15 Thursday Nov 2018
Take a moment to view and hear a portion of this award-winning novel.
For more information on the book visit: https://davidkitz.ca/centurion.php
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For more information on the dramatization visit: https://davidkitz.ca/centurion.php
01 Thursday Nov 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Easter Sunday, Lent, Psalms, The Soldier Who Killed a King
Tags
centurion, David Kitz, dramatization, endorsements, Jesus, passion, The Soldier Who Killed a King
“An awesome read: captivating, spellbinding, inspiring! Through the author’s masterful writing, the centurion stood out as a real and personable individual…The book also helped me visualize Jesus, my Savior, and his person and work for the forgiveness of my sins, for my daily walk, and for the eternal life he has in store for all who believe.”
Cliff Kentel, Prince of Peace Lutheran Church, Regina, Saskatchewan
“Story has a way of capturing our attention and enabling truth to move from head to heart. David Kitz creatively unpacks the events of Passion Week as seen through a Roman centurion’s eyes. Through vivid word pictures, we see the whip-sliced back of our Savior and hear the pounding of each nail that affixed him to the cross. We walk these lasts steps of Jesus’s earthly ministry, leading to his death, burial, and triumphant resurrection from the dead. Kitz Better helps us to do as the apostle John encourages: ‘See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” (1 John 3:1)
Dean Ridings, author of The Pray! Prayer Journal and communications director of Navigator Church Ministries
For more information regarding the author and his live dramatizations visit https://davidkitz.ca/centurion.php
For more information regarding book purchase from the author visit https://www.davidkitz.ca/bookcart/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=50
or
For more information regarding U.S. book purchases visit https://www.amazon.com/Soldier-Who-Killed-King-Retelling/dp/0825444853/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1537465478&sr=8-1&keywords=the+soldier+who+killed+a+king
04 Thursday Oct 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Easter Sunday, Lent, Psalms
Tags
centurion, David Kitz, dramatization, Easter, Lent, Passion Week, Play, soldier, The Soldier Who Killed a King
The Soldier Who Killed a KingSee the triumphal entry of the donkey-riding king through the eyes of Marcus Longinus, the centurion charged with keeping the streets from erupting into open rebellion.
Go behind the scenes at the political plotting of King Herod, known as the scheming Fox for his ruthless shrewdness.
Witness the confrontation between the Jewish high priest Caiaphas and the Roman governor Pontius Pilate.
Understand as never before the horror of the decision to save a brutal terrorist in order to condemn the peaceful Jew to death.
If you’ve heard the story of Passion Week so often it’s become stale, now is the time to rediscover the terrible events leading from Jesus’s humble ride into the city to his crucifixion. The Soldier Who Killed a King will stun you afresh with how completely Christ’s resurrection changed history, one life at a time.
A readable and accurate novel about Jesus Christ’s last week on earth. Kitz portrayal of the collison between pagan Rome and temple Judiam is completely plausible.
Joe Woodard, Calgary Herald
Author Bio: David Kitz is a Bible dramatist and outreach minister with the Foursquare Church.
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&product_id=50
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.
01 Sunday Apr 2018
Tags
centurion, corpse, David Kitz, Jesus, Longinus, Marcus, prophet, repentance, resurrection, shroud, tomb
Date: Nine in the morning, Sunday, April 9, 30 A.D.
Marcus Longinus, the Roman centurion, investigates his soldiers’ report that Jesus had risen from the dead.
It was as they said. The stone was rolled away. But it was not merely rolled to the side as I had expected. It had been pushed right up and out of its stone track, and it had toppled over a good distance from the tomb entrance.
I edged my way toward it. About two paces from the end of the stone track, there was gouge in the shallow soil, where the round cover stone had landed and then rolled. This was a real headshaker. How had this happened? It must have been rolled back with such force that when it reached the end of the track, it bounced up and out. No wonder the men were scared! This was awesome. Forty men could not do this!
Suddenly I felt very small, small and afraid.
Photo credit Jean Levac, Ottawa Citizen
And this was the very stone we had sealed just a day earlier. A close examination showed that in a few spots there were still fragments of broken plaster on it.I exhaled a huge puff of air. This discovery in itself was beyond all expectation. The force of the quake could not have done this. A quake of such magnitude would have collapsed the tomb itself, and not a building in the city would be standing. No, a direct force had hurled this boulder away from the tomb’s entrance.
An almighty warrior from heaven’s realm?
I rejoined my two men. Suddenly they gained a new level of respect in my eyes. Their fears had become my own. I found I was rolling my head from side to side just as I had seen Claudius do.
“You saw this happen?” I gestured to the fallen round rock and then put a finger to my lips. I was astounded.
“Actually,” Philip admitted, “I didn’t see him roll the stone. We all fell like dead men when the earthquake hit. But after, when I opened my eyes, the angel was sitting on it, and . . . and Jesus was walking out of the tomb.” He fell to his knees and began to beat the ground as he said this last part. He was gripped afresh by the memory.
“Where were you when this happened?” He raised his head and pointed to a spot a few paces away. “Right there.”
“And you?” I looked at Claudius. He pointed to another spot. “Just over here,” he said. “That’s my cloak. I left it when I ran.”
There was, in fact, a good bit of flotsam scattered about: a few cloaks, a water jug, Philip’s precious dice, even a helmet. Here were all the signs of panicked flight. They had left all and fled for their lives.
For me only one question remained. Was the open tomb truly empty?
“Get to your feet, Philip,” I said. “You two stay here and watch while I go take a look inside.”
I took three deep breaths and set out on my little journey. It was only about twenty paces
to the tomb entrance. A distance made much longer by my fear. But the whole scene was bathed in the warmth of morning sunlight. I started slowly. About halfway to the entrance, a songbird broke forth in glorious melody. The sun’s rays streamed into the rock tomb, lighting my way.
It was empty! The stone slab lay empty. Actually, it was not entirely so. The death shroud had been rolled up, and the face covering was neatly folded and lay off to one side. It appeared as though the awakened corpse took a moment to make his bed after getting up.
The Galilean prophet, the true king, had arisen and gone forth!
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.
19 Monday Mar 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Good Friday, Lent
Tags
arrested, Caiaphas, centurion, high priest, Jerusalem, Jesus of Nazareth, Lent, Longinus, Marcus, Pontius Pilate, repentance, The Soldier Who Killed a King
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 this
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. 
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.”
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.
15 Thursday Mar 2018
Tags
Caiaphas, centurion, Claudia Procula, governor, Herod, Herod the tetrarch, high priest, King Herod, Pontius Pilate, repentance, Savior
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.
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.”
“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.
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.
13 Tuesday Mar 2018
Tags
Barabbas, Caesar, Caiaphas, centurion, Golgotha, Jerusalem, Jesus, Kidron Valley, Messiah, prophet, repentance, Romans, Rome, sinners, tax collector, temple
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.
“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.”
“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.”
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.
12 Monday Mar 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent, Monday Meditation
Tags
Caiaphas, centurion, crucified, David Kitz, Jesus, Passion Week, Passover, Pharisees, Pilate, Roman, The Soldier Who Killed a King
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.”
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. It
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.”
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.
06 Tuesday Mar 2018
Posted in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent, Psalms
Tags
centurion, healed, Herod, Jesus of Nazareth, Lent, Marcus, Pilate, repentance, The Soldier Who Killed a King
In today’s reading, Marcus meets with his fellow centurion and friend, Renaldo. Renaldo has just seen the young boy Lucas who was healed in the temple courts on the previous day by Jesus of Nazareth.
“Marcus! Marcus!”
I spun around to see Renaldo emerging from the gateway stairway.
“Hey, Marcus! You were right. That boy really was healed.”
He voiced the words with such bald enthusiasm that I was completely disarmed.
“I just saw him. He was here—here at the gate.” He gestured down the gateway parapet
to a point below us. “I saw him. I examined his leg. It’s completely healed. Just like the other one. It’s incredible!” he enthused. “He can jump! And run!”
“I told you. I told you, Renaldo,” I said while shaking my head.
“Yeah, but you don’t expect it,” he said as he justified his unbelief. “I mean, this kid’s been like this from birth. You see him the same way, day after day. And then one day . . . Boom! He’s completely different.”
“I told you. You didn’t believe me?” I uttered the words with a certain smug satisfaction.
“Well, you don’t expect it,” he repeated. “I mean, it’s one thing to hear it, but it’s quite something else to see it for yourself.”
“That’s exactly what I was trying to tell you. I said you’ve got to see this for yourself to understand.”
I sighed. Now I was beginning to realize why I wasn’t getting through.
“So it was Lucas,” I stated.
“It was Lucas!” Renaldo confirmed, shaking his head in a state of incredulous wonderment.
I changed the topic.
“Look, Renaldo, I would like to talk with you more about this, but we’ve both got some work to do. Word has just come in to Flavio. Herod has accepted Pilate’s invitation. He’ll be going directly to the Praetorium. Arriving at four. The Fish Gate route needs to be cleared. You know those temple traders have set up shop in there, and you’ve got to get them out. And the sooner, the better. Flavio says that’s your sector, so you’re on.” Renaldo took all this in stride. “Sure, Marcus. I’ll get right on it.”
I turned from him, but he called after me.
“Marcus. We need to talk more about this Jesus—this Jesus of Nazareth.”
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.
