Category Archives: Books by David Kitz

Excerpt 23 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Six fifty in the morning, Friday, April 7 A.D.
Jesus trial before Pontius Pilate continues.

When we entered the judgment hall, the dark-eyed Badger was seething. He knew Caiaphas was using him. He had said so to the assessor. He let fly a string of profanity. “He has me trapped!” he snarled. “Trapped like a rat in a stone water jar.” And with that he tossed the list of charges onto his desk.
James ThtThen he turned to Jesus in the center of the room. He looked him over, walked fully around him. Pilate sighed and nervously ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He made a smacking sound with his lips and asked, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
“You have said so,” came his equivocal answer.
This answer left the governor rocking on his heels. He brought a finger to his lips in pensive thought.
Jesus was not making an acquittal any easier.
But after a moment Jesus continued. “Is that your own idea, or did others talk to you about me?”
“Am I a Jew?” Pilate shot back with an ample measure of haughty contempt. “Your own people and chief priests handed you over to me.” He continued the questioning. “What is it you have done?”
“My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus said, and to drive home this point, he added, “If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.”
Certain words that Claudius had spoken came echoing back into my mind. He had been convinced that this kingdom Jesus spoke of was somehow different from kingdoms as we know them. Now I heard it from this would-be Messiah’s mouth. He was no armed insurrectionist, and he had offered the actions of his followers as proof.
But Pilate seized on that word—kingdom. “You are a king, then!” Pilate deduced.
With calm, clear deliberation the prophet spoke. “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”
It almost seemed from this response that Jesus was operating from, and speaking on,Biblical fiction winner 2017 some higher plane—a dimension I had witnessed him operate from during the healings at the temple. He was inviting Pilate to join him in discovering this higher ground of truth.
Pilate would not be moved. They were speaking past each other.
“What is truth?” Pilate shrugged. The question was rhetorical. He had no intention of being dragged into a philosophical discussion with this prophet of the Jewish masses. Once again, the Badger retreated.
Grabbing the list of charges from off his desk, he motioned for us to follow him back outside.

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Excerpt 22 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

20 Tuesday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Six thirty in the morning, Friday, April 7 A.D.
Jesus trial before Pontius Pilate begins.

The governor peered over the heads of the men directly in front of him. He scanned the assemblage on the street, took in the significance of it all, and then cleared his throat. “Where is the man?”
Jonathon turned quickly. On reaching the first step, he beckoned beyond our pikemen to three of his own temple guards, who then advanced with their prisoner—Jesus of Nazareth.
Picture Cent-helmetHe was a mess, almost unrecognizable. His hair was matted. He had been spat upon. The spittle was drying in his beard. There were red welts on his face and neck, a blood- oozing gash above his left eye, a discernable limp to his gait.
It was apparent that during the night they’d had their way with him.
He was escorted to a position directly before me. Intuitively I knew he was my man now, my charge.
A twitch of Pilate’s eyebrow hinted his surprise at the condition of the man.
“Loose him,” he directed with a slight wave of his hand.
Two temple guards hastened to unfasten the leather strap binding Jesus’s arms to his torso. The third man freed the prisoner’s hands. With a second wave of his hand, Pilate dismissed the temple guards, who repositioned themselves on the first step and stood facing the proceedings.
Pilate took a seat on the throne of judgment, which had been brought out for him by two attendants. Raising the scroll in his left hand, he asked, “What charges are you bringing against this man?”
It was clear from this gesture that he was referring to the charges written on the scroll he now clutched in his hand. Undoubtedly he had read these charges himself, and in all likelihood had discussed them
with the assessor standing to his right. But he wanted the high priest to articulate them. “If he were not a criminal, we would not have handed him over to you,” Caiaphas said with a huff.
A rather cheeky response, I thought.
“Take him yourselves and judge him by your own law,” Pilate answered.
Here Annas interjected, “But we have no right to execute anyone.”
A devious response if there ever was one. The temple, in fact, routinely acted as bothbiblical-fiction-award-2017_orig judge and executioner in religious matters and had been granted full authority to do so. Death by stoning was commonplace. I had witnessed Annas himself cast the first stone at some hapless adulteress within the first week of my arrival here ten years ago. No, the temple had the right to execute, and these crafty fellows could surely find grounds to execute this man. They just didn’t want the blood on their hands. They did not want to be blamed for the death of this rabbi. For many he had become the hope of the nation. No, they wanted us to do the job, to act as their executioners. They wanted him judged and executed under Roman law. What Caiaphas said next made this abundantly clear.
“We have found this man”—he aimed a bony finger at Jesus—“subverting our nation. He opposes payment of taxes to Caesar and claims to be Messiah, a king.”
Now here was a capital offense—a capital offense under Roman law.
The Weasel had backed the Badger into a corner, and he was relishing the moment. These charges would need further examination. But Pilate would not proceed in full view of a gloating high priest, urged on by his consorts and a handpicked audience. He retreated.
He abruptly arose from his throne, fixed his eyes on me, and said, “Bring the man.” He motioned with a jerk of his head toward the great doors behind us and then marched off into his residence.
I stepped down to escort Jesus, but he was already in motion. It became clear that the steps were painful for him. I put my hand to his elbow.

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Excerpt 21 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

19 Monday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Five forty-five in the morning, Friday, April 7 A.D.
In today’s reading, a messenger from Pontius Pilate arrives at the home of Marcus Longinus, the Roman centurion, with the news that Jesus has been arrested.

“Sir, I have just come from the governor. You are to report to the Praetorium immediately. Jesus of Nazareth has been arrested. The high priest has brought him before the governor for judgment.”
“Is that so?” I said in a state of consternation. “Who sent you?”
“The governor himself. He said you were familiar with the Galilean.”
I blew a short puff of air through my nostrils. All of Jerusalem was somewhat familiar with the Galilean.
“So he wants me there immediately?”
“Immediately, sir.” He shifted from one foot to the other and then, as if to justify thisCentur. Sw response, he added, “The high priest and a big delegation, maybe three hundred men, maybe more, arrived at the palace door at first light. They had the prisoner—Jesus—with them.”
“Tell the governor I’m on my way.”
With a quick nod of my head, I dismissed the messenger. Instantly he turned and began his run back to the governor’s residence. I took one step back inside the gate and began barking orders.
“You, you, and you!” I stabbed my index finger in the direction of the most dressed and prepared-looking soldiers. “Strap on your swords and follow me. Now!”
Then, addressing the other soldiers, I announced, “The rest of you, meet me at the Praetorium as soon as you are ready.”
“Claudius”—I nodded in his direction—“you are in charge. I’ll give everyone their assignment for the day when they get there.”
I stepped back through the gate and began covering the ground with long, quick strides. My three recruits had to run to catch up. With each stride a new thought came jogging into my head. Stupid Arius! Why didn’t he tell me the messenger was from Pilate? I would have moved a good deal faster.
Obviously my concerns about the prophet had moved up the chain of command. Flavio must have informed Pilate about my worries and the actions I had taken, hence this unusual move—a direct summons by the governor. I harbored the hope that he would consult directly with me on the matter. Three hundred men! Three hundred men at first light? The Weasel must have had a busy night. It takes a good deal of effort to set your troops in array. Caiaphas must have been hatching this plot for a good long while. 4485 TWITTER
But the Weasel caught his prey! What a sweet bit of treachery that must have been. I wondered how he pulled that off. Now the high priest would move in for the kill. We would see if he could slaughter his own Passover lamb. The people! If the pilgrims, especially the Galilean pilgrims, knew their Messiah had been seized, there could be a mass revolt. That must be why the Weasel had done his dirty work in the dark of the night. And furthermore, he had played out this drama at the zenith of the festival, while minds and hearts were on faith, home, and family. Here was a cunning scheme worthy of the Fox, played out by the Weasel.
Undoubtedly most of the population would still be unaware of these developments, even as I had been caught off guard. Off guard but not surprised. I could smell this coming.
My conversation with Renaldo at the bathhouse came echoing back. It gave me an eerie feeling knowing I had spoken like some prophetic oracle. It made me wonder from where that insight had really come.
“By Jupiter! I forgot the spikes.” I wheeled around while reaching out my hand to halt the soldier at my side. Addressing him directly, I said, “I forgot them—the spikes. They’re in a pouch hanging on a peg in my bedchamber. My wife, she’ll know where they are. Ask her to get the pouch for you. Then bring it to me at the Praetorium. Oh, and tell the other men to hurry. This is urgent.” I fixed my eyes on him to stress the importance of this last statement and then added, “Now run.”

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Excerpt 20 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

16 Friday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Mid afternoon on Thursday, April 6th, 30 A.D.
In today’s reading, Governor Pontius Pilate gives a brief speech formally welcoming Herod the tetrarch to Jerusalem.

At last the two mounted commanders arrived before Pilate’s chariot. They were motioned to take their position on either side. After a brief confusion of feet, the royal litter managed to turn sideways so the royal couple could face the governor as he stood upon his imperial chariot. The trumpeters sounded the fanfare. When the last note had echoed off the marble wall, Pilate unrolled the parchment handed to him by an attendant. He cleared his throat and began his oration.
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“It was under the rule of the great and wise Emperor Caesar Augustus that this magnificent temple behind us began to take shape. He recognized the desire of the Jewish people for a central place to worship. It was Herod the great Idumean king who oversaw the construction of this masterpiece of the empire, and today it stands as a symbol of Roman respect for the unity and diversity of all the peoples of the empire. It is only fitting today that I, as the emperor’s representative, welcome the son of this master builder, Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee and Perea.”
With a wave of his hand, Pilate signaled the sounding of a second trumpet fanfare. As the first note was sounded, he stepped off the chariot and then graciously lent a hand to his wife. Thus accompanied by his mate, he swaggered over to the royal litter to personally greet Herod and Herodias, who both stood to meet them.
Greetings were exchanged, none of which I could discern from a distance. After a brief discussion Claudia joined Herodias in the royal litter. Herod barked out some orders. The litter bearers stood to their feet and headed off in the direction of the governor’s residence. Apparently the ladies would have their own time together.
At a leisurely pace Pilate escorted Herod over to where the priestly delegation waited.Soldier book
It was an unusual sight, these three hostile, inflated men exchanging greetings and meaningless pleasantries. Herod Antipas, Pontius Pilate, and Joseph Caiaphas; the Fox, the Badger, and the Weasel. All three were kings in their own right, within their own jurisdiction. All three craved more power, absolute power, while fiercely holding one another in check.
Pilate turned to me and gave a quick, tight nod. I signaled up to Claudius, and the great Golden Gate, the Messiah Gate, was hoisted, granting entrance to the three competing kings.
Only the fourth king, the people’s king—the donkey king—only he was absent.

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Excerpt 19 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

15 Thursday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, the rivalry and tension between the Governor Pontius Pilate, and Joseph Caiaphas, the high priest are on full display. The two leaders are waiting for the official arrival of Herod the tetrarch. Date: Mid afternoon on Thursday, April 6th, 30 A.D.

When all were in position, I called for the lowering of the heavy, grated iron gate. From now on, the Passover celebrants would be forced to use an alternate entrance or exit.
In short order the toga-clad governor, Pontius Pilate, arrived on his gold-ornamented chariot. The gate was raised. By the governor’s side stood Claudia Procula lavishly dressed in full-length scarlet. Her bejeweled opulence contrasted sharply with the poverty common to most women of this province. The chariot took a position allowing the ruling couple to look out to the Mount of Olives, in readiness for the approaching king.
The only missing player was Caiaphas. In due time his delegation arrived, and the enormous gate was hauled up once more on creaking chains, only to be lowered again when the priestly party had exited.
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Pilate had been gazing down the road stretched out before him when Caiaphas arrived, and it was only the coarse rattle coming from the gate chains behind him that alerted him to the approach of the high priest and his delegation. He turned, stepped down from the chariot, and briskly strode over to the dumbfounded cleric. The expression on Caiaphas’s face said it all. He clearly did not expect to see Pilate here. He had intended this to be a discreet, private tour and consultation.
“You’re expecting someone?” Pilate brusquely inquired.
An uncomfortable pause followed. Caiaphas cast a hasty glance at those accompanying him, adjusted the folds in his robe, cleared his rusty throat, and replied, “Yes, King Herod requested a tour of the great temple.”
“Did he now?” There was a coldness in Pilate’s voice that betrayed the utter contempt he felt toward this Jewish leader. “Ahh!” He gestured grandly. “There is no king in these parts. I know of no king.” Then spotting me on horseback nearby, the governor turned and in mock sincerity called out, “Centurion. Is there a king around here?”
“We have no king here but Caesar,” I answered, joining in the sport.
“The centurion says there is no king but Caesar. Do you have some other king I’m unaware of? Perhaps I should meet this king.”
By now the high priest was well beyond flustered. He had stepped into a trap. Surrounded by Roman troops and cut off from the safety of the temple’s hallowed sanctum, he was now being hectored by his chief political rival. It seemed more than he could endure. He began to tremble uncontrollably, whether from fear or anger I could not tell.
“Your Excellency”—he swallowed hard—“I was referring to the . . . te-tetrarch of Galilee.” 
“The te-tetrarch?” Pilate mimicked not only the high priest’s tremulous stammer, but also the rusty-gate scratch of his voice. “Is that so? Well, the tetrarch is no king. And he certainly isn’t your king.” Then with slow, icy deliberation, Pilate said, “There is no king here but Caesar. Did you hear that?”
This was no rhetorical question. “Yes, Your Excellency. I heard.”Biblical fiction winner 2017
“Do you, any of you”—he scanned the delegation—“have any other king?”
The cowering dogs dutifully answered, “No, we have no other king.”
Caiaphas, however, was silent. A fact well noted by the governor.
Then Pilate took a step closer to the trembling priest, pointed a bony finger in his face, and hissed, “Now don’t forget that, you old goat, or your blood will be running down the Kidron! Did you hear that?”
“I . . . I am your servant, Your Excellency,” Caiaphas rasped.
“Ha!” Pilate laughed an icy laugh in a show of disdain for that remark. Then he turned on his heels and marched back to his chariot, where once more he joined his wife.
For a full minute there was stunned silence from the religious delegation, and then suddenly they all began to speak at once in a huddle of hushed tones like schoolboys after a tongue-lashing from the headmaster.
But there was murder in the high priest’s eye. Nothing childish there. From my vantage point I could see that. He didn’t have the means, but he most certainly had the intent.
I am sure that if the gate had been open, the delegation would have returned to the safety of the sanctuary to plot their revenge, but that option was not open to them. They were trapped in this pocket, surrounded by hated foreign troops, subject to the whim and ridicule of their enemy, awaiting the arrival of their pretentious savior king.
Long, awkward moments passed. But they were saved from this interminable purgatory by Herod’s arrival.

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Excerpt 18 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

14 Wednesday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, Marcus, the centurion, rides back into Jerusalem on horseback. As he rides his mind turns over his thoughts about Jesus of Nazareth. Date: Near noon on Thursday, April 6th, 30 A.D.

We continued on to the fortress, but my mind was on the Northern Messiah. His penetrating eyes haunted my thoughts. There was a power there that I had no ability to fathom. I was reminded of Ruth’s words. Ruth was one of our household servants, a Jewish girl. When at the supper table I had told Zelda about Jesus and his miraculous powers, Ruth’s eyes brightened. I asked her if she knew anything about this man.
biblical-fiction-award-2017_orig“Oh, yes,” she’d said. “Almost a year ago he healed a blind beggar from the Lower City. Jesus made some mud, put it on the beggar’s eyes, and sent him to wash in the Pool of Siloam. When he washed, he could see. It was a miracle. I’ve seen this man myself. I know it’s true,” she earnestly avowed.
When I’d asked her about this power Jesus had and where it came from, she bowed her head and answered, “From God.”
But she seemed somehow uncomfortable with her answer. She added, “It must be from God. He does good things. But our leaders aren’t sure. They think it may be demon power. But demons don’t heal the sick.”
Maybe the religious leaders were right. Maybe it was demonic power that made the blind see. It seemed preposterous. But why had I heard this voice? Why did this man trouble me so? Thinking of him seemed to stir up nothing but torment within me, and I didn’t even know why. I felt strangely attracted to him, yet at the same time repelled.
Then there was this talk about the kingdom of God. Maybe Timaeus was right about this prophet. The words of the wealthy merchant came back to me: “You don’t talk about a kingdom in this place and get away with it. Rome will see to that!”
Maybe we would see to it. Maybe we should see to it soon. But Jesus’s enemies were the same pompous, self-serving leaders I despised. He had aligned himself with the common man, with the poor, the oppressed, the sick and suffering. And he didn’t just champion their cause for personal benefit like some crass politician lobbying for the emperor’s favor. No, he healed them. He fed them. He walked with them, ate with them. He was one of them. He was their king, whether he wore a crown or not. I saw that clearly when he entered on the donkey. He was the donkey king. A horse would have put him above the crowd. A horse would have meant elevating himself like all the other egotistical men who led in this upside-down world.
In his case others would have to do the elevating.
The meaning of his entry on Sunday came clear to me now. It was a perspective gained from my comfortable perch on the back of my own noble steed.
By the time I reached the fortress for the second time in the week, I resolved to shut this Messiah out of my mind. He didn’t fit any of my categories for human behavior or religious thought. He was beyond understanding, an unwelcome intruder into my city and my thought life.

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Excerpt 17 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

13 Tuesday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, Marcus, the centurion, meets with Jonas the tax collector. They discuss the news of the week, namely the huge stir that Jesus has caused in Jerusalem since his triumphal entry into the city. Date: Early morning April 6th, 30 A.D.

As I descended the stairs of the gate, I caught sight of Jonas and his son, unoccupied at the customs booth. With a quick wave of my hand, I signaled my intention to speak with him, and after taking the salute of the sentinels at the gate, I headed straight to the booth. “Good morning, you old goat!” I called out as I approached.
“Well, if it isn’t the top dog himself,” he shot back.
“It’s always good to see a man standing around doing nothing. It sets me at ease,” I said. “Ease?” His eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah.” He nodded emphatically. “It’s been a week of ease all right. I’ve had my feet up all week.”
Of course, just the opposite was true, and it was true for both of us.
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“Do you think we could have a short word?” With a jerk of my head, I motioned in the direction of the road leading down the Kidron Valley.
“Sure,” he answered, and then with a glance and a nod to his son, he transferred responsibility to him. A light mist still hung over the lowest reaches of the valley, but the early-morning sun was promising to burn it off. The swallows nesting along the crevices in the city wall were engaged in a full-throated competition with the songbirds in the trees along the brook. Traffic to and from the city was just beginning to stir.
When we had gone a few paces beyond the gate, I spoke. “I just wanted to say thanks for the help with the Barabbas case.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.” There was relief in his voice. “I thought you were going to warn me about some new plot.”
“No, there’s no new plot.” I hesitated. “Let me rephrase that. There’s no new plot that I know about. You never can be sure what’s being hatched in this crazy city.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that. I guess we learned that with Barabbas.” Jonas nervously bit on the corner whiskers of his mustache, and then continued. “Now, that Galilean prophet? I’ve been losing sleep over him all week.”
“Harmless as a dove,” I said. “Harmless as a dove.”
“How do you know?”
“I checked him out myself on Monday, right back there in the temple courts.” I made a quick double-pump motion with my upraised thumb aimed over my shoulder. “Then on Tuesday I had Claudius in there with the prophet.”
“You Romans have more nerve than brains.” He kicked a loose pebble off the pathway, looked up at me with a quizzical grin, and then with an incredulous shake of his head, he repeated, “More nerve than brains, that’s all I can say.”
“If we didn’t have nerve, we wouldn’t be running this place. Or any other place for that matter.”
He shrugged, furrowed his brow, and then cocked his head to one side. It was his way of reluctantly conceding my point.
“So he’s harmless?”
“Harmless to us.” With my index finger, I pointed first at myself, then at Jonas, and then back again. “Caiaphas, on the other hand”—I paused for effect—“now there’s a man who I’m sure hasn’t slept well all week.”
“So you think the old rusty gate has lost some sleep? Over what?”
“Money. Money and prestige. It can’t look too good having some roving up-country rabbi come in and take over your temple at the religious high point of the year.”
“I suppose not,” Jonas said. But then he added, “You know this prophet, Jesus of Nazareth, he’s been here before. He kicked out the money changers a few years back. Caused quite a stir then. But nothing like this. He’s got the temple guards running scared. That’s what my uncle told me.”
James Tht“Your uncle’s right. I saw that firsthand on Monday. So what else do you know about this Galilean?”
“My wife tells me he’s a friend of tax collectors and sinners. She told me one of his disciples was a tax collector before he met the prophet.”
“Ah, tax collectors and sinners?” I responded with a wink and a nod. “Maybe there is hope for the two of us yet.”
Jonas smiled back at me. “So, Marcus, where is this all headed? Some people think he’s the Messiah. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, we’re well aware of that. But he doesn’t oppose paying taxes to Caesar.” I gave my tax collector a supportive thumbs-up signal. “And he hasn’t spoken a word against Rome since he’s been here.”
“That’s not a surprise. He knows better. You and your boys would have him nailed up on Golgotha the moment he did.”
“You’re right about that,” I agreed. “But I honestly don’t think he’s got a quarrel with us. He’s going after the parading hypocrites in long, flowing robes, those killjoy Pharisees and teachers of the law. You know the ones—the religious police who run this place.”

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Excerpt 16 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

12 Monday Mar 2018

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, Marcus is in a discussion with his friend and fellow centurion, Renaldo. They are at the Roman bathhouse at the end of a long day. Date: Wednesday, April 5th, 30 A.D. 

I sat down again beside the pool and let my feet dangle in the tepid water. Renaldo put his hand on my shoulder as he eased himself down into a similar position.
“So what do you mean by that? How do you think this will end?” he asked.
“This Galilean prophet’s days may be numbered. He’s stirred up a hornet’s nest by kicking those merchants and money changers out of the temple. He’s offended and humiliated the high priest and his clan. He’s cut off a major source of their temple revenue. He called the Pharisees a brood of vipers. And if that’s not enough, he predicted that their power, their kingdom as he calls it, will be taken from them and then given to others.”
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I paused and kicked my right foot out straight, scattering a shower of drops onto the flat surface of the water. “You don’t say and do those kinds of things without creating some enemies. I’d say he’s sealed his own fate.”
With a furrowed brow, Renaldo asked, “Where’d you get this information?”
“Claudius. Claudius told me. Yesterday I had him sit in on one of the prophet’s teaching sessions. It was quite an eye- opener. Jesus doesn’t just heal the poor; he takes a skewer to the bloated rich. He’s publicly opposed the rich and powerful in this town, and his opposition has been right to their face. If nothing else, the man’s got courage.”
I drummed my fingers on the poolside tiles and then continued. “I tell you, Renaldo, they won’t stand for it. They’re probably hatching some plot to do away with him right now, as we’re sitting here talking.”
“Yeah, but he healed all those kids,” he said. “Doesn’t that show that the God of heaven is working through him?”
“The God of heaven? Do you honestly think that matters to them? This is all about money and power. That’s their real god. Jesus is a threat to their money and their positions of power. Healing a few poor kids, the offspring of the unclean—that isn’t going to mean a thing to them. You’re right. You hit the nail on the head. They’re puffed- up swine that care only about themselves. There isn’t a drop of mercy in them.” Then with scathing irony I added, “But they’re right. They’re always right. Right to the letter of the law.”
“So what do you think they’ll do?”
“I’m not sure. But I know what they won’t do. They won’t arrest him with that crowd around him. They know better than that. They’d have a bloody riot on their hands. There’s no doubt about that.”
Thought after thought came racing in as I considered the implications of my own words. “They might wait till after Passover when the crowds leave, but then Jesus would probably leave with the crowds and head right back to Galilee. Then he’d be out of their hands. No.” I hesitated and then briskly snapped my fingers. “I think they’ll try to act now, if they can. He’s humiliated them in front of the people. They won’t stand for that. Caiaphas won’t stand for it. Jesus has co- opted the high priest’s authority right within the temple courts. Blood will flow because of it. Mark my words. It will flow.”
“But what could they do to him? What crime has he committed?” Renaldo reasoned. “You know the Jews can’t condemn a man to death. They can’t have him crucified. They would have to bring him before Pilate.”
“Yes,” I said, “but accidents happen in the dark of the night. And Renaldo, I think you underestimate the old Weasel. If anyone can twist the law to his own liking, Caiaphas can. That Weasel can kill his prey in more than one way. The big question is, can he get his hands on the prophet?”
“So you really think there’ll be a confrontation?”
“Absolutely. From what I saw on Monday, the confrontation has already started. ItCentur Rep started when Jesus kicked out the merchants. Later, when I was there, the high priest’s men questioned him, but he wouldn’t back down. Then yesterday, according to Claudius, he humiliated Caiaphas and his delegation right in front of the crowd. Like I said, he called the Pharisees and the teachers of the law a pack of hypocrites and a brood of vipers. I’d call that a confrontation. And he didn’t do it out in the desert; he did it right in front of them, in front of the pilgrims, and right in their holy place. I tell you, the man’s got guts.”
“But”—I paused to emphasize my point—“I’m just waiting for the other side to strike back. And they will.”
I made a long, sweeping motion with a pointed index finger and then stabbed down spear-like into my friend’s bare ribs. “I’m sure they will.” Instinctively Renaldo recoiled, shrugged off my antics, and then said,
“But you don’t think he’s a threat to Rome?”
“Not from what I’ve seen or heard. But he is a threat to Caiaphas. Right now he’s their problem. And that’s where I want to leave him. If blood’s going to flow, I don’t want it getting on these hands.”

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Excerpt 15 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

09 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, Marcus continues his conversation with his nephew, the young soldier Claudius. Claudius is reporting on the activities and the message of Jesus of Nazareth on Tuesday of Holy Week.

But Claudius wasn’t done.
“You know about this kingdom notion,” he said. “Jesus told another story, and it helped me catch what he was driving at. He talked about a landowner who planted a vineyard and then went away. He rented the land out to farmers, but when he sent servants to collect the rent, the farmers would beat the servants or kill them. Finally, in desperation he sent his own son to collect the rent, thinking the farmers would respect him. But the renters said, ‘Let’s kill him and the land will be ours.’ So they took the son outside the vineyard and killed him.
“Then Jesus asked the people around him what would happen to those renters when the owner came back. They answered that the landowner would kill those miserable renters and give the vineyard to someone else who would pay him on time.
“Jesus said they were right. And then he said, now catch this”—Claudius gestured with an upraised index finger—“‘The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.’ Those were his very words.”
“So what did he mean by that?” I asked, quite mystified.
Free WWe SHARABLE-1 (2)“I wasn’t too sure myself at first. I knew he said this as a rebuke to the high priest and the religious establishment. Everyone there knew he was telling this story against them. But later I asked the man beside me what he thought Jesus meant by this parable. He said the landowner was God, the religious leaders were the renters, and the servants who came to collect the rent were the prophets of the past. We just weren’t sure who the son was. I suggested that Jesus himself might be the son. But he just looked at me like I was a complete idiot, shook his head, and said, ‘God doesn’t have a son.’ I kept my mouth shut after that.”
“Well then,” I surmised, “this prophet, this Jesus, really has set himself up in opposition to the religious authorities. If he’s publicly predicting the end of their rule, he has picked a fight with them.”
I sucked in a long, slow breath. “And, Claudius”—I nodded in his direction—“it’ll be a fight to the finish.”
I continued as my mind caught the implications of my own words. “Jesus may have the people or at least a good number of the common people on his side. But Caiaphas is nobody’s fool. He’s got money and power behind him. The son in that story, if that’s who Jesus is”—I gestured with an upraised open palm—“he might yet be taken out and killed.”

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

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Excerpt 14 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

08 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent, Psalms

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

In today’s reading, Marcus is in conversation with his nephew, the young soldier Claudius. Claudius is reporting on the activities and the message of Jesus of Nazareth on Tuesday of Holy Week.

Claudius went on. “One thing I do know for sure: those fancy-robed religious leaders don’t like him much. Jesus had taught for a while this morning, when all of a sudden the high priest, along with maybe ten other officials, came marching in. They demanded to know by what authority he was doing these things.

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A Roman centurion

He didn’t answer them, but instead he asked them a question. He asked them, ‘By what authority did John baptize?’ They talked it over and then said, ‘We don’t know.’ So he said he wouldn’t answer their question either. They just turned around and left in a holy huff. You could really tell the crowd around Jesus just loved the way he handled these high and mighty holy types.” Claudius abruptly turned to me and asked, “Who was this John anyway?”
“A few years back he caused quite a stir. Thousands of people went out to the Jordan River to hear him. He insisted that people repent, turn from their sins, and then he would baptize them in the river. Even some of my own men went out to hear him. In the end, Herod the tetrarch had him beheaded.”
After reflecting a moment on the day’s events, I caustically commented, “That bloody old Fox hasn’t changed much.”
“Anyway,” Claudius continued, “from then on Jesus would teach for a while, and then some new high-powered delegation would arrive to question him. They weren’t sincere in their questions. It was like they were trying to trap him into saying something they could later use against him. That’s all I think they were after. But in the end Jesus always turned the tables on them. He exposed their real motives. He saw right through them.”
I felt a certain remembered discomfort when Claudius said those words. After all, Jesus’s eyes had shone a light on the darkness of my own soul. I don’t know why I felt so naked, so transparent before this man.
“But, Claudius, what makes you so sure he’s not here to kick out the Romans?”
“It was the way he answered one of those fancy-robed delegations. They asked him if it was lawful to pay taxes to Caesar. He called them hypocrites right to their faces. He accused them of trying to trap him. Then he asked for a coin. He demanded to know biblical-fiction-award-2017_origwhose portrait and inscription were on it. When they answered, ‘Caesar’s,’ he jumped on them—like a cat onto a nest of mice. ‘So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s,’ he told them. Even at a distance, I could see their mouths drop and their ears catch fire. They left like cowering dogs with their tails between their legs.”
Claudius became even more animated as he said, “The crowd—the crowd loved it. You could really tell the people loved seeing those phony religious officials get a taste of a little humility. I’m sure they haven’t tasted it for a good long while.”
Then to conclude, he said, “That’s why I don’t think he’s a threat to us. He’s not opposed to paying taxes. Nothing he said all day makes me think he’s got a quarrel with Rome. But he’s sure got the religious leaders worried and bothered. Later in the day he went after them full force. Called them hypocrites, blind guides, a brood of vipers!”
“Ooo! I’m sure they were pleased,” I said sarcastically.
This assessment confirmed what Renaldo and I had been thinking. I had heard the same thing reflected back to me by Flavio. This latest evidence on taxes lent considerable weight to the conclusion Claudius had drawn. But I still felt uneasy. Jesus simply struck me as such a huge, larger-than-life figure—the kind of person you don’t dismiss lightly, no matter what others say. I somehow felt that all we had done thus far was scratch the surface. I’m not sure I really understood him at all. How could I begin to fathom what he was trying to accomplish?

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

Canadian readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King directly from the author.