(20th Sunday after Pentecost) (Matthew 27:33-54)
At the time of our Lord’s crucifixion, death, and resurrection, the city-state of Rome had been in existence for over seven hundred years. From humble beginnings, it had extended its power and authority to both the east and the west, ruling vast territories across Europe, northern Africa, and into the Middle East, conquering a multitude of peoples, including the Greeks, incorporating what had once been the empire of Alexander the Great into their own. The Mediterranean Sea was a Roman pond. All this was possible because of the military power of Rome.
Roman soldiers, the instruments of power, tended to respect only power, obey only strength. If they showed any respect at all to the gods that were worshipped in the Empire they built, it was to the gods of power and might, such as Mars, the god of war. They would have had nothing but contempt for the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ, if they bothered to listen at all. In a world where might makes right, the strong take what they want, and the weak are powerless to stop them. The Sermon on the Mount would have baffled them, if they did not reject it outright with scorn.
The Romans had brought crucifixion to conquered lands as a way of asserting their power. It was a terrible and painfully slow way to die, and it was meant to arouse fear among those left alive, so that they would think twice before breaking the law, or challenging the power of Rome. But a detachment of Roman guards that had been ordered to attend a crucifixion one day, to prevent the followers of one of those being put to death suddenly experienced a power beyond anything they had imagined, and from an unlikely source: a man nailed to a cross; who, as He died, was met with the darkening of the sun, and the quaking of the earth, and the splitting of rocks. These terrible events tore from their lips the proclamation that the One Who had died was truly the Son of God. It was an amazing moment of testimony from these battle-hardened and contemptuous men, who only a few hours before had made sport of their victim, scourging Him and beating Him and insulting Him in word and deed.
The religious leaders of the Jews, who had engineered His death, fearing that His followers would steal His body, and so claim that He had fulfilled His promise top rise from the dead, went to Pilate to request troops to guard His tomb. So these men were sent to the garden in which our Lord’s body was laid to rest. Summoned as word of His resurrection was spreading, they gave an account of what had happened; and were offered large amounts of money to say that His disciples had come and had taken away His body. Most of the soldiers – who considered themselves to be grossly underpaid – accepted the bribe; but one did not. He was the centurion who had commanded the detachment. His name was Longinus. He gave up his command, and was baptized, becoming now a servant of the One Whose power he had seen on that day, Whom he had declared to be truly the Son of God. He adopted a life of prayer and fasting, and told again and again his story of having been there when the Lord was crucified, helping others to come to the faith as he had done. His testimony angered the Jews, who sought to kill him; and when Pilate sent soldiers to behead him, he met them on the road, and led them to his house, without them knowing that he was the man they sought. As they slept, he spent the night preparing for his death; and revealed himself to the soldiers in the morning. Embarrassed, they did not want to carry out their orders; but he, as a centurion, compelled them to do so, and he was beheaded, along with two other soldiers who had also been baptized with him. His head was brought to Pilate, who gave it to the Jews. They, in turn, threw his head onto a dung-heap outside the city. Many years later, a widow who had lost her sight was told in a vision to go to Jerusalem and to find the head of the martyr in that pile of garbage. She did so, digging with her hands through the filth, until she found the head of the holy martyr – and at that moment, her sight was restored. She took the head of St. Longinus to her home, washed it, and kept it as a precious relic.
We are more like the Romans than we realize. Like them, we also worship power. For most of us, it is the power of this world, or the power of our flesh, or the power of our pride that we worship. Oh, we may say that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, as did St. Peter in his confession; and we may say with the holy martyr Longinus that, truly, He is the Son of God – but what do we say with our lives? If we truly believe that Jesus is the Son of God, shouldn’t that change the way we live? Shouldn’t that affect how we deal with others? Shouldn’t that affect how we think and act and speak and feel? Think about it – because, in the end, we either stand with those who had nothing but contempt for what our Lord said and did, and mocked Him even as He died for us; or we stand with those who gave all they have, including their lives, to love and serve the risen Lord.
Which camp would you rather be in?
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