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Tag Archives: David Kitz

Excerpt 16 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

12 Monday Mar 2018

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Caiaphas, centurion, crucified, David Kitz, Jesus, Passion Week, Passover, Pharisees, Pilate, Roman, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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.”

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 15 for Lent from The Soldier Who Killed a King

09 Friday Mar 2018

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

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Caiaphas, David Kitz, Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, Kingdom of God, Lent, prophet, repentance, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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

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

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

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

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

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

03 Saturday Mar 2018

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

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

centurion, Christ, crucifixion, David Kitz, Easter, Jesus, King Herod, Marcus Longinus, Pontius Pilate, Savior, Scripture, Son of God, trial

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.

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

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

centurion, David Kitz, healing, Hosanna, Jesus, Marcus, miracles, repentance, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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

22 Thursday Feb 2018

Posted by davidkitz in Books by David Kitz, Lent

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Damascus, David Kitz, Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, Kingdom of God, Matthias, miracles, prophet, Rome, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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, disguised in his civilian clothes, is in a discussion about Jesus with Timaeus, a linen merchant from Damascus.

“As for this Jesus of Nazareth?” He shrugged. “I know only a little more than you. My brother here in Jerusalem knew nothing about him. Had never heard the name. But I heard of him once, about a year ago, in Damascus.”
“In Damascus?”
“Yes. I’m in the linen trade.” He put his hand to an elaborately embroidered sleeveBiblical fiction winner 2017 and stroked the pattern. “We supply market stalls in Galilee. One of our sellers there told me of this prophet. He had seen him in Galilee.”
“So what did he say about him?”
“Actually, he told me quite a lot, but I don’t know how much I can believe. He said this Jesus worked miracles.”
“Miracles? What do you mean, miracles?”
“He said Jesus drove out demons, healed the sick. He told me about this one time he went out to hear this prophet, if that’s what he is. Jesus was on this hillside. Thousands had come to hear him speak. Matthias—that’s the man’s name—he said he had never heard anyone speak like him. ‘It was like heaven was talking.’ He kept saying that. ‘It was like heaven was talking.’”
Timaeus spread his arms heavenward in mock imitation. “Poor Matthias!” He shook his head.
“So was that the miracle? The way he talked?”
“No, no. It’s not that, though Matthias kept going on about ‘the kingdom of God.’ Whatever that is. I suppose he got that from this Jesus. Anyway, after they had been there all day—he said there were more than five thousand people—this prophet told them all to sit down in groups of fifty or a hundred. Then he prayed and started breaking bread. He fed that whole crowd. Every last one of them.”
“What’s so miraculous about that?”
“Matthias said he only had five loaves and two fish when he started. He was watching him, and Jesus just kept on breaking bread until the whole crowd was fed. Five thousand people.”
“Five thousand people?”
“More than five thousand people.” He shrugged incredulously. “Look, I wasn’t there. I’m just repeating this fool’s story. Matthias kept saying, ‘It was like he was giving himself to us! Like it came from inside him!’”
Now I was incredulous. I paused in my walk and asked, “What did he mean by that?”
“I swear by the altar, I have no idea.”
“So what do you make of this Matthias and his story?”
“Matthias? He’s a nutcase. And he’s from a fine family in Capernaum.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I know them well. It’s hard to believe he’d get into something like this. He’s following this prophet around the country. It’s all he talks about. He was probably up some tree yesterday breaking off palm branches.” He spat out the words in utter disgust.
“And Jesus of Nazareth?” He raised a stout index finger and waved it in my face. “There’s the real nutcase! There’s no nut like a religious nut! And this kingdom of God talk. It’ll end in disaster.”
He glanced about to see if other ears were listening.
I continued in a more hushed voice. “How do you mean? Do you think the Romans will get involved?”
“Look, I’m no prophet, but by the throne I swear.” He looked me square in the eyes. “You don’t preach about a kingdom in this place and get away with it. Rome will see to that!”
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Excerpt 3 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

21 Wednesday Feb 2018

Posted by davidkitz in Books by David Kitz, Lent

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

centurion, David Kitz, Jesus of Nazareth, Jewish prophet, Lent, Marcus, Messiah, Passover, repentance, Roman centurion, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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.”

 

Excerpt 2 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by davidkitz in Lent

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Tags

conquer, David Kitz, donkey, Galilee, Hosanna, Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth, Lord, Messiah, prophet, Rome, Son of David, temple, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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?

Soldier bookI could see him clearly now. Donkey or not, he had the look of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. Those about him might not know or understand, but he knew. He had a destination in mind, a purpose. You could see it on his face.
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
There was something else different about him. At the time I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t put it into words for a long time. I think I noticed it because I had watched all those other men come into Rome in their triumphal processionals. They were conquerors, but still they were hollow men, feeding off the adulation of the crowd, thirsting but never satisfied. You could see them vainly drink it in, hoping it would somehow fill the empty soul.
This donkey-riding king wasn’t drinking from the crowd. I somehow sensed he was full already, and what he had within must have come from a different source.
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
Just at that moment a strange feeling seemed to rise within me. Maybe it was the joy of the crowd. I had expected anger. Maybe it was the children waving palm branches or the spontaneity of the singing? I don’t know. For one moment it all seemed to come together. It seemed right somehow. Like heaven and earth had finally, for a moment, come into agreement—an agreement that had never been achieved before.
“Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
He was much closer now.
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
He was now within the shadow of the gate.
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
At that moment he looked up. For an instant our eyes met. Then I heard a voice—clearly heard a voice say, “I have a future for you.”
I was confused.
I turned to Claudius and said, “What did you mean by that?”
“What did I mean by what?” He had a blank look on his face.
“By what you said about—about the future?”
“I didn’t say anything about the future, sir. I didn’t say anything.”4485 SHARABLE-1
I was totally baffled. Was I hearing voices? This whole thing was making no sense, no sense at all. Passover pilgrims weren’t supposed to come into the city this way. We had a revolutionary on the loose—riding a donkey. And now I was hearing things?
I rubbed the sweat from my forehead, hoping for some clarity to emerge.
I had a hundred men whose lives were in danger from this Jewish Messiah and his horde of followers. That was what mattered.
By this time the donkey man had passed under the gate and was heading in the direction of the temple in the heart of the city.
I signaled for Claudius to follow as I raced down the stairs of the gatehouse. I emerged onto the street and grabbed the first two-legged bit of Jewish scum I saw. Pressing him against the stone wall, I demanded, “Who is that man?”
I pointed at the retreating figure on the donkey.
The poor wretch was in shock and seemed quite unable to get out a word.
Claudius reached for his sword.
“Je- Jesus of Nazareth,” he stammered and then quickly added, “the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee.”
I loosened my grip. Then in a voice loud enough for all near to hear, I announced, “Well, there is one thing I do know. We’re going to have to keep an eye on that man.”

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

19 Monday Feb 2018

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

David Kitz, Hosanna, Jerusalem, Messiah, Palm Sunday, Passion Week, Passover, pilgrims, Roman soldiers, soldier, Son of David, The Soldier Who Killed a King, triumphal entry

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

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

Does God Have Anger Management Issues?

19 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by davidkitz in Bible, Devotionals, Psalm 86, Psalms

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

anger, compassionate, David Kitz, faithfulness, grace, grace of God, gracious, love of God, mercy, patient, slow to anger

Reading:                                     Psalm 86

(Verses 14-17)
Arrogant foes are attacking me, O God;
ruthless people are trying to kill me—
they have no regard for you.
But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.
Turn to me and have mercy on me;
show your strength in behalf of your servant;
save me, because I serve you
just as my mother did.
Give me a sign of your goodness,
that my enemies may see it and be put to shame,
for you, L
ORD, have helped me and comforted me (NIV).

Reflection
Living or working with an angry person can be extremely difficult. You can never tell what might trigger an angry reaction. You can be going about your normal routine and suddenly something will set them off. Next thing you know you are getting the full brunt of their fury for something done in complete innocence or for which you bear no responsibility. Life is full of stress. No one likes being around someone who gives full vent to their unchecked anger.

2018-02-05g

A sign of your goodness — photo by David Kitz

Unfortunately, many Christians live their lives as though God has anger management issues. They are convinced that at any moment God may smite them for some minor misstep or indiscretion. The truth is God is far more patient and compassionate than we realize. Here in Psalm 86 David reminds us that the LORD is slow to anger. But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.

If you want a short one sentence description of God, here it is. It is well worth repeating. But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness. 

Take that sentence and memorize it, repeat it and meditate on it. This is the essence of God. He oozes compassion for the broken and hurting. The LORD is gracious. He shows favor—undeserved grace—to His people. He is slow to anger. He is more than patient with us. He knows that all too often we are slow to learn the ways of God. But despite that, He abounds in love. There is an ocean full of God’s love, when we imagine there’s only a thimble full. Finally, the LORD is faithful. He sticks with us through thick and thin. In a changing world, God and His faithfulness remain constant.

Does your picture of God need to change? It may be time to switch that picture of an angry God for a picture of the God of compassion and grace—compassion and grace for yourself and for others. His love is bigger than our shortcomings.

Response: LORD God, I want to see you as you are, full of compassion and grace. Help me to show compassion and mercy to others. I want to meditate on your word so that I can know you as you truly are. Amen.

Your Turn: Do you believe God is angry with you? What characteristic of God do you love most?

From a Facebook Post

07 Wednesday Feb 2018

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

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

book review, centurion, conflict, crucifixion, David Kitz, drama, Facebook, guilt, Jesus, Kitz, peace, review, surprise, the Passion, The Soldier Who Killed a King

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.

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