The cross

Our troops, the battalion of Mislevius, took over control of the prisoner as the day turned toward afternoon on Friday. Malchus' group had done a masterful job under tremendous pressure from in the night until mid-morning, but they were let go when our governor, Pilate, finally (and I do mean finally) said the prisoner should be crucified.

Crucifixion is our duty. It is an interesting duty, too.

Crucifixion was almost never performed for ritual or symbolic reasons outside of Christianity, but usually to provide a death that was particularly slow, painful, gruesome, humiliating, and public, using whatever means were most expedient for that goal. Let me tell you, this was not something you wanted ot watch.

We had been doing it for quite a while and it still brought shivers to us. The way we did it was, we made the accused, in this case this Jew, haul a crossbeam that weight well over 100 pounds on shoulders that had been previous the victim of the flagellation.

In other words, they were torn open then we made them put this rough board on their shoulders. Ugh. He had to drag that through the city to the place called Golgotha, just outside the city gates.

We had this place, this Golgotha, where the persons would be hung there, by these large nails into their hands and their feet, so that passersby would see them. It was right off the road, mind you.

The worst thing? They were naked. Naked I tell you. It was bad enough that the pain of the nails and the hanging there slowly, slowly losing the ability to breathe because you couldn't hoist yourself higher to get a breath.

Oh, that was bad enough. but if you had to urinate or defecate, a prisoner had to do so in the open, in view of passers-by, resulting in discomfort and the attraction of insects. We used this method frequently, though I heard that even one of our eminent statesmen.

Cicero, for example, denounced crucifixion as "a most cruel and disgusting punishment", and suggested that, "the very mention of the cross (should) be far removed not only from a Roman citizen’s body, but from his mind, his eyes, his ears." He ought to try being in charge of the detail that did it.

There was nothing unusual about the putting of the criminal onto the cross. It was fairly routine, with the exception I think of the number of persons who were following us. He fell several times, but they all do. That crossbeam is heavy, even for our men.

At one point we made someone help this Jesus. But mostly, it was routine. Putting him onto the cross was routine as well. The pain, the suffering, the blood, all routine.

We lifted him up and there he was, waiting to die a slow, slow death. There was a crowd watching, which I thought to be ghastly. At one point I hard one of them say, "This is the King of the Jews?" They laughed.

Kings normally aren't stripped naked for all to see, you know. I heard another say, "He saved others, let him save himself." I was at the foot of the cross, watching, waiting.

I heard some strange utterances from the criminal. Usually you hear them screaming for help or yelling about the pain. But I heard one of the criminals say, "So you're the Messiah, are you? Prove it by saving yourself, and us too while you're at it." The criminal to the other side of him protested. "Don't you fear God even when you are dying? We deserve to die for our evil deeds, but this man hasn't done anything wrong." Then this Jesus said, "I assure you, today you will be with me in paradise."


I wondered what he meant. I really did. Then I heard him say, "Father, forgive these people, because they don't' know what they are doing." I was humbled.

Look, my men had gambled for his clothing, the dirty, blood covered rags he was wearing. They had laughed at him. And here he was, asking for their forgiveness from a God we don't believe in. And there the routine left us.

At some point after the humiliation and the suffering has lingered long enough for us, we usually break the legs of the rebels.

You know, to make it go a bit faster. Enough is enough for even us. But this Jesus, he died remarkably quickly.

When we checked on him as it neared the ninth hour, he was dead. The last words I heard from him, the last words I heard him say were, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

And he took a last gasp and died.

My men speared him in the side and blood and water rushed out, in a strange, strange flow. He was dead. Words escaped me before I could control them. "Surely this man was innocent," I said. Then I went farther. "Surely he was, WAS, the Son of God."

Amazingly, the crowd that had been so uproarious and festive suddenly upon his death went home in sorrow. But this man's friends, I learned later, stayed and watched. They came and took the body, this man named Joseph, a member of the high council that we knew, and he gave him his own crypt that was near the place that looked so much like a skull in the stone in the side of the hill.

They played the body quickly there as to not sully their Passover. We stationed a guard there so his disciples could not come and play tricks on us by stealing his body. And it was over. It was one strange day. I doubt there is nothing that could top it.