Marius Maximus Adrianus sighs with relief. He, the senior Centurion, Guard Commander, is accompanied by four underlings who are assisting him in carrying out the three crucifixions of this wretched day which is now almost spent. He stands at the foot of the central cross which bears one of the condemned prisoners – Jesus the Nazarene. A group of the man’s acquaintances and many women who had followed Him from Galilee are gathered at a distance, looking on. The other two convicts have no one to stand beside them as they die, which is typical for most. All three convicts are now almost silent, struggling in their agony to breathe as their lungs slowly fill with fluids. It is nearly over. Now, Marius the Centurion is about to carry out his chief role as Marius the Exactoris – or Marius the Driver. He is the driver of the nails which begin the brutal execution process, and, when necessary, the driver of the spear that finishes it.

But Marius cannot hide his profound sense of creeping anxiety. At the sixth hour, the sun began to dim and then quickly faded into a deep red disk before a cold darkness set in over the whole land. Now, only the stars shine across the black sky. Nothing in his experience has prepared him for whatever this is. He has already commanded his men to build a fire so they can see, control the crowds, and at least fend off attacks by any who may try to stop the execution before it is too late. He has seen desperate people try and free their loved ones from their crosses. It has happened before, and, in the disturbing darkness, his anxiety mounts.

Grasping his iron headed hammer while standing at the foot of the cross, Marius lays his spear beside the rough beam of the instrument of execution and looks up at the criminal hanging before him, suspended between Earth and the darkened sky. Marius has carried out hundreds of crucifixions as his duty demands, but this one stands apart as the most vividly unusual of them all. Pilate himself had ordered that a sign inscribed in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek which reads “JESUS THE NAZARENE, THE KING OF THE JEWS” be attached above the head of this condemned Jewish rabbi. Marius snorts and shakes his head in disgust at the irony. When Jesus arrived at this place of death called Golgotha – the hill that is shaped like a skull – he was wearing a tightly woven crown made of long spiked thorns that had been driven onto his head. This Jesus attracted a crowd of mourners larger than Marius had ever seen before. And like all high-profile offenders, Jesus also attracted a sizeable crowd of hecklers and those whom He had apparently offended in some way. But never before in Marius’ experience had he witnessed a band of ornately dressed religious officials not just participating in the vitriolic hatred hurled at the condemned prisoner but leading it.

Marius considers these spectacles barbaric to begin with and adding the circus of haters and slanderers magnifies his revulsion. As the senior Centurion, he usually takes great pleasure in driving them away with threats and well-aimed stones. But he recognizes this religious entourage as the rulers of the Jews and so he holds his tongue and his stones – but deeply despises the jackals all the more. Their taunts are cruel: “You who are going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save Yourself! If You are the Son of God, come down from the cross.” In the same way the chief priests also, along with the scribes and elders, are mocking Him and sneeringly say, “He saved others; He cannot save Himself! He is the King of Israel; let Him now come down from the cross, and we will believe in Him.” (Matthew 27:40-42) And, repeatedly, they quote from their scriptures, “cursed is he who hangs on a tree.” (Galatians 3:13) Even some of his soldiers and the other convicts add their derisive abuse to the insults.

Finally, the chief priests and scribes tire of their scorn and begin to leave. But, as they turn their backs on the prisoner, the dying King of the Jews lifts His eyes to heaven and groans in His agony, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34) As He speaks these words in His anguish – beaten, torn, and bloodied by the brutal scourging resulting from His unjust conviction for trumped-up charges even before He was forced to carry His own cross to this place of horrid execution – Jesus’ eyes follow the religious leaders as they depart.

Suddenly, deliberately, Jesus’ gaze falls on Marius, who still holds the very hammer that has driven the nails into His hands and feet, and His eyes are full of compassion. Is it possible that this condemned convict has spoken words of forgiveness to him? It is at this extraordinary moment that Marius begins to have second thoughts about his role in this man’s execution. He looks over at his men who are gambling for the fine garment that they had stripped off Jesus before He was nailed to His cross and Marius flashes into anger. He picks up a stone and expertly lands it on the steel helmet of the senior soldier. “Get back to work!” he growls, feeling unexplainably edgy, uncomfortable – guilty. They scramble to their feet, one of them victoriously lifting Jesus’ tunic in the air.

Marius looks back up to Jesus whose eyes are still fixed on his. At that moment, a gust of wind carries a string of blood dripping from Jesus’ arm, and it lands on Marius’ face, streaking across his left eye and diagonally across his nose, lips, and smoothly shaven chin. But this Roman Centurion is certainly no stranger to blood. He does not even flinch. Reflexively, he casually wipes it away with the back of his hand. Looking back into the eyes of this dying Jew nailed naked to the cross, accompanied by the garish spectacle they had made of Him, for the first time in his military life, Marius pities the condemned man that hangs before him and feels a surge of overwhelming guilt. Marius suddenly tastes the blood of the condemned rabbi on his lips while Jesus’ merciful gaze remains fixed on him – and it terrifies Marius to the very core of his being.

Marius looks away, feeling a wave of vertigo induced weakness overcome his mind and body. Thoroughly confused and weary of this spectacle, Marius tightens his grip on the hammer, ready to end it. He will break the condemned men’s legs in a practice known as crurifragium and let them quickly suffocate as their own body weight squeezes their lungs, deprives them of oxygen, and finally ends their suffering. He moves to the first criminal, and with a pair of sharp blows to his shins, breaks his legs. Turning to the second, he repeats the process, ignoring their cries of pain.

Stepping over to Jesus he pauses. Marius the Exactoris – Marius the Driver – cannot bring himself to swing his hammer and shatter the rabbi’s bones. Instead, he slowly raises his eyes to meet Jesus’ gaze once more. The tortured, humiliated, brutalized Jesus looks at Marius one last lingering time, His eyes filled with compassion, purity, and acceptance despite His circumstances. It is as though He is more concerned for Marius than Himself. Then, blinking His eyes slowly, He breaks the gaze, lifts his head to the darkened sky, and cries in a remarkably loud voice, “It is finished! Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” Jesus then closes His eyes, breathes His last, and dips his head in death as He yields up His spirit. (John 19:30)

The women standing near the cross begin to cry aloud and wail in their own personal agonies, beating their breasts in despair and grief.

Marius defaults to his secondary duty for prisoners who die before having their legs broken. He picks up his long spear, touches it to Jesus’ ribs, and hesitates. Then, as he has done to so many prisoners before, Marius shoves it into Jesus’ body and pierces His heart. (John 19:34) As he does, blood and water from Jesus’ body stream down the spear and over both of his hands.

At that moment, the ground begins to shake so forcefully that even some rocks are split, and Marius hears the wailing turn to screams all around him. Using the spear to help hold him steady on the violently shaking mound, he glances around at his soldiers and sees their fearful, wide-eyed forms grabbing for something secure to hold on to or being flung to the rocky dirt.

The Centurion backs away from the cross of Jesus, truly frightened in the dark sky which is now beginning to lighten. But it does not turn to daylight. The disk of the sun has instead transformed into a dim, bloody scarlet, painting the world around him in a garish hue of malevolent reds and long, deep black shadows as the ground beneath his feet trembles as though the Earth itself has felt the death of this Jesus.

Then Marius begins to understand something that will soon change his life forever. He had driven the nails. He had pierced Jesus’ heart with his spear. And now, the King of the Jews’ blood is on his hands – and on his face.

Marius the Centurion falls to his knees before Jesus’ body. Tasting the rabbi’s blood on his lips, he tries to wipe them clean. But his hands are still coated by the blood that ran down the spear, and he makes it far worse. Marius the Centurion, the Exactoris, looks at Jesus’ face now covered with the mask of death, and then down to his hands covered in Jesus’ blood. As the ground continues to shake beneath him, Marius recalls Jesus’ final moments, His supernatural forgiveness, and how He breathed His last, and declares in a trembling voice, “Truly, this was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39)

It is a statement of faith that he has not manufactured himself. It is a thought given to him; a powerful and compelling conviction that had been implanted in the deepest part of his soul by Jesus the Nazarene – by His gaze, by His forgiveness, and by His blood that covers Marius’ face and thoroughly coats his hands. As the earthquake subsides, Marius looks around at the scene and recalls the amazing events. Remaining on his knees, he raises his gaze to the figure hanging lifeless on the rugged cross with a new understanding. Struggling to his feet, grabbing the cross for support, the Centurion begins praising God and declares in sure confidence, “Certainly this man was innocent.”

Later, soon after Pentecost, Marius would be indwelled by Jesus’ Holy Spirit of Grace. This blood of the Christ, the King of the Jews, the Son of God, and God the Son changed the Roman Centurion Marius Maximus Adrianus eternally!

--------- Dennis and Claudia Chamberland