The Tribune’s Tale
by Steve Loggins
Started in 1977 - Finished April, 2012
Introduction: I’ve never really did an introduction to a poem before, other than a few explanatory lines or a dedication to someone – but this poem is different. It is written as an epic poem - a story poem, based upon the Biblical story of the Roman Centurion who crucified Christ. I took the format for the poem from The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. His work influenced me greatly stylistically. I write poetry in spurts, I do my best imaginative work in front of a keyboard or in the shower while bathing (no lie) – I do not understand the process of imagination, I only utilize what works for me. Sometimes I only have a bare bones idea or vague assumption about what I am doing, sometimes it flows freely from start to finish without hardly an interruption.
Such was the case with the first 10 quatrains or so of Tribune’s Tale – After over 35 years, I can quote these lines as easily as they came to me – most of my poems, I cannot quote from memory, I have to read them.
But then, it got harder to write - and as I am prone to do – I put it up, saying to myself, I will finish it one day…… And one day came in April of 2012 - I hope you enjoy reading this labor of love, which I dedicate to the Lord Jesus, who died for me, and for the sins of the world.
The fire crackled, popped, hissed; feeding on itself,
The men huddled closer to feel its life-giving warmth,
Most of them wishing they were all somewhere else,
Where the climate was better, and the women well-formed.
Passing through their minds are thoughts of Rome,
Glorious Rome! Marvelous Rome! Its days of splendor waning,
But still it’s there that they call home,
Destructive Rome! Degenerate Rome! Pax Romana barely remaining.
In order to pass the time away,
Each would tell a tale of their younger days,
When life was exciting and war was a brawl,
Except for one aged tribune who was watching them all.
When each man would finish, he’d sit on the ground
And the next would take up his tale
When the last one was told, they all turned around
to the Tribune, who was caressing a nail.
“Tell us your story!”, the soldiers they clamored,
though each had heard of it more than once,
Off in the distance the crosses were hammered,
Receding beyond the sound of their voice.
“You’re mocking me”, he whispered low
so none might hear but they
“But I'm used to that” he answered slow,
and then puts the nail away.
“Forty summers past, I met a man,
This man whose prisoner I’ve become,
Back then he was my prisoner though”,
“He speaks in riddles”, they whispered low.
The darkness grows within the camp
With sharpened swords sheathed in their tents
Tomorrow while the dew’s still damp,
the walls of Jerusalem will be rent.
"Forty years have gone by since I first walked this land,
A grim assignment straight out of Rome,
A centurion was I, with orders in hand
Who’s summoned with haste to Pilate’s home."
"A brash young man, with plenty of cause
Tiberius, the emperor, was my god of no flaws
Four emperors last year, and Titus will be fifth,
Shows that our Rome is strong – Bah! What a myth!"
“Treason, you say?” it’s in all of your eyes
But nay, it’s the truth, my tongue tells no lies”
They listen in awe as the words from him flow
Like a stream in the springtime, not too fast nor too slow.
The sense rather than hear his voice loose it rhyme
They know that his story is different this time.
His eyes are like coals glowing soft in the dust,
They have no choice, they must listen! They must!
"Pilate, the Procurator, was a nervous man,
Who could not make up his mind",
“Don’t offend the priests”, “Tell me your plan
for keeping the peace aligned.”
“It’s Passover time, a holiday
of Jewish antiquity,
When passions run high with religious zeal,
And jealous animosity.”
“There’s a problem we have, a zealot they say
A peasant with a large following
They’ve arrested him and they’re on their way
To this Hall for a judgment hearing.”
“They want him dead, and I would comply
Save for my wife’s bad dreams
That this man is different, he’s somehow Holy
A mystic whose message redeems”
“Is there way?”, I interject, “to do enough
Without a cross upon a hill?
It might just work, if we scourge him rough
So that their aims could be fulfilled”
“It’s worth a try”, Pilate agrees
With a measure of grudging respect
For this idea that had occurred to me
So that both goals we could protect.
“But if it’s not enough, I still have a plan
A custom that we can use
Every Passover I get to release a man
A convict or one who’s accused.”
“We’ll scourge him first, with mighty blows
So he’s near to death and cowed
With bloody stripes his back expose
In horror, their will shall bow”
“A goodly plan”, I nod assent
An understanding we have forged
As heralds announce a processional ascent
To the Palace via Tyropoeon gorge
"An unusual route", Pilate states,
"It's longer and harder too"
"They must be going to Caiphas' gates
for his father-in-law's review"
"We have some time, e'er they come here
so tell me of your deeds"
"Not much to tell", I reply with no fear
for I'm not going to give in to his needs
A politician, not a warrior, a man to scout,
These are the things I sensed
about the man who led my Master out,
and threw away love's defense.
“O come now, centurion, your feats are well known,
Your valor in wars past are sung
By virgins who attend Aphrodite’s throne,
And your name graces many a poet’s tongue”
“Let’s leave it there then” I cut off debate
For you men know what I mean
That battles hard fought are a wicked estate
That none understand who aren’t there on the scene
The tribune then stoops to scoop up some dust
Which he slowly lets fall to the ground
“That’s all there is, unless someone you trust
covers your back when you’re going down”
They all nod assent, knowing the truth of his words
Battle scarred soldiers are they,
But a gleam in his eye says there’s more to be heard
so his next words bear them away.
“The torches moved from the Jewish homes
Coming near to Pilate’s hall
The flickering ghost of martyrs roams
From court to blood stained wall.”
“The man appears, He’s been abused,
Jesus is His name
I can see right off the guards are amused
Reveling in His shame”
“What say you? Priests and Levites here
In a Gentile’s court at night?
What threat could make you lose your fear
Of uncleanness in this site?”
These words fall quick from Pilate’s lips
As they come within the bar,
“The Galileean man has a dangerous grip
On the masses from here and afar”
“A Galileean, you say? He’s from up north?
Then away with him from here!”
“He’s Herod’s charge, take Him forth
To his palace.” He says with a sneer.
Their protests fall on deafened ears
As Pilate turns to go,
The soldiers force them to the rear
And out the fortress door.
“Well, that is that” – “an opportune catch
See how it’s done, my friend?”
“We didn’t even have to give him a scratch,
Enact our plans, or bend”
“Now back to more important things,
On how to command these Jews,
Who give allegiance to no known king
And follow not the Roman rules.”
“I think we’ll see these priests again,
If what I’ve heard is true.
That Herod is more weasel than honest man
Who avoids more than he can construe”
“You might be right, but it gives us time
To think it through, at least.
These Jewish leaders may learn to find
That Roman law is a two headed beast”
I send a man to follow them,
to report what Herod does,
dispatch a runner soon as he can,
to give a moment’s pause.
Preparations must be made to handle this,
And other duties too,
My very first day will involve a cross
Or more, perhaps, than two.
For my Immunis aide informed me then,
That criminals must die that day
For crimes involving theft and death,
with their life, they must then repay.
Duty, honor, glory…
these words are dear to me
As it is to all who serve the cause
Of Roman uniformity
But in the middle of the night in Pilate’s hall
All I want is a nice warm bed
Some water to wash off marching dust
And a place to lay my head.
I make the orders, turn to go,
When a running slave appears,
It seems that Herod has sent the mystic on
Just as I had feared.
So I recline on a seat nearby
Awaiting orders for what’s to come
Knowing that soon men will die
And blood will be spilt before day is done.
“Don’t offend Pilate or alienate priests”
It wearies me, this duty’s new,
As much politician as it is police,
A job not fitting for a warrior to do!
Jesus appears, exhausted and gaunt,
Led by a brace of temple guards
Who sneer at his state, who mistakenly flaunt
Their authority over their charge.
With a clap of my hands, my soldiers appear
And surround these local wards
And let them know who’s the masters here
That Rome’s soldiers bear the real sword.
They nervously shrink as Pilate appears
And as priests renew their appeal
That Jesus must die before Passover nears
On a cross, on Golgotha’s hill.
Pilate, he scoffs, and orders our plan
To scourge Him to He’s almost a ruin
Jesus returns, “Behold the Man!”
The scourger was good for the doing.
His visage was marred, his back was in ribbons
Bloody and tattered was He
A crown of thorns, His body was smitten
From heel to brow; yet still, we hear no plea.
“He never cried out…” my second relates
So only I could hear
I wondered how a man could take
Such a beating, How could He bear?
“He’s a real man”, my soldiers impressed
By his stolid, silent stand
Not a word has He said, save to answer or bless
Those who give Him command.
I look at Him now, really look at the man,
Who’s the center of such hate and guile,
I’m startled to see, through the blood, how He stands
Unbowed, unbroken, with a hint of a smile.
How can this be? Most who taste of the cat
Are wimpering, simpering, fools
Who’ll do anything to avoid more of that
The punishments made by the cruel.
But here stands a man with caring eyes,
Radiating power and love,
As tangible as an azure sky
Embraced by winging doves.
Sleep flees from me, I’m wide awake,
I now must see this through
As Pilate returns, the morning breaks
And now, accusations renew.
Pilate is troubled, I see it clear,
He wants this man to live,
Not just for his wife, but for what his ears hear,
About truth, this judge would forgive.
But the priests are ready for Pilate’s ploy,
To forgive Jesus his crimes that day,
They are determined that we will destroy
For them, this man in their way.
“Give us Barabbas! Away with this man!
Crucify Him! Crucify!” they shout,
Pilate is stunned by the hole in his plan
Not thinking they’d prefer a murderous lout.
“He’s backed in a hole”, I think to myself,
This event is way out of hand,
How can he stop this murderous madness
And still have peace in this land?
Pilate’s no fool, he realizes he’s lost
So he calls for a basin to rinse,
“I’m not wearing this man’s blood and His cross
They’re on you, of this, I’m convinced.”
The order is done, I’m sick with it all
My first day…. I get to kill God
I know you think I’m mad to call
A man equal to the Almighty Lord
But I’m not thinking that, just yet,
I’m only doing my job
To carry out orders that I will get
For me to appease the mob.
My soldiers are readying, they’ve done this before,
New guards are dispatched with the dawn,
Some who have seen him and others no more
Than the time since the cock crows alarm.
They make sport of the man, I tell them to quit,
But abused by the crowd, still is He,
The rabble throw things, they shout and they spit
They mock Him, they’re filled with mad glee.
He’s led outside the city gates,
carrying His patibulum,
He’s so weak that He falls beneath the weight,
The soldiers search the crowds around Him.
A man is pressed to carry His tree,
So that this vile work can be finished,
A pilgrim there from the Isle Cyrene,
Protesting he was not with Him.
“You are now”, says my guard
Who threatens harm to the man
“Take it up, make the road
Of pain yours for a span”
So he does, and we go on,
to the hill of a skull
where many a malefactor’s
eyes have grown dull.
They strip Him bare of His robe and His clothes,
His shame is now complete,
Two other men, they’re thieves; that we know
Will die with Him in springtime heat.
The nails are placed within His hands
As mallets pound, He says a prayer,
I’ve never heard of such a man
Who forgives the ones who put Him there.
I made it my cause to watch this man die,
In deference to courage and honor,
Yet so much more happened in me whereby
I stand now aligned to two banners.
I serve Rome still… when and where I can,
Yet His kingdom reigns in me,
I saw a higher good that awful day,
When Jesus set mankind free.
They lift Him up between the thieves,
Who mock him for His failure,
The priests have come to show their scorn,
And some, perhaps, just to make sure.
Only a few approach, a man and woman
She falls in grief and agony,
He lifts her up, this younger man,
As Jesus whispers to them from the tree.
My soldiers distracted by gaming sounds
who join to win the spoils,
A meager lot, just some homespun cloth,
No money, no jewels, no oils.
The sky grows dark at noontime,
The spectators hurry to leave,
A coldness grips this lonely hill,
Like someone entering a grave.
All but a few depart for home's address
And shelter from the coming storm
Yet no storm comes, only silent, still darkness
in a world to be transformed
Pilate had a placard made to ridicule the priests
“Here is King of the Jews”
A barb to those who thought they'd not release
An allegiance to Rome; instead, they refuse.
They sent a man to Pilate’s hall
to protest the words that it said,
Change it they asked… he refused them all
A small victory of pride for his head.
Never seeing the truth that he placed on that slab,
For a King died on a cross that dread day.
Not a king, as we know – who strive and they grab
For a power that soon slips away.
At mid-afternoon, though we could hardly tell,
Jesus cried out in agony,
In his native tongue, I knew not the words
But others told them to me.
“He‘s calling on a prophet of old,
Elijah is his name,
“Let’s see if he comes”, some of the servants told
Yet silence filled His shame.
A single word comes from halting lips
Now this word I recognize
A Greek term used for business deals
Paid in Full – or "Tetelestai"
Lightning splits the sky above,
as orders come to kill the men,
Break their legs so they soon suffocate,
So as not to disrupt people’s holiday plans.
We smash the legs of the right and left
And leave them to die in pain
I approach the man in the middle last
And see that death’s already attained.
I shove in my spear to touch His heart
So as to make sure that He’s dead
A mercy, I think, a small kindness impart,
His blood rushed down on my head
Mingled with water, a curious thing
Warm, in the chill of the air
I do not feel horror at the touch of this King
Instead, I feel cleansed by His prayer
I underwent the Mithras rite
As a novice long ago
When a bull’s red blood spilt in the night
Bathed me to protect me from foes.
But the blood of Christ is greater than
the blood of bulls and goats
For it saves us from ourselves and sin
And not just meaningless rote.
I stood transfixed as the earth then quaked
The darkness thick as sod
The words from me came as I shook awake
“This man was the Son of God!”
My men are amazed, they can’t fathom my words
They do not yet understand
Just like you here now who think me mad
Or addled by a preternatural hand
I order then to take the thieves down
Bury them, throw them away
Gehennah’s dump is the other end of town
But there are those who would have them to stay.
A noble Jew, with servants, too
Has a scroll from Pilate’s hand
He has a tomb nearby for Him
Who died to cleanse the land.
I breathe relief, this part is done
Now, all that remains is to seal the tomb
Spices, are brought, He’s hastily spun
In linen, then laid in a room
The stone is set, a guard I post,
To make sure mischief’s not done
Caesar’s seal is set, this is the most
That any soldier dares begun.
I retire to my room, a bath I take,
Washing off His blood,
I think back on the day of man’s mistake
An innocent man engulfed in a flood
Of bitterness, envy, power, deceit
Of hatred, and lies, and death in the street.
This Jesus who gave up His life for my sin
After all I had done, “How could I begin?”
To live a life worthy of such a great love,
To warrant forgiveness, to gaze up above,
To ask God to forgive me for killing His Son.
How could I? How could I? the deed had been done.
Suddenly, the room was filled with light, and hope, and peace
A glowing man appeared, then said to me, “You only must release…
Give up your life and get it back, new and fresh each day,
To let His life then flow through you is God’s new Holy way.”
The vision fades, and then it’s gone,
I scoff and turn away,
It will take more than spirit spawn
To turn my night to day.
The next day dawns, the Passover feast,
I remember few things of that day
I slept til’ noon, then found the priests,
And assured them Jesus was well put away.
As sunset came, I made the way for myself
To the tomb, to check out security,
Satisfied, I then left,
Entrusting the guards to deter any grave robbery.
Bad dreams – shining swords – bright lights filled my head
In my mind’s eye I saw the stone roll
I could not believe, it’s only a dream –
Brought on by my failures and goals
But suddenly, I am awake! My Immunis aide
implores me come - the guards are dead,
Jesus is gone
And Pilate wants my head!
I rush to the tomb to see for myself
Who’d dare to challenge our King?
Caesar’s seal is shattered clay
And my men, no wounds, only laying....
I can’t understand…. I know He was dead,
His followers scattered like sheep,
Cowards, all they, who forsook Him that day,
Couldn’t muster the strength for a conspiracy this deep.
I go into the tomb and see a strange sight,
The linen still wrapped like a man,
Yet empty, it was – no way to get out
At least, not by human hand.
It all then clicks in my mind and my heart,
The images – words – events – and news
He is alive! Resurrection imparts
His power to life renewed.
I then believed, and still believe
Though forty years have come and gone.
This spear I hold, did not deceive
He was dead, yet lives this very dawn.
So there it is… my tale is told
This campaign my last for Rome,
For when we assault the gate of gold
I tell you… I’m coming home.
The tribune sighs and turns to go,
But looks back one last time,
“You men fight well, but let mercy flow
For citizens who have made no real crime.”
“You’ll find it easier to sleep, when sins are given up
And better yet, when laid on a tree,
With The Man who drank God’s bitter cup”
