The trial of Jesus before Pilate is
not at all as it seems.
There are several things going on
underneath the surface here. First is the Gospel of John’s treatment of “the
Jews.” It’s generally accepted that the Gospel of John emerges from a time and
place where Christians were oppressed by Jewish authorities. This Gospel,
having been written at least forty years and maybe as much as seventy years or
more after Jesus’ death paints a picture of “the Jews” as enemies of Jesus.
This has been a convenient portrayal for many people throughout history who
would like a scapegoat for the crucifixion—of course, nowhere was the Gospel of
John more misused than under the Third Reich, as justification for the
Holocaust. So, first we have to understand what John means by “the Jews” and
what to do with that. Second, we need to understand this figure of Pontius
Pilate. What is he up to? What are his motivations? And finally, what does the
trial of Jesus show us that’s relevant in our lives? Or is this just history
irrelevant to the present?
I’ll start with “the Jews.” This is
one of the most unfortunate things about the Gospel of John, because the use of
“the Jews” suggests that there is group of like-minded individuals who are all anti-Jesus.
This says a lot more about the situation in which John’s Gospel was written
than anything about what actually happened to Jesus. Firstly, Jesus was a Jew;
he was Jewish. The disciples were Jews. It’s only later that the distinction
between Jew and Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian becomes a thing. When John
uses “the Jews” he tends to be talking about the temple authorities and those
in power in the Jewish world. These are the forebears of those who would be
persecuting Christians into the second century. They are the ones John is
careful to paint in the worst light.
This might seem like unimportant
back story except that it comes into play with Pilate. Pilate, as I mentioned
last week, is an historical figure we actually know quite a lot about. He ruled
Judaea from AD 26 to AD 36. He is mentioned by several historians from the era
in addition to all four Gospels and several Gnostic Gospels. So, unlike many
people in the Bible, we know A LOT about Pilate. And the interesting thing
about Pilate is that, in every account of him apart from the Gospels, he is
portrayed as cruel and authoritarian. Josephus explains that Pilate was removed
from his position because of his brutal response to a Samaritan uprising. If we
assume that Pilate was, in fact, well-known and that he was known to be a
brutal ruler of the people, then that changes that way we might read the scene
between Pilate and Jesus. I tend to believe that Pilate wasn’t afraid, as the
Gospel of John says, but instead he was playing a carefully scripted role. For
him, it was not Jesus who was on trial—Pilate didn’t care one iota about Jesus.
Pilate was a guy who cared nothing for those who claimed a higher authority;
the only question was whether Jesus held any political power and the answer
depended on the crowd. No, it was his subjects, “the Jews,” who were on trial.
If you read this scene as Pilate
testing the Jewish people the whole scene turns on its head. Pilate, clear-eyed
and menacing, asks the Jewish people, “Should I release this man—a man who
claims a higher authority than the Roman empire?” The people are terrified.
They know what will happen if they say yes. Probably most of them do not
believe that Jesus is anything special anyway. And yet this was the crowd—is
the crowd—who was waving palm branches a few days before. This was the crowd that treated Jesus like a
king, but when it comes to standing up to Pilate? No, thanks. You see, I don’t
think this scene even makes sense without this understanding of Pilate.
“Crucify him!” the people shout. And
Pilate ups the ante, “Shall I crucify your
king?” Of course Pilate would have known about the procession into town a
few days prior. Of course, he knew they had treated Jesus as a king. Whatever
Jesus said was irrelevant; it was what the people believed that mattered.
Pilate could have Jesus killed himself, but how much better to have the crowd
condemn him!
And the crowd responds, “We have no king
but the emperor!” It’s a masterful triumph for Pilate. He got this crowd of
Jews, many of whom wanted Jesus to be their king, to pledge allegiance their
highest allegiance to the empire and not to God. The Gospel of John, picking up
on those themes, is all too eager to show how badly the people failed. The
Gospel of John doesn’t care about Pilate; it cares about the reaction of the
crowd. It cares to show us how terrible they were in the face of a choice
between their faith and a person who could make their lives miserable. The
Gospel of John shows us in all our warts—as members of the crowd, too afraid to
take on the plotting politicians.
The Gospel of John emerges from a
community that is oppressed. It is a voice from the margins. So, when it
criticizes “the Jews” it does so not from a place of power, and that is the
flaw in the way this Gospel has so often been misused. If you have power, the
Gospel is not a weapon to wield; it is a tool for the powerless up against
those in power. The moral of this story is about the way that we abuse power,
and the way that we abuse power is to choose the empire over Jesus. Nobody in
the crowd voices opposition. Nobody speaks up, even when Pilate is putting on
his best manipulative plea. “Isn’t there
anybody who wants to see this good man freed?” No, free Barabbas—free the
criminal. Crucify Jesus.
This is a text about loyalty, and
it’s a reminder that, as Christians, our primary loyalty is to God through
Jesus Christ. All other loyalties—loyalty to the nation, to temporal powers, to
parties or philosophies of politics or rule of law or flags or whatever, all come
second. And yet, Christians continue to get that order confused. We tie ourselves
in knots to ally ourselves with power. We do it for the greater good, or we do it to enact Christian policies. Yet,
as this scene with Pilate should remind us, the empire is only ever interested
in the empire. There are Christians in government, but there is no such thing
as Christian government in this world, because Christianity is built on the
cross, which is about self-sacrifice and humility and turning the other cheek.
The government that’s built on those principles is a government that welcomes
its own destruction. The successful Christian government is one that loses all
the time, because Christianity and political power are mutually exclusive.
So, what is a Christian to do in
this world if any attempt to build a Christian nation inevitably does the
opposite? Simply: hold to what you believe, but do so not to make the world
more Christian; instead, do so because as a Christian you can do no different.
On that note, I want to close with a great
Chassidic story on this subject. It feels appropriate to honor Jewish wisdom in
the face of a text that has been used as a polemic against the Jewish people,
anyway.
The story begins with the Master teaching
his students that God created everything in the world to be appreciated, since
everything is here to teach us a lesson.
One clever student asks, “What lesson can
we learn from atheists? Why did God create them?”
The master responds, “God created atheists
to teach us the most important lesson of them all—the lesson of true
compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone
who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so
because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him
to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in God at all, so his acts
are based on an inner sense of morality. And look at the kindness he can bestow
upon others simply because he feels it to be right.”
“This means,” the Master continued, “that
when someone reaches out to you for help, you should never say “I pray that God
will help you.” Instead, for the moment, you should become an atheist, imagine
that there is no God who can help, and say, “I will help you.”[1]
That is a pretty awesome story of how we
are to act; it is also a wonderful ideology of how to be a Christian in the
public sphere. Stop trying to make the world “Christian” and instead become
like an atheist for a moment, and say “I will help.” That’s the way to confront
the Pilates of the world. It’s the way to follow Jesus. And it’s totally,
completely, unexpected; the exact thing that the powers-that-be will never see
coming.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
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