine as I heard them. I have been cursed, raved at, and slandered by the men I have killed… never forgiven. Who was this man?! This man who would forgive those who tortured and killed him in the worst execution possible?!

The ground shook and the sky turned red as Jesus of Nazereth took his last breath. I fell to the ground from the tremors and a sudden weakness brought on by shock, leaning on my spear in an attempt to stay upright. What had I done?

"Surely, this man is the Son of God!"

The words came from the soldier beside me, voicing my thoughts. One soldier thrust his spear through the man's side- blood and water flowed from the wound. What had I done?! I knew not what I was doing! I was doing my job; following orders! I could not have helped Him…

I killed the Son of God.

I shivered, collapsed against a stone. I have killed many times before… I have been braver than most in battle… Yet I am a coward.

It was true. I am a coward. I would never let myself be crucified without a fight and then forgive my murderers. I was not even able to stand up against something I thought wrong. I am such a coward…

I turned, unable to deal with my feelings and the sight of the dead man on the cross. I walked away- slowly at first, but then faster and faster until I was running, racing away from the wails of the women and the body of the Nazerene, retreating from my thoughts and my guilt and my shame.