It’s all over me.
It’s all over me and I feel so guilty. I can’t get it off. It’s the strangest thing. I feel so guilty, but somehow… I don’t want it off.
Blood. Have you ever noticed how it feels to have dried blood on your hands? It feels crusty. I’ve seen blood drops fall to the ground. I’ve seen blood pour out on the ground. I’ve even had blood all over my feet. I’ve had blood on my hands. Blood on my hands….
It’s never bothered me before. Now I cannot stop thinking about it. I cannot stop looking at the blood that’s all over my hands. In fact, it’s all over me. I have blood on my arms and my breastplate. I have blood on the bottom of my sandals, and there’s blood on my mallet.
“Oh God!! It’s all over my mallet!!”
What have I done?!? Oh God, what have I done?!?
This was the mallet I used to drive the spikes right through His hands earlier today. I keep replaying this crucifixion in my mind. Something was different about this execution. Something so different. I have the Prisoner’s blood all over my face, my chest, my arms, and my belt. I feel so numb. I’m not sure why. Something was just so different this morning.
He didn’t make a sound when I pushed His shoulders back on the cross. There was no begging. No pleading for His life. This was SO DIFFERENT. It was almost as if this Guy WANTED to be there. I’ve handled over one hundred public executions and without fail the prisoners struggle to escape or plead for their life. This Guy… this Man… this Whoever He is… never struggled to get away. He was so accepting of His fate. He never made a sound, that is, until I drove the nail through His left hand.
He screamed in pain when the nail pierced His hand. His blood sprayed on my hands and the spike that I held in place. The next time my mallet hit the spike His blood actually splashed all over me.
I turned around and stepped over His body stretched across the wooden beam. He had already laid His right hand on the extension board for me. I couldn’t believe it. Without question, this Man was willing to die. His eyes were full of tears and He quietly stared forward. Marcus and Gaius, soldiers under my command, were laughing as they slid His feet into place. They, too, drove a larger nail through the Galileans’s feet and the crowd shouted with approval as the hammer pinged. A bloody tear ran over the Prisoner’s temple and dropped to the ground as his breaths were quivering through pain.
I commanded Marcus and Gaius to move the cross into the proper vertical position. I felt like I might vomit right on the spot. I couldn’t figure out why killing this Man was getting next to me. Cruelty has been my specialty for years, but there was just something about His eyes. There was something about the way He looked at me. I heard the Prisoner speaking as my soldiers used ropes to gain leverage and pull Him forward. The cross locked into a vertical stance between the rock wedges in the ground.
“What did He say?” I asked my soldiers.
“Can you believe this Guy?” Gaius roared. He could barely speak through laughter. “Are you sure He’s not insane? He called out to God and asked that we be forgiven for this!”
“Don’t laugh, Gaius.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft, Commander! You trained us to ignore their pain and not to give any….”
“SILENCE! I know what I said!” I could tell my angry response confused Gaius, and really all of the regiment as well. Gaius stood quietly with me for a few seconds and then joined his fellow soldiers. They were gambling away the cloak of the Prisoner right in front of where His body was hanging. Not me. I just stood there. Numb. I couldn’t even look upon the Man I had helped hang on this cross. I glanced up and quickly looked away from His face. Those eyes were a mystery. So full of sorrow and yet penetrating right through me. It was almost like this Man knew me and what I was thinking.
Why couldn’t I look at this Prisoner? As a captain, I’ve crucified scores of men. What was wrong with me? I looked down at my hands. Already crusty. Covered in blood. The crimson drops were spattered all over my breastplate as well. There were bloody footprints leading to the spot where I stood. MY bloody footprints.
It’s all over me. This blood… all over me.
I don’t know how long I stood in that spot. It seemed like days, but I know it had to be just minutes. I had to try and keep order among my men, but I was too distracted to even form a complete thought. I watched His mother and brothers grieving. I normally wouldn’t give it a second thought, but this was so wrong. This was an innocent Man. This was more than an execution. Somehow I felt that this day would not ever go away. Somehow I knew this was more than a Man’s blood on my hands. This Man’s blood was on all of us.
The Prisoner spoke a few more words. Some in Aramaic. I heard a man in the crowd say He was calling upon Elijah to save Him, but this Prisoner did not want to be saved. There was no struggle. He quietly allowed me to crucify Him.
“Captain! Captain! Why won’t you answer us?!?” It was Marcus trying to get my attention.
“Oh..Oh, uhh, I didn’t realize you were calling me.” I barely could speak.
The sky had grown very dark. I was so deep in my thoughts that I wasn’t even aware of the growing panic among my men. This was no ordinary storm. Black sky. Deep heavy rumble of thunder. This was epic. My men were beginning to unravel when suddenly the Prisoner shouted.
“IT IS FINISHED !!!”
His head dropped. Silence fell over my regiment. Was He dead? Before I could speak a command, the ground began to shake. Panic fell over the crowd and people began to scatter. The ground shook so hard I, along with all of my men, fell to the ground right in front of the three prisoners that hung on the crosses. So many thoughts ran through my head at that moment. I had heard the tales of the fishermen claiming He walked on the sea. I thought of the disruption this Prisoner caused in the Hebrew temple. I thought of my former captain, Achilles, who had told me this Prisoner healed his servant just by speaking. I thought of this Prisoner’s blood all over my hands. Mostly I was thinking of how I was on the ground at the feet of the very One I needed the most.
Finally the earthquake stopped and we all began to try and regain our composure.
“Are you OK, captain?”
“No. No, I’m not OK. What have I done?!? Surely this Man was innocent. Surely this Man was the Son of God!”
“Captain, I….”
“No! No words from you. It’s all yours. I’m done.”
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And so here I sit. Alone…outside the city replaying today in my head over and over again. I sit here under this moon. Guilty. With blood all over me. His blood. What have I done? And yet, this Man willingly laid His life down. It’s almost as if He was dying for me and my men. It’s almost as if I NEED this blood to be all over me. I feel crusty and sticky from the dried blood. I know I need to go wash it off. But, that’s just it. It’s like this blood is washing me. It’s like I know I have to have this blood all over me because I am not even worthy to call upon the One that I have killed.
“God…are You there? OH GOD, please! Search my heart! What have I done to Your Son? I know I am unworthy to even call on Your Name. I have murdered Your Son! How can I even come before You with this blood on my hands? But I know that it is His blood that I need to be all over me. I need this blood to wash my head, my hands, my feet! I need this blood to wash me of all the things I have done in my life. Oh God, I need the blood of Your Son to wash my heart and this evil soul of mine. I am so far from what You need me to be, but keep this blood all over me to wash away all the things that would separate me from You!”
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And what about Tom Johnson? Yeah, it’s all over me, too.
What about you?
