CENTURION

We hung three men on trees that day -

Two brutes who killed for murderous thrill

And one for some absurd offense

Priests begged Pilate kill.

The bankers too wanted him dead

And they financed the filthy bribe

That brought him to the governor’s court,

Lashed by cat and jibe.

I watched him die and heard his words

I swear he prayed his god forgive

Those who had nailed his body there

Where no man could live.

Then as the sky turned dark he cried

A cry from Sheol that shook my soul.

I knew he truly was the one

Jewish scrolls extol.

This knowledge came to me by gift.

Somehow he chose a man of war

To see the truth and grasp its grace,

Freed and blamed no more.

That night I slept only in fits

His face shining in dreams of flight.

The night after was much, much worse;

I rose before light.

I walked a dark and winding mile

To gardens of the richest dead.

The servants of the priest stood guard

Where was laid his head.

I had to see him one more time -

They listened to my sombre plea.

So we rolled back the awkward stone -

Those servants and me.

Then brilliant lights were all around;

I heard voices from heaven above.

He rose and walked out of that pit,

Eyes abounding love.

He handed to the priest’s servant

Linen cloths that once bound him tight.

The guard took them and turned to run

Out into the night.

The man who was the son of god -

As I believed him sure to be -

Opened the gardener’s shed and dressed,

Masking his glory.

I watched him walk out of my sight

And stood in awe by that cold slab

Where he had spent two hellish nights

In that cave so drab.

Then in the first streams of day’s light

I saw a woman’s face so fair.

And she, shocked by the sight of me,

Backed into the air.

Where have you put my lord she asked,

Her gaze upon the gardener’s shed

Where stood a man ready for work.

Mary was all he said.

She ran in haste to his embrace

But he gently refused her kiss.

Go and gather them all he said,

Tell them about this.

He cast his eyes on me and smiled.

And I cannot forget that face;

And I cannot forget his words:

I’ll prepare your place.

I was young then in that strange land

And yet it still disturbs my rest

To know that god’s own son chose me -

Damned pagan so blessed.