Mark 15:1-15: being Barabbas

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.