With the benefit of hindsight we look at
Jesus’ trial in Mark 15:1-15, and we can’t help but feel heartbreak. How is it, why is it, that the Son of God who
came and showed such compassion, such love for those around him, now stands
alone, rejected by the very ones he can to save? We come to this story again and again in
frustration and in sorrow. We come in frustration
because in our estimation things should have gone differently, and in sorrow
because we realize that it is because of our own sin that things had to be this
way. It is possible, I think, to also
come away from this passage with not only frustration and sorrow, but also
insight. Is it possible that we can find
in this story not just redemption for our souls, but also redemption from the
thinking that brought the world to this time and place?
To begin with, I’d offer the observation
that when it comes to Jesus, we should never accept an imitation. It seems like an obvious statement to make,
but we are as prone to being fooled as the crowds that turned on Jesus that
Good Friday. Barabbas’ name, which is
translated “son of the Father”, was a popular name among rabbis. In Matthew 27:16 Barabbas is supplied with
the first name Jesus, so that the crowd chooses between two Jesus- a situation rich
in irony. The Jesus in view here, Jesus
Barabbas, was somehow tied to an insurrection, perhaps to a patriotic movement
for independence from Rome. This puts
him more in line with what people would expect in a messiah, and thus when
given the choice between two Jesus’, the crowd chooses the one that fits their
expectations. Barabbas stands as a model
for all false messiahs, promising victory but bringing suffering. Such was the experience of Jews in Palestine
throughout the centuries surrounding Jesus’ life, whenever they bought into the
hope offered by such men. The true
messiah, Jesus Christ, succeeds beyond all our expectations, promising
suffering that leads to ultimate victory.
When given the choice of messiahs, which one do we choose? Do we choose the real one, or the one that
fits our idea of what a messiah should be?
If we are going to learn to follow the
true Messiah, the one who offers a path of suffering that leads to ultimate victory,
we will have to learn that we cannot go with the crowd. We see the crown shouting out in complete and
enthusiastic condemnation of Jesus. The
last time “shout out” was used was to describe the crowds enthusiastic greeting
of Jesus during his entry into Jerusalem (Mark 11:9) In the span of a few chapters Jesus has gone
from being hailed as messiah, to being deemed deserving of the worst death
imaginable. How can a crowd so quickly
swing from one extreme to the other? In
this instance, it is evident that the chief priests have control of the crowd,
and are able to guide them to fulfilling their agenda. It seems very similar to a scene in the
coliseum, where the crowd would determine the fate of defeated gladiators. The conventional political wisdom of the day
was that when confronting the Roman authorities with a request or demand, it
was best to do so with as large and boisterous a crowd as possible. The lesson here is that far from having wisdom,
crowds have agendas, and usually unbeknownst to the crowd itself, the agenda is
being controlled by an extremely small group of people. We are not liberated through crowds or the
agendas of others that control such crowds, rather we are liberated by following
in the footsteps of a single man, Jesus Christ, the one who died to redeem the
very crowd which raged against him.
A final point that can be gleaned from
this passage, and perhaps the one that deserves the most emphasis, is that just
like the two Jesus’, Jesus Christ and Jesus Barabbas, we get a fate we don’t
deserve. You see, imprisonment was not a
common legal penalty in the Greco-Roman world, so any prisoner to be released
was either awaiting trial, or had already been condemned and was awaiting
sentencing. This means Barabbas had more
than likely either already been tried, or was awaiting sentencing. We see this often in the life of the apostle
Paul as we read of his career. His imprisonment
is usually a precursor to a trial, whether that trial is before a group of
local officials, a proconsul, or the emperor himself. When the Romans chose to grant amnesty, there
were two forms in which it was given. There
was the abolitio, or acquittal of a
prisoner not yet condemned. And there
was also the indulgentia, or the
pardoning of one already condemned. Jesus
dies for the crimes of Barabbas, though he was innocent, while Barabbas is let
free, though he is guilty. If this doesn’t
sound familiar to you, it should, for we could very easily substitute in any of
our names in the place of Barabbas, and the sentence would hold just as much
truth as it does in its current construction.
Jesus’ trial was more than a mere legal proceeding; it was the acting
out of the divine drama of redemption, forgiveness, and grace. To put it in Roman legal terms you’re now
familiar with, by
not
receiving an abolitio, Jesus wins for
us an indulgentia.
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