(RNS) Steven Maines stared at the Stations of the Cross and silently wondered about the soldier who pierced Jesus’ side with a spear?

The 50-year-old stuntman and writer was sitting in a Catholic church, which doubled that day as a movie set. He doesn’t recall the name of the movie or the church, but he remembers being captivated by the military man.

“It hit me like an epiphany,” said Maines, the author of a novel about Longinus. “What was that person’s story? Why did he pierce the side of Christ? And what happened to him after that?”

Writers, theologians, visionaries, mystics and bishops have been asking those same questions about the Roman soldier — and providing creative answers — almost since that fateful Friday afternoon nearly 2,000 years ago. The Catholic and Orthodox churches have made him a saint, writers have searched his guilt-wracked soul, and his spear has inspired more baroque conspiracy theories than a Dan Brown novel.

The Bible itself provides few clues about the soldier. The Gospel of John says that, as the Sabbath was approaching, the Romans wanted to hasten the death of the three men crucified on Calvary. The soldiers broke the legs of two other criminals, but saw that Jesus was already dead. One soldier stabbed his side with a spear to make sure. In doing so, he fulfilled prophecies from the Hebrew Bible, according to John. “He keeps all his bones, not one of them shall be broken,” from Psalm 34; and “they shall look on me whom they have pierced,” from the Book of Zechariah.

According to tradition, the soldier unwittingly provoked an early version of the sacraments of baptism and Communion in the water and blood that John says spilled from Jesus’ wound.

Medieval paintings depict an onlooker catching Jesus’ blood in a Communion chalice, said Martin Connell, an associate professor of theology at St. John’s School of Theology in Collegeville, Minn. “That’s a nice, pious thought,” said Connell, a Catholic, but probably not accurate, either liturgically or historically. The sacraments were not developed until much later.

The Roman soldier acquires a name around the fourth century in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, where he is called “Longinus,” after the Greek word for lance.

Sometime later, Longinus is conflated with the Roman centurion mentioned in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark who recognizes Jesus’ divinity. Many scholars doubt the link, though, since it defies common sense that a man who recognizes Jesus as God would later spear him.

Lawrence Cunningham, a professor of theology at the University of Notre Dame, and author of “A Brief History of the Saints,” said the Longinus legend fits into two well-worn Christian traditions: Crafting stories about unnamed bit players in biblical narratives, and melding two or more characters into one. Examples include St. Dismas, the so-called “Good Thief,” crucified with Jesus, or Mary Magdalene, a devoted follower of Jesus who was later — many say erroneously — identified with biblical prostitutes.

The link between the soldier and centurion is amplified in the Middle Ages by James of Voragine, a Dominican Friar, in his hugely popular book “The Golden Legend.” According to the book, Longinus was blind, but his eyesight was healed after he rubbed his eyes with Jesus’ blood. Later, the soldier became a monk and traveled to Turkey spreading the faith, for which he was beheaded, according to “The Golden Legend.”

Even James admits he can’t vouch for all the tales in his compilation of saints and miracles, but in the popular imagination, the Longinus legend became sealed.

“It’s the Catholic equivalent of fiction,” said Cunningham, “These things enter into popular culture and, if not authorized by the church, they are certainly tolerated.” The Protestants? Not so much. Reformer John Calvin called the legend “a childish contrivance of the papists.”

If Longinus converted to Christianity, he was a rarity among Roman soldiers, according to historian G.R. Watson. Even into the fourth century, when the Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity, “the army remained the last refuge of paganism,” Watson writes in his book, “The Roman Soldier.”

Despite the drama of Longinus’ legend, he has largely dropped from history’s notice. He was never made a part of the Calendar of Saints celebrated at Mass or in the Divine Office of the Catholic Church. The church does list him in the Roman Martyrology, however.

The Vatican claims to keep the Holy Lance at St. Peter’s basilica, where a colossal statue of Longinus guards a niche, overlooking the central altar, that once housed the holy relic. The Vatican still displays the lance, along with fragments of the True Cross on the fifth Sunday of Lent.

Other copies, or fragments of the lance — sometimes called the “spear of destiny” — have reputedly turned up in Armenia and Vienna, often accompanied by theories that the spear bears supernatural powers and was lusted after by Adolf Hitler.

In Maines’ novel, “Longinus,” the spear talks to the Roman soldier as he struggles with his role in history. It might be the voice of Christ he hears, or he might be going crazy. Either way, Maines says, this “ordinary Joe” couldn’t escape his extraordinary circumstances.