Whether it was part of your faith tradition, a quiet weekend at home, or just another page on the calendar, this season has a way of stirring something reflective. A time of renewal. Of sacrifice. Of change.
It got me thinking about Longinus, the Roman soldier said to have pierced Christ’s side with a spear. His name isn’t mentioned in the Bible, but in later traditions—especially the Gospel of Nicodemus—he emerges as a man who didn’t just carry out an execution… he witnessed something that changed him forever.
And not long after, I found myself thinking about someone else:
Lancelot, the knight who broke the heart of Camelot.
Two stories. Two men.
One holding a spear. The other bearing a lance.
And that’s when the connection hit.
🩸 The Soldier Who Saw Too Late
In Christian legend, Longinus stood at the foot of the cross with a spear in hand. When he pierced Jesus’ side, blood and water flowed out. Some versions say he was blind, and the blood healed his sight. Others say he simply saw—truly saw—what was happening.
In that moment, Longinus’s life pivoted. He laid down his weapon, left the path of violence, and became a believer. Some traditions say he preached the message of peace. Others say he was martyred for it.
He went from being a faceless soldier…
to a man remembered not for what he did, but for what he became after.
A villain rewritten as a saint.
⚔️ The Knight Who Broke the Circle
Then there’s Lancelot du Lac—perhaps the most celebrated of Arthur’s knights. The strongest, the bravest, the one with the purest heart.
Until he wasn’t.
His affair with Queen Guinevere didn’t just fracture Arthur’s trust—it unraveled the dream of Camelot. Friends turned to enemies. The Round Table splintered. And in the end, Arthur’s golden age collapsed.
But here’s where the story gets interesting:
Lancelot didn’t run from the wreckage.
He mourned. He withdrew. He laid down his sword and became a monk. No more quests. No more tournaments. Just silence, prayer, and the weight of what he’d done.
He didn’t try to justify it. He tried to heal from it.
🧠 A Name I Couldn’t Shake
As I sat with these two stories—Longinus and Lancelot—one small detail kept pressing on me.
Lancelot.
That name. That word. Lance.
The same type of weapon Longinus used.
The same kind of weapon Lancelot wielded in countless jousts, charging headlong at opponents with a piercing thrust.
Maybe it’s just etymology. Maybe it’s poetic coincidence.
But what if it’s more than that?
The knight who destroyed a kingdom bore the name of the very weapon that once pierced the divine.
And just like the soldier beneath the cross…
He, too, tried to lay it down.
🔁 Two Men. Two Weapons. One Pattern.
Think about it:
- Longinus pierced something sacred—a man on a cross.
- Lancelot pierced something sacred too—a bond between king and queen.
- Both men caused wounds that couldn’t be undone.
- Both eventually saw the truth… and changed.
They didn’t get happy endings.
They didn’t get to fix everything.
But they owned what they’d done.
And they tried to live differently after.
That’s a powerful arc—not of perfection, but of transformation.
🌍 When Traditions Overlap
Maybe it’s not surprising that these two tales feel familiar.
After all, the Easter season—like much of the Christian calendar—was layered over older Celtic and pagan festivals. Life, death, and rebirth were part of the cycle long before they were part of the liturgy.
And Arthur? He didn’t begin as a Christian king.
The earliest Arthurian tales were Celtic warrior myths, full of druidic magic, enchanted swords, and queens of the fae. The Grail, the spiritual quests, the holy language—all of that came later, once monks and poets began to Christianize the legend.
So when we talk about Longinus and Lancelot…
We’re not comparing religion and myth.
We’re looking at how cultures tell the same story in different ways—because they need to.
💭 Final Thoughts
In the end, maybe it doesn’t matter whether Longinus stood beneath the cross, or whether Lancelot ever rode beneath a banner.
What matters is that their stories carry the same beat:
The harm is done.
The truth hits hard.
You still have a choice about what comes next.
We all carry something. A responsibility. A voice. A weapon.
Sometimes we wield it well.
Sometimes we hurt people.
But the question isn’t whether we fall.
It’s whether we rise differently after.
At Holy Shock, we don’t just chase cardboard.
We chase meaning. The kind hidden in myth, tucked in forgotten texts, or stitched into a name you’ve heard your whole life without ever stopping to ask why.
⚡Until next time,
Ruhtra