The Gospel According to the Son

46

At dawn, I was taken from the house of Caiaphas and brought to a small chamber near the court of Pontius Pilate. On the way, one of the guards who accompanied me said that Judas had returned the thirty pieces of silver paid to him by the elders.

"Our priests," said the guard, "did not know what to do with this offering. It is not lawful to put blood money into the treasury." So they had refused his thirty pieces of silver. Judas threw down the coins and left.

Then he had hanged himself. Not three hours ago.

How could I comprehend? Of what had Judas repented? Of his lack of belief in my Father? Or his lack of loyalty to me? No, I could not speak. Nor did I dare. For I would have wept. From one side of my heart or the other.

I was taken before Pontius Pilate. He was a small man with a sharp nose and sharp shoulders. His knees were also sharp, as if he had climbed to many a position by the quickness of his mind and his joints. And indeed it is rare to find a man with a sharp nose who is stupid. Nothing of benevolence came from him, but I could see that he was wary and might not wish my death. Rather, he looked upon me as if I were a strong wind that bore no good omen.

Of the priests who now appeared he asked: "What accusation do you make against this man?"

They said: "He is, sir, a malefactor and is trying to pervert our nation."

"Then take him away," said Pilate. "Judge him according to your law."

They answered: "It is not lawful for us to put a man to death." That was true. The power of execution was reserved for the Romans. On those words, therefore, Pontius Pilate left his hall of judgment to take counsel, and when he came back, he asked more questions of these priests, and they said that I had forbidden everyone to give tribute to Caesar and that I called myself a king.

Whereupon Pilate asked: "Do you call yourself the King of the Jews?"

I answered, "Did others say so?"

Pilate answered, "Am I a Jew? Your priests have brought you here. What have you done?"

"My kingdom is not of this world," I answered.

He looked at me then with attention and yet with amusement. For he saw the bruises on my face. He asked, "Are you nonetheless a king?"

"In one way only am I a king. I can bear witness to the truth."

Pilate said: "What is truth?" He might be without belief, but he was not without a tongue. He said, "Where there is truth, there will be no peace. Where peace abides, you will find no truth."

From the party of the High Priest now came a small sound of dissent. If pious Jews knew nothing else, they knew what was truth. And on this morning their truth was that I should be condemned by the Romans.

Having heard their unhappy responses, Pilate asked again: "Yes, what is truth?" And answered the question himself. "In property is truth," he said. "In land is truth, especially in the ownership of it. And in the law of the land is the most truth. Since you are a Galilean, you are under Herod's jurisdiction, not mine. For he is the king of Samaria and Idumea and Galilee as appointed by Rome. Indeed, Herod is not only in Jerusalem this morning but is visiting my court. He has spoken of you and desires to meet you, having heard many things. Perhaps he hopes to see a miracle." Pontius Pilate smiled. "Can your miracles be performed in the court of the gentiles? The gods of the gentiles, after all, may have more domain in this place than the god of the Jews."

So I was taken across many courtyards of his palace and into the chambers of Herod Antipas. He was fat, and he did not say much. He was distracted by a beautiful woman who sat at his table. Yet when his soldiers smiled at seeing me, for by now my robe was filthy, Herod ordered another to be brought, worthy of a king. Or, as he amended it, a robe fit at least for the officers of a king. And he had it put upon me.

Then he said: "Since you are in Jerusalem, you are in the jurisdiction of Pontius Pilate." These words pleased him. I could see that he would send me back to Pontius Pilate. He wanted nothing to do with any cousin of the prophet if others were there to dispose of such a fellow. Instead, Herod Antipas remarked: "Since you are a Galilean and come from lands I oversee, I will send you back to Pontius Pilate in this manner, properly dressed." And his eyes were small and buried far in his head. How they must have hidden from the bloody sight of the head of John the Baptist. He hardly looked at me. His hand was on the woman.

The guards led me through the palace back to Pontius Pilate, and there before him stood Caiaphas, who looked as if he, too, had not slept in peace.

Pilate was speaking: "You have sent this man to me as one who perverts your people. Yet I have found no fault in him that corresponds to your accusation that he breeds revolt against Romans. Nor does Herod find such fault. Look, he has sent him back in a robe of purple. Therefore I will chastise this man, then release him. When you ask that I condemn a man to death, it can be done only if he is a grievous malefactor. Death, when all is said, is a grievous punishment."

I could see that this was not a contest in logic but a game. For Caiaphas showed no discontent. He merely smiled ruefully, as if he knew that the price of Roman justice would not be small today. Pontius Pilate might be ready to put me to death, but only at his price.

Now Pilate said: "I will condemn this man if you insist, but is it necessary? Today is one of the days of your feast. By our law, which is here in accord with your law, it is agreed that I am to release one Jew who has been in prison during your Passover. Will you let me release to you this King of the Jews?"

The priests of the Temple made a show of looking all around them for an answer: I could see that none of my people were here, but then my people were poor or, if rich, timid; nearly all were unlettered and afraid of the Romans. Whereas here were many elders of the Temple and scribes and Pharisees and rich townspeople. These were the men surrounding the priests. So I understood (and much too late!) that the voice of a multitude is a high wind: It can do much damage in its passage, but will leave no more than the spoil it has strewn behind.

When Pilate asked: "Whom do I release?" this gathering, loyal to the priests, answered, "Barabbas." And I had heard already of that man. Barabbas was a prisoner who had killed a Roman soldier.

Pilate smiled. Roman law might be Roman law, but it would cost the Temple a goodly sum to free a Jew who had killed a Roman soldier. Caiaphas also smiled more widely than before, as if to say, "I have the strength to bear this burden."

So Pilate said: "What, then, should I do with a man who is called Christ?"

Some shouted: "Let him be crucified!" That was enough to arouse the interest of Pontius Pilate. "Why should Jesus be crucified?" he asked. "What great evil has he done?"

Indeed, he seemed curious. If they were looking for a crucifixion, why had these Jews not chosen Barabbas? Since Romans believe that good judgments serve public order, they would decry murder; to them it is a deed worthy of the sentence of death, and even in the harshest form. But blasphemy is merely an insult to a god; it can be placated by prayer or by shifting one's worship to another god. As these Romans looked upon it, prophets were no more to be esteemed than rich merchants. You do not kill a dishonest merchant; you fine him. Pontius Pilate may even have been surprised by how many cried back: "Crucify him! Crucify this Jesus!" And so he saw that for the Jews, virtue was not to be found in land but in the punishment of sin.

Pilate called for a bowl of water and washed his hands. Then he said: "I am innocent of the blood of this person." Even I knew this was his way of accepting their decision.

Caiaphas and his people replied: "Let the blood of this man be on us, and on our children." They were sincere. Their belief was deep enough to take a vow upon their children, whereas Pilate would only take a gift.

I wanted to cry out: "Do not take such a vow! My blood will be not only upon your children but upon your children's children, and all of their descendants. Catastrophe beyond catastrophe will follow." Yet I had to be silent before the certitude of these people, who were also my people.

The Roman soldiers took me into their common room and stripped me of all but a loincloth. Then they covered me with that purple robe fit for a king's officer. They plaited a crown of thorns and placed it on my head and handed me the stout stalk of a reed for my right hand. It would be my scepter.

Now they bowed before me, touching their knees to the ground, and cried out: "Hail, King of the Jews."

Whereupon they rose and spit in my eyes and whipped me upon the head. They were Romans, and crude.

They forced the wreath onto my forehead, pressing down on the thorns until the blood began to run from my brow. And that trickle of blood felt like the white worm of death crawling down my flesh.

Soon enough the robe was taken away. In my nakedness, they returned the old garment to me. And it felt as tender upon my skin as the hand of the Lord upon a new-born babe.