Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, Cal. · Feb 7, 1911

Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Chapter LII.—The Story of the Guards

"HITHER goest thou, Mary Magdalene? for behold, it is yet dark; for the sun hath not yet risen above the mountains of Gilgal."

The speaker was one Malthace, the wife of a Roman citizen of Bethany, and an acquaintance of the family of Lazarus.

"I go up to Jerusalem," replied Magdalene, "that I may carry these spices and this ointment; and there be other women who meet me. We go that we may anoint the body of our Master, for He resteth in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea."

The speaker sighed, and a tear trickled down her pale cheek,—pale with a sorrow too deep for words.

"But it is far to Jerusalem, and surely thou art sick with sorrow. Why may not another than thou carry these spices, and anoint the body of thy Master?"

"Hast thou forgotten, Malthace? dost thou not remember my sad state when I was torn and distracted by seven demons? Thou hast! Yet can not I forget that it was He—my Master—who healed me. Was it not He who gave me back my brother from the grave? How then shall I show my gratitude and my love for Him? Yet truly had we hoped that it had been He who should have redeemed our people Israel. But now He lieth in the sepulcher, and my hope is dead."

"My own heart goeth out in pity for thee, albeit I belong not unto thy people; and as thou knowest, my brother, even Lucius, is a centurion of the guard of Pontius Pilate. He hath told me of the dream of Claudia Procula; and he hath told me also of the prayer which the Nazarene thy Master prayed when He was in an agony when they nailed Him to the cross in Golgotha,—the cross which should have borne the body of Barabbas."

"Ah! the prayer! verily, I also heard the prayer," sighed Magdalene.

"My brother Lucius hath a heart too tender for a soldier of Pontius Pilate," declared the woman, "for after the prayer of thy Master, his heart smote him, so that he grieved to do the part assigned him that day."

"Verily, Malthace, it was thy brother, the centurion, who cried aloud, when he had seen the earthquake and the darkness, saying, 'Of a truth this Man was the Son of the living God!'"

"But now," continued the woman insistently, "why goest thou up to Golgotha while it is yet dark? Why didst thou not go up yesterday—thou and thy companions—to do this kindness unto the Man, thy Master—for see, thou hast thy spices and thine ointment?"

"But verily, Malthace, we made ready these things on the day of the preparation, after the death of our Master. Now, of a truth, thou hast been in the synagogs many a Sabbath day, and in the temple at Jerusalem, and thou knowest the commandment, even that which was spoken from Sinai by the God of Israel, which He did write with His own finger upon tables of stone."

"But," interrupted the woman, "I have heard the priests and the Pharisees affirm, saying, 'This Nazarene respecteth not the Sabbath day;' and I have heard Caiaphas, the high priest at Jerusalem, say that when this Man's disciples passed through the fields of corn on the Sabbath day, and did pluck the ears of corn, and did eat, rubbing them in their hands, thy Master rebuked them not. And so, of a truth, I did believe that this mighty Nazarene had come that He might destroy the law!"

"O Malthace! my Master came not to destroy the law, but to fulfil; for even thus He said unto us. But verily He heeded not the traditions of the Pharisees, albeit He magnified the law of His Father. And verily now, upon this first day of the week do we go that we may anoint His body. For," continued Magdalene, passing onward toward Jerusalem in the gray of the very early morning, "for verily at the death of our Master, upon Golgotha, we returned homeward and prepared spices and ointment, for it was upon the preparation day, and the Sabbath drew on. So we returned and rested the Sabbath day, according to the commandment."

Meanwhile the lonely garden on the slopes of Golgotha has witnessed an event the like of which this old earth had never before seen, and which must forever stand alone in majesty and sublimity unparalleled.

Arrived upon the scene, the women find the Roman guards scattered like autumn leaves before a tempest, the sepulcher open—the Master gone.

Not to the friends of the Crucified One came the angel of the resurrection from the blazing heavens; not to the eyes of the ardent and repentant Barjona; not to the view of John the Beloved, son of Zebedee; not to the enraptured senses of the holy women who loved and ministered unto Him; not even to the beloved mother in her widowed loneliness,—to none of these was it permitted to witness that one glorious and mysterious scene,—the arrival of the mighty messenger from the heaven of heavens,—while the shining galaxy of the sons of God waited in rapturous silence to hear the thrilling words:

"Son of the Eternal, Thy Father bids Thee rise!"

To none of these came the wonderful experience; but to a hundred heathen soldiers of the Roman procurator, Pontius Pilate. They alone, of the hundreds and thousands who had known the Nazarene in life, or had witnessed His tragic death—they alone were the favored witnesses. And therefore it is to the testimony of one of these that we will listen.

Let us hasten to the palace of Joseph Caiaphas. He is seated with Annas, his father-in-law, in a closely guarded chamber, talking over the events of the past days.

"I have just returned from the sepulcher of the Nazarene," he exclaimed, seating himself a little nearer the white-bearded man, where the rays of the candle may fall upon his face, and speaking rapidly and excitedly,—"just returned; and I find the place well guarded, the watchmen at their posts in the garden, and the great Roman seal at the entrance entirely unmolested. Surely thus far our plans have carried well. If we can but keep this Necromancer but a few hours longer safe in the rock-bound sepulcher of the Arimathean, all will yet be well. But of a truth, this Roman centurion—the heathen dog—giveth me small honor;" and Caiaphas repeated the gruff words of the centurion at the tomb.

"Speak not too loudly, my son," continued Annas in a whisper, "for even the walls have ears, and these accursed Roman dogs be our conquerors, as thou knowest; and to them poor Israel must pay her tribute. But we still have no small influence over Pontius Pilate the governor, tho we have but scant authority. For that we have influence, my son, witness how we succeeded in securing the condemnation of this Nazarene, even against the insistent demands of the governor—for verily Pontius Pilate feareth us. Now if but—"

But the arrogant priest never finished his argument.

At that moment a sound as of falling rocks and confused voices in the shadowy streets below, together with a frightful, deafening roar, caused the massive form of Caiaphas to tremble as he hurried to the window. Instantly the walls of the palace swayed and rocked like a ship in a tempest.

"See! there is an earthquake!" gasped Caiaphas, falling upon his knees—"an earthquake, like unto that which shook Golgotha and all Jerusalem when the Nazarene perished upon the cross!"

Soon there was a confused cry at the entrance of the chamber, and a sound of hurrying feet along the corridor. Then the guard Demas thrust his frightened face in at the doorway.

"There is word for thee, O Annas!" exclaimed a soldier entering the chamber without ceremony. His eyes were wild and staring, and his hair and garments torn and disheveled.

"The Nazarene—the Nazarene hath risen from the dead!" shouted the messenger, "and the centurion with his guards has rushed to the palace of Pontius Pilate on Mount Zion that they may tell him!"

"Go call them back, man! Fly! Fly!" screamed Annas; "here is gold for thee—I will make thee rich! Let not these soldiers go into the presence of Pilate till they have seen me! Bring them back, man! Demas, overtake thou these guards—and the centurion—haste! and bring them quickly into the palace."

A half hour passed. The centurion Lucius and some of his guards stood before the high priests.

"What hast thou seen, man?" questioned Annas, his face ghastly white and his voice shaking. "What hast thou seen? Have these accursed followers of the Nazarene stolen away His body?"

"Man, art thou mad?" The countenance of Lucius the centurion was ashen, and his limbs shook so that he grasped one of the marble columns for support, as he whispered hoarsely:

"If the body of the Nazarene hath been stolen, O Annas, it hath been stolen by the armies of heaven!"

"Speak no more foolishly," muttered Annas. "What sawest thou?"

"I will tell thee, O thou high priest, for verily thou hast caused the death of—of the Son of the Highest—but He liveth again! It was the fourth watch of the night, and thou, O Caiaphas," continued the centurion, turning to the younger priest, whose bulging eyes were staring and dreadful to look upon, "thou hadst gone from the garden of burial but an hour. The sentinels marched before the sepulcher, and my guards were at their post. Suddenly from out the northern sky flashed a light brighter than a thousand suns, and an earthquake shook the rocks until many of them leaped from the sides of Golgotha. Then we heard a sound as of myriad voices in the heavens. Immediately one descended whose countenance was like lightning, and whose raiment was white as snow. His voice was terrible, even like the rushing of great waters; and he touched the rock which sealed the sepulcher of the Nazarene—Him whom ye and we crucified on Golgotha—and immediately it rolled away, and he cried aloud:

"Awake, Thou Son of the living God! Thy Father calleth Thee!" Then came He forth—the Man—the Mighty One, while we fell to the ground like dead men; and when we awaked—"

"Where is the Man—the Nazarene!" interrupted Caiaphas, turning his protruding, bloodshot eyes toward the centurion.

"We know not; we did but hear Him cry, saying, 'I am the resurrection and the life!' and when we rose from the ground where we had fallen upon our faces, the tomb of the Crucified was empty, and the Man had gone. And now let us make haste that we may tell the governor, Pontius Pilate." And the deputy of soldiers, headed by the centurion, hurriedly turned to leave the room.

Then the craft and diplomacy of the wily high priest came to his aid.

"Look ye!" springing to the side of the centurion, he cried hoarsely, thrusting a large bag of silver into his hand. "Take this money, and divide it among thy soldiers, and say unto the people, 'Behold, we slept, and His disciples stole Him away.'"

"Ye know the law of the Romans, and that if the governor heareth that we slept, behold, we be all dead men,—and verily, O Caiaphas, we slept not!"

"Ye did sleep! ye DID sleep, and His disciples came and stole Him away!" repeated the high priest insistently, pressing another purse into the hand of the foremost soldier; "and if it come to the governor's ears, we will persuade him, and so secure you; for indeed it was at our request that ye were sent to guard this sepulcher."

The lure of the silver was more eloquent than the tongue of the priests, more eloquent than the voice of truth or the demands of duty and integrity, and more insistent than the clamorings of conscience,—and the lure of the silver prevailed.

"They took the money, and did as they were taught."