Reliving The Passion #22

Mark 15:1–5

And as soon as it was morning the chief priests, with the elders and scribes, and the whole council held a consultation; and they bound Jesus and led him away and delivered him to Pilate.

Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

And he answered him, “You have said so.”

And the chief priests accused him of many things.

And Pilate again asked him, “Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you.”

But Jesus made no further answer, so that Pilate wondered.

Things are changing, suddenly and then swiftly. But one thing does not change.

Look: they’ve changed the charge against the accused. This was the business of their early-morning consultation: they needed some charge that the governor would accept as a serious transgression of Roman code. “Blasphemy” is meaningless to those who don’t honor God. And since Pontius Pilate scorns the people of his province, he’d ignore internal squabbles. But they need Pilate’s attention because they need Pilate’s decree. The death sentence is a jealously guarded right of Rome alone; and that’s the thing they will not change: Jesus of Nazareth must be executed.

Therefore, the new charge is a capital offense. High treason. Sedition: “He wants to make himself a king of the Jews.” To the Roman governor that means: “He’s a leader of the resistance against the empire.” A zealot.

It works. They get his attention. They get their trial.

The proceedings open with the indictment by the plaintiff, in this case officials of the Sanhedrin.

There follows, then, an examination by the imperial magistrate, Pontius Pilate. He hears testimony first from the witnesses and then from the accused. Usually, this would be enough, and after consulting his legal advisors, Pilate would render a verdict, the sentence to be executed immediately.

But things are changing.

When Pilate asks the accused, “Are you the King of the Jews,” Jesus gives a qualified assent: “You have said so.” Evidently, they define the title, “king,” differently, and Pilate is forced to return to the plaintiff for further interrogation.

But things are changing with terrible speed. For when Pilate questions them a second time, the chief priests blow up with a blizzard of accusations, “many things!” Suddenly the first charge of treason is weakened in Pilate’s estimate; he perceives that the real cause of the chief priests’ complaint is envy. So the prisoner’s word now carries more weight than it had heretofore, and Pilate returns to question Jesus a second time.

But, whereas the chief priests rose up in noise, Jesus has descended into silence. Precisely when his word would be strongest to save himself, he offers no word at all.

“Have you no answer to make?” the governor asks, marveling at the man. “Look how many charges they bring against you!”

No. No answer. Rather, a resolute, dignified calm—which, in fact, inclines Pilate in his favor; for the fanatics of his province are acting fanatical again, displaying the qualities he despises, but this man remains unruffled.

Things are changing. Pilate is contemplating a verdict of innocence. The chief priests feel the wind turn against them. They need a new tactic—

But with you, O Lord, one thing never changed:

Ironically, you and your accusers had the selfsame goal, and by your very silence, steadfastly, you went as it was written of you. Human beings strategized; human evil sent you to your cross. But something huger hovered over the occasion, something of your own volition:

Love.