A trilogy of works relating to the crucifixion of Jesus.

An Easter Trilogy


The Aftermath Of War

The morning dawns frigid and gray.
We all know this day will see the end
to the army of the barbarians
and that our victory will extend
Roman law and Roman peace
to this primitive place, plus bring
added glory to Rome and Caesar.
Victory means our return to Rome!

I am a Centurion. I have fought in four
campaigns in all corners of the Empire.
I wear many battle scars won in service
to the greater glory of Rome. Never have
I encountered more ferocious fighters
than these Celtic tribesmen, brave warriors
each, but an undisciplined rabble.

In formation my cohort is taking the field
when from the woods pours a yelling horde
of Celts, sworn by blood oath to fight to the death.
We form a turtle swiftly, break and repel their
wild charge, then begin our orderly advance.
The air is filled with the stamping of hundreds
of feet marching in step -- trampling noxious weed
and scented beauty alike, the clang of metal against
metal, the thud of metal against hide, the screams
of men and horses...the din of battle is disorienting
to the uninitiated. The air we breathe in carries
the smell of dust, sweat, fear, urine, and blood.

The battle rages for hours…attack and counterattack,
flank and be flanked, but steadily, inexorably,
the battle turns to our advantage. There is no army
in the world to match the superiority of Roman legions!
Their army of vertical warriors is becoming a field
of prone casualties – the dead and the maimed.
The brown earth wears a red paint. Bodies, severed
heads and limbs, appendages litter the battleground.
Groans of misery reverberate. I have witnessed this
scene too many times to care about the carnage.

I am leading my cohort forward when an arrow
pierces my left knee – an inconvenient wound.
Then a spear penetrates my right side. Falling
to the ground, I hear myself exhort, “Fight on,
my brave legionnaires, for honor and glory!”
I lie among the dead and the dying.
Pain clouds my mind. My life’s blood flows
into the ground. I press against my side wound
to dampen the hemorrhaging…

The early afternoon sun is overhead, warming
my body as it lies still among the forest of
felled fighters. All is quiet now, save for the
sporadic moans of agony from unrelenting pain.
The battle has moved into the far distance,
where the remainder of the courageous Celts
are being converted into an army of martyrs.
Vultures, come to feast on the foolishness of Man,
circle overhead cautiously, deliberately as they
select a likely tasty corpse. A large bird, bolder
than his peers, lands nearby, hops hungrily over
to my body, jumps on my chest, and pecks
with ardent vigor at my bloody wounded side,
ripping away flesh. Searing pain arouses me.
I lash out at the fiend, launching him into frantic
flight. I summon the strength to yell, “Not today,
old friend. This Centurion shall live to see Rome,
to see home and wife once again.” And I do…


The Centurion And The Jew

The centurion ambles through the marketplaces,
examining native wares, observing local faces.
Arrived newly in Jerusalem from Rome, he
is eager to learn from what he can hear and see.

Recuperating in Rome from battle wounds received
at the northern frontier, he heard Caesar was aggrieved
greatly at civil unrest in Judea, and the rise of a new
religious sect called Christians was trouble, Caesar knew.

While all Judea sparks with growing tension and turmoil,
the Roman garrison is reinforced, any revolt to foil…
Now the sun directly overhead, the street is hot and dry.
Suddenly the centurion hears shouting; he hurries to find why.

Three Roman soldiers are kicking a man lying on the ground.
An angry, yelling crowd is growing, gathering all around.
“Halt! What goes here?” comes the centurion’s command.
The reply, “We heard sedition being spoken by this man.

“He speaks against honoring the gods or even Caesar himself.”
“Return to camp. Leave it to me to deal with this man myself.”
The soldiers depart. As the centurion begins leading the man away,
a stone sails past his head. The angry crowd now heads his way.

As his sword is being drawn, the Jew steps in front, raising his hand.
“Peace, my brothers. How very soon you lose your way! This man
and I shall talk. Do not interfere.” With his words, the crowd calms.
“Come, centurion, let us sit, converse, shaded by this grove of palms.”

The plan had been to escort the man to camp for further interrogation,
but somehow the idea of sitting here now seems a compelling suggestion.
As they stroll to the grove, “Centurion, you walk with a bad limp, I see.”
“A Celtic arrow to the knee left a painful reminder of our victory with me.”

As he sits, the Jew kneels before him and then gently takes the knee
in his hands, rubbing it. “Aren’t you Christians all supposed to be
loving and peaceful? The one who cast that stone surely had deep hate
in his heart.” “Temptations to stray from the chosen path are great.

“God expects Man to lead a good life, one filled with kindness and love.”
“I know the true nature of man to be brutal and mean. By Mars above,
there will always be hatred and wars. Superior brute force is the way
Rome has ruled the entire civilized world. Her armies always carry the day.”

The centurion and the Jew converse for hours, with any question
answered, the new teachings explained. Finally, “Without hesitation
I can safely say Rome has nothing to fear from you Christians.
Caesar fears an armed rebellion; you won’t fulfill that expectation.

“Two thousand years hence, no doubt the Roman Empire will still prevail
through might of arms, while Christianity was just another sect to fail.”
“Centurion, our faith shall not conquer Roman bodies through battles
but shall convert Roman hearts through peace. This religion will rattle

the world to its core. Much sorrow, suffering, and bloodshed will
Rome demand from the innocent.” “Then that must be the will
of the gods…” “It is the hand of Man that sets the arduous path
we must trod, but even Rome cannot stop ideas with a bloodbath.”

“Time will tell if our Roman armies crumble before the power of love,”
he laughs. “Maybe we’ll talk again some day.” “Definitely so, from above
I will call out to you…” That said, they now go their separate ways.
The Jew is swallowed in the embrace of the waiting crowd. In coming days,

this centurion will regret that he had not thought to ask for the name
of this Jew, for his belief in the Roman way would never be the same.

For now, he simply realizes he is walking without any pain or limp…


The Centurion And The Crucifixion

EXCRUCIATE: to cause great agony, enormous pain
(Latin: ex: out of, from / cruciate: cross / “from the cross”)

Crucifixion detail…the centurion truly abhors
the task. His scar-laden body bears testament to
his willingness to give his all for Rome; no more
loyal soldier serves Caesar. This odious duty he must do.

To maim, to slaughter in battle the true enemies of Rome,
wreaking unspeakable carnage, causes this centurion no concern,
but to nail a man to the cross, to listen to him suffer and moan
in agony for days dying, such as this makes his conscience burn.

Knowing such men are convicted criminals of the worst sort who
deserve death by crucifixion allows him some inner comfort.
“Centurion, to you goes the honor of ridding us of the Jew
Jesus, that rabble-rouser who has created such great discomfort


for Jewish leaders and Rome alike.” “For what crime
does he deserve to be crucified?” “The Jewish Sanhedrin
sentenced him to death for blasphemy, but Pilate two times
tried to spare his life. Jesus could have gone free, but in

his stead, the Jews freed Barabbas, a lowly criminal well-known.
Pilate sentenced Jesus to flogging, a punishment as befitting
his crime against Caesar – advocating not paying taxes to Rome,
with crucifixion added only because Jewish leaders kept insisting.”

The centurion proceeds to where the soldiers have been scourging
the Jew Jesus. The man sits slumped on the floor, his beaten back
draped with a scarlet robe, now soaked with blood from his flogging,
his head bloody with a crown of thorns driven into his scalp. No lack

of brutality is evident in their torment of this man. They now place
a staff in his right hand, and taunts of “Hail the king of the Jews!”
fill the air, as they continue the severe beating that has his face
almost unrecognizable. The centurion glances, then looks anew.

“Why I have met this man!” recognizing him as the Jew who had
conversed with him, the one who had somehow cured his knee.
“He teaches only love and kindness. Nothing done by him is bad
enough to deserve this.” A soldier, “As Pilate orders, so must it be.”

Reluctantly, the centurion leads the small detail along the path of stone
leading through the walls of Jerusalem toward Calvary, where loss
of life awaits. Jesus, made weak by his great blood lost, is thrown
to the ground by the 100-pound weight of the crossbar of his cross.

“He is too weak to carry his patibulum. You there, you will carry
it for him,” as the centurion picks Simon of Cyrene from the crowd
lining the way. The 600-meter walk goes slowly, as Jesus must tarry
and stumble along. Arriving upon Calvary, the centurion, once proud

to be Roman, feels ashamed at his part to play. Nails, seven inches long,
and one centimeter in diameter, are driven through Jesus’ waiting wrists
into the patibulum. The crossbar is lifted onto the stipe where it belongs,
with Jesus’ feet being nailed to this upright post. Jesus speaks during this,

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The centurion wonders, “What manner of man is this?
Most men beg…or curse. He asks forgiveness for us who
crucify him.” The soldiers gamble for his robe, as if nothing is amiss.

The centurion goes and sits on a low wall. The slow, suffering dance
of death has begun. With his arms pulled upwards and his body’s weight
sagging, breathing is difficult. To draw a breath and stop the advance
of arm pain, muscles must push against the nailed feet, hold, then wait

as pain in the feet and legs builds to unbearable….then slump he
must, allowing the wrists to again support his body. This grotesque ballet
of lifting the body to inhale and sagging to relieve the growing agony
usually lasts for days. But this crucifixion isn’t usual, as all will soon see.

The hours pass agonizingly slowly. Then, Jesus calls out,
“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”
Suddenly, the sky darkens unto night; wind, lightning allow no doubt
as to whether his plea was heard. The Roman soldiers grow panicky.

“This is unnatural! It is pitch black at mid-day. There is a storm,
yet no rain falls.” “Calm yourselves. Light some torches. This
shall soon pass,” assures the centurion, restoring order. But, the warm
sun remains hidden for three hours, as a sign for Man not to miss.

The centurion walks to the foot of Jesus’ cross, which stands
some nine feet high. Looking down from above, Jesus seems to see him.
“I thirst.” The centurion, greatly moved, shouts a command.
A sponge soaked with wine vinegar is raised to Jesus’ parched lips, then,

as the centurion stands, observing him, Jesus announces,
“It is finished.”
Soon following,
“Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit.”

With that, Jesus simply bows his head and dies. An eerie feeling
chills the centurion to his marrow. “He died of his own free will!”
The soldiers, having broken the legs of the others for hastening
their death by suffocation, now come to Jesus. “He is already still.”

To confirm that Jesus is dead, a spear is thrust through his right
side into his heart. Water and blood pour forth. A soldier, “This man
was not much of a man. He died so quickly, before the first night.”
The centurion, “He was the best man who ever lived since time began.”

The centurion walks away, unsure…but knowing nothing is the same.