{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29566/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29566","id":"gutenberg_29566","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29566","summary":null,"tags":["Bible. New Testament -- History of Biblical events -- Fiction","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","Jesus Christ -- Crucifixion -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE\nCENTURION'S\nSTORY\n\n\n\nDAVID JAMES BURRELL\n\n\n\nAMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY\n150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1892 and 1911,\nBy AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY\n\n\n\n\nTHE CENTURION'S STORY\n\n\nI am an old man now; the burden of fourscore years is resting upon me.\nBut the events of a certain April day in the year 783 A.U.C.--full\nhalf a century ago--are as fresh in my memory as if they had happened\nyesterday.\n\nAt that time I was stationed with my Hundred on garrison duty at the\nCastle of Antonia, in Jerusalem. I had been ordered to take charge of\nthe execution of a malefactor who had just been sentenced to death.\nAccordingly, on the morning of the day mentioned, I selected twelve\nof my men, such as were hardened to bloody deeds, and with them I\nproceeded to the Praetorium. All was hurry and excitement there. As\nit was the time of the Jewish Passover, the city was thronged with\nstrangers. A multitude of people had assembled and were clamoring for\nthe death of this man. On our arrival he was brought forth. He proved\nto be that Prophet of Nazareth whose oracular wisdom and wonder-working\npower had been everywhere noised abroad. I had heard much about him.\n\nHe claimed to be the Messiah for whose advent the Jews had been looking\nfrom time immemorial; and his disciples believed it. They called him by\nsuch well-known Messianic titles as \"Son of Man,\" \"Son of David\" and\n\"Son of God.\" He spoke of himself as \"the only-begotten Son of God,\"\ndeclaring that he had been \"in the bosom of the Father before the world\nwas,\" and that he was now manifest in human form to expiate the world's\nsin. This was regarded by the religious leaders as rank blasphemy and\nthey clamored for his death. He was tried before the Roman court, which\nrefused to consider the charge, inasmuch as it involved a religious\nquestion not lying within its jurisdiction; but the prisoner, being\nturned over to the Sanhedrin, was found worthy of death for \"making\nhimself equal with God.\"\n\nI remember him well as he appeared that day. From what I had heard I\nwas prepared to see a hard-faced impostor or a fanatic with frenzy in\nhis eyes. He was a man of middle stature, with a face of striking\nbeauty and benignity, eyes of mingled light and warmth, and auburn hair\nfalling over his shoulders. It was not strange that he looked pale and\nhaggard; for he had passed through three judicial ordeals since the\nlast sunset, besides being scourged with the _flagellum horrible_ and\nexposed to the rude buffeting of the midnight guard. He had been\nclothed in the cast-off purple of the Roman procurator and wore a\nderisive crown of thorns. But, as he issued from the Hall of Judgment,\nsuch was his commanding presence that the multitude was hushed and\nseparated to make way.\n\nThe cross, constructed of transverse beams of sycamore, was brought and\nlaid upon his shoulders. About his neck was suspended a titulum on\nwhich was inscribed, _Jesu Nazaret, Rex Judaeorum_. I was told that\nthe Jewish leaders had objected to his being called their King; but\nPilate, by whose orders the titulum was prepared, was for some reason\ninsistent and answered them shortly, \"What I have written, I have\nwritten.\" It was easy to see, however, that they bitterly resented it.\n\nAt the accustomed signal my quaternions fell into the line and the\nprocession moved on. I rode before, clearing the way. The people\nthronged the narrow streets, crying more and more loudly as we\nproceeded, \"_Staurosate! Staurosate!_ Crucify him!\"\n\nThe Nazarene, weak from long vigils and suffering, bowed low under his\nburden. A woman in the company, by name Veronica, pressed near and\nwiped the dust and blood from his haggard face. It was reported that\nthe napkin when withdrawn bore the impress of his face, marred, but\ndivinely beautiful. Whether this be true or not I cannot say.\n\nAs the multitude surged onward toward the Jaffa gate, a cobbler named\nAhasuerus, as if moved by a malignant spirit, thrust his foot before\nthe prisoner, who stumbled thereat and fell. In punishment for that\ncruel deed he is said to be still a wanderer upon the earth with no\nrest for his weary feet. This, too, is a mere legend; but certainly I\nhave found, even in the grim business of a soldier, that retribution\nlike a fury pursues all pitiless men.\n\nWe passed through the Jaffa gate and entered upon the steep road\nleading to the place of execution. The sun flamed down upon us; we were\nenveloped in a cloud of dust. The prisoner at length, overborne by his\ncross, fell beneath it. We seized upon an Ethiopian who chanced to be\nin the throng and placed the burden upon him. Strange to tell, he\nassumed it without a murmur; insomuch that by many he was suspected of\nbeing a secret follower of Jesus.\n\nAs we surged on with din and uproar a group of women standing by the\nwayside rent the air with shrill lamentations, on hearing which Jesus\nsaid, \"Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but for yourselves and\nyour children; for behold the days come when they shall say to the\nmountains, Fall on us! and to the hills, Cover us!\" It was a weird\nprophecy, and ere a generation passed it was to the letter fulfilled.\nThere were those in that company who lived to see the Holy City\ncompassed about by a forest of hostile spears. Its inhabitants were\nbrought low by famine and pestilence, insomuch that the eyes of mothers\nrested hungrily on the white flesh of their own children. On the\nsurrounding heights crosses were reared, on which hundreds of Jewish\ncaptives died the shameful death. Despair fell upon all. And in those\ndays there were not a few who called to mind the ominous words of the\nNazarene, \"Weep not for me, but for yourselves and for your children\nafter you!\"\n\nThe road we journeyed has since been known as Via Dolorosa. It led to\nthe round knoll called Golgotha, from its resemblance to a skull. As we\ndrew nigh we perceived two crosses, already reared, on which two\nthieves of Barabbas' band had been suspended in agony for some hours.\nTheir twisted bodies stood out grimly against the sky. Our prisoner, as\nan added mark of obloquy, was to be crucified between them.\n\nOur spears and standards were lowered, and Jesus, being stripped of his\nouter garments, was laid prostrate upon his cross. A soldier approached\nwith hammer and spikes, at sight of whom the frenzied multitude ceased\ntheir revilings for the moment and pressed near. The prisoner preserved\nhis calm demeanor. A stupefying draught was offered him; but he refused\nit, apparently preferring to look death calmly in the face. He\nstretched out his hands; the hammer fell.\n\nAt the sight of blood the mob broke forth again, crying, \"_Staurosate!_\"\nBut not a word escaped the sufferer. As the nails tore through the\nquivering flesh his eyes closed and his lips moved as if he were\nholding communion with some invisible One. Then with a great wrench the\ncross was lifted into the socket prepared for it.\n\nAt this moment the first word escaped him. With a look of reproach and\nan appealing glance to heaven, he cried, \"Father, forgive them; they\nknow not what they do!\" It was as if he were covering our heads with a\nshield of prayer. In this he did but practise his own rule of charity\nand doctrine of forgiveness, \"Love your enemies, bless them that curse\nyou, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully\nuse you.\"\n\nHis prayer, however, seemed but to rouse anew the fury of his enemies.\nThey cried out in mockery, \"Come down! come down from thy cross. Thou\nthat boastest of destroying the Temple and rebuilding it in three days,\nsave thyself!\" The priests and rabbis, standing by, joined in the\nmockery, saying, \"Aha, he saved others, himself he cannot save! Let him\ncome down if he be the Messiah, the chosen of God!\" My soldiers\nmeanwhile disputed as to the apportionment of his garments; I noted the\nrattling of dice in the brazen helmet wherein they were casting lots\nfor his seamless robe.\n\nThe thieves on either hand joined for a time in the mockery; but\npresently a change came over the one upon the right, whose name was\nDysmas.\n\nThis man, like his fellow, had belonged to a notorious band of robbers\nwho infested the road to Jericho. His life had been passed in bloody\nwork; but the patient demeanor of Jesus touched his heart and convinced\nhim that He was indeed the veritable Son of God. The other thief joined\nin the mockery, but Dysmas remonstrated with him, saying, \"Dost thou\nnot even fear God? We indeed are condemned justly, receiving the due\nreward of our deeds; but this man hath done nothing amiss.\" Then\npresently, turning his pain-racked eyes toward Jesus, he entreated,\n\"Lord, remember me when thou comest in thy kingdom!\" The Nazarene\nstraightway turned upon him a look of compassionate love, saying,\n\"To-day thou shalt be with me in paradise!\"\n\nAn hour later this robber's head sank upon his breast; but in death his\nface wore a look of indescribable peace. The time came when the word of\npardon addressed to this man was a message of hope and comfort to other\ngreat sinners. He who saved Dysmas in the article of death, plucking\nhim from the edge of the abyss, was thenceforth believed by His\nfollowers to be able to save even unto the uttermost all who would come\nunto Him.\n\nNot far from the cross stood a company of women wringing their hands in\nhelpless grief. Among them was the mother of Jesus. When her infant son\nhad been brought to the Jewish Temple, an old priest took him from his\nmother's arms and prophesied, \"This child is set for the fall and rise\nof many in Israel\"; then looking upon the mother, he said: \"A sword\nshall pass through thine own soul also.\" At this moment his word was\nfulfilled; the iron entered her soul. Her dying Son beheld her, and,\nwith his eyes directing her to one who was known as his favorite\ndisciple, he said, \"Woman, behold thy Son!\" and this disciple thereupon\nbore her fainting away.\n\nIt was now noon, clear, scorching, Syrian noon. But a singular mist was\ngathering before the sun. Shadows fell from the heights of Moab; and as\nthey deepened more and more the gleam on shield and helmet faded out.\nNight rose from the ravines, surging upward in dark billows,\noverwhelming all. A strange pallor rested on all faces.\n\nIt was night, an Egyptian night at high noon! What meant it? Manifestly\nthis was no eclipse, for the paschal moon was then at its full. The\nJews had ofttimes clamored for a sign, a sign whereby they might test\nthis sufferer's Messianic claim. Had the sign come? Was nature now\nsympathizing with her Lord? Were these shadows the trappings of a\nuniversal woe? Was God manifesting his wrath against sin? Or was this\ndarkness a stupendous figure of the position in which the dying\nNazarene stood with respect to the deliverance of the race from sin?\n\nOnce in a Jewish synagogue I heard a rabbi read from the scroll of\nIsaiah a prophecy concerning the Messiah; that he was to be \"wounded\nfor our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities; that by his\nstripes we might be healed.\" It was predicted that when this Messiah\ncame he should, bearing the world's burden of sin, go into the outer\ndarkness in expiatory pain. Was it at this awful moment that he carried\nthat burden into the region of the lost? Did he just then descend into\nhell for us?\n\nHark! a cry from his fever-parched lips, piercing the silence and the\ndarkness, \"_Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?_ My God, my God, why hast Thou\nforsaken me?\" Save for that terrific cry of anguish the silence was\nunbroken for three mortal hours.\n\nI have known other victims of the cross to vent their rage in impotent\nwrath, to spit their hate like asps, to harangue the crowd with\nhelpless protestations, or to beg for the death-stroke; but this Jesus\npreserved a majestic silence. The people also seemed wrapped in a weird\nterror. Naught was heard but the rattling of armor as some soldier\njostled his comrade, or the sobbing of women or the dropping of blood.\nThus until the ninth hour of the day.\n\nIt was now the time of the evening sacrifice, and the darkness began\nslowly to lift. Then the Nazarene uttered his only word of complaint:\n\"I thirst.\" Whereupon a strange thing happened. One of my soldiers,\ntrained in the arena and in gladiatorial contests--a man who had never\nbeen known to spare a foe, delighting in the sack of cities, looking on\nunmoved when children were dashed against the stones--this man dipped a\nsponge in the sour wine which was provided for the guard, and would\nhave raised it to the sufferer's lips. But the Jews cried out, \"Let be,\nlet be! Let us see if Eli will come to help him!\" For a moment the\nsoldier hesitated, even joined in the cry; then giving way to the more\nmerciful promptings of his heart, lifted the sponge and assuaged the\nthirst of the dying man. It was the only deed of kindness I noted on\nGolgotha that day. In return for it the Nazarene cast upon his\nbenefactor such a look of gratitude that he was ever after a different\nman. His nature seemed to be transformed by it.\n\nThen Jesus cried with a loud voice, \"_Tetelestai!_ It is finished!\" Did\nthis signify that his pain was over? Well might he, after such anguish,\nutter a sigh of relief. Or was it that his mission was accomplished? So\nhave I seen a laborer turn homeward from his day's work with pleasant\nanticipation of rest. So have I seen a wayfarer quicken his footsteps\nas, at eventide, he came in sight of the village lights. So have I seen\na soldier, weary with the stress of conflict and wounded unto death,\nbear the standard aloft as he climbed the parapet and with his last\nvoice shouted for victory!\n\nAnd then the last word. It was spoken softly, as if from the threshold\nof the other world, \"Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!\" Then,\nas he yielded up the ghost, a look of surpassing peace fell upon his\nupturned face, which lingered even after death had put its rigid seal\nupon it. Thus he fell on sleep. I have ofttimes since been reminded of\nthat look when I have seen an infant lulled in its mother's arms, or\nwhen, walking through a Christian cemetery, I have noted upon the\ntombstones of martyrs the word \"_Dormit_: He sleeps.\"\n\nThe supernatural darkness had now given way to a calm twilight. The sky\nwas covered far toward the zenith with a golden splendor crossed with\nbars of crimson light. It looked as if heaven's gates were opened; and\none gazing through could almost seem to see the flitting of superhuman\nshapes and hear far-away voices calling, \"Lift up your heads, O ye\ngates; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory\nshall come in!\"\n\nAt that moment the earth rumbled under my feet; a shudder seemed to\npass through nature. It was said that as the high priest was kindling\nthe lamps in the Holy Place of the Temple, in connection with the\nevening sacrifice, the great veil hanging before the Holy of Holies was\nrent from the top to the bottom as if by an unseen hand. This happened\nat the instant when the Nazarene yielded up his spirit, and his\nfollowers are wont to say that when he passed from earth to resume his\nheavenly glory a new and living way was opened up for penitent sinners\ninto the Holiest of All.\n\nThe execution being over, the people slowly dispersed to their homes.\nTwilight settled down on Golgotha. A group of wailing women lingered\nfor a while, then went their way. Against the sky stood forth the three\ncrosses. On the uplifted face of Dysmas the moonlight showed the look\nof ineffable peace that had settled upon it. The face of the other\nrobber was fallen upon his breast. In the midst Jesus looked upward,\ndead but triumphant! Long and steadfastly I gazed upon him. The events\nof the day crowded fast upon my mind and my conviction deepened that\nthis was no impostor, no fanatic, no common man. My conscience was sore\nsmitten; my heart was inexpressibly touched by the memory of the things\nwhich I had seen; and, with scarcely an intention, I said aloud, but\nsoftly, \"Verily, this was a righteous man.\"\n\nThen I reined my horse and rode down the hill. The lights were kindling\nin Jerusalem; the beacon on the Castle of Antonia was beginning to\nglow. At a little distance I drew rein and looked back at Golgotha. His\ncross was there outlined against the sky. I felt myself in the grip of\na mighty passion of doubt and wonder! Who was he? Who was he? I would\ngo back and see!\n\nI dismounted beneath his cross and gazed upward, unmindful of the\nstrange looks which my soldiers cast upon me. Tears came to my eyes,\nold campaigner though I was, tears of grief, of penitence, of dawning\nfaith. I knelt; I prostrated myself before the Christ who hung dead on\nthat accursed tree. I rose again and saw him. Dead? Nay,\nliving!--living evermore in the glory which he had with the Father\nbefore the world was! The truth went surging irresistibly through my\nsoul; until at length, able to restrain myself no longer, I cried,\ncaring not though the world heard me, \"Verily, this was the Son of\nGod!\"\n\n                     *      *      *      *      *\n\nI am old now, and the end draws near. For half a century I have loved\nand served Him. I have known trials and sorrows not a few, but His\npresence has upheld me. The promise he gave his disciples the night\nbefore his death has been my mainstay: \"Lo, I am with you alway!\" In\nthe faith of that promise I have seen men and women die with the light\nof heaven on their faces, heroic amid the flames, triumphant before the\nlion's eyes. I have heard them once and again protesting with their\nlast breath, \"_Christianus sum!_ I am a Christian!\"\n\nI, too, am a Christian, and humbly proud of it. The cross in my time\nhas been transformed from an emblem of shame into a symbol of triumph.\nAnd the Christ who suffered upon it has been made unto me wisdom and\nrighteousness and sanctification and redemption. He is my first, my\nlast, my midst and all in all. I have learned somewhat of the meaning\nof his life and death and glorious resurrection. Many wonderful hopes\nhave I; but the best is this, that I--the soldier who had charge of his\ncrucifixion--may yet behold his face in peace; that I, who bowed that\nnight with broken heart beneath his cross, may some day look upon the\nKing in his beauty and fall before him, crying, \"My Lord and my God!\"","title":"The Centurion's Story","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":3284}