Jujube thorns had done their rapacious work.

Streaked with liquid crimson, the body of the Son of Man hung crucified between the stars and the skulls, his body heaving convulsively, painfully trying to breathe. He inhaled, holding his breath, pushing against pinioned feet, only to exhale when he could hold it no longer and sink once again into dark oblivion. His clothing lay nearby in a disheveled heap, his purple robe, his undergarments. He hung exposed to catcalls and mockery, an exemplar of all that civilized society despised.

The soldiers who crucified Jesus were rank and file men, not officers. These had yet to campaign. They wore no medals or medallions, no hash marks of years of service. They had yet to see combat other than the minor police skirmishes in and around Judea. They had lifted the cross, they had inserted it into the ground and they had made it secure. They had followed orders. They had done their duty. Observing now the results of their work, they sat as new recruits do and waited for the next detail.

They took note of the bloody clothing lying nearby. "Look at that," said one, "the royal robe from Herod's palace. Cleaned up, it should fetch a royal price."

Another, whom his brother soldiers derisively called "Socrates," offered a more prescient view, "Nor yet is that all to consider," he declared, "Mark, this shall be a day to record. This was no ordinary man. Historians will write of him. Anything he owned will be worth a price."

"The wise one has spoken," a colleague laughed sarcastically. "Are you not aware," continued his tormentor, "that your namesake once said he was the wisest of all men because he knew how little he knew?" Laughter from the others.

Already, they spoke in the past tense. Already, Jesus was to them no more than tissue, a dead thing that would later require disposal. No doubt, they would get that detail as well. Still, they knew of the legend of this man; they knew that thousands followed him, and they had witnessed for themselves the uproar among the people during the trial. "These rags will be valued, all of them, even the underwear."

So they took the clothing and were about to rend it into four shares, one share for each of them. The undergarment was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom. "We should not tear this thing," they said to one another. "It will be of less value torn to shreds."

"Let's throw down stones for it." This suggestion excited them. Laughing with anticipation, they threw smooth stones until one of them had won the robe and another the seamless under garment. Thus was the scripture fulfilled, "They divided my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing."

From the cross, the battered, bloody prisoner groaned. His eyes on the soldiers and their game, Jesus spoke barely above a whisper, "Father, forgive them. They do not know what they do."