The Words of Pilate

From John 18:28-19:16

He wasn’t guilty. I knew it from the moment I saw him, the angry mob surrounding him. He was the one they called Jesus.

The ruckus of the crowd had pulled me from bed. As I stepped through the door of my quarters, ready to confront the uproar, and there he was. He was the first one I saw. As he stood against the backdrop of the rising sun, the pink and gold hues streaking through his matted hair, I knew he was no criminal.

He was bound like a man condemned, but he stood as silently and patiently as if he were in his childhood home awaiting his mother’s next meal, not surrounded by fifty red-faced Jewish men demanding his execution.

The contrast was so unnerving that I almost stepped back into my quarters and called out to my wife to pack a bag. I wanted nothing to do with this man, I wanted nothing to do with the Jews. I hadn’t for a long time.

I was the Roman governor in charge of keeping the Jews controlled. That was the word Caesar always used, “controlled,” as if they were a river of water rushing through the streets of Judea and I was in charge of mitigating the flow. Could we not just build an aqueduct? I often thought. A Jewish aqueduct. Then Claudia and I could be reassigned to a place with more sea breezes and less angry faces.

They often brought me criminals to hang since they were no longer allowed to stone their own. This one, though, was different. The man’s face was so still it was as if he knew exactly what was going on, as if maybe, he had planned this himself. It was strange.

I adjusted my sleeves, trying to decide if I would engage. The noise level of the crowd reached decibels that stirred the mourning doves and I began to worry the noise would carry to the beds of the Roman officials in the upper city.

“What are the charges against this man?” I yelled, resigned to fulfill my duty. I raised my arms to quiet their voices. The high priest brought this Jesus closer to me and I could see that his eyes were green, the color of the sea of Galilee. A gentle sea. A sea on a windless day.

Every other criminal I had seen struggled against his bindings, sweating and spitting and snarling. Even if he denied his crime, he usually acted like a caged animal, angry and obstinate.

But this Jesus did not.

“This man,” the high priest said, emphasizing each word, “claims to be the son of God.”

Which god? I thought, there were so many and many had fathered sons. Then I remembered, the Jew’s god, of course. The one they were always arguing about. A son of their god? He didn’t look like the son of a god. He looked more like the son of a peasant.

“A son of your god is no business of mine.” I said, glad to be rid of this sentencing. “Judge him by your own law.”

“He claims to be the king of the Jews.” The high priest’s voice rose an higher octave.

“Well, which is it?” My patience was waning, not that I had much to begin with. “Son of your god, or usurper of the throne in Rome?”

“Usurper.” He said. That was a substantial claim. There was no room for insurrection here.

“He will hang for that.”

“Yes. See what I mean?” The high priest looked relieved. “If he were not doing evil, we would not have delivered him over to you.”

Now they wanted to call it a favor to me. I saw the game. But I was not the one to judge against evil, I judged against Roman law, that was all. The Jews tended to deal more in good and evil. They thought themselves so much greater than Rome, I realized. If only they could see how they looked like spiders caught in a web, trying every means to escape. Even sending an innocent man to die. I wondered how his death would help them. I eyed the man again.

“I’ll speak with him.” I nodded to the palace soldiers and they retrieved the man and brought him inside the door, away from the crowd. It was a relief to be free from the noise.

I straightened my sleeve and adjusted the rings on my fingers. Pausing to compose myself. I looked up to meet the man’s eyes. It steadied me and I realized I did not want to fight this one. I wanted him to simply give me the answer so I could see what I should do.

“They say you are the king of the Jews?” I cleared my throat. I searched his face for a reaction but there was none.

“Do you think I am?” He said, his voice held neither anger or bitterness, not even confusion.

“What, do you think I’m a Jew?” A scoff came out of my lips before I could stop it. I didn’t mean for it to sound so belittling, but in one breath he knew what I thought of the people out there and how far away I wished to be from them.

A silence enveloped us as we looked at one another, willing the other one to speak. I waited for his confession or further explanation, for something. He said nothing.

“Your own people standing and spitting out there have delivered you over to me.” I finally said. “Tell me now, what is it that you have done? Do you think yourself their king as they say?” My heart began galloping in my chest.

“My kingdom is not of this world. If it were of this world,” he said, “my servants would be here defending me. But I am not of this world. So my kingdom is not of the world.”

All this talk of kings and kingdoms was odd but I realized I believed him. Maybe he was the son of a god. My heart beat even faster, caught in the Jewish tides. I could not crucify a son of their god. Let them be accountable for this. I saw no threat to Rome here. How dare they bring me into it.

“About this kingdom, you are a king then?” I wanted him to say he was not.

“You are the one saying that I am a king.” He took his gaze to the ceiling speaking slowly and surveying the mural of the sky on it. “For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to my voice.”

It struck me that I was listening to him at that moment, and in a way that I had never listened to another Jewish man before. He had me mesmerized. He had me remembering the one good thing I thought about the Jews, that they were devout to their god. I remembered that night that Claudia and I had been fighting, the same fight we had been having over and over. When could we leave Judea, she hated it here. I told her we had to wait for a new assignment. Around and around we would go. Then the Jewish horn blew, the shofar. It rang through the street and we both decided to end the squabble and make love instead. I remember thinking how strange that turn of events, how sudden.

This man reminded me of the shofar, it seemed to ring out in my ears as I spoke to him.

“What is this truth you speak of?” It came out as a scoff once again, though I felt a pull of wonder behind it. Did he, indeed, know truth? Could he be the answer to the point of this life that in one moment seemed like a gift and in the next breath, like a curse?

“Who are you?” I eyed him again, willing it all to break open. He looked at me, willing me to believe without another word.

The chanting of the crowd was getting louder again, I led him out of the house and back to the streets.

“He is not guilty.” I declared.

The crowd roared even louder, as if possible.

“It is almost your Passover,” I said to them, trying to find reason. “What if I release him to you since it is a custom that we release a prisoner of yours? I will release him.” This was the way. There, I had found a way to be free of this man.

“Crucify!” They yelled. “Crucify!”

It went this way for a long time. I tried to release another prisoner to them instead. I even flogged the man Jesus in hopes that a punishment that hurt but left him his life would suffice. But the crowd carried on. Then they mentioned Caesar, saying that I was insubordinate if I released this Jesus.

That did it. I wouldn’t have my reputation drug through the mud on account of this man. Everything I had worked so hard for and built, gone on that very morning. I wouldn’t have Claudia and I sentenced to the post at Judea forever.

I was worn down.

This man, this king, this Jesus, whatever he was. I sealed his fate. I delivered him over to be crucified.

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Without Jesus’ death, there would be no salvation for the Jews and the Gentiles. Though the story is unsettling and it’s hard to identify the real villains, though we often paint them as the Jews or as Pilate, they were a very important part of God’s great plan for salvation. Jesus, the worthiest of sacrifices, would die as a curse on a cross for our sins and in doing so, bring us to new life with God.

I found I was fascinated by the fact that Pilate, who was no friend of the Jews, fought very hard not to crucify Jesus and yet, in the end, he was persuaded into it.

I am also fascinated by the intricacies of God’s perfect plan and so thankful for Jesus’ beautiful obedience.