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I love the Psalms

~ Connecting daily with God through the Psalms

I love the Psalms

Tag Archives: Hosanna

He Knew Me

30 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by davidkitz in The Soldier Who Killed a King

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

healing, Hosanna, the cross, 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.
The 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.1_LQtjPt8ZDqx05L-IlvYlKA
“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?

For book purchases or a closer look at The Soldier Who Killed a King try Amazon or christianbook.com.

To download a free study guide for this high-impact, 288-page, bible-based novel visit: https://www.davidkitz.ca/centurion.php/free study guide PDF

Here’s a journey to the cross and the open tomb you will never forget.

“Hosanna to the Son of David!”

24 Wednesday Mar 2021

Posted by davidkitz in The Soldier Who Killed a King

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Hosanna, Jesus of Nazareth, Passover, pilgrims, Son of David

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?Soldier800kb

I 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.”
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.”
4485 SHARABLE-2

For book purchases of The Soldier Who Killed a King try Amazon or christianbook.com.

To download a free study guide for this high-impact, 288-page, bible-based novel visit: https://www.davidkitz.ca/centurion.php/free study guide PDF

Here’s a journey to the cross and the open tomb you will never forget.

Four in the afternoon, Sunday, April 2, AD 30

23 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by davidkitz in The Soldier Who Killed a King

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Hosanna, Messiah, Passover, Son of David, The Soldier Who Killed a King

Free WW-e FACEBOOK-2 (2)
I
t was never like this before.
I have been posted in Jerusalem for ten years now, but in all that time, I have 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.

For book purchases of The Soldier Who Killed a King try Amazon or christianbook.com.

To download a free study guide for this high-impact, 288-page, bible-based novel visit: https://www.davidkitz.ca/centurion.php/free study guide PDF

Here’s a journey to the cross and the open tomb you will never forget.

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

13 Wednesday Mar 2019

Posted by davidkitz in Lent, The Soldier Who Killed a King

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Hosanna, Jesus, Lent, 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.

Reading 5 for Lent from “The Soldier Who Killed a King”

10 Sunday Mar 2019

Posted by davidkitz in Books by David Kitz, Lent

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Christ, Hosanna, Jesus, Lent, repentance, Son of David

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 Longinus the centurion, disguised in his civilian clothes, is waiting by the city gate for the arrival of Jesus. It is the morning of the second day of Passover Week.

Then someone ahead of me pointed and yelled, “That’s him! He’s coming!”
Necks craned. I raised my hand to shade my eyes. Just over the brow of the hill, a figure in white rabbinical robes was beginning his descent into the Kidron Valley. It soon became apparent he was not alone. A clutch of young bearded men surrounded him, and trailing behind was an assortment of wives, children, and barking dogs of both types, canine and human. The whole entourage may have numbered a hundred twenty. There was no donkey today and, to my relief, no thronging thousands. I’m sure there was a collective sigh of relief above the gate as well.
The near-giddy anticipation of these spectators was something I had not expected. I wasFree WWe SHARABLE-1 (2) surprised to find myself caught up in it. The front edges of the crowd by the wall surged forward to line the roadside. Meanwhile, others continued to pour through the gate.
The man to my left stepped forward, planting his foot on my toes. I grunted in pain and instinctively pushed my thumb and knuckles into his ribs. This brought the desired relief, and the man turned to face me. It was the man with the boy on his shoulders.
“My toes!” I gestured.
“Sorry, my friend.”
I felt slightly embarrassed by the gruffness of my response. “You’re waiting to see Jesus,” I offered, stating the obvious.
“Yeah. The kids are crazy about him.” He nodded in the direction of the brood to my right. “It’s all they talked about since we came yesterday.”
I could tell from his accent that he was from Galilee, so I continued. “Do you know much about him? See, I’m a Passover pilgrim from Alexandria in Egypt. All I know is what I saw yesterday.”
“That was incredible!” he enthused. “Did you see him come in on the donkey? That’s fulfillment of a prophecy.”
Then he took on a more distant, thoughtful look, and he began to quote. “Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem!” And now his eyes brightened. “See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious.” He slowed for emphasis, and with his free hand stabbed the air. “Lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
It always amazed me how these people memorized their Scriptures. “So, do you think he’s”—I hesitated—“the Christ?”
“Shh!” He gestured with a finger to his lips and a glance to the wall. “Or the stones will hear.”
He continued. “There is no one like him. He drives out demons. He heals the sick. Even the dead have been raised. And yesterday”—his voice raced with excitement— “yesterday I saw this with my own eyes. He healed a man born blind.”
Seeing my interest, he pressed on.
“In the morning, we were leaving Jericho, the whole throng from Galilee, and by the side of the road was this blind beggar. He was yelling, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stopped and touched the man’s eyes.”
He made as though he would touch my eyes.
“And he was healed!” His own bright eyes beamed at me as he smiled broadly. The boy on his shoulders also joined in his father’s enthusiasm as for the first time he smiled down at me.
We began to reposition ourselves, for the object of our conversation was now drawing near.
He nudged my shoulder. “And when he speaks, it’s like God is talking to me. None of the rabbis speak like him. It’s like he has seen heaven and heard the voice of the Holy One.” A girl in her teens near the front edge of the crowd shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”
Soon others joined in. The masses surged around him, and together we squeezed through the Messiah Gate and pressed on toward the temple.

To download a free study guide for this high-impact, bible-based novel visit: https://www.davidkitz.ca/centurion.php/free study guide PDF

For book purchases of The Soldier Who Killed a King try Amazon or https://www.christianbook.com

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

20 Tuesday Feb 2018

Posted by davidkitz in Lent

≈ Leave a comment

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.

Read a Chapter

08 Thursday Jun 2017

Posted by davidkitz in Books by David Kitz, Psalms

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Tags

centurion, Christ's Passion, David Kitz, donkey, historic novel, Hosanna, Jerusalem, Jesus of Nazareth, Kregel, palm branches, Passion Week, Passover, Roman centurion, Son of David

Four in the afternoon, Sunday, April 2, AD 30

It was never like this before.

I have been posted here, in Jerusalem for ten years now, but in all that time I had never seen a Passover crowd like this. It was not the numbers. I had seen that before.

What made the big difference was the person at the center of it all. You see there had never been a central figure before. The Passover pilgrims just came plodding into the city in reverent caravans. Some of them would be chanting psalms. Others were silent; looking bone weary as they trudged, like fretful herdsmen with children in tow. Undoubtedly many were relieved that their holy city was finally in view.

Soldier bookBut, this year it was different. There was this man – at the center of the whole procession. 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 impatiently, “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 there less than a half mile ahead of us, we could see the jubilant pilgrims surging toward us, in numbers that were alarming.

“They’re laying the palm branches on the road in front of that man – the man on the donkey.”

Until Claudius said it, I had not 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 as a sign of homage before this man. 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!”[i]

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.

This crowd of thousands was sweeping down the Mount of Olives into the Kidron Valley and then on toward us. They advanced like a huge human wave about to collide with the rock hewn palisades on which we stood.

Would they sweep us away?

My initial curiosity had grown into worry. Now in an instant my worry turned to alarm. Instinctively, everything within me shouted, “Stand! Resist! Be a Roman!”

We had soldiers posted all about the city, especially along the pilgrim route. My own hundred men were among the first to be deployed. During Jewish feasts like this we made certain we were highly visible. I dreaded what might happen if this crowd ran wild. Rioting could erupt, and with an impassioned throng such as this riots have a way of quickly turning deadly.

For several moments a debate raged in my mind. Should I order the gate closed to keep this rabble with their pretender king out of the city? Or, should I let everything proceed – let it proceed as though somehow, we had not taken note of what was going on?

“Stand! Ready for orders!” I shouted above the swelling din. The sentinels on the wall snapped to attention.

I hastily scanned the crowd for any sign of weapons, any hint of armed treachery. To my surprise I saw none. They were paying no attention to us. Everyone was caught up with hailing this man, the man on the donkey.

The front edges of the crowd had now reached the first platoon of eight men that I had positioned by the roadside about four hundred yards before the gate. But they ignored them, sweeping past the clump of soldiers, without so much as creating a ripple, like a round stone in a swift flowing stream.

At that moment I knew it made no sense to lower the gate. It would only enrage this crowd that was already fully aroused and moving as one.

Let them come. We’ll handle them and their king inside the city.

Their king. On a donkey. I could only shake my head in disbelief.

I had watched many a triumphal entry, while growing up in Rome, and the conquering hero always rode a gallant war horse. And as a boy, I too had  dreams of personal glory. But a donkey? It could only happen here, I thought with an incredulous grin.

I 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!”

There was something else that was different about him. At the time I did not know what it was. I could not 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 of 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.

He was not 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!
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 the 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!”
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.”

Now I was totally baffled. Was I hearing voices? This whole thing was making no sense, no sense at all. Passover pilgrims are not supposed to come into the city this way. We’ve got a revolutionary on the loose – riding a donkey. And now I’m hearing things?

I rubbed the sweat from my forehead, hoping for some clarity to emerge out of all this.

I had a hundred men whose lives were in danger from this Jewish messiah, and his horde of followers. That’s what mattered now.

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. As I emerged onto the street, I grabbed the first two-legged bit of Jewish scum I saw. Pressing him against the stone wall I demanded, “Who is that man?” At the same time 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.”

  • For the month of June The Soldier Who Killed a King is available for preorder from Kregel Publishing for the early bird price of $10.99. The worldwide release date is July 25th.
  • Place your order today: http://www.kregel.com/fiction/the-soldier-who-killed-a-king/

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