10 Friday Apr 2020
Posted in Easter Sunday, Good Friday
With millions unable to attend Good Friday and Easter services due to the pandemic, here is an opportunity for you to experience the drama of Holy Week in your own home. This one-man drama lets you see Christ’s passion through the eyes of a Roman centurion. View it, like it, and share it with your friends.
18 Thursday Apr 2019
Posted in Easter Sunday, Good Friday
Tags
This evening is a final rehearsal for “The Centurion’s Report” at South Delta Baptist Church. I am here on the west coast, 2,000 miles from home to bring the story of Christ’s passion to life, as seen through the eyes a Roman centurion.
In addition to the Easter morning presentation sited in the news article above, I’ll be doing the same drama at the Kingsway Foursquare Church at 6:00pm on Good Friday.
Have you been to the foot of the cross recently?
Discover the drama; enjoy the book.
20 Thursday Sep 2018
Tags
Centurion's Report, Christ's Passion, David Kitz, dramatization, Easter, Lent, Play, The Soldier Who Killed a King
Christ’s Passion Week…a familiar account? So you think you know this story? Think again. There are more twists in this plot than in the cruelest crowns of thorns. This author takes you on a fast-paced ride through Christ’s Passion Week-an eight-day ride you will never forget. Scheming Herod, the bloody Fox, has more than one trick up his sleeve. The high priest and the governor are at each other’s throats. Four kings, together in the holy city for one week, compete for one
throne. Now here’s a deadly competition.
Written from a soldier’s perspective, you see a familiar story in a whole new light. Here is the horror of the cross, up close and graphic. While remaining true to the scriptural account, the author weaves with startling realism a very human tale of intrigue and subterfuge. There is a more than a little passion here. Did we mention the terrorist connection? So, you think you know how this ends? Ha! Think again! Have you been to the foot of the cross lately? Come, if you dare.
Author bio: For a number of years now, David Kitz has been telling the soldier’s view of these events in a one-man play entitled, “The Centurion’s Report.”
For more information on the book visit: https://davidkitz.ca/centurion.php
For more information on the book purchase visit: https://www.davidkitz.ca/bookcart/index.php?route=product/product&path=62&product_id=58
For more information on the dramatization visit: https://davidkitz.ca/centurion.php
01 Tuesday May 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Easter Sunday, Good Friday, Palm Sunday
Tags
Alberta, bookstore, Calgary, centurion, Easter, Kregel, Moose Jaw, Ottawa, Regina, resurrection, Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, the cross, The Soldier Who Killed a King
My biblical novel about Christ’s Passion began as a four-act, one-man play over twenty
years ago. So when Kregel Publishing released The Soldier Who Killed a King, it logically followed that the original drama should be an integral part of promoting this book across the continent.
With Easter approaching I arranged a Canadian prairie tour that featured eight scheduled events in four prairie cities: Moose Jaw, Regina, and Saskatoon in Saskatchewan, and Calgary in Alberta.
My flight from Ottawa via Toronto to Regina was uneventful. I arrived on Thursday, March 22nd. My first event was my “Centurion’s Report” drama on Friday evening in Moose Jaw. Moose Jaw is an easy one hour drive from Regina on a four lane divided highway. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, Friday dawned with a howling prairie wind. Soon the wind was accompanied by swirling snow. By mid afternoon blizzard conditions resulted in semi trailer trucks being blown off the highway between Regina and Moose Jaw. Dozens of vehicles were stuck. For safety reasons we decided to cancel the Friday evening event. We make our plans, but sometimes weather overrules.
Saturday dawned clear and cold. At noon I started a four hour book signing event at the Chapters bookstore in Regina. What I like most about these events is the conversations you have with prospective buyers. It’s always fascinating to find the common ground that can lead to a book purchase.
Signing at Chapters bookstore in Regina
The following week I had two more book signing events at Indigo stores in Saskatoon and Calgary. It’s especially gratifying to meet readers who have already read your book and are there to meet you in person and buy more of your books.
On Palm Sunday morning I was at “The Bridge” church in Regina portraying the centurion’s response to Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The tension builds as Marcus Longinus seizes a member of the audience at the close of Act 1, flips a merchant’s table in Act 2, and nails Christ to a wooden cross in Act 3. The resurrection of Jesus in Act 4 results in a personal encounter with our Lord. The action is riveting, and so it should be. This was after all a week of intense, history-changing drama.
Monday and Tuesday were spent visiting with my 95-year-old mom in rural Saskatchewan. Despite the advancing years, she is in good health, active and sound of mind. It was also a real treat to spend time with two of my sisters and my brother, as well as a few nieces. A stunning, frosty sunrise greeted us as we set out on our trip from Regina to Churchbridge, SK.
![IMG_20180326_073412[3121]](https://davidkitz.files.wordpress.com/2018/04/img_20180326_0734123121.jpg?w=300&h=300)
Frosty sunrise east of Regina, SK — photo by David Kitz
For the next three nights I had the good fortune of staying with my nephew Ross and his family. There home is a 20 minute drive west of the city. The Indigo bookstore event on Thursday went very well. But the highlight of the Saskatoon portion of the tour was the Good Friday morning service at Courts of Praise.
Photo credit Jean Levac, Ottawa Citizen
The Good Friday service brought together four churches for a presentation of “The Centurion’s Report.” One of the unique features of this presentation was the incorporation of communion between Act 3 and Act 4. It was a very meaningful addition to the drama surrounding Christ’s crucifixion.
Supper with another nephew rounded out the events of a perfect day—a beautiful Good Friday.
Saturday dawned cold and bright. Yes, very cold -25C with a windchill of -35C, but with a bright sunshining the eight hour drive to Calgary was pleasure. I love the wide open prairies and being able to see twenty miles to the horizon and beyond.
Big sky country in the Red Deer River Valley, Alberta — photo by David Kitz
Cornerstone Church in Calgary was the biggest audience for “The Centurion’s Report” on this tour It also resulted in the most book sales after the morning service. The same was true of my book signing event at the Indigo store in the afternoon.
But the biggest thrill of the day came when I was introduced to my two stagehands before the Easter morning service. The tallest young man introduced himself as Timothy. I replied, “Wow, that’s my oldest son’s name!” I then turned to the second young man and asked, “And what’s your name?”
He answered, “Joshua.”
I burst out laughing. My second son is named Joshua. My sons, Tim and Josh, have often helped me as stagehands back in Ottawa. I thought the Lord has a great sense of humor. He brought memories of family back on this special resurrection morning. Later that afternoon I sold a copy of The Soldier Who Killed the King to the Burgess family. Burgess is my wife’s maiden name. So in two divine coincidences I was directly reminded of each of my family members on an Easter Sunday 2,000 miles from home.
Along a prairie trail, north of Maple Creek, Saskatchewan — photo by David Kitz
I set out for Regina before sunrise on Easter Monday morning. It was still clear and cold, but the nine hour leisurely drive was a treat for the eyes. Cowboy country beckoned, and I couldn’t help but stop for a few photos of the stunning vistas.
It was great to be back in Regina with the Robinson family in whose home I stayed for a large portion of this tour. On Tuesday evening they hosted a “book and drama” party for a few of their friends. Many of these friends had been part of a book study of The Soldier Who Killed a King, which Dr. Robinson led. For them it was a meet-the-author evening, but for me it was a meet the readers event.
Early Wednesday morning my flight left Regina airport. I returned to Ottawa tired, but happy. In total I logged about 5,000 km (3,000 miles) in the air, and 2,200 km (1,350 miles) in ground travel.
What will stay with me are memories of warm smiles and lives touched by the message of the cross.
30 Friday Mar 2018
Tags
Christ, Creator, David Kitz, Elijah, Jesus, Jesus' last words, kingdom, pain, sacrilege, Son of God, the cross, The Soldier Who Killed a King
Date: Three o’clock in the afternoon, Friday, April 7, 30A.D.
Jesus’ final moments on the cross.
Here is the obscenity of crucifixion. Naked men are unwillingly mated to two wooden beams. They must thrust the whole of their bodies upward in excruciating pain, ever- increasing pain to catch their next breath—until all strength is drained away. Then death steals in.
This is the shame of the cross. Here is the depravity—a profane sacrilege inflicted upon the human body.
The ghastly rhythm of it was driving me mad.
Then in soul- wrenching anguish, his voice erupted. “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?”
“What does that mean?” I cried out into the darkness.
From beyond the military cordon came the answer. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
He had broken. The Christ hung broken. The cross had broken him. He too was human. We were all together now, a great crowd caught up in this drama. There was no us and them. We were together. We were caught between heaven and hell in this dark, surreal atmosphere.
It was dreadful. 
Someone frantically yelled, “It’s Elijah! He’s calling Elijah.”
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
From on the Mother’s Hill, a wail went up. It was steady, constant, a wave of woe flowing over the dark scene.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“Will Elijah come?” someone asked. “Will he come?” Many of the hostile were even now on bended knees. The cavalrymen dismounted.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“I thirst!” the king called out.
Claudius leaped to his feet. There was a jar of wine off to one side. The soldiers had been drinking freely from this. He ran over to it and got a sponge. He dropped the sponge into the jar of wine and then skewered it with a long reed. This he held up to dampen the lips of the donkey king.
But some yelled out, “Wait! Let’s see if Elijah will come and save him.”
Exhale.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catch a breath.
Retreat.
The rarified air crackled with anticipation.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
Can the Creator—the God of heaven and earth—save him now?
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“It is finished!” he cried.
But there was no anguish in his voice. There was the ring of victory to it, as if he had caught with that last breath a glimpse—a glimpse of his kingdom. A glorious kingdom! He had gained the summit. Now with vigor renewed, he pushed up and forward one last time.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever- heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“Father . . .
“Into your hands . . .
“I commit . . .
“My Spirit.”
His head dropped. It was over.
As his chin hit his chest, the earth began to rumble. Low thrumming. Building . . . building . . .
The rock Skull began to move beneath my feet. And with it, my soul.
I fell to the ground.
The crosses began to vibrate and rock with the power of the quake. His head bobbed from side to side.
But he was dead.
He was dead!
Everyone was with me on bended knees.
Heaven had rendered its dark judgment. The sun had hidden its face. The very earth had answered back. The verdict was in.
I caught two huge breaths of air, and then for the whole world to hear, I cried out, “He really was the Son of God.”
He was the Son of God.
The sun broke through.
A rooster crowed.
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.
30 Friday Mar 2018
Posted in Bible, Devotionals, Good Friday, Psalm 98, Psalms
Tags
communion, creation, Eden, injustice, Jesus, joy, judge, judgment, mountains, pain, perversity, power of sin, resurrection, Righteousness, rivers, shalom, sin, Tree of Life
Reading: Psalm 98
(Verses 7-9)
Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it.
Let the rivers clap their hands,
let the mountains sing together for joy;
let them sing before the LORD,
for he comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity (NIV).
Reflection
What comes to mind when you think of God’s judgment? Do you envision pictures of doom, gloom and destruction? If that’s your response, you are not alone, but maybe you have the wrong set of pictures? Maybe you have a wrong understanding of God? Should the redeemed live in dread of God’s judgment?
He was pierced for our transgressions.
Psalm 98 is a joyous anthem of praise to God—praise for the salvation the LORD has won for us. The psalmist begins this psalm by calling us to sing to the LORD a new song. In today’s reading, that call for praise and worship is extended to all of nature. Let the sea resound, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it. Let the rivers clap their hands; let the mountains sing together for joy.
Have you seen any mountains singing for joy? Have you heard the rivers clap their hands? I love the pictures such thoughts put in my mind. In reality all of creation is speaking daily. The earth, sea and sky are telling of God’s mercy and glory. The setting sun shouts out the praises of God. Can you hear it?
According to the psalmist, there is a cause for this great celebration by the sea, the rivers and the mountains. These elements of creation are celebrating because the LORD is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity. In other words God’s judgment should bring joy not dread. The LORD will set things right.
For far too long we have lived in a world of injustice, suffering and death. When the LORD comes, He will bring all this pain and perversity to an end. The environmental degradation that we have caused will come to an end. The Eden that was lost because of mans’ sin will be restored. Once again we will have access to the Tree of Life. Best of all we will walk in sweet communion with our heavenly Father. All this is possible because of the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus. The power of sin was broken at the cross. Since God’s coming judgment will bring about all this glorious restoration, why wouldn’t we join the mountains as they sing for joy?
Many of us have a wrong understanding of God and a wrong understanding of the purpose for His judgment. His judgments are good. They bring about peace—the shalom of God. Here in Psalm 98 we have the promise of His word on that. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity.
Response: LORD God, in the past I have dreaded your judgment, but now I recognize your goodness. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. I want to see this world set right through your power and grace. Amen.
Your Turn: Do you fear God’s judgment? Is that always a good thing? Can it be misunderstood?
29 Thursday Mar 2018
Tags
Date: About noon, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
The crucifixion of Jesus.
Now there was movement on the Mother’s Hill. A middle-aged couple came down. Their heads were hanging. They clung to each other, supported each other, every step an anguish. They made their way before the encircling pikemen.
I knew who they were—knew why they had come. Here were the broken parents, broken beyond this world’s repair. I met them at the base of the hill, told them they had some time.
They advanced up the Skull. She fell, fell whimpering before her son. Thaddaeus. Boisterous soldiers fell silent and then walked off, right off the hill. The family was alone with their grief.
Having witnessed this grim but welcoming reception, another party stepped off the Mother’s Hill and advanced to Golgotha. This was a group of five. The women clung to one another in couples. They were shepherded by a tall young man. His fresh face and scant beard bore witness to his youth. I recognized him. He had been with Jesus, had stood closest to him.
He introduced himself. He said his name was John. I received his party—ushered them by the outer ring of soldiers.
They were bowed by the sight. They clung to one another afresh, repulsed by the horror of what met their eyes.
After a few moments the young man came before two of the huddled older women. He stooped to speak with one of the women—the Christ’s mother, I assumed. Then with his arm about her shoulder, John advanced up the rock mound.
Jesus saw them.
He struggled.
“Woman . . . behold your son!”
There was a double- edged meaning here, almost too painful for words. At first I thought he was simply referring to himself—to his own wretched state. And perhaps on one level he was.
His body sagged. But then he thrust himself up and forward for another breath, and with his next words his meaning became clear. To the young man, to his disciple, he said, “Behold your mother!”
He had committed his mother into this disciple’s care. She fell to her knees. She trembled, unable to speak. Only wretched sobbing was heard from within the circle of the hill.
In due time I led both families off. They left willingly. This was too much to bear, too much to watch.
From his cross Animal watched the Mother’s Hill. But no one came. That’s when he broke—broke like a clay pot dropped onto the hard rock of the Skull.
He sobbed. He moaned.
His tears flowed like rivers into his dark, young beard.
But no mother came. No one came at all.
The wind picked up. The sky grew dark. Then it grew darker yet. The horses began to neigh and paw the ground. In the distance a dog barked. It was a bark that changed to a howl but ended in a whimper. I looked about. I could see it on every face. It was fear. Raw fear. This was not the dark of cloud or storm. This was the sun covering, hiding its face from what it saw upon the earth.
A total darkness descended, as black as any night.
There was a discord here—a discord utter and complete. If heaven and earth had come into some perfect union—some perfect harmony—on the day Jesus arrived in this city, it was in blaring dissonance now. Blaring dissonance echoed off the empty chambers of my soul.
It was a deafening darkness.
The mocking crowds fell silent. The highway traffic stopped. All was still.
Silent.
Only the three men were heard. Heard in the darkness. Three men working to maintain this perverted thing called life.
Working.
Pushing up.
Up to catch a breath.
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.
28 Wednesday Mar 2018
Tags
blood, bloodlust, Christ, crucifixion, David Kitz, Jesus, king, Messiah, pierced, repentance, The Soldier Who Killed a King
Date: Nine thirty in the morning, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
The crucifixion of Jesus.
I tipped the bucket to one side to get enough swill to fill the dipper. I offered it to Jesus. He took a sip, worked the liquid around in his mouth, discerned the true nature of this bitter potion, and then spit it out. It left a dark stain on the dull gray rock near his feet.
“It will dull the pain,” I said emphatically.
He raised his eyes. They locked with mine. I saw in him the same look, the same determination I saw on the first day I set eyes on him, the day he rode the donkey into this city. I could still see he had a destination in mind. Some mystical purpose he somehow felt compelled to fulfill.
I dropped my gaze. He must be a fool. In his condition, in this situation, he must be a fool. A fool who unnerved me, but a fool nonetheless.
Once more I offered the drink.
With lips pressed tight, he shook his head.
He was a fool. An arrogant fool! A fool who thinks he’s tough—who can handle this—who can take it straight.
We would see who’s tough. I would show him who’s tough!
Let the big show begin.
“Now, boys!” I called out to the crew. Still wearing the purple robe, he was snatched like a young child and slammed down onto the crossbeam.
A cheer went up.
My right hand seized the hammer from Octavio. My left fumbled, then dove into, the nail pouch.
I dropped my knee onto his fingers.
Stabbed the sharpened point of the spike into the base of the palm.
Raised the hammer.
Xchuuuung!
An enormous cheer went up from the crowd.
Blood spurted across my thigh.
Xchuuuung!
Xchuuuung!
Xchuuuung!
One in.
The Christ was silent. Still . . .
Octavio urged me on. “That’s it, Marcus!”
I sprang to my feet, remembering the full rush of battle. Then scrambled to the other arm. From just off the hill, in the throng, a chant began and established itself. “More. More. More. More.”
Knee on fingers.
“More!”
Spike jabbed in.
“More!”
Hammer raised.
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
Two in. The Christ was silent.
Still . . . He was still beneath the piercing blows.
I rose, panting. Heart pounding. Bloodied hand dripping. Seeing a stainfree area farther up my hairy arm, I wiped it across my sweat- drenched brow.
Octavio saluted me with a smile and a thumbs-up signal.
The crowd roared their approval.
This time it was Octavio who yelled, “Hoist him up.”
The Christ was dragged gasping—desperately gasping—to an upright position before the death mast.
Now they could see him, and the crowd went wild with frenzied excitement. Cheering. Clapping. Hooting. Bloodlust took hold.
The props were applied to the arms of the crossbeam.
A new chant went up. 
“Raise him up!”
“Raise him up!”
“Raise him up!”
Octavio signaled, and the men in back lifted the beam on which the Christ was pinned above their heads.
Then we all saw it—saw the obvious. He was still clothed. The purple robe billowed out as it was caught by a sudden cold gust of wind. The sight of it brought all my frenzied demons to the fore.
I stepped before him, looked into his agonized face, and said, “You won’t be needing this . . . king of the Jews.”
Then to the cheers of my men, I spit into his face. I added my spittle to all the rest that had dried and was clinging to his beard.
I untied the royal robe and dropped it in a heap to my right. Finally, with a wicked smile, and to cheers all around, I snatched his breechcloth from off his loins.
I tossed it to Octavio. He held it up. A trophy!
We laughed. We all laughed. I
t was a laugh not our own.
I recognized it. It was Herod’s laugh.
When he had regained some composure, the head jailer started the final count.
“Ready . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . now!”
To chants of “Raise him up, raise him up,” the Christ, the Messiah, the king, was lifted up—up before the world.
His head twisted from side to side in writhing agony. His whip-sliced back slammed against the upright as he was dragged higher.
Then with a flesh-tearing lurch, the notch in the horizontal beam found its match in the vertical. The rope was flung around, then drawn tight, securing the two cross members as one.
The silent Christ hung. He hung naked and bleeding before a jeering world.
Only the last spike remained. Awkwardly, I fumbled for it.
But a creeping unease overshadowed me. I glanced over my shoulder. Claudius stood alone, off to the side. Silent . . . He was ghastly pale and silent, transfixed by the sight before him.
I handed the last nail and the hammer back to Octavio and said, “You do it.” He snorted his surprise, but then set quickly to his task.
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.
26 Monday Mar 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Good Friday, Lent, Psalms
Date: Eight fifteen in the morning, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
Jesus endures the whipping post.
His body quivered with the shock of each blow. But he was silent. Silent and gasping. “Thirteen.
“Fourteen.”
I moved to one side, trying to get a look at his face. His thorn-crowned brow was pressed to the post.
“Fifteen.
“Sixteen.”
He was mouthing a word with each blow. What was it?
“Seventeen.
“Eighteen.”
It came with a gasp. Barely audible.
“Father.
“Father.”
At twenty I called a halt. They had traversed the whole of his body, from shoulders to feet. It was a bloody path. I examined the wounds—more damage than I expected.
His breath came in huge gulps. His eyelids flickered. He remained conscious. At least he remained conscious.
I stepped over to Gaius. I cut another three studs from his whip. Then I did the same for Lucius.
“Harder! Harder!” came a shout from above and behind me. It was Cestas—Cestas going wild on the balcony of the guest chamber. He couldn’t wait for the lashing to resume. Like a giddy child, he bounced up and down and hollered for more.
I gave an upward nod to Lucius and then began calling out the stroke count again. “Twenty-one.
“Twenty-two.”
They started over at the shoulders.
“Twenty-three.
“Twenty-four.”
Once more the frenzied cheers went up.
“Twenty-five.
“Twenty-six.”
Each man aimed to outdo the other; each blow was more savage than the last.
“Twenty- seven.
“Twenty-eight.”
He did not cry out, unlike many men I have seen. He was silent beneath the cracking whip, uncommonly silent.
“Twenty-nine.
“Thirty.”
Stroke by flailing stroke they moved once more across his bloodied frame. A quivering, rutted mess. That’s what was left by the time we reached forty. I stood near him—watched his breathing. It was fast but shallow, very shallow by the time we finished.
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.
23 Friday Mar 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Good Friday, Lent
Tags
Galilee, Herod, Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, king, King Herod, Lent, majesty, Messiah, prophet, repentance, wine
Date: Seven fifteen in the morning, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
Jesus is questioned by Herod Antipas.
“Jesus of Nazareth,” the Fox pompously intoned. “The prophet of Galilee. I’ve longed to see you, my most noteworthy subject.”
With that Herod arose, and holding his robe shut, he approached the Messiah. He inspected the taller man, walked fully around him. Noticing the welts and the dried spittle, he looked my way and asked, “Is this your work, centurion?”
“No, Your Majesty.” My eyes darted to Jonathon and back to Herod again.
“Ah, the high priest’s work!” the Fox remarked grandly as he turned to Jonathon. “I didn’t think you temple boys were capable.”
This bit of sarcasm drew an acknowledging nod and a slight smile from the chief temple guard. Here was a backhanded compliment from the pretentious Fox.
“Your Majesty, I have here a letter from His Excellency the governor and certain charges
brought by—”
The king halted me with an uplifted hand and a shake of his head.
“That can wait, centurion.” He paused, and then with a certain dramatic flourish, he began. “We have here a man of rare talent. He makes the lame to walk, the blind to see, has cured the leper. I have heard reports that he has raised the dead.” And then spotting a gold chalice on the inlaid table, he seized it by the stem and with relish declared, “He has even turned water into wine.”
He lifted the chalice before the Messiah and grandly asked, “Isn’t that so, Jesus?”
The Messiah did not answer him a word.
If Herod was perturbed by this silence, he didn’t show it. “Servant girl!” he hollered. “Servant girl!”
An attractive young woman entered from the door on the left, and with short, quick steps, she made her way before the tetrarch. She bowed low.
“Fill this chalice with water and bring it back.”
He stared after her as she left.
I noticed Herodias following his hungry gaze.
“Soon we will see if this prophet can perform the works of which we heard.” He nodded his head with an eager enthusiasm. Then addressing Jesus, he asked, “Tell us of your magic arts.”
The Messiah fixed his eyes straight ahead. He looked beyond the Fox and did not answer him a word. His silence was challenging enough.
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.
