Tag Archives: centurion

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 19 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

15 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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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 17 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

13 Tuesday Mar 2018

Posted by in Books by David Kitz, Christ's Passion, Lent, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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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

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

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

06 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 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 parapet4485 SHARABLE-2 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.”

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Bill Pink’s Review of The Soldier Who Killed a King

03 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in book review, Books by David Kitz, Good Friday, Lent, Psalms

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It is hard to imagine a more ironic, more chilling dramatic exclamation than the confession of Jesus’ executioner, “Surely, He was the Son of God” (Matt. 27:54).  In The Soldier, David Kitz gives a name to the Roman executioner – Marcus Longinus. Then he gives us an hour-by-hour account of the week in Marcus’ life in the run-up to the fatal hammer blows that drove spikes into Jesus’ broken body.

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            As I began to read The Soldier, I wondered if it would be a fascinating documentary of the last week of Jesus’ ministry on Earth. Fascinating it is. The sights, sounds and smells of the Jewish Passover week come to life, from the noisy, smelly commerce in sacrificial animals to the literal river of red sacrificial blood flowing through the temple aqueducts.

Political forces delicately dance in Jerusalem. High Priest Caiaphas, Samaritan King Herod Antipas, and Roman Governor Pontius Pilate, cordial but venomous enemies, vie for control of the holy city. We see and hear the week unfold through Marcus’ eyes and ears. He fears for the very lives of his men as tumultuous crowds swell Jerusalem. Two were recently murdered by Zealot terrorists. Crowds quickly become mobs, and only the iron discipline of his small garrison insulates the city from disaster.

The Soldier soon becomes more than a documentary. Marcus becomes a man we know intimately as husband, father and brave military officer. We see his family and career jeopardized by the mental anguish of post traumatic stress disorder. Horrific visions of bloody murders populate Marcus’ dreams at night and force contemplation of suicide by day.

Jesus rides into this mix of professional anxiety and personal anguish on a donkey. From a great distance He picks Marcus out of a crowd of thousands and speaks audibly to him alone and to him specifically, saying, “I have a future for you.” During the week, Marcus is repelled by Jesus and drawn to Jesus. He fears Jesus’ power over the crowds. He is the dumbfounded eye witness to Jesus’ healing miracles. He rejoices while Jesus humiliates moneychangers and Pharisees. He hopes Jesus will be acquitted by Pilate. He feels almost personally betrayed when Jesus might have saved Himself, but deliberately does not.  Ordered to crucify Jesus, Marcus does so obediently and resolutely.

I could empathize with Marcus. Like Marcus, I was a career soldier. Like him, I had superiors I admired and those I did not. I had peers who were my friends and those I loathed.  I worried about missions I was given when they endangered subordinates I was responsible for, and, admittedly, when they jeopardized my career if they failed. Unlike Marcus, I have not literally whipped my Savior and pierced his flesh with nails. But like Marcus, my personal sins have caused Jesus to suffer pain on the cross.

The Soldier is a two-fold page turner. It is better than an exciting read. Those of usbiblical-fiction-award-2017_orig blessed with a lifetime of church have heard the story of Christ’s trial and crucifixion as often as our lives have seen Easter Sundays. We have read the Biblical account, in all four gospels, many times. Yet, as I turned the pages of The Soldier, eagerly, I also found myself compulsively turning the pages of the Bible to sort out exactly which details of that week Kitz lifts literally from Scripture and which tidbits his imagination supplies. The blend is seamless. For instance, the lame boy Christ heals in Scripture becomes Kitz’ Lucas, a three-dimensional character twice cursed by the world and twice miraculously loved by Christ. What Christian author hopes for more than for it to be said that his work sends readers scurrying into the pages of the Holy Bible?

We are all Marcus. All of us, like Marcus, have heard Jesus promise us a future. We have all been drawn to Jesus and been afraid of Jesus; we have rejoiced with Jesus, and we have all felt alone when our lives spiraled out of control in sin and remorse. Jesus has stretched out His hands to all of us, and, like Marcus, we have all driven spikes into them. When we read David Kitz’s The Soldier Who Killed a King, we too, confess, “Surely, He is the Son of God.”

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

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

01 Thursday 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 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.

Excerpt 3 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by in Books by David Kitz, 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, meets with his fellow centurion, Renaldo, to discuss their response to what they see as the threat of a Jewish uprising led by a messianic prophet from Galilee.

      “We have to do something. This Jewish prophet is too dangerous.”
“That’s why I came over. I have a plan. It came to me last night.”
“What about Flavio?” Renaldo resumed stroking Keeper. The dog’s silky ears twitched beneath his gentle hand.

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A Roman centurion — Andrew Nicholls

“Forget Flavio. He’ll be drunk for the rest of the week. Herod’s coming down about midweek. There’ll be a big wine- swilling bash for the upper crust. He’ll sober up just long enough so he can bow and scrape for Pilate at the right moment. Forget him. We have to save our own hides.”
“All right. So what’s this plan?”
“It’s not some great master scheme, but I do have a few ideas.”
“Yes, get on with it,” he said with obvious interest.
“Well, the way I see it, we have way too little information about whatever is going on here. If there’s some Passover plot being hatched, we need to be the first to know about it. Not like yesterday. I don’t like surprises. Especially Jewish Messiah surprises.”
Renaldo scowled in agreement. “So why the trunk?” he asked.
I had set it down after our greeting, and now it was Keeper, sniffing about it, that brought it to Renaldo’s attention.
“This is one way I can get some information.”
I opened the trunk and pulled out several items of clothing, among them a Jewish prayer shawl and several phylacteries. Holding one of the fringed garments to myself, I announced, “Today I am Benjamin. Benjamin from Alexandria, and I’ve come to celebrate the Passover here, in the holy city, Jerusalem.”
All this was done with a thick Aramaic accent and a mock reverence that left Renaldo slapping his thigh in laughter.
“Marcus, Marcus! Only you could pull this off!” Then he added in a more thoughtful tone, “I could look in on some of our usual sources. They’re bound to know a thing or two about this donkey man.”
“Now you’re thinking.” With a glance to the eastern sky, I added, “Look, we don’t have much time. The sun’s almost up. All my men know their assigned duties, so if you could just look in on them at the barracks, that would be great. I should be back in uniform by noon, and I could meet you there to discuss what we’ve found.”
“No problem . . . Benjamin!” he said, shaking his head and grinning, no doubt contemplating the sight of me in religious garb.
I began to place the clothing back in the trunk, and then I turned to my friend. “Oh,Soldier book by the way, Renaldo, could you check in on Claudius at the Golden Gate? I expect our visiting prophet will be coming back into town by the same way today. Claudius might need a hand.”
“No problem, Marcus.” And then he added in a more serious tone, “Now, you be careful.”
“Yes, well,” I said, sighing, “I think we’ve all got to be careful.”
I swung the trunk up under my arm. With a quick wave of my free hand, I said, “I’m off for an appointment with Jesus of Nazareth.”

 

From a Facebook Post

07 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by in book review, Books by David Kitz, Psalms

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Pleasant surprises are just that—pleasant. This morning I woke up to a pleasant surprise on my Facebook page. That surprise came courtesy of Greg Thurston. He posted the following review of my book:

Last night I finished reading The Soldier Who Killed a King, by David Kitz: I was Soldier bookspeechless, but I must speak.

What a compelling story of the Passion, told by the Centurion who drove the nails into Jesus’ hands. To say it was gripping, riveting, real, and fresh is completely inadequate. Kitz manages to skillfully draw you through a familiar story with uncommon drama, unexpected turns, and brings tears along the way.

This singular story is simultaneously the story of us all: seeking to deal with our guilt, our inner conflicts, and to find the elusive peace we know must be out there.

I highly recommend this book. You may think you know the story, but you don’t know it at all. Read it and see what it does to you.