Category Archives: Christ’s Passion

Excerpt 10 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

02 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?

In today’s reading, Marcus recruits his nephew, the young soldier Claudius, to spy on the activities of a man he sees as a dangerous threat—Jesus of Nazareth.

“Look, Claudius. We need to keep an eye on this man. I mean what I’m saying. All our lives could be in jeopardy.
“You’re a natural choice,” I reasoned. “Like I said, you’re a new face around here. You speak Aramaic very well—better than I do. And you’ve got a brain in your head. Right now, you’re the best man I have for the job.”
I could see he was thinking.
“Couldn’t we just get some paid informants or something?”

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“Ha! In a case like this, paid informants will tell you whatever you want to hear and collect afterward. How do you think I managed to nail Barabbas? It wasn’t with paid informants!” I scoffed at the idea. “No, he’ll feel the spikes on Friday because I went out and got the facts on him—myself.”
Determined to press home my point, I continued, “Look, there are times in this business when you’ve got to put your own life on the line. You got to dirty your own fingers. When good men like Hermes and Andreas go down, you don’t sit and polish your brass. You get out there and sniff out the stinking truth for yourself. You owe it to your men.”
I drew a deep breath and plunged on. “As for Barabbas, he’s a tin-pot hooligan. A brainless bloody terrorist!” I spat the words out. “Now Jesus . . . Jesus, on the other hand, there’s a different dog on the prowl. He’s got followers. He’s got a crowd around him. He’s got heaven on his side. You don’t let Jewish messiahs strut around under your nose and just ignore them.”

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.

Excerpt 9 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

01 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, Marcus is in a discussion with his friend and fellow centurion Renaldo. He gives an eyewitness account of what he saw Jesus doing in the temple courts.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I saw it with my own eyes. His leg grew a full hand span. It happened right in front of me!”
For emphasis I gestured at an imaginary spot a few feet ahead.
“Are you sure it was Lucas?”
“Who else could it be? What other kid hobbles along on a crutch and has a bum leg aFree WWe SHARABLE-1 (2) hand span shorter than the other?”
“Lucas?” Renaldo snorted as he shook his head. He was incredulous.
“It was the same boy I’ve seen begging at the Fish Gate for the last six months.”
“The one with the copper begging bowl?”
“The one with the copper begging bowl,” I affirmed with a nod and then added, “Don’t believe me? Check it out yourself. The last time I saw him, he was dancing around on both feet. He’ll be back at your gate soon enough. But I don’t think he’ll be carrying his begging bowl or his crutch.”
Renaldo looked thoughtful as his eyes scanned the streets of the city below. We were standing atop one of the four turrets of the Antonia Fortress, the hub for military command here in the city. We had finished a light noon meal and then, for sake of privacy, had climbed the stairs to the top of the northeast tower.
“Look, Renaldo, like I said, I wouldn’t have believed any of this if I hadn’t seen it myself.” “So let me get this straight. This Jesus of Nazareth does miracles, and you saw him do them?”
“That’s right.”
“He kicked the money changers and merchants out of the temple courts?”
“He went at ’em like a wild man.”
“He defied the delegation from the high priest?” Renaldo questioned.
“Sent them scurrying for the exits like bugs under a rock.”
Picture Cent-helmet“What do you make of this prophet, Marcus? This Messiah?”
Now it was my turn to be pensive. I was so awestruck by what I had witnessed that I was having a hard time sorting through all my thoughts and impressions. The words came to me slowly. “He’s not at all like what I expected. He’s not at all like a revolutionary.”
“So he’s not a revolutionary. Then we’ve got nothing to worry about,” Renaldo said.
“I didn’t say that.” I paused but then added, “He’s not like your common revolutionary.” I put emphasis on the word “common.”
“So, he is a revolutionary.”
“His revolution, if that’s what he’s leading, doesn’t seem to be against us, against Rome—at least not at this point.” The vagueness of my answer left me feeling awkward.
“Then who is he fighting?”
“He’s not exactly endeared himself to the religious establishment. Caiaphas is probably having a holy altar- kicking tantrum right now. Those merchants pay good money to set up shop in there”—I gestured with a sweep of my hand in the direction of the temple compound—“and they’re going to be after him to get that Northern hick- town Messiah out of there. Now!” In imitation of their tactics, I made a downward stab with my index finger. “And I mean now.”
“So we let the high priest and his clan handle it. They’ve got the authority and the manpower.”
“Not at the moment. Jesus and his followers outnumber those temple guards maybe a hundred to one. I tell you he has the people—the crowd—in his hands. They don’t dare move against him.”
“Marcus, it’s still up to Caiaphas. It’s his problem. Let the Jews sort it out.”
“I suppose you’re right. He still scares me,” I confessed. “Scares me like no man ever has.”
“Why?” Renaldo queried.
“He’s got power like no man I’ve ever seen.” I shuddered inside at the thought of the unearthly nature of that power.
“This prophet really has you rattled, doesn’t he?” Renaldo said. “You’re still worried, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m still worried.” Then to justify my concern, I added, “This talk about a kingdom bothers me. Besides, you didn’t see what I saw today. It makes all the difference.”

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.

Excerpt 8 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

28 Wednesday Feb 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 the centurion, watches with intense interest as a third child is healed by the prophet from Galilee.

Seizing the moment, a young mother rushed forward, clutching a limp form in her arms. Upon seeing this mother and child, I was stabbed by pain. Remembered pain. The dark sunken eyes glazed by fever, the pallid skin, the wheezing cough and raspy breath, I remembered it all.
1_LQtjPt8ZDqx05L-IlvYlKAThe child was racked with consumption. The disease was consuming her, consuming her body, and with it a mother’s hope until none was left. The toddler didn’t stir a muscle as Jesus looked into her fevered young eyes.
Experience told me this gaunt daughter would be dead within a week. It was the mother who trembled and pleaded—pleaded for her who lacked even the strength to cry.
“Give me the child,” Jesus gently urged. The request took the mother completely by surprise. Instinctively she clutched the girl even more closely to herself.
“Give her to me.”
There was tenderness in that deep voice.
The mother was visibly caught in an inner struggle. I suppose she had held on so long and so tightly that now it was hard to give this frail object of her affection to a stranger. Their eyes met for an instant. He gave a short nod to his head as if to say, “Yes, it has to be this way.” And the struggle was over.
She eased her slumping burden into Jesus’s arms. The child’s head drooped against his chest. He wrapped a big hand around the girl’s head, brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, rocked her side to side. Then with slow deliberation, he turned from the multitude and faced the great temple doorway.
An intense quiet engulfed the assembly. Moments passed.
“Father . . . Father . . .”
That’s all I heard him whisper. He raised his gaze to heaven and then back to the little one in his arms. With the same slow deliberation he turned back to us.
She squirmed in his arms—eyes bright and clear. Two little hands shot out, reaching for her mommy. The smile spoke ten thousand words. The child was whole. Transformed! Completely healed!
The crowd was ecstatic.
“Blessed is he that comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
Then for a second time, our eyes met. He knew me. I could see it in his eyes. I don’t mean Jesus recognized me. I mean he knew me. Knew me from front to back, from inside out, from my first day till now. It was a dreadful feeling—a naked feeling.
I turned abruptly from him. My heart hammered in my chest. I began fumbling my way through the crowd, desperate for an exit. I had to get away.
But my child . . . my daughter . . .
Why wasn’t she healed? Why wasn’t she spared?

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.

Excerpts for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

19 Monday Feb 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?

Four in the afternoon, Sunday, April 2, AD 30
It was never like this before. biblical-fiction-award-2017_orig
I had been posted in Jerusalem for ten years now, but in all that time, I had never seen a Passover crowd like this.
It wasn’t the numbers. I had seen that before.
The Passover pilgrims always come plodding into the city in reverent caravans. Some of them chant psalms. Others are silent, looking bone-weary as they trudge, like fretful herdsmen with children in tow. Undoubtedly, many are relieved that their holy city is finally in view.
But this year it was different. There was this man—at the center of the whole procession. There had never been a central figure before. Every movement within that huge throng seemed focused on him.
Squinting in a futile attempt to get a better view, I gave Claudius a backhanded slap to the shoulder and demanded, “What are they doing?”
“They’re climbing the trees, sir.”
“I can see that!” I snapped. “But what are they doing?”
“They seem to be tearing off the palm branches, sir.”
“What is going on here?” I said it more to myself than to any of the men standing near me. An uncomfortable feeling crept into me as the procession advanced.
“They don’t usually do this?” Claudius questioned.
“No . . . They’ve never done this before.” There was worry in my voice. Claudius had been recently assigned to this place, the festering armpit of the empire, and I was at a loss to explain what was happening before us. We were standing on the wall above the gate of Jerusalem, and less than a half mile away, we could see the jubilant pilgrims surging toward us in alarming numbers.
“They’re laying the palm branches on the road in front of that man—the man on the donkey.”
Until Claudius said it, I hadn’t noticed the donkey. Its small size and the frenzy of activity round about must have obscured this detail in the picture before me. What an odd way for this man to come. I could make no sense of it.
“They’re throwing down their cloaks before him.”
The sweat- glistened bodies of several men were clearly visible. Outer garments were being cast down before this man as a sign of homage. At the same time the rhythmic chanting of their voices became more distinct.
What were they singing? Could I pick up the words?
     “Hosanna to the Son of David!”
     “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
     “Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
That’s when it hit me like a barbarian’s club. I realized what I was witnessing. It was a triumphal entry—the entry of a king.
It was the words. The words they were now boisterously shouting. He was their Messiah. The Son of David! The one they were waiting for! The one who would rid them of the Romans. He would set up his glorious Jewish kingdom, here, in Jerusalem! This is what I had been warned about since the day I first set foot on this cursed Judean soil. And we, I and my men and the garrison in the city, were all that stood in their way.