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"Over" by Keith Hewitt
Over
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 22:14--23:56
Quintus walked into the room he shared with three other centurions, and was unaccountably relieved when Lunio was the only one there. They had grown up in the Tenth together, both achieving centurion rank at about the same time?due, in equal parts, to their fitness for duty and to heavy losses during a campaign against bandits in the wilderness, some years back. They had fought, bled, chased women, and drank together for longer than he cared to remember. The other two that shared the room with them were pups, still getting used to their rank.
“Hail, Quintus,” Lunio said formally, not looking up from his task?sharpening the blade of his sword. “How goes the day?”
“It’s a day like any other,” Quintus grunted, and dropped his helmet on his bed, started to peel off the rest of his armor. “I drew executioner’s duty, this morning, and spent the day on that rock they call Golgotha.”
“And? You were crucifying that messiah of theirs, weren’t you?”
“I was.” He sat down on the bed, feeling like he could suddenly breathe again, with the weight of the armor gone. He unstrapped his sandals, crossed his legs, and began to massage one of his aching feet with strong, blunt fingers; such was the day that he didn’t even notice the bloodstains on them. “Here’s a riddle for you, Primi Ordenes Lunio: what is the difference between a Jewish messiah, and a regular Jew?”
His roommate paused, whetstone about halfway down his blade, seemed to consider the question, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing. As it turns out, if you take a messiah, flay him, then nail him to a cross, he’s going to die just like any other Jew. Really very unremarkable.” He shook his head. “So much anger ... so much hatred ... it would seem that nobody liked this unfortunate creature. The only mourners I saw were women, same as there are for any of these barbarians when we crucify them. Whatever he did, he made some powerful enemies?but that’s done. No more enemies, because there’s no more Nazarene messiah. Poof! Like magic, problem solved.”
Lunio studied his friend closely, then began to sharpen his sword again with long, slow strokes. After a moment or two, without stopping, he said quietly, “Then why do you look so worried, Quintus?”
Quintus shook his head, scowling. “I don’t know?I think this place is getting to me. I know better. It’s over,” he said flatly.
# # #
The glow of the altar pierced the gloom, as Caiaphas looked out over the city that was his responsibility, and his burden. Night was falling quickly, now, and ceremonies at the Temple had been wound up, but the fires would continue for awhile, yet?they would not be put out, despite the onset of the Sabbath.
“He’s dead,” a voice said behind him. Then, “The Galilean is dead,” as though there might be some doubt about who might be the subject of the declaration.
“Are you certain?” he asked without turning to see the speaker.
“I am. I watched him die. And then I watched a Roman soldier plunge a spear into his side, just to be sure. There was no reaction. There was no pumping of blood. There was only ... death.”
He turned, then, and looked closely at the priest who delivered the news. “You are absolutely certain, Samuel?”
Samuel nodded. “There can be no doubt. You saw him?there would have been little enough chance that he might live after what the Romans had done to him ... a man cannot lose that much blood and live. That much flesh cannot be torn away without it being lethal. Putting him on the cross was almost an afterthought; he was a dead man walking through the city, to that rock of death?he just didn’t realize it, yet.”
Caiaphas turned back to look at the Temple, still an awesome spectacle, even in the gloom. “Hardly an afterthought, dear Samuel?hardly an afterthought. The Galilean was a threat?he could have destroyed us all with his blasphemies and his platitudes. We may be God’s people, Samuel, but for now we live under the heel of the Romans, and they will not brook rebels; their justice, such as it is, is swift and brutal. So we needed the Galilean’s death to be swift and brutal, to avoid that fate befalling us all.” He sighed. “And it had to be public, so there would be no question among the people.”
“Then you got what you wanted, Caiaphas?it was, indeed, swift and brutal. No one can doubt that.” He stepped up next to the High Priest, who looked at him sideways, as he added, “The nation is safe, Caiaphas. The Galilean is dead, the threat is gone. It’s over.”
# # #
“It’s done.” Joseph, who had left his own house shortly after dark, and found his way by a circuitous route to this place of meeting, was still wearing the shawl over his head as he spoke. He lowered it, so the men and women in the room could see him clearly, and he looked from face to face in the yellow lamplight. “The Master is buried.” He nodded toward his companion. “We did it, ourselves. We were able to bathe the ... body ... and dress it properly. Not the best work, but it was the best we could do.”
He chose not to detail the gruesome task of bringing the legs together and folding the arms into something like natural repose, after they had already begun to stiffen in death, splayed out on the cross. In his mind’s eye, he could see ... he could feel ... the tendons and muscles stretching and tearing; he could see the rivulets of blood that had flowed across the rock as they bathed the battered, wracked body of their Teacher.
He glanced at the women, still sobbing in the corner, and looked away. He scowled, said simply, “We did what was necessary. He is ... was ... clean. We can do more after the Sabbath, but we were pressed for time, and ... ” He trailed off, shrugged.
“Are you?are you sure the Master?is dead?” someone asked, from another darkened corner.
“I am, Peter. I am as certain of that as I am of anything else. The Teacher was ... is ... dead. I felt for a heartbeat, I listened, I looked into his eyes?“ He fell silent for a moment, then, shook it off and forcibly brought himself back to the here-and-now. “I put a feather beneath his nose, and waited. There was no breath of life. There was no life left within him.”
“Then what are we to do?” another man asked.
“We ... we continue to teach what the Master taught us. We continue in his name,” Peter said with barely a pause.
Pretty big talk for the man who wouldn’t admit knowing him, Joseph thought, instead said, “Listen, I believed in his message just as much as you did, Peter. Just as much as any of us. But is that enough? What are the man’s teachings, without the man? You saw what they did to him. Are those teachings worth that?”
“Jesus knew he was going to die, Joseph. He said it often enough, toward the end. But that didn’t stop him from trying to show us the way. It didn’t stop him from trying to teach us a new way to look at God ... to look at ourselves.”
Joseph sighed. “That’s a discussion for another day, Peter?all of you. Take some time to sort through this, and then we can decide what is best. What he would have wanted us to do. But for now, at least, it’s done.” He nodded toward the door. “Night has fallen, and our hopes have fallen with them. I still count myself a follower, but I also can see the truth when it stands before me. As far as I can see, it’s over.”
# # #
His name could not be pronounced by human tongues, nor his face perceived, unless he consciously took the form of a human being. But he could cry tears, and his heart?if he’d had one?would have been a dead weight in his chest. The sky was clear and the moon was bright, and if someone had chanced to walk by the place called Golgotha?a place most avoided at night, fearing it was cursed?they might have been able to see ... something sitting at the foot of the cross. But he was not consciously choosing to maintain a human form, so any who saw might have been able to convince themselves it was a trick of the light.
He didn’t care.
He wept.
This had gone on for awhile, when he realized he’d been joined on his vigil. “Why do you weep, my brother?” his companion asked.
“Because Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God and hope of mankind, was murdered today,” he answered. “They arrested him, they humiliated him, they beat him and whipped him, then they nailed him to this tree. And he died. For bringing them the truth.” He looked at the one who’d joined him?he had no trouble making out the figure in the light of the moon. “How can you not weep, older brother?”
“Is that what you think happened here, today?”
“It’s what I saw happen. We’ve been watching over this child for years?decades?ever since Bethlehem. We kept him safe. You even talked to his parents, to tell them what was happening. And it all comes to this. Blood and death. He came to set men free, and instead they did this to him.” He looked at his companion, again. “And you stood by. You made us stand by. We could have stepped in. We could have saved him, we could have saved his teaching.”
“It was not my call to make,” his companion said placidly.
“I don’t care. We could have done something to save him, and we didn’t. And now it’s over. Everything he taught, everything he stood for?those humans will never remember it all, they’ll never have the courage to carry on. Look how they ran today.” He stood up; moonlight seemed to at once bend around him, and go through him, producing a weird distortion if anyone had been there to see.
“You underestimate his influence. And his teachings.”
“I was here. I saw it happen. And I know the truth: it’s over.”
He was startled to hear, not a retort ... not a response ... but gentle laughter, disguised as the wind caressing the leaves of nearby trees. He was still trying to understand when his companion said quietly, “Oh, little brother?it’s not over. It’s just getting started. Wait until you see what happens next.”
It would be two days before he understood the answer.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, March 20, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
"Over" by Keith Hewitt
Over
by Keith Hewitt
Luke 22:14--23:56
Quintus walked into the room he shared with three other centurions, and was unaccountably relieved when Lunio was the only one there. They had grown up in the Tenth together, both achieving centurion rank at about the same time?due, in equal parts, to their fitness for duty and to heavy losses during a campaign against bandits in the wilderness, some years back. They had fought, bled, chased women, and drank together for longer than he cared to remember. The other two that shared the room with them were pups, still getting used to their rank.
“Hail, Quintus,” Lunio said formally, not looking up from his task?sharpening the blade of his sword. “How goes the day?”
“It’s a day like any other,” Quintus grunted, and dropped his helmet on his bed, started to peel off the rest of his armor. “I drew executioner’s duty, this morning, and spent the day on that rock they call Golgotha.”
“And? You were crucifying that messiah of theirs, weren’t you?”
“I was.” He sat down on the bed, feeling like he could suddenly breathe again, with the weight of the armor gone. He unstrapped his sandals, crossed his legs, and began to massage one of his aching feet with strong, blunt fingers; such was the day that he didn’t even notice the bloodstains on them. “Here’s a riddle for you, Primi Ordenes Lunio: what is the difference between a Jewish messiah, and a regular Jew?”
His roommate paused, whetstone about halfway down his blade, seemed to consider the question, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing. As it turns out, if you take a messiah, flay him, then nail him to a cross, he’s going to die just like any other Jew. Really very unremarkable.” He shook his head. “So much anger ... so much hatred ... it would seem that nobody liked this unfortunate creature. The only mourners I saw were women, same as there are for any of these barbarians when we crucify them. Whatever he did, he made some powerful enemies?but that’s done. No more enemies, because there’s no more Nazarene messiah. Poof! Like magic, problem solved.”
Lunio studied his friend closely, then began to sharpen his sword again with long, slow strokes. After a moment or two, without stopping, he said quietly, “Then why do you look so worried, Quintus?”
Quintus shook his head, scowling. “I don’t know?I think this place is getting to me. I know better. It’s over,” he said flatly.
# # #
The glow of the altar pierced the gloom, as Caiaphas looked out over the city that was his responsibility, and his burden. Night was falling quickly, now, and ceremonies at the Temple had been wound up, but the fires would continue for awhile, yet?they would not be put out, despite the onset of the Sabbath.
“He’s dead,” a voice said behind him. Then, “The Galilean is dead,” as though there might be some doubt about who might be the subject of the declaration.
“Are you certain?” he asked without turning to see the speaker.
“I am. I watched him die. And then I watched a Roman soldier plunge a spear into his side, just to be sure. There was no reaction. There was no pumping of blood. There was only ... death.”
He turned, then, and looked closely at the priest who delivered the news. “You are absolutely certain, Samuel?”
Samuel nodded. “There can be no doubt. You saw him?there would have been little enough chance that he might live after what the Romans had done to him ... a man cannot lose that much blood and live. That much flesh cannot be torn away without it being lethal. Putting him on the cross was almost an afterthought; he was a dead man walking through the city, to that rock of death?he just didn’t realize it, yet.”
Caiaphas turned back to look at the Temple, still an awesome spectacle, even in the gloom. “Hardly an afterthought, dear Samuel?hardly an afterthought. The Galilean was a threat?he could have destroyed us all with his blasphemies and his platitudes. We may be God’s people, Samuel, but for now we live under the heel of the Romans, and they will not brook rebels; their justice, such as it is, is swift and brutal. So we needed the Galilean’s death to be swift and brutal, to avoid that fate befalling us all.” He sighed. “And it had to be public, so there would be no question among the people.”
“Then you got what you wanted, Caiaphas?it was, indeed, swift and brutal. No one can doubt that.” He stepped up next to the High Priest, who looked at him sideways, as he added, “The nation is safe, Caiaphas. The Galilean is dead, the threat is gone. It’s over.”
# # #
“It’s done.” Joseph, who had left his own house shortly after dark, and found his way by a circuitous route to this place of meeting, was still wearing the shawl over his head as he spoke. He lowered it, so the men and women in the room could see him clearly, and he looked from face to face in the yellow lamplight. “The Master is buried.” He nodded toward his companion. “We did it, ourselves. We were able to bathe the ... body ... and dress it properly. Not the best work, but it was the best we could do.”
He chose not to detail the gruesome task of bringing the legs together and folding the arms into something like natural repose, after they had already begun to stiffen in death, splayed out on the cross. In his mind’s eye, he could see ... he could feel ... the tendons and muscles stretching and tearing; he could see the rivulets of blood that had flowed across the rock as they bathed the battered, wracked body of their Teacher.
He glanced at the women, still sobbing in the corner, and looked away. He scowled, said simply, “We did what was necessary. He is ... was ... clean. We can do more after the Sabbath, but we were pressed for time, and ... ” He trailed off, shrugged.
“Are you?are you sure the Master?is dead?” someone asked, from another darkened corner.
“I am, Peter. I am as certain of that as I am of anything else. The Teacher was ... is ... dead. I felt for a heartbeat, I listened, I looked into his eyes?“ He fell silent for a moment, then, shook it off and forcibly brought himself back to the here-and-now. “I put a feather beneath his nose, and waited. There was no breath of life. There was no life left within him.”
“Then what are we to do?” another man asked.
“We ... we continue to teach what the Master taught us. We continue in his name,” Peter said with barely a pause.
Pretty big talk for the man who wouldn’t admit knowing him, Joseph thought, instead said, “Listen, I believed in his message just as much as you did, Peter. Just as much as any of us. But is that enough? What are the man’s teachings, without the man? You saw what they did to him. Are those teachings worth that?”
“Jesus knew he was going to die, Joseph. He said it often enough, toward the end. But that didn’t stop him from trying to show us the way. It didn’t stop him from trying to teach us a new way to look at God ... to look at ourselves.”
Joseph sighed. “That’s a discussion for another day, Peter?all of you. Take some time to sort through this, and then we can decide what is best. What he would have wanted us to do. But for now, at least, it’s done.” He nodded toward the door. “Night has fallen, and our hopes have fallen with them. I still count myself a follower, but I also can see the truth when it stands before me. As far as I can see, it’s over.”
# # #
His name could not be pronounced by human tongues, nor his face perceived, unless he consciously took the form of a human being. But he could cry tears, and his heart?if he’d had one?would have been a dead weight in his chest. The sky was clear and the moon was bright, and if someone had chanced to walk by the place called Golgotha?a place most avoided at night, fearing it was cursed?they might have been able to see ... something sitting at the foot of the cross. But he was not consciously choosing to maintain a human form, so any who saw might have been able to convince themselves it was a trick of the light.
He didn’t care.
He wept.
This had gone on for awhile, when he realized he’d been joined on his vigil. “Why do you weep, my brother?” his companion asked.
“Because Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God and hope of mankind, was murdered today,” he answered. “They arrested him, they humiliated him, they beat him and whipped him, then they nailed him to this tree. And he died. For bringing them the truth.” He looked at the one who’d joined him?he had no trouble making out the figure in the light of the moon. “How can you not weep, older brother?”
“Is that what you think happened here, today?”
“It’s what I saw happen. We’ve been watching over this child for years?decades?ever since Bethlehem. We kept him safe. You even talked to his parents, to tell them what was happening. And it all comes to this. Blood and death. He came to set men free, and instead they did this to him.” He looked at his companion, again. “And you stood by. You made us stand by. We could have stepped in. We could have saved him, we could have saved his teaching.”
“It was not my call to make,” his companion said placidly.
“I don’t care. We could have done something to save him, and we didn’t. And now it’s over. Everything he taught, everything he stood for?those humans will never remember it all, they’ll never have the courage to carry on. Look how they ran today.” He stood up; moonlight seemed to at once bend around him, and go through him, producing a weird distortion if anyone had been there to see.
“You underestimate his influence. And his teachings.”
“I was here. I saw it happen. And I know the truth: it’s over.”
He was startled to hear, not a retort ... not a response ... but gentle laughter, disguised as the wind caressing the leaves of nearby trees. He was still trying to understand when his companion said quietly, “Oh, little brother?it’s not over. It’s just getting started. Wait until you see what happens next.”
It would be two days before he understood the answer.
Keith Hewitt is the author of two volumes of NaTiVity Dramas: Nontraditional Christmas Plays for All Ages (CSS). Keith's newest book NaTiVity Dramas: The Third Season will be published September 2012. He is a local pastor, co-youth leader, former Sunday school teacher, and occasional speaker at Christian events. He lives in southeastern Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and assorted dogs and cats.
*****************************************
StoryShare, March 20, 2016, issue.
Copyright 2016 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., 5450 N. Dixie Highway, Lima, Ohio 45807.
