I’m Lucius, a soldier in the Roman empire at the time of His crucifixion. Why me? Why did I have to be there at that place, on that fateful day?
We were told He was a troublemaker – getting what he deserved. It was our job to nail prisoners to their crosses. We’d done it hundreds of times.
We’d grown so callous that we delighted in dividing up their clothes. We gambled for His cloak, and I felt lucky to get His seamless garment. That’s when it started.
I was glad for the extra warmth of his cloak that night – it must have been cooler because of the period of darkness that blocked the sunlight hours before He died. I felt different as I drifted off to sleep, a sadness overshadowed me. I wondered what I had come to, to laugh and joke at His darkest hour of suffering.
I soon began to dream of the stories I had heard about His miracles and healings. As I shook myself awake, I even remembered a story I’d heard of a Roman centurion whose servant was healed by Jesus.
As I went about my duties, I noticed an absence of pain from an old battle wound that often plagued me. Thinking about His goodness convinced me of my brokenness, not only regarding His death, but about a lot of things.
I had a nagging thought that this turmoil in my soul was related to Him. Even though He was gone, I said aloud, “Jesus, if you were God’s Son, I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m beginning to believe you were who You said.” I gathered His cloak around me as I walked, feeling like a new man with a different destiny.
Nan Robertson
~Christ Fellowship