Hilton Head Island, SC - March 30. 2014
The Chapel Without Walls
Matthew 27:11-26
A Sermon by John M. Miller
Voices Near The Cross: Pontius Pilate
I can tell you this: Judea is certainly not Etruria. I think back to Bolsena, and my father's villa overlooking the lake to the south, on the hill leading up toward Orvieto on the north, and I remember the days of my youth as though it were yesterday.
Lago Bolsena is the heart of Etruria. And maybe that's my problem. I am not really a Roman, you see; I am more of an Etruscan. And I'm not exactly a patrician, nor exactly a plebeian; our family fell somewhere in between. We were neither rich nor poor. I have always felt as though I were neither this nor that, but something else altogether.
My name is Pontius Pilatus. My family name, Pilatus, means "Armed with a Javelin," and I think it describes me well. I have had to live with a weapon in my hand for my whole adult life.
My father had some land on the shores of Lake Bolsena, on which he and his ancestors had planted vineyards. He owned a few dozen slaves, who worked the vineyards. He wanted me to take over, but I wanted to become a soldier, so my younger brother now operates the farm. I was commissioned as a centurion, even though my credentials were not quite right for the rank. But I advanced quickly in the army by ruthlessly putting down the enemies of Roma. And we have many enemies.
Three years ago I was appointed procurator of Judea by the Emperor Tiberius. He chose me, I think, because I have a reputation of being a very good head knocker, and most of these Jews need their heads knocked. In all the empire, there is no province which causes more headaches for Tiberius than Judea. He knows it, and I know it, and he knows I know it.
I have never seen a people who take their religion as seriously as the Jews. All the time they go to their temple in Jerusalem to make sacrifices. All the time they have big festivals, and whenever they do, I must leave Caesarea on the seacoast and go up to Jerusalem, to make sure no riots occur. I'm starting to get really tired of this. Why should I be required to see that these difficult people behave themselves? Never have I seen such a populi in my life! All the time they want to fight! But, don't you see, I must not let them win! Not even once! Not ever! If Roma is going to maintain its growing empire, it must do so in peace!
That's why I'm here, you see, and that's why I am here: because I can keep the peace, the Pax Romana, the imperial Peace of Roma. Only the toughest of the tough would get this assignment, and even most of them would not accept it. As bellisima as this land is, its people are just the opposite. But I accepted this appointment, because if I didn't, they wouldn't have known what to do with me this time around. I have had too many bad reports, too many low ratings.
But listen: I have always done what I did because I had to do it! They deliberately have given me the hardest posts! Whenever there was somebody who needed to be punished for something, they would say, "Where is Pontius Pilatus? He would take care of this!" Whenever they were afraid a rebellion might break out, they would say, "Send in Pontius Pilatus; he will make it right!"
I have a status to maintain! I have a reputation to keep! As long as there are people like the Jews, there must be people like me to keep them in check! An empire cannot survive with weakness! It must always be strong, it must always be vigilant!
But sometimes I wonder if we will ever pacify these people. They are so belligerent! And they are so strangely religious. They insist that there is only one god. If that's what they want to believe, it is all right with me. In fact, I don't care what anybody believes. But I can't let their fanaticism get in the way, and I certainly can't let it get out of hand.
Let me tell you how it has been with these people. They contribute money to a fund for their temple. I don't know what they do with it, but I decided I needed some of it to build an aqueduct from the mountains to the south of Jerusalem into the city. These people need water, and I know how to get it to them. But such a fuss they put up! "That money is Corban!" they said, whatever that means. There was nearly a rebellion on the spot, and I had to send some of my soldiers into the crowd, disguised as Jews. When the people started to shout and chant, the soldiers threw off their cloaks, and killed a few, and cut up several others. It prevented a riot, but the Jews were very angry (See Josephus, Antiquities, xviii 3:2; The Jewish Wars, ii 9:2,3).
Another time I tried to have some Roman shields mounted to the wall of King Herod's palazzo. I was warned not to have the portrait of Tiberius on the shields, that it would only infuriate the Jews, so I didn't use the regular shields. But they still made such a clamor I had to take down the shields (See Philo, Legat. ad Gaium, xxxviii). What is this all about? Is it some kind of religious prohibition, or is it a political protest? I don't know! I do not understand these people! I am losing my patience with them, and nobody has ever accused me of being a patient man!
Or there was the incident with the northerners a couple of years ago. They are called "Galileans," and they were in Jerusalem to make their sacrifices to their god. No problem there; I did not object. But they too, like so many others, tried to start a riot, and I had to have a few of them killed (See Luke 13:2-3). What do these populi think --- that they can defeat the Roman eagle? We are the strongest nation in the world! Do they think we can allow them to revolt? Who do they think we are?
Only this morning I was confronted by yet another troublesome Jew. They call him "The Nazarene." He is from someplace up in the region of the Galilee; "Yeshua" is his name.
The first I heard of this man was five days ago. He arrived in Jerusalem with some of his followers. There was a big procession into the city, and people were waving palm branches and singing "Salvation Now!"; "Hosanna" they say in their language. (And such a language it is! It is so harsh and guttural, not at all like the lovely lingua of Latium. When they speak Hebrew, it sounds to me as though they are choking on fish bones.)
Anyway, this man Yeshua of Nazareth was brought to me. The high priest, a wily fox named Yosef Caiaphas, wanted me to find Yeshua guilty of what the Jews call blasphemy. But what do I know -- or care -- about blasphemy? "Look," I told Caiaphas, "this is not my problem; it is your problem. You judge him yourself."
"He deserves to die," the pontifex maximus said, "and only you can order anybody to be executed." "But he hasn't broken any Roman laws," I said, "and therefore I will have no part of this." I don't mind being tough when it is necessary, but there was nothing about this Yeshua which seemed to warrant my becoming tough. Besides, when I looked carefully at him, he appeared totally harmless. He had the far-away look in his eye of some of these Jewish holy men, but that isn't a crime - - - at least not yet!
The pontifex maximus insisted I try Yeshua, so I said to Yeshua, "I have been told you claim to be the King of the Jews; is that who you say you are?" Yeshua said something which made absolutely no sense to me at all; "You say so." I asked him to answer, and now he seemed to be asking me! Mama mia, I will never understand these Jews! "But listen, Yeshua," I said to Yeshua, "they are making many accusations against you. Will you not defend yourself?" But he said nothing.
In order to try to pacify the Jews and win their favor, it has been the custom for years that the Roman governor sets free a prisoner at each of the Jewish festivals. So a thought struck me: Why not release Yeshua? There was a robber in the dungeon named Yeshua Barabbas. I knew he was very bad man, so I asked the crowd who had gathered, "Whom shall I set free --- the robber called Yeshua Barabbas, or the other Yeshua, whom some of you call Christus?" "Barabbas!" they shouted; "Barabbas!"
I was thunderstruck! Why would they want me to free a bandit? What is wrong with these people! Why must they make life so hard for me? Shall I never have a moment's peace from them?
And as though that were not bad enough, just at that moment a messenger came from my palazzo. "Your wife said you must have nothing to do with Yeshua of Nazareth," the messenger told me. "Last night she dreamed about him, she says, and she insists I tell you that you must set him free."
So now it's not only the Jews, but also my own wife! What have I done to deserve all this? "I shall free Yeshua of Nazareth!" I told the crowd. Instantly they began shouting, "Barabbas! Barabbas! Barabbas!" I saw at a glance this could get very ugly very quickly, so I said, "All right then; I wash my hands of this!", and before the whole mob, I washed my hands in a basin standing there on a pedestal.
Next I ordered Yeshua Christus to be humiliated and flogged. He was led into the Antonia Fortress by the soldiers. All his clothes were taken from him, and he was left naked. Then he was tied to the pillory post and was given the 39-lashes. Shortly thereafter, when he was returned, there were large welts all over his back, and he was bleeding. Someone had woven a mock crown for him from the branches of a thorn tree, and it caused his scalp to bleed in several places when they had pushed it down onto his head.
Standing there naked with his hands tied behind him, the skin of his back in bloody shreds, with his ridiculous-looking crown, I almost felt sorry for Yeshua. In my position I make it my business never to feel sorry for anyone, or else I could not continue to do my business, but I definitely felt pity for Yeshua. What, really, had he done to merit this? What strange religious law of these strange people it is my duty to govern could warrant what had happened to this pitiful figure standing before me?
But, you see, I perceived the danger! The priests had stirred up the crowd! If I had not done this, and done it quickly, only the gods know what might have happened! So, pointing at the silent and broken man standing there in the center of the courtyard, I said, "Ecce homo: Behold the man!" And with that a phalanx from the Tenth Legion led Yeshua away for crucifixion.
It is a terrible means for executing anyone --- crucifixion. Even I, who have either killed many or ordered many killed, would have to admit it openly. To have iron spikes driven through the wrists and ankles, to be lifted up on the cross and then to have it drop down into the socket with a bone-crushing thud, to hang there, unable to support yourself, slowly drowning in your own blood and mucus: it is horrible!
But it is also highly effective - - - is it not? All across the empire, from Espana to Persia, from Allemagnia to Aegypta, we are crucifying thousands every year. I myself have crucified more each succeeding year since I have come to this god-forsaken province, and if things keep going as they are, there shall be thousands more yet to come.
But we shall rid the empire of crime! There shall be no more enemies of the state! It is a very powerful witness to the folly of breaking the law to see lifeless bodies hanging from crosses along the well-travelled roads until the ravens finally pick the bones clean. The Pax Romana rests upon the Lex Romana, and if our laws are disobeyed, the full punishment of the law must descend upon the perpetrators!
But I am not at all sure that Yeshua the Nazarene really broke any of our laws or those of the Jews. He did not look like a criminal to me, and I am a seasoned observer of the criminal look.
I am not saying I should have not have ordered him to be crucified; I had no choice. I have been charged to keep the peace, and keep it I shall --- at any price. I take the full responsibility. One does not get to be the procurator without making many such unpleasant decisions.
Still, I wish I had been able to free Yeshua. He seemed like a very unusual man. "Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice," he told me just before I ordered him to be stripped and flogged. "What is truth?" I asked him. But he said nothing in response, and the moment passed for a discussion of how he might have answered.
Now, as the sun is sinking in the west over the ragged mountain crests of Judea, I have just been told that Yeshua died earlier this afternoon. I am sorry to hear it; I really am. But what could I do?
...I wonder what we are having for dinner tonight?
(Historical Note: Pontius Pilate was deposed from office by the Roman Legate of Syria, Vitellius, in 37 CE. He was banished to Vienne on the Rhone River in France, where it was reported that he committed suicide.)