Printer Friendly VersionI received two emails this week:
The first email said:
Question: How does a spoiled, pampered, rich girl change a light
bulb? Answer: “Daddy, I need a new apartment.”
The second email said:
A lonely frog was full of questions about his life. So he called
his local psychic hot-line to ask about his future.
“Will I ever find a girl?” The frog wanted to know.
“Oh yes. You certainly will,” the psychic said.
“In fact, a very beautiful girl will be very interested in you.”
“Great!” the frog croaked. “Will I meet her
at a party?”
“No. Biology class!”
Frogs aren’t the only ones whose lives are full of questions.
Sometimes it is questions we ask, at other times it is questions that are
asked of us. There are some questions that don’t really matter in the
whole panorama of world events: “Do you want paper or plastic, sir?”
Coke or Pepsi? Colgate or Crest? Some questions give us a sick feeling in
our stomach, “Do you know how fast you were going, buddy?”
Sometimes we are on the asking end of things. I have asked some
very important questions in my life. On a chilly October evening down on Kansas
City’s Plaza, following a dinner at Fedora’s restaurant, I asked
a beautiful, young women, “Will you marry me?” (Thankfully our
marriage has lasted longer than the restaurant).
In a doctor’s office outside of Detroit, I asked the ultrasound
technician, “Is it a boy or a girl? Can you tell?”
At wedding ceremonies it’s my job to ask the bride and
groom, “Will you love, honor, cherish each other as long as you both
shall live?
As a dad I sometimes have to ask tough questions: Did you feed
the dog? Do you have your homework done? Did you beat up your brother?
Questions. Questions. Questions. It shouldn’t surprise
us in the final 24 hours of His life Jesus had to answer questions. That’s
where we’ve been spending this season of Lent--the Final 24 hours of
Jesus’ life. During these 24 hours Jesus spends time answering questions.
When we left Jesus last week, He was praying in the garden (while
His disciples were sleeping): “Not my will but thy will be done.”
Following that prayer, you will recall a mob of men, led by His one-time disciple
Judas came and arrest Jesus. All the disciples took off. They scattered like
frightened kittens. They had promised to stick with Him through thick and
thin, but at the first sign of trouble they were gone.
And now today, we are looking at a major event from Jesus’
final 24 hours that all four Gospel writers tell, His encounter with the Roman
Governor, Pilate. During this final 24 hours Jesus was asked questions and
His primary inquisitor was a man name Pilate.
There are a few things you need to know about Pilate to really
understand him. In the whole scope of the mighty Roman Empire (Remember in
the first century, the Roman Empire was a huge geographical area; it include
all the land surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. In today’s geography
it included all of France, Spain, Italy, and most of what we look at as the
Middle East today: Turkey, Iraq, Iran) Israel, that tiny corner of the world
was not what anyone would call the choicest assignment. People were not lining
up to be the governor of Israel. From the Roman perspective, the Jewish people
were not the most loyal. The average Roman would have said the Israelite religion
was weird. They had strange customs. They did strange things. They weren’t
always in line with the Roman way. Caesar was king, but the people in Judea
didn’t want to call him king. They were so opposed to the authority
of Caesar the people of Israel would rather not even use Roman coins because
Caesar likeness was stamped on each coin. They had a rule about graven images
they took very seriously. They had a lot of rules: rules, rules, and more
rules. It just wasn’t the easiest job--trying to govern these Israelite
people.
Pilate no doubt thought, this job in Jerusalem could be a stepping
stone--and a stepping stone is a stepping stone. If you did well in a place
like Palestine, maybe you’d get noticed in Rome and moved up to a better,
more hospitable, more civil, more Roman location, someplace else (any place
else!) in the great Roman Empire.
Pilate’s job was not easy. When you were a governor for
Rome, living in Israel, your job description really consisted of two primary
tasks. The way to get ahead and the way to be noticed in Rome consisted of
two things: 1) Keep the peace. 2) Collect the taxes.
That’s it. Those two things were all that really mattered
to Caesar: peace and taxes. Rome didn’t care about their strange religions.
They didn’t care about Pharisees or Sadducees and Scribes. They didn’t
care about the Sanhedrin and temple worship and making sacrifices. The Romans
didn’t care if people worshipped in the temple, worship in the street,
worship pigs. Worship dogs. Worship cats. Worship the moon. Who cares? As
long as the people were peaceful and paid their taxes then the Caesar was
happy. And if Caesar was happy then the governor could be happy. And if the
governor was happy then everybody was happy.
Now Passover time did not make the governor happy. It was one
of those weekends in Jerusalem that would drive the calm-loving, keeping-the-peace
governor crazy. Passover meant people, lots of people. The streets would be
booming with extra people, all coming to make their sacrifices at the temple.
But as anyone who has had experience in civil government knows with all those
extra people would be extra problems. Crime would increase. Noise would increase.
Headaches would increase. Stress would increase. UGH! It’s tough being
a governor in a place like that.
This particular year was no different. The streets were packed.
I can imagine reports were coming in from around the city of a little bit
of unrest here and some disturbances there. Shop lifters, purse snatchers,
the usual things were going on. Pilate had gone to bed early on Thursday night
thinking, “Well, Passover is tomorrow, then all this mess will finally
be over for another year. All of these people will finally go home. I will
finally get some peace.”
But his plans didn’t quite work out the way he had hoped.
Early in the morning (or late at night depending on your perspective) he was
awakened. No one wants to be awakened in the middle of the night, especially
when it’s the High Priest and his henchmen who are at the door. They
seemed quite upset. They requested a meeting. “Is it important? Don’t
you boys own a clock? Do you know what time it is? Is it absolutely necessary
that we do this now?”
“Yes this is extremely important.” They insisted.
“A capital punishment case has to be heard. We can’t hear such
a case, you are the only one. We’ve got a dangerous criminal on our
hands. He claims to be the King of the Jews.”
Wiping the sleep from his eyes and climbing out of his “I
love Rome” jammies, Pilate thought, “One more day and this Passover
business will be over at least for another year. One more day. One more day.
One more day.”
As Pilate moves into the room, everyone comes to attention.
He walks up the steps to the official judgment seat. The accused is about
to be brought before him. The trial is about to begin.
Some of Rome’s finest bring Jesus in to the arena and
toss Him onto the ground. Pilate looks Jesus over and mutters to no one in
particular, “So this is what I had to wake up for; this is who is so
important? This guy is saying He is the King of the Jews? He doesn’t
look much like a king to me.”
It is obvious Jesus has met the heavy hand and feet of the Roman
guards. Some force has been applied in the interrogation process. He’s
a bloody, beaten, messy. Usually, when Pilate has been in this situation the
accused who has endured such an example of “Roman hospitality”
are usually, quite ready to talk (if they can talk). All the resistance has
been beaten out of them.
Now, Pilate has been around kings before. He and King Herod
have held negotiations over matters pertaining to Israel’s law and order.
He has been at cocktail parties for visiting heads of state and royalty of
one kind or another. He has even had an audience with Caesar himself. So Pilate
has been in the presence of plenty of royalty and plenty of blue bloods. And
if anyone did not look like a king--this man, Jesus of Nazareth, was it. Maybe
He looked like a carpenter. Maybe He looked like a common laborer. But He
in no way looked like a king.
And so begins one the most important discussions the world has
ever seen. All history hangs in the balance as Pilate decides what to do with
Jesus.
Listen to John’s description of their conversation:
(Read John 18:33-39). The Bible contains words—lots of
words. We can read those words. We can easily determine the meaning of those
words. But in the gospels, when a dialogue is taking place, for instance,
we can understand every word spoken, but we can’t always know the tone
and the motivation behind the words. That is very true in this case. The very
first words from Pilate to Jesus are very curious. What was his intent? Is
he playing with the beaten and bruised preacher from Nazareth? Is he trying
to be cute? Is he taking his role as inquisitor seriously or is he playing
some sort of game? He asks, “Are you the king of the Jews?” Now
the question for us is: was he serious with this question? Is his intent to
really discover the truth? Did he really want to know who Jesus was? Was the
question honest and real? Was he asking: “Are you really the king of
the Jews? Are you really who people say you are? Did you really raise that
man, Lazarus, from the dead? Did you really raise the widow of Nain’s
son and Jarius’ daughter from the dead? Did you really feed 5,000 men
in one occasion? Are you for real, Jesus? Are you really the King of the Jews?”
Was that the tone of Pilate’s question or was he being
sarcastic? In his distain for the Jewish way, and Jewish customs, did he say,
“Are you the king of the Jews? Boy oh, boy, they deserve someone like
you. You make a great king for this sorry lot of losers. A couple of Roman
guards handled you quite easily just like we would handle this entire region
in swift order if need be. You don’t look like you could lead your way
out of a wet paper bag, pal. Yea, I’d say the Jews deserve a king like
you. King of the Jews, huh, well that’s just great. I guess I’ve
seen it all.”
And so goes the trial of the ages. Throughout this chapter and
into chapter 19, Pilate asks Jesus a number of questions. You get the feeling
that while maybe he thought it a joke when they first brought Jesus in, by
the end of the conversation he was very much intrigued by this One who the
religious leaders were so intent to do away with.
Pilate’s questions recorded in John’s writings reflect
the heart felt dilemma of all people: What is the truth? How can I know it?
What will I do with the truth once I discover it? This may possibly be the
most relevant question of the current age. People are still seekers of the
truth. They may not like the version of Christianity to which they’ve
been exposed; they might not like the answers or conclusions that have been
given; but all people want the truth. Pilate, like people today, wanted to
know the truth.
Jesus’ answer to Pilate is simple and direct: “I
came into the world to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth
listens to me” (John 18:37b). How true He is! God’s answer to
our probing heart is to listen to Jesus, look to Jesus, and discover our deepest
longings will be met in Jesus.
Could it be that Pilate began to do that? Maybe somewhere along
the line he thought, “If all of these religious stuffed-shirts hate
Jesus so much, if they are so intent on getting rid of Him (and I’ve
never been particularly fond of those pompous wind bags), if they hate him,
then maybe--just maybe--I should hear Him out.” By the end their time
together, Pilate is almost convinced Jesus is indeed the King of the Jews
. . . almost convinced.
“Almost” it’s a very sad word isn’t
it? It conveys the idea of “coulda, shoulda, woulda . . . didn’t.”
I almost hit the game winning home run. We almost saved his life. I almost
got the promotion. We almost made it to the hospital on time.
I read about a couple in Charleston, West Virginia, David and
Sherry Harrah, who were about to give birth to their couple’s ninth
child (In other words, they had been through this event before). David, the
dad-to-be, thought he had plenty of time to get the hospital. So much time
he stopped to get a coffee. Well, he almost got to the hospital in time. Carlee
was born in the back of the Ford Expedition.
Almost.
As long as humans have been involved in the story “almost”
has been a part of the tale. It’s the army that almost won the battle;
the team that almost won the championship; the guy who almost saved the day,
scored the point, hit the homer.
Pilate is the “king of almost.” He almost did a
wonderful thing--that’s what this trial was about. He could have released
Jesus. He could have pardoned Jesus. He could have absolved Jesus of all infractions
or all crimes. He could have acquitted Jesus. He could have declared Him not
guilty. He could have done all those things--he almost did it.
How many times has that word “almost” been in your
story?
Almost got the job.
Almost made a go of their marriage.
Almost decided to really serve the Lord.
Almost made a difference in the world.
For Pilate, it meant he almost did the right thing. He asks
the right questions. Things like:
Jesus, what have you done? (verse 33).
Jesus, what is the truth? (verse 38).
Jesus, where do you come from? (John 19:9).
And from Jesus you can be sure he got the right answers.
I suppose the real question, the question that explains why
Pilate was “almost” there but not quite, the question that sheds
light into the very heart of Pilate is recorded not in John’s gospel
but by Matthew in 27:22. When Pilate directs his question not to Jesus, but
to the religious leaders who had gathered and asked: “What shall I do
with Jesus?” It’s straight forward and simple. You want to shout
out “exactly,” Pilate. Exactly, what are you going to do with
Jesus?
It’s a good question for us. What are we going to do with
Jesus? Are we going to be almost followers or on fire followers? Are we going
to be almost Christians or all out Christians? What are you going to do with
Jesus?
This is really the most important question you will ever be
asked. Teenagers this is the most important question that you will ever have
to come to grips with. Not what am I going to do in geometry class? Not does
that cute guy or cute girl like me. Not even what am I going to do with my
life? Or whom am I going to marry? But “What am I going to do with Jesus?”
What are you going to do with him?
Mom and dad—what are you going to do with Jesus? I will
never forget the struggle I had with God over this one. It happened in Chapman
Hall room 308, freshman year. I had been around church my whole life. I had
been all-in-all a pretty good kid. I hadn’t given my parents too much
grief. But now for the first time in my life really I was away from them,
away from their influence. I could do what I wanted to do. Think how I wanted
to think. Be how I wanted to be.
So the question became: Should I listen to the way I had been
taught, the way I was raised, the lessons I learned in Sunday School? Or would
I toss it all out as a myth, a fairy tale? The question really came down to,
what was I going to do with Jesus? Would I make Him Lord of all or would He
not be Lord at all? That’s really the only two options you have. He’s
going to be my Lord--the Lord of my whole being--or He is not. God and I went
round and round that night in Chapman 308. I was determined to not leave without
an answer. I can’t remember how long this process took--a few hours
I believe. And it wasn’t real emotional; it was just me and the Lord.
And I can’t even really explain exactly what took place. I remember
getting up from my knees with complete and utter confidence as to what I was
going to do with Jesus. He was and is the total Lord of my life--the complete
Lord. He had all of Rob Prince. Everything I am. Everything I had hoped to
be. Jesus was Lord of all.
What about you: what are you going to do with Jesus? You see,
Pilate refused to allow Jesus total and complete Lordship. He could talk about
releasing Jesus. How he thought Jesus was innocent, how he didn’t think
Jesus had committed any crime and all the rest. But when push came to shove,
he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make Jesus Lord. Why?
You have to go to Luke to figure that one out. One small phrase
in Luke 23:23 speaks volumes. The Bible simply says, “... and their
shouts prevailed.”
I like the Cotton Patch. The Cotton Patch Version of the New
Testament* was written so sharecroppers in the South could understand the
gospel. This is the reading of those verses, including verse 18:
Howling like a mob, they said, “Do away with this guy!
We want “Daddy-boy’!” ( This was a fellow who had been put
in jail for inciting to riot in the city and for murder.)
Again Pilate addressed them, wanting to release Jesus. But they
yelled back, “Kill him! Kill him!”
The third time he said to them, “Why? What is his crime?
I’ve found no reason to give him the death penalty. So I’m going
to whip him and let him go.”
But they screamed at the top of their voices, demanding that
he be killed.
(This is the part I want you to hear) “And their voices
won.”
Pilate listened to the crowd’s voices. He listened to
their shouts--and their voices won. As a result, Pilate’s desire to
get ahead won. Pilate’s desire to keep the peace won. Pilate’s
hopes for promotion in the Roman political system won. All those things that
in the end, the things that really don’t matter at all, won. All those
things that in the end matter the most, lost. Pilate’s integrity lost.
His justice lost. And for all we know Pilate’s soul lost.
He didn’t have to listen to those voices. His wife told
him. His own conscious was speaking--why else would he have done the whole
hand washing charade? My goodness he had an audience with Jesus Christ. He
certainly could have listened to Jesus. But of course we know he didn’t
do it.
The trial is over. The verdict is given. Jesus will be crucified.
That was Pilate’s decision and he made it. He might have tried to pass
the buck. He might have tried to avoid taking responsibility, but in the end
it was his call, his choice, his decision. And he made it: Jesus must die.
What about you? Can I ask you Pilate’s question again?
What are you going to do with Jesus? Whose voice is going to win out in your
life? When the ultimate question of life is addressed to you: what are you
going to do with Jesus? How are you going to respond?
There’s one more oddity about Pilate’s involvement in the crucifixion of Jesus. After the trial, after the verdict, after the proclamation that Jesus must die, Pilate does a curious thing. In John 19, Pilate makes a sign for the cross that simply read: Jesus of Nazareth--the King of the Jews. He had it not simply in Latin or Hebrew but in three languages and nailed to the cross.
Apparently, he wanted everyone to know, no matter what their
nationality or language, Jesus was King of the Jews. The religious officials
as we would surmise didn’t like the sign or the wording of the sign,
and said, “Hey, you should make the sign read that he claimed to be
the King of the Jews.” And now for the first time, for whatever reason,
Pilate takes a firm stand and said, “No I’m leaving it the way
that it is. The sign stays.” He finally displays some chutzpa when he
tells the religious “pooh-bahs” he will not change what he has
written.
What’s the significance in all of this? I think what is
so interesting about this whole situation is that after asking that ultimate
question: What am I going to do with Jesus? And succumbing to the negative
voices of the crowd and having Jesus beaten and crucified, Pilate still wants
to call him king. He now wants to say Jesus of Nazareth is the king of the
Jews after all. Well, excuse me, Mr. Pilate, but you can’t have it both
ways. What Pilate doesn’t know is that at this point it is too late.
This is not how you treat a king. Calling Him king won’t cut it; making
Him King and Lord is the only appropriate response to the truth.
I haven’t been around a lot of royalty in my day. I know
I am a “Prince” but I don’t believe there is any blue blood
pumping through my veins. And quite frankly, I am not sure what I would do
if I had an audience with a king or queen. I’m not sure what’s
required for proper etiquette of being in the presence of a king, but I know
this: you don’t beat them. You don’t have your soldiers spit on
them. And you surely don’t crucify them. That’s not how you treat
a king. But that’s exactly what Pilate ordered.
Is it so different from today? I’m not so sure. There
are plenty of people who want to do whatever they want to do. Go wherever
they want to go. Have little regard for Jesus 95 percent of the time. Don’t
follow his path or really don’t have a relationship with Him. In many
cases, these folks know what to do and yet don’t do it. But they still
want to be able to say: “Oh yes, Jesus is my king. He is my Lord. I’m
a Christian.” Folks it just doesn’t work that way. You either
follow Him or you don’t. He’s either Lord or He’s not.
So can I ask you Pilate’s question one more time: What
are you going to do with Jesus?
Is He your king? Not a king in words only, but are you treating
Him as king of your life? This isn’t just a show to impress the passersby
or to make a point--but is Jesus really your king? Pilate’s actions
spoke louder than his words--he proved very definitively Jesus was not his
king, despite the fact he wanted to call Him king (in three languages no less).
It’s the same with you.
Have you made Jesus the king of your life? Is that truth apparent to the people who see you and know you? What are you doing with Jesus?
*© 1969 by Clarence Jordan. Used by permission of Koinonia Partners.
