Lent Mid-Week Reflection
in the First Person
"Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that he had thus breathed his last, he said, "Certainly this man was the Son of God!" Mark 15:39
They seem a bit quieter now. They're finally weakening; losing all that blood; the awful shock to the system from the beatings and the nails. It can't be much longer, although I've heard of some who hang on and on - even for days! Surely they must want to die and get this cursed thing over with, but their bodies just won't give in - the body just won't let go! I guess that's the torture of it!
These three look like they're getting pretty close to death! Even their cursing and screaming -- pretty strong stuff at the beginning -- has dwindled to an occasional groan or a long heaving sigh! Heinous! Hideous!
This is the kind of lousy, repulsive job I always get stuck with! When there's royalty to escort, or a ceremonial parade to march in, or even a daring raid to carry out, I, and my men, always end up sitting in the mess hall. But when there's dirty work to be done, when there's brutality to be done, or innocent blood to be shed, or something shady to be pulled off - it's me and my men who get called on every single time! I don't how was got the label as being the "butchers." We didn't ask for it!
The leaders never see what they have done! The great Lord high and mighty Pilate sits on his governor's seat, pronounces his verdict, signs and seals the appropriate papers, and then, he can go back and hide in his protective palace and he never has to watch what happens next!
He doesn't see the humiliating stripping.
He doesn't hear the cat-o-nine tails with the imbedded lead fragments tear away the flesh.
He doesn't know the taste, yes, the taste of someone's spattered blood and skin that can fly in your face if you stand too close.
He doesn't have to strain to hold the filthy, sweating, foul smelling wretches down while they heave with every ounce of their strength to resist those piercing spikes.
Pilate's delicate well washed ears hear nothing of their desperate shrieks of pain. Pilate hears not the cynical laughter of my troops; cynical laughter that covers up even their deep disgust for these gruesome proceedings; cynical laughter that enables them to his horrendous job without getting ill! You know, you have to find some way to cope, and cynicism works pretty well!
A soldier's life they call this! If they only knew the half of it!
The one in the middle there, the one whose cloak they're gaming for, he's a strange customer! At first I thought he was crazy; I mean crazy - you know - out of his head...
...the way he blessed my men while they were pounding in the nails!
But as the hours have passed, I have begun to get the feeling that he is a far cry from being crazy. In fact I have even begun to wonder if he is the only sane one here!
For all the brutality; for all the violence done to him; for all the torture; for all the pain he has only spoken with compassion - and concern - for the very ones involved in his death. Such a thing I have never seen as long as I've been doing this lousy job.
On top of that, I have felt throughout this whole sordid day a growing and deepening conviction that we are dealing here with something even more than extraordinary; something uncanny; something singular and unearthly; something, for lack of a better word, something sacred; something God-like!
Each word this man has uttered; every passing glance from those dark eyes has pushed me and lead me and forced me down this road of thinking something incredible is going on here.
Di you hear that? Someone just taunted him for having claimed to be the Son of God. The gods I am familiar with are gods of fear and terror, the powers of the state dressed up in costume to make them seem divine.
But if there be. . . If there be. . . If there really be a god like this. . . whose love goes even to a cross. . . such a god I would claim as mine. . . For such a god I have searched for all my days.
Do you suppose I have found him? ...in this place! Do you suppose this man truly is the Son of God?
Oh, I think he's gone! May God bless him. . . and forgive all of us!