A Soldier Remembers. Poem by Michael Walker

I knew that this Friday would be different.
I knew That Pontius Pilate had found a man guilty
of claiming to be a prophet and 'King of the Jews'.
I noticed how biased the Jews were at the trial:
their elders wanted him crucified at any price.
Under pressure from the chief priests and elders,
Our Governor, Pontius Pilate, passed the death sentence,
which was crucifixion, for some criminals back then.
I remember this man carrying a heavy cross to Golgotha,
which was on a hill outside the walls of Jerusalem.
To me, this man looked weak from the scourging,
and I did notice that he fell three times to the ground,
One of his followers, Simon, helped him carry the cross.
The man had other followers too, women who wept for him.
As a soldier, I helped nail him to the cross,
on which he would suffer a long, lingering death,
between two thieves, one a good thief, the other not.
We had it all set up by nine o'clock Friday morning.
'I wonder how long they will last before they die'.
At midday, though, the sun went out from the sky,
leaving us all in the dark until three in the afternoon.
Just when the light returned, I saw Jesus die,
after commending his spirit to his father.

Well, I never had any religious belief before that day
but when the sun returned, and the earth shook so much
that rocks split open, and the temple curtain torn asunder,
I was heard to say:
'This man was indeed the Son of God'.