Jesus Before Pilate
Seated upon a donkey, Jesus was led through the town of Jerusalem five days before his Passion. The people came running down mountains and streets, carrying palm branches and blankets, for which they then laid them on the ground. One person started singing, and then the rest followed, chanting:
"Hosana to the Son of David!"
"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"
"Hosanna in the highest Heaven!"
Jesus waved and smiled, his heart filled with such joy as never before. This is how it was in Heaven—always happy, everyone singing and shouting words of praise. Each Apostle cheered alongside Jesus and sang, even Judas.
Stripped from all save his under garments, Jesus was led down Mount Sion, passed the eastern side of the Temple, and towards the palace of Pilate. This way was similar to the path Jesus had taken only five days earlier, when the people had called out praises. How only five days can change everything. How in only five days everyone went from honoring him to condemning him to death.
As Jesus was forced towards the palace of Pilate, the soldiers and mob threw rocks, thorns, sticks, and dirty rags for him to walk on. They yelled, "Blessed is the blasphemer! Hosanna is the lowest of Devils!"
Mary cast her eyes upon her baby boy, walking there a few yards away from her. The entire Sanhedrin surrounded him, as did the angry mob. Those evil people showed him no mercy, what with their continuous beatings and mockings.
Wearing hardly nothing, Mary knew he had to be cold with the chill from the morning. The sun had yet to come over the hill, and there was a fresh dew spread over everything metal. In the slightly gray atmosphere, Jesus' skin coloration glowed white compared to the tan bodies enveloping him. From a distance, Mary could see the dark red blood that had dried to a crusty liquid down the side of his face, starting at his crown. In instinct, her Son turned, spotting her as if he knew she had been standing there the entire time. His beautiful nose was crooked, as if broken, and his one eye was swollen and discolored even worse than the first time Mary had seen it. Barely able to stand, Jesus bowed over his body like a question mark. The chains around his neck had rubbed his skin raw, as had the ropes digging into his wrists.
When the two met eye to eye, flashbacks of that night thirty-three years ago came to mind. Thirty-three years ago Mary lay in a stable, the pains of child labor bearing down on her. Then: The glorious moment. The moment when the Son of God became flesh and was cradled in her very arms. She had watched God grow up; watched him take his first steps, read out of his first book, and stay side-by-side along her now-deceased husband Joseph while they worked together in the carpentry business. How she loved to watch them work together. It took some time, but within his seventh year Jesus was constructing work presentable enough to be sold right with Joseph's. By his twelfth, Jesus' work was almost better than Joseph's. They repaired roofs and houses, but Jesus enjoyed creating tables, chairs, and glorious carvings more. When Joseph had died, Jesus not only took care of her, Mary, but also took over the entire carpentry business.
After thirty years of staying home in Nazareth, Jesus decided it was time to spread his ministry and begin "making disciples of all nations." With a kiss farewell, Jesus walked off, away from Nazareth, with a smile. Mary had missed him dearly, yet she knew that was his purpose for coming to the world.
And so was this purpose.
Mary looked at her baby boy again, eyes locking. Jesus—her Son, her Lord, her Savior—gave her a look so filled with love and compassion that Mary's feet fell down from under her. Her eyes fluttered close, and she practically fainted, until John and Mary of Magdala caught her, stopping her escape from this world into darkness.
"Mother!" John called. "Ma nishma? Are you well?"
"Yes. I am well."
"No, let me help you home. You shouldn't have to see this."
"No, John! I'm staying with my Son."
John, reluctantly, Mary saw, let her be.
Mary was staying with her baby boy.
Pontius Pilate rubbed his eyes, hoping to wipe away the ache and tiredness. He had been up almost the entire night, writing papers, reading scrolls, and praying to the gods for guidance. Being the ruler of Nazareth was difficult. Every day he heard the complaints of the Pharisees, retold by his soldiers. And with the Passover nearing, it was up to him to keep the peace, which wasn't easy. Oftentimes, Pilate sent out more soldiers during the Passover than any other time in the year. He'd already arrested Barabbas for murder and revolting. How many more would follow?
A commotion erupted from his bedroom. Quickly, he stepped away from his papers and hurried to where the sound came from.
Peering behind the curtain surrounding his bed, he spotted his wife, Claudia, clearly in distress. She thrashed and turned, whimpering and mumbling.
"Claudia?" he questioned.
She did not awake from her nightmare.
Pilate, dearly concerned, prepared to arouse her, yet a knock on the door interrupted him. Angered, Pilate hurried over to the door, only to find one of his Roman soldiers standing before him. The soldier looked aggravated.
"What is it? What is the time of day?"
"It is seven in the morning, sir," the soldier answered.
"Why are you disturbing me?"
"Slih'a, Pontius, but there has been a disturbance regarding the high priests. They and some soldiers have arrested a man."
"Let them handle it."
"They wish to condemn him to death."
"Death?"
"Yes. It seems, according to them, that he has been causing riots."
"Who is this man?"
The soldier looked away, then turned back and said, "Jesus of Nazareth."
After a few minutes of waking himself up, checking on his wife, and putting away his papers, Pontius Pilate followed the soldier outside to the front of his palace. He seated himself on his high-chair and looked down upon Annas, Caiphas, and some other high priests, as well as a large mob. The high priests were wise not to enter the Praetorium.
Then, amidst the yelling mob and the Pharisees, there was a beaten man at the front. His back curled over, as if he was exhausted. The chains and ropes Pilate saw around him had rubbed his skin raw. He did not protest to be released, as so many other criminals had before.
Pilate nodded towards the soldier near the prisoner. The soldier pulled on the attached chains, which then meant Pilate wished to look on the rioter full in the face. This "Jesus" slowly lifted his head up. Upon seeing his pained condition, Pilate clenched his teeth.
"Tell me, Caiphas. Do you always beat your criminals before you bring them to me?"
Caiphas, obviously surprised, answer back, "I suppose you do not know who this is—"
"I've heard who this is. Jesus of Nazareth. Still, what has he done to receive such ill-treatment?"
"Your Excellency, he has disrupted the Temple."
Pilate was not amused. Simply disrupting the Temple was not reason enough to beat a man so much he could hardly stand. He wished to release the man this instant, but instead he said, "Go on..."
"He has claimed he shall destroy the Temple, yet in three days raise it up. He has insisted we, the high priests, are hypocrites!"
Pilate could care less if someone called the high priests hypocrites. Honestly, he could care less if some radical—or whoever this Jesus was—threatened to destroy the Temple. Sure, it was a little strange for a man to just outright say he will destroy the sacred Temple, and yet in three days build it back up. That Temple had been under construction for forty-six years! And in three days he would raise it up? Yes, it was strange. But then again, the high priest could be lying—or exaggerating.
"Your Excellency," the high priest continued, "this man is a criminal. We would not have brought him to you unless he has broken out laws."
"Then take him. Judge him according to your own law. I want nothing to do with him." For Pilate, it seemed pretty logical.
Yet, of course, Caiphas had something to say about that. "We have a law," he said, "and according to our law, it is not lawful for any of us to condemn a man to death."
Pilate stood. "Death?" Why would such a man, a silent man at that, be condemned to the death penalty? At the worse, it would be a scourging—if that. But so far, Pilate didn't have any reason to even hold this man prisoner.
Yet the high priests wouldn't stop calling out accusations, and how the supposed criminal had called himself a king. That sparked Pilate's interest. He motioned for a soldier, then towards Jesus. The soldier grabbed the chain hanging from Jesus' neck and led him forward. Dragged is a better word, since the Jesus man could hardly pick up his feet in order to walk up those steps. It was obvious by his slow movements and painful expressions that he was hurting.
When they were inside the palace, Pilate pounced on Jesus for answers in order to end this trial. "Are you the King of the Jews?"
Close up, Pilate saw the extent of the damage the high priests and soldiers had done to the man. Black eye, broken nose, bloody and bruised face, not to mention the scrapes and cuts on his legs. Jesus wore only a small, thin garment, so Pilate could see the large bruises on both his legs, back, and front body.
Those high priests and soldiers did not show any mercy to this Jesus.
Jesus didn't answer for a long while, but when he did, he lifted his head up higher than before and stated, "Are you asking because others have told you about me, or because you would like to know yourself?"
Offended, Pilate asked, "I am not a Jew, am I?"
Jesus made no reply, to which Pilate became a little angry. He needed answers. "Your own nation and the high priests have sent you to me, saying you should be put to death. What have you done to deserve that?"
This time, Jesus answered. And this time, he answered more confidently and more majestically than ever before. "My kingdom is not of this world," he said. "If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would be fighting that I should not be delivered to these Pharisees. But as it is seen, my kingdom is not from here."
"So you are a king, then?"
"You say I am a king. For this reason I was born, and for this reason I came into the world that I should give testimony to the truth. Everyone that knows truth hears my voice."
Angered, Pilate said, "Truth! What is truth?" Without waiting for an answer, Pilate hurried out of the palace, to face the mob. Jesus and the soldier followed.
"Listen!" Pilate called out, raising his hands for silence. "I find no wrong in this man."
At this, the mob cried out in anger, shouting many more accusations.
"He claimed he is a king!"
"He says we should have to eat his flesh and drink his blood!"
"He claims to destroy the Temple!"
"He knocked over the money changers and dines with tax collectors!"
Caiphas looked around at the crowd as they started to riot. Obviously, they were angry. Pilate saw that.
"Isn't this man a Galilean?"
The high priest nodded slowly.
Pilate smiled. "Tov. Then he is not of my concern, he is of Herod's. Take him to Herod and have Herod judge him."
Walking out, Pilate was greeted by his wife Claudia. She was not happy.
"Do not condemn this man," she said, fear in her voice. "I suffered much in a dream because of him."
"Claudia, did you not listen? Herod is going to take care of him."
"This man is holy. If he is to return to you, let him free."
"He is not going to return to me, Claudia."