By His Wounds: The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Jesus is Returned to Pilate

                                       

Jesus is Returned to Pilate

It was nearly eight in the morning when John saw Jesus being led back to the court. The sun was just starting to peek over the mountains, casting a dim glow on the entire area. A slight breeze blew through, rustling the trees and brushing John's medium-length hair in front of his face.

A man pushed him forward, nearly to a fall, yelling that John better "get his sorry hide out of the way."

Without commenting, John grabbed the Blessed Mother's arm and maneuvered her to a safer place, away from the intense crowd yet still in reasonable distance of where Jesus was now—before Pilate once again.

"Bring him to me," Pilate said, obviously irritated. John supposed Pilate hoped Herod would take care of his Lord, but that had not been the case.

Watching, John saw Jesus forced up the palace stairs, wearing a long robe. Exhausted and overly beaten, Jesus tripped over the garment, his head cracking on the marble staircase. The soldiers forced him back up.

Pilate stood and announced to the crowd, "Herod has not found wrong in this man, and neither do I."

Caiphas called out, "He is a criminal!" The crowd shouted out in agreement.

"All right! As you know, it is a certain time near Passover where you have the choice of having a prisoner." Pilate motioned to his soldier, and he walked off, following unsaid orders. "Now, I ask you: Which prison do you wish to be released to you, Barabbas, a murderer and revolutionist, or Jesus, called the Christ?"

The crowd grew loud with excitement. Some shouted out, immediately, "Barabbas!" while most remained mute.

Mary of Magdala, distraught beside John, shouted, "Free Jesus! Jesus the Christ!"

The Blessed Mother tightened her veil around her neck, but said nothing.

Then the high priest, loud enough for everyone in the court to hear, exclaimed, "Free Barabbas!"

Hearing that the high priests had agreed on a prisoner to release, the rest of the crowd chanted along with them, "Free Barabbas! Free Barabbas!"

John saw Pilate glance around in a nervous-anger. He seemed unsure what to do.

Then, off to the side of the palace, Pilate's wife, Claudia, came hurrying out as the crowd continued. She whispered to her husband, all the while rubbing her hands together. She motioned towards Jesus, then to Barabbas. Pilate shook his head. Claudia whispered more, than walked away.

Pilate raised his hands. "I ask you again: Who do you wish for me to release to you? The murderer Barabbas, or Jesus, said to be the King of the Jew?"

John gripped his Mother's arm as they waited for the crowd to answer. He honestly knew that this was meant to be—Mary had told him that—yet there was the smallest bit of hope that maybe...maybe somehow Jesus would be released. Maybe somehow Jesus would be handed back to his mother, healed, continue his teachings, and die of old age. Maybe somehow the Roman soldiers would release Jesus this minute...

That didn't happen. Instead, Caiphas shouted out, "He is not a king! He is not King of the Jews! He is blasphemer! Release Barabbas!"

"Barabbas! Barabbas! Barabbas!"

At the sound of his name, the real criminal beside Jesus began laughing. He threw up his hands, yet the soldiers pinned them behind his back. The crowd booed, but continued to shout his name for his release.

"If this chalice shall pass by..." John heard his unrelated mother whisper. He looked at her. Eyes puffy, face pale, she looked like some sort of ghost. Yet she was the holy Mother of God—of the beaten near-to-death Lord many feet away from her.

"Fine!" Pilate exclaimed. He nodded towards the Romans holding Barabbas down, in which they then released him with much anger. Barabbas hurried down the palace steps, through the crowd, his arms waving in great triumph. The crowd continued to show their discontent, yet laughed since John's Lord remained standing on the palace steps, condemned.

"Your will be done, Lord..." Mary the Mother said.

"What do you want me to do with Jesus?"

Silence.

Then, the most horrid words ever: "Crucify him!"

Both Marys nearly fainted. John caught his mother, and had to maneuver around her to grab Mary of Magdala's arm before she collapsed to the ground. She whispered, "Lo! No! No! No!"

Mary the Mother said nothing. A tear slid down her cheek, John saw, and she closed her eyes and continued to whisper. John turned towards the front, where he saw his Lord standing. Barely standing, really. Nearly falling over in exhaustion and overly beaten-ness. His head hung low, it almost seemed as though he was sleeping. Or praying. Probably praying.

John tried to do so, too, yet couldn't. How could he pray to the Father—and to Jesus, two people yet one God—when his Lord was being treated in such a way? What was John supposed to ask? To take this chalice away from Jesus? Yes, he wanted to ask that, and had a couple times, but it seemed almost impossible that Jesus would honestly be released from the Romans. They were the Romans. And besides, if the Father wished to rescue his Son, then why didn't he? Didn't Jesus once say, when he was talking about the Good Shepard, that he had the power to lay down his life and the power to take it up again? John reflected back to Jesus' words: "This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. This command I have received from my Father." God the Father loved Jesus because he was dying? Because he was suffering? And for what? His sheep? John had just figured that a metaphor—a parable. Sure, John knew it meant something, but he still didn't quite know what. What could a Shepard and his sheep symbolize, anyway? And yes, Jesus had said he had the power to die, or the power to live. So why didn't he live? Or at least take away some of his pain. John knew Jesus could do it. He knew Jesus could heal the wounds marring his face and body. Yet why didn't he? Why let him suffer so?

"Crucify him?" Pilate asked, obviously shocked beyond words. "Why? What evil has he done to receive such a punishment?"

The crowd did not reply to the simple and logical question, but continued to shout out, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" Pilate glanced over to the corner of his palace, where, John saw, he was looking at his wife Claudia. Claudia shook her head and walked away, somber.

Pilate turned back to the crowd, staring them down. Riots began to break out. Women screamed, men shouted, and even some children squealed with fear. The Romans started pushing the crowd back, but they broke loose from the ribbon of soldiers and scrambled towards the palace. Some soldiers even began drawing out their weapons, challenging the crowd to get closer to Pilate. The most adventurous of the bunch did, pushing past the guards, up to the steps, all the while shouting, "Crucify him!" A crazed man, one who looked much like Barabbas himself, was kneeling before the bloodied, beaten, and tired Lord. He shouted loud enough for all to hear, "This man is evil! This man is Satan! I tell you now, Your Excellency, are you going to allow Satan to live? Are you—" Yet before he could finish his horrid sentences, a soldier had knocked him upside the head with a club. The sight of an unconscious man being dragged away stirred up the crowd even more. And Pilate saw that.

"Here, here!" Pilate called, raising his hands. This silenced the crowd some. He turned towards Jesus, then back to the crowd. "Due to the accusations towards this Jesus of Nazareth, I am agreeing to allow this man to be flogged according to his so-called crimes. He shall not be crucified. He shall be scourged and returned to me for a final sentence."

And with that, Pilate stormed away into his palace.

The crowd cheered that Jesus was to be scourged, yet grumbled that he wouldn't be crucified.

John trembled in fear.