1 Timothy 6 12 – 16
Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses. 13 In the sight of God, who gives life to everything, and of Christ Jesus, who while testifying before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, I charge you 14 to keep this command without spot or blame until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, 15 which God will bring about in his own time—God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, 16 who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen.
John 18
33 Pilate then went back inside the palace, summoned Jesus and asked him, ‘Are you the king of the Jews?’
34 ‘Is that your own idea,’ Jesus asked, ‘or did others talk to you about me?’
35 ‘Am I a Jew?’ Pilate replied. ‘Your own people and chief priests handed you over to me. What is it you have done?’
36 Jesus said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.’
37 ‘You are a king, then!’ said Pilate.
Jesus answered, ‘You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.’
(38 ‘What is truth?’ retorted Pilate. With this he went out again to the Jews gathered there and said, ‘I find no basis for a charge against him. 39 But it is your custom for me to release to you one prisoner at the time of the Passover. Do you want me to release “the king of the Jews”?’
40 They shouted back, ‘No, not him! Give us Barabbas!’ Now Barabbas had taken part in an uprising.)
Reflection by Stephen Gamble and Vince Cross.
Jesus of Nazareth? Yes, how could I forget him?
I had them write ‘Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.’, To make sure everyone understood I had them write it in Aramaic and Latin and Greek. I told them to fasten those words - those exact words - to his cross.
The Chief Priest took exception. He said, ‘How dare you write “The King of the Jews”. The best you should say is: “this man claimed to be king of the Jews.” ’ I told him, ‘what I’ve written, I’ve written.’ End of.
In other words, who gives the orders round here? I had no doubt – they were testing me. The whole Jesus thing was really about that: who’s in charge?
They turned up with him in the early hours of the morning, at the front door of the Governor’s Palace, and then wouldn’t come in! Demanded I go out to them. Said it would make them ceremonially unclean to be seen inside the Palace before their holy day, so would I mind? I acceded. I was the iron fist. But sometimes you have to wear the velvet glove.
I gathered they’d already tried him in their own way, twice. Once in front of the High Priest, Caiaphas, and before that - for some reason I still can’t fathom, they’d dragged him off to Annas, Caiaphas’s father-in-law. Old man. Big cheese.
Anyway, they’d already found him guilty and wanted him dead. I was to be the instrument of his killing because they weren’t allowed to do away with him. Life or death is the Emperor’s prerogative – his and so, at that time, mine.
My schooling had taught me how to maintain the rule of Rome – it’s what we Governors do. If crucifying a local rabble-rouser was what was required to keep the peace, that was fine by me, but that was my decision - no one else’s – even in the middle of the night!
I was underwhelmed by their revolutionary Jesus, their blasphemer. I saw a man in a simple garment, who looked every inch a peasant. He’d obviously been knocked about – the limp, the bruises on his face. There wasn’t much threat about him now, if there ever had been. He was bedraggled, weary.
So, to recap, there was I, the Imperial Governor, being told what to do by a mob of petty Jerusalem locals - the priests, the lawyers, the what-have-you, all seething with years of suppressed rage under that characteristic flimsy veneer of feigned respect.
And that accusation that Jesus claimed to be a king… under the stars in that Jerusalem courtyard – frankly laughable. There was me - the power of Imperial Rome, even in a nightshirt. Them – Rome’s clients dolled up in their local finery. And a half-naked, powerless, helpless little man – no king, of any sort at all.
The situation was absurd so I took him inside for questioning. Left them standing in the cold. Curious as to how this had all come about, I asked him, ‘So are you the king of the Jews?’ He wouldn’t answer. ‘No point in staying silent’, I said. ‘We can have it out of you’. Eventually, hesitantly - he spoke. He wanted to know where I’d got this idea from. I repeated the question. Then, as if sharing a secret, peering earnestly at me, he said his Kingdom wasn’t from this world. There was a pause. He stared at me. I stared back at him. And said, ‘So you are a king, then? Where is this kingdom?’
These rabbis never answer a straight question. They deal in stories. Metaphors. But he had courage, I’ll admit that. In that moment, I felt strangely as if I was the one being judged. ‘You tell me if I’m a king’, he said. ‘I’m here as a witness to the truth. If the priests were on the side of truth, they’d listen to me. And so would you’.
I noted the difference. He spoke of ‘his kingdom’, but not of himself as a king. Rabbis! Metaphors. Stories! But I saw what had got under the Jews’ skin.
Me, back then, if I’d had to choose between a legion of armed men, and a man speaking the truth, I’d have gone for the legion every time. Call me cynical, but in the end, what is truth? Where does it get you? Everything is relative, gods, men, religions, even Empires. But the sword is truth - of a sort. You argue with it at your peril. It’s reality.
My conclusion. He was naïve. But Jesus was no criminal. I went out. The crowd had grown. I told them what I thought, but they just wanted him crucified. I gave them a choice: they could have the rebel Barabbas back or Jesus. ‘Barabbas’, they shouted.
The situation was worsening. I had to call the guard. There were chants of ‘we have no king but Caesar!’, which was clever, but disingenuous. A touching display of loyalty from people who’d slit Caesar’s throat given half a chance!
Once more I tried to throw Jesus a lifeline. I said to him as an aside, ‘don’t you realise I have the power of life or death here?’
The noise of the crowd was the sound of empty vessels. In contrast, Jesus’ quiet self-possession in the face of imminent death was un-nerving. In that instant, hearing the mob’s clamour, it was me who felt vulnerable. Speaking in Greek, almost whispering, Jesus replied that any power I possessed was given me from above. He used a word whose nuance I understood. ‘Anōthen’ he said. ‘Anothen’, which means from the origin, or from the beginning from above. He was implying that my authority, like his kingdom, came not from Rome but from the heart of all things… We were both under the same dispensation.
I’m a soldier, not a theologian, but I could see the direction of travel. Haven’t we all a divine potential within us? The Emperor for instance – is a kind of god. And Jesus’s blasphemy in the eyes of the Jews was that he claimed to be the Son of God. But gods aren’t weak, are they? Or surely only temporarily so, as a ruse, a sleight of hand – that’s how our Roman mythology runs.
I came to myself. Put such unsoldierly thoughts out of my mind.
The man might or might not have been innocent but it wasn’t worth provoking a rebellion to save him. And if he was a god in weak human form, he’d save himself - so I gave the order. He would have his coronation. I said to the guard, ‘Do what you have to…’ They dressed him in a purple robe, the colour of royalty, found some brambles, made a crown of thorns for his head. They probably put the boot in for good measure, but that was no concern of mine. I heard him being mocked. ‘Hail, king of the Jews!’ Well, they were only squaddies. What did they care? They’d think well of me for letting them have some fun.
If you too like metaphor, I suppose you could say Jesus was lifted up like the king they say he claimed to be - on a throne of wood and nails. It was harsh, I thought, but I didn’t need to watch it. Rome reserves crucifixion for people who challenge our authority. Thieves and pickpockets meet a kindlier end. Two rebel bandits were strung up with him. Crucifixion says, ‘you think you're important? Well, let’s put you in a high place, so that the common people can ponder whether they fancy joining you’. Crucifixion spells out who’s in charge – who’s king and Emperor, and who so isn’t.
I’m retired now. I’ve swapped my sword for a spade, and the dust of Palestine for a nice little villa outside Rome. I’ve had time to think.
Later I questioned another of the disciples Jesus left behind him. You know
they refuse to believe he ever truly died, and insist he rose from the grave?
Try a thought experiment with me. A king, like a Governor, has power over life and death in his kingdom. So imagine if Jesus really had risen again, if he really had demonstrated the ultimate power over death, then he would have been proved right. It would have made him the king to beat all kings. As it turned out, my sword and the power of Imperial Rome would have been of no account. As I get older, death sometimes seems to make everything meaningless, but if there’s something greater than death then maybe there really is meaning and, yes, truth.
From what I hear, the Jesus-followers certainly behave as if death isn’t the end. Stoning, torture, crucifixion - nothing shuts them up. Actually, that's dangerous. We Romans rule by fear. Carrots and sticks – but mostly sticks. If people lose their fear of death how can we control them? The challenge is still the same. Who’s in charge?
That Jesus-disciple I spoke to had the nerve to try to recruit me. He actually used that Greek word again, saying ‘you must be born again’…that is born ‘anōthen’, from the origin, the beginning, from above.
If I were born again, would I do things differently? I’ve lived by the sword. Truthfully, I’ve been a man of violence and I regret it. I’ve made a lot of enemies. My villa and garden have come at the expense of others. Even now I live in fear of revenge. As Governor I was hated for good reason; I represented order purchased at the cost of blood. Nothing seems to remove my guilt. I offer libations to the gods, but sometimes no sacrifice is enough.
I heard that Jesus prayed forgiveness for those who nailed him to the cross. Sitting here in the sun I judge myself and find myself guilty. Is the truth that if Jesus the Nazarene were here to judge me, he’d offer me forgiveness?
What is ‘truth?’ The question haunts me.
Did Jesus speak the Truth? Was he in some way himself the ‘Truth’?
What do you think?
© Stephen Gamble/Vince Cross
November 2024
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