The Centurion's Story, Page 2

inhelpless grief. Among them was the mother of Jesus. When her infant sonhad been brought to the Jewish Temple, an old priest took him from hismother's arms and prophesied, "This child is set for the fall and riseof many in Israel"; then looking upon the mother, he said: "A swordshall pass through thine own soul also." At this moment his word wasfulfilled; the iron entered her soul. Her dying Son beheld her, and,with his eyes directing her to one who was known as his favoritedisciple, he said, "Woman, behold thy Son!" and this disciple thereuponbore her fainting away.

  It was now noon, clear, scorching, Syrian noon. But a singular mist wasgathering before the sun. Shadows fell from the heights of Moab; and asthey deepened more and more the gleam on shield and helmet faded out.Night rose from the ravines, surging upward in dark billows,overwhelming all. A strange pallor rested on all faces.

  It was night, an Egyptian night at high noon! What meant it? Manifestlythis was no eclipse, for the paschal moon was then at its full. TheJews had ofttimes clamored for a sign, a sign whereby they might testthis sufferer's Messianic claim. Had the sign come? Was nature nowsympathizing with her Lord? Were these shadows the trappings of auniversal woe? Was God manifesting his wrath against sin? Or was thisdarkness a stupendous figure of the position in which the dyingNazarene stood with respect to the deliverance of the race from sin?

  Once in a Jewish synagogue I heard a rabbi read from the scroll ofIsaiah a prophecy concerning the Messiah; that he was to be "woundedfor our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities; that by hisstripes we might be healed." It was predicted that when this Messiahcame he should, bearing the world's burden of sin, go into the outerdarkness in expiatory pain. Was it at this awful moment that he carriedthat burden into the region of the lost? Did he just then descend intohell for us?

  Hark! a cry from his fever-parched lips, piercing the silence and thedarkness, "_Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?_ My God, my God, why hast Thouforsaken me?" Save for that terrific cry of anguish the silence wasunbroken for three mortal hours.

  I have known other victims of the cross to vent their rage in impotentwrath, to spit their hate like asps, to harangue the crowd withhelpless protestations, or to beg for the death-stroke; but this Jesuspreserved a majestic silence. The people also seemed wrapped in a weirdterror. Naught was heard but the rattling of armor as some soldierjostled his comrade, or the sobbing of women or the dropping of blood.Thus until the ninth hour of the day.

  It was now the time of the evening sacrifice, and the darkness beganslowly to lift. Then the Nazarene uttered his only word of complaint:"I thirst." Whereupon a strange thing happened. One of my soldiers,trained in the arena and in gladiatorial contests--a man who had neverbeen known to spare a foe, delighting in the sack of cities, looking onunmoved when children were dashed against the stones--this man dipped asponge in the sour wine which was provided for the guard, and wouldhave raised it to the sufferer's lips. But the Jews cried out, "Let be,let be! Let us see if Eli will come to help him!" For a moment thesoldier hesitated, even joined in the cry; then giving way to the moremerciful promptings of his heart, lifted the sponge and assuaged thethirst of the dying man. It was the only deed of kindness I noted onGolgotha that day. In return for it the Nazarene cast upon hisbenefactor such a look of gratitude that he was ever after a differentman. His nature seemed to be transformed by it.

  Then Jesus cried with a loud voice, "_Tetelestai!_ It is finished!" Didthis signify that his pain was over? Well might he, after such anguish,utter a sigh of relief. Or was it that his mission was accomplished? Sohave I seen a laborer turn homeward from his day's work with pleasantanticipation of rest. So have I seen a wayfarer quicken his footstepsas, at eventide, he came in sight of the village lights. So have I seena soldier, weary with the stress of conflict and wounded unto death,bear the standard aloft as he climbed the parapet and with his lastvoice shouted for victory!

  And then the last word. It was spoken softly, as if from the thresholdof the other world, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!" Then,as he yielded up the ghost, a look of surpassing peace fell upon hisupturned face, which lingered even after death had put its rigid sealupon it. Thus he fell on sleep. I have ofttimes since been reminded ofthat look when I have seen an infant lulled in its mother's arms, orwhen, walking through a Christian cemetery, I have noted upon thetombstones of martyrs the word "_Dormit_: He sleeps."

  The supernatural darkness had now given way to a calm twilight. The skywas covered far toward the zenith with a golden splendor crossed withbars of crimson light. It looked as if heaven's gates were opened; andone gazing through could almost seem to see the flitting of superhumanshapes and hear far-away voices calling, "Lift up your heads, O yegates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Gloryshall come in!"

  At that moment the earth rumbled under my feet; a shudder seemed topass through nature. It was said that as the high priest was kindlingthe lamps in the Holy Place of the Temple, in connection with theevening sacrifice, the great veil hanging before the Holy of Holies wasrent from the top to the bottom as if by an unseen hand. This happenedat the instant when the Nazarene yielded up his spirit, and hisfollowers are wont to say that when he passed from earth to resume hisheavenly glory a new and living way was opened up for penitent sinnersinto the Holiest of All.

  The execution being over, the people slowly dispersed to their homes.Twilight settled down on Golgotha. A group of wailing women lingeredfor a while, then went their way. Against the sky stood forth the threecrosses. On the uplifted face of Dysmas the moonlight showed the lookof ineffable peace that had settled upon it. The face of the otherrobber was fallen upon his breast. In the midst Jesus looked upward,dead but triumphant! Long and steadfastly I gazed upon him. The eventsof the day crowded fast upon my mind and my conviction deepened thatthis was no impostor, no fanatic, no common man. My conscience was soresmitten; my heart was inexpressibly touched by the memory of the thingswhich I had seen; and, with scarcely an intention, I said aloud, butsoftly, "Verily, this was a righteous man."

  Then I reined my horse and rode down the hill. The lights were kindlingin Jerusalem; the beacon on the Castle of Antonia was beginning toglow. At a little distance I drew rein and looked back at Golgotha. Hiscross was there outlined against the sky. I felt myself in the grip ofa mighty passion of doubt and wonder! Who was he? Who was he? I wouldgo back and see!

  I dismounted beneath his cross and gazed upward, unmindful of thestrange looks which my soldiers cast upon me. Tears came to my eyes,old campaigner though I was, tears of grief, of penitence, of dawningfaith. I knelt; I prostrated myself before the Christ who hung dead onthat accursed tree. I rose again and saw him. Dead? Nay,living!--living evermore in the glory which he had with the Fatherbefore the world was! The truth went surging irresistibly through mysoul; until at length, able to restrain myself no longer, I cried,caring not though the world heard me, "Verily, this was the Son ofGod!"

  * * * * *

  I am old now, and the end draws near. For half a century I have lovedand served Him. I have known trials and sorrows not a few, but Hispresence has upheld me. The promise he gave his disciples the nightbefore his death has been my mainstay: "Lo, I am with you alway!" Inthe faith of that promise I have seen men and women die with the lightof heaven on their faces, heroic amid the flames, triumphant before thelion's eyes. I have heard them once and again protesting with theirlast breath, "_Christianus sum!_ I am a Christian!"

  I, too, am a Christian, and humbly proud of it. The cross in my timehas been transformed from an emblem of shame into a symbol of triumph.And the Christ who suffered upon it has been made unto me wisdom andrighteousness and sanctification and redemption. He is my first, mylast, my midst and all in all. I have learned somewhat of the meaningof his life and death and glorious resurrection. Many wonderful hopeshave I; but the best is this, that I--the soldier who had charge of hiscrucifixion--may yet behold his face in peace; that I, who bowed thatnight with broken heart beneath his cross, may some d
ay look upon theKing in his beauty and fall before him, crying, "My Lord and my God!"