Jesus is Judged before Pilate
Matthew 27:11-26; Mark 15:1-15; Luke 22:66-23:25; John 18:28-40
Where Do I See Myself in This Picture? A Meditation on the Scene of Jesus before Pilate
By Marilyn Davidson (with help from Mitchell Davidson)
Sometimes it takes a long time looking at something in order to actually see it. Sometimes it takes even longer to know it and understand it. And sometimes we have to accept the fact that there are things we might never truly know or understand.
Several years ago, I found myself pondering how the people of Jerusalem had turned so violent against Jesus after they’d followed Him into that city. He entered in, riding on a donkey colt, and the people were all about Him—shouting adorations, waving palm branches, laying their cloaks on the ground for Him to ride over. They were excited for the coming Kingdom of God, but they were more excited, I think, about the prospect of their own deliverance from the tyranny of Rome, from poverty and hard work, from the drudgery of everyday living. They were tired. Tired of working hard and not getting anywhere. Tired of hearing that wonderful times were coming, but they never came. Tired of hearing that they were God’s chosen people, but always ending up as underlings to whoever happened to be in charge. They wanted relief. They wanted victory for their side. They wanted the good life.
It seemed to me that things were going along pretty nicely until Jesus visited the Temple. He’d been talking about how great things were going to be and then all of a sudden He was attacking their religious establishment -- turning over tables, driving animals from the courtyard and saying that the Temple was nothing but a den of thieves! This was not what the Messiah was supposed to be up to. Jesus was supposed to be attacking the Romans—not them! He was supposed to be strong, and, more importantly, on their side.
Shortly after those happenings at the Temple, Jesus was arrested and taken before the chief priests and elders. Things went further south when Jesus didn’t respond to their questions and accusations. Just like the words in that good old spiritual: He never said a mumblin’ word. Not a word, not a word, not a word.
Then they handed him off to Pilate. Now, it seems like Pilate really didn’t see anything bad about the guy. His wife told him to keep away from all this trouble, but those Pharisees and Sadducees wanted Him killed and threatened to cause a ruckus. Pilate was stuck between the rock of a good man and the hard place of a bunch of bloodthirsty religious folks. Pilate turned and surveyed the crowd.
And that crowd went ballistic. They shouted it out: Crucify! Crucify! Crucify! If you’re looking for a scapegoat, a bleating crowd is hard to beat. Pilate wasn’t one of the Jews. He was a Roman, sent out there to keep the peace before anything else. If the folks were liable to riot, the law wasn’t the most important thing anymore. He had to do what he had to do. He had to do his duty and give them folks what they wanted.
As I ponder on the image of Jesus before Pilate, I wonder where I would have been that day. I wonder if I might find bits of me reflected in the scenes of that picture.
Would I be part of that crowd? The one shouting out to hang that good man up? Maybe I would have if the one I thought was going to clear out all this mud instead comes out and tells us to get used to wallering in it instead.
Would I be attached to the religious leaders of the day? The ones who truly wanted to be rid of Jesus as he was threatening the security of their entire world of law and prophets and rigid practices that kept them in business.
Would I find myself in Pilate up there at the front? Thinking that maybe this man wasn’t so bad as they said, looking for some way out of that death sentence, but eventually bending to the will of the masses? Would I have the guts to set alight that social fabric?
What about Jesus? I don’t think we often see ourselves reflected in Jesus, but possibly in my finer moments someone might see Him reflected in me. Could I stand and never say a mumblin’ word? Could I bear witness to the power of God through peace? Am I able to reflect Christ in the way I care for others, serve others, love those around me?
There’s a fourth option for reflection. What if I don’t see myself in this picture at all? What if I were among the disciples hiding out following Jesus’ arrest? What if I was so busy trying to make the money for the daily bread that I didn’t have time for all the commotion? Worst choice? What if I just didn’t care about the things that were happening around me?
These days people still feel weak and they look for someone to make things right in their world. For someone who will just give them what they need right now. A savior who just so happens to believe all the same things that they do.
Do I need might that will make things right in my world? Am I the crowd? Or perhaps a better question is: How frequently do I find my own voice joining the call to crucify?
Do I sometimes find myself playing the role of Pilate? How do I handle that authority and power when those grave decisions fall to me? Do I find I have the guts to go against the orders I’m given, and the pressures around me to do the things I know are right? Or do I find myself thinking that one fellow is a smaller price than my own life and the things that make me comfortable. Maybe the ends justify the means…
Do I strive to align myself to Jesus, to follow His teachings, and to reflect Him back in my interactions and relationships with others?
Am I still capable of involvement and caring for those around me and for the world that God has created for us?
Let’s each one of us ponder the image and look for where we find ourselves fitting into that scene.
He Never Said a Mumblin’ Word, by The Welcome Wagon
They led Him to Pilate's bar
Not a word, not a word, not a word
They led Him to Pilate's bar
But He never said a mumblin' word
Not a word, not a word, not a word
They all cried "Crucify!"
Not a word, not a word, not a word
They all cried "Crucify!"
But He never said a mumblin' word
Not a word, not a word, not a word
We nailed Him onto a tree
Not a word, not a word, not a word
We nailed Him onto a tree
But He never said a mumblin’ word
Not a word, not a word, not a word