4/4/4

Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 19:28-40

I've been watching him all week. (i) Ever since that silly parade they had a few days ago. It was like a bunch of happy children pretending the king had come home victorious. They threw their coats on the ground in front of him. Waved palm branches and shouted and danced in the streets. Grown people acting like children! At first I couldn't understand why Pilate was concerned. He had me march my 100 men all the way from Caesarea just to be here for the Passover season. When we arrived, I learned we were only one of several extra garrisons that Pilate had summoned into town. Pilate was nervous about this man. I wondered why.

Some would say Pilate was nervous about everything. And maybe it was that. He'd messed up pretty badly to get sent to this place. Oh, it's not such a bad climate. But there's a kind of sarcastic joke that the whole territory of Palestine is going to the dogs - the Jewish dogs that cause Rome so much trouble. Pilate deserves to be here. He's such a wimp. He can never decide what to do when things get tough. No wonder Caesar sent him off to this place that even the gods have forsaken. Still, Pilate was more nervous than you'd expect about this man. I wondered why.

The day of the parade I watched him rather than the people. My men were keeping the peace. I had them scheduled around the clock. They'd do as I told them. That left me with a lot of free time to watch this man Jesus of Nazareth. Pilate was nervous because the people called him king. Pilate thought he was dangerous. But I want to tell you, I've seen plenty of dangerous people in my day. This man Jesus was not one of them. I knew the moment Jesus looked into my eyes that Pilate was nervous about nothing.

So what that the people called him a king? What kind of king rides on a colt with his feet dragging on the ground? What kind of king looks so ragged and so tired? What kind of king has eyes like his? His eyes pierced me. I don't know how to describe it. Maybe it was love I felt. Or compassion. I was drawn to him from the beginning. And I knew Pilate was nervous about nothing. Nervous about love and compassion? Maybe Pilate had finally gone over the edge.

I followed Jesus around the city whenever I could all week. After morning muster I was free until evening colors. My men would do as I told them. Other centurions in town treated this as a week's liberty. It was easy duty for officers. They took plenty of liberties. Days of wine and women, song and dance - for officers. But I looked for Jesus. I watched and I listened. I wanted to go and get Pilate and ask him to listen to this man Jesus. Then Pilate would know that he need not be nervous.

But Pilate listen to me? Fat chance. Still I wished for Pilate that he could meet Jesus. I wanted to say to Pilate: "This is not a dangerous man. He's not a king. Not the way you think of kings, Pilate. If he's a king at all, he's a children's king. A king riding on the colt of a donkey. The kind of king who cares about people. The kind of king who loves justice, who speaks of faith that moves mountains. The kind of king who stands up to the religious leaders, those same religious leaders who give you so much trouble, Pilate. The kind of king who cannot be trapped by trick questions. The kind of king who speaks of love and who teaches that we need to love God and love each other. The kind of king who speaks with authority about what God will do. This is not a dangerous man, Pilate. If he's a king at all, he's a children's kind of king. You don't have to be nervous, Pilate."

That's what I'd have liked to say to Pilate. But the longer I followed Jesus, the more I realized that it was not just Pilate's nervousness that was the problem. It was also the Jewish leaders who were really nervous. Funny. They were nervous about their own king? The man the people call a king made the Scribes and the Pharisees, and even the chief priests nervous? Who was this king? A children's kind of king, teaching love and compassion and faith. A king who made all Rome nervous. A king who made all Palestine nervous. How strange. Now I was the one who was getting nervous, for you see, I found myself drawn towards him. I was worried about Jesus. He had too many enemies. Too many powerful enemies.

I wasn't invited to the Passover dinner, of course. That was only for Jesus and the twelve. But Peter told me about it later. Told me how Judas Iscariot got nervous because Jesus was not the kind of king Judas had expected. Judas felt so betrayed that he went and sold Jesus out to the religious leaders. Peter told me about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, also. How he prayed and prayed and prayed. How troubled Jesus was, and how Peter and James and John fell asleep on him. Peter felt awful. Wanted me to understand how exhausted they were from the day's work. Peter told me some of the words that Jesus prayed. This king, this children's kind of king, knew he would die.

All of us were nervous now. I had met up with Peter and the others while they were still in the garden. We wondered what we could do to save Jesus. We didn't have time to think. Judas and a bunch of people with swords and clubs came. And they took Jesus away. I followed with Peter. Tried to talk him into going inside the house of Caiaphas with me. But Peter was too nervous. Too shaken. He stayed in the courtyard by the fire. I went in alone, and stood off in a corner. No one noticed me there.

This was supposed to be the Jewish high court - the Sanhedrin. It was a fiasco. The Jewish leaders really were nervous about this king, a children's kind of king, after all. They broke all their own rules. Twisted the rules they didn't break. When they started striking Jesus, I had to leave. I couldn't watch. I found Peter outside in the courtyard, sitting off in a corner, with his head in his hands. It was hard to believe his story. Between the sobs he told me what he had done: three times he had denied that he knew Jesus. I tried to help. But what could I say? We sat there together, wondering what would become of this man, Jesus, whom we both loved. You see, I'd learned to love him, also.

In the morning they took Jesus to Pilate. I left Peter and went along as just another soldier. I was no stranger to Pilate's court, and I hoped that I might be given an opportunity to speak up for Jesus. But Pilate was listening to no one. Except the crowds. I know that Pilate was nervous. Just protecting his own skin. But really! Releasing a common criminal instead of Jesus? Jesus was a children's kind of king. He was not dangerous. Why was Pilate so nervous? It did no good for me to wonder or to care. The decision was made above me. A lowly centurion can only keep silence at such times. The soldiers who were guarding Jesus put him in purple robes, and on his head, a crown of thorns. I turned aside as they beat him. For the first time in my life I was embarrassed - and ashamed - to be a Roman citizen and a soldier. What could I do? To speak up meant treason. Going to a cross myself. I had seen enough crucifixions in my day that I kept silent. I kept silent. But I dared to walk beside Jesus as he carried the cross, and no one seemed to notice. I supported him when he stumbled, and when I saw him hesitate, I summoned Simon out of the crowd to carry the cross. Jesus thanked me with his eyes.

And now it is over. He is dead, dead by a terrible death on a cross. It's hard to say why. He was a king. But a different kind of king, a children's kind of king. The kind of king who rides on the colt of a donkey. The kind of king who teaches love and justice and compassion. The kind of king who urges people to faith and calls them to follow his ways. He's dead because this children's kind of king made the Roman leaders nervous. He made the Jewish leaders nervous. Pilate was nervous. Caiaphas was nervous. They looked into the eyes of love, and they didn't know what to do. They were threatened and confused. And so they had him crucified. They didn't see the truth: Truly, this man was the Son of God. This man was the Son of God. I know that now. The Son of God. Why didn't I see it sooner? Oh, dear God, why didn't we all see it sooner? The Son of God, dead on a cross. What have we done? Oh, dear God, what have we done? ...

Join us next Sunday for the rest of the story. Amen.

The Pilgrim Church of Duxbury
Rev. Kenneth C. Landall

i Based on a monologue by Janice W. Hearn, Lectionary Homiletics, 3/28/99, off web site.