Pilate invested it with a certain formality by convoking a
representative gathering of all classes, 'chief priests and the
rulers and the people.' The nation was summoned to decide solemnly
whether they would or would not put their Messiah to death, and a
Roman governor was their summoner. Surely the irony of fate (or,
rather, of Providence) could go no further than that. Pilate's
_résumé_ of the proceedings up to the moment of his speaking is
not without a touch of sarcasm, in the contrast between 'ye' and 'I'
and 'Herod.' It is almost as if he had said, 'Why, herein is a
marvellous thing, that you should have a quicker scent for rebellion
than I or Herod!' He was evidently suspicious of the motives which
induced the 'rulers' to take the new role of eager defenders of
Roman authority, and ready to suspect something below such an
extraordinary transformation. Jews delivering up a Jew because he
was an insurgent against Caesar,--there must be something under
that! He lays stress on their having heard his examination of the
accused, as showing that he had gone into the matter thoroughly,
that the charges had broken down to their knowledge. He represents
his sending Jesus to Herod as done from the high motive of securing
the completest possible investigation, instead of its being a
despicable attempt to shirk responsibility and to pay an empty
compliment to an enemy. He reiterates his conviction of Jesus'
innocence, and then, after all this flourish about his own
carefulness to bring judicial impartiality to bear on the case, he
makes the lame and impotent conclusion of offering to 'chastise
Him.'
What for? The only course for a judge convinced of a prisoner's
innocence is to set him free. But this was a bribe to the accusers,
offered in hope that the smaller punishment would content them.
Pilate knew that he was perpetrating flagrant injustice in such a
suggestion, and he tried to hide it by using a gentle word.
'Chastise' sounds almost beneficent, but it would not make the
scourging less cruel, nor its infliction less lawless. Compromises
are always ticklish to engineer, but a compromise between justice
and injustice is least likely of all to answer. This one signally
failed. The fierce accusers of Jesus were quick to see the sign of
weakness, both in the proposal itself and in their being asked if it
would be acceptable to them. Not so should a Roman governor have
spoken. If pressure had made the iron wall yield so far, a little
more and it would fall flat, and let them at their victim.
Pilate was weak, vacillating, did not know what he wished. He wished
to do right, but he wished more to conciliate, for he knew that he
was detested, and feared to be accused to Rome. The other side knew
what they wanted, and were resolute. Encouraged by the hesitation
of Pilate, they 'cried out all together.' One hears the strident
yells from a thousand throats shrieking out the self-revealing and
self-destroying choice of Barabbas. He was a popular hero for the
very reason that he was a rebel. He had done what his admirers had
accused Jesus of doing, and for which they pretended that they had
submitted Him to Pilate's judgment. The choice of Barabbas convicts
the charges against Jesus of falsehood and unreality. The choice of
Barabbas reveals the national ideal. They did not want a Messiah
like Jesus, and had no eyes for the beauty of His character, nor
ears for the words of grace poured into His lips. They had no
horror of 'a murderer,' and great admiration for a rebel. Barabbas
was the man after their own heart. A nation that can reject Jesus
and choose Barabbas is only fit for destruction. A nation judges
itself by its choice of heroes. The national ideal is potent to
shape the national character. We to-day are sinking into an abyss
because of our admiration for the military type of hero; and there
is not such an immense difference between the mob that rejected
Jesus and applauded Barabbas and the mobs that shout round a
successful soldier, and scoff at the law of Christ if applied to
politics.