Killing Jesus: A History (25 page)

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Pontius Pilate is curious. “Are you the king of the Jews?” he asks Jesus. The governor is seated on a throne of judgment, looking down upon an open-air courtyard paved with flagstones. A small audience watches.

Pilate has chosen this location for many reasons. It is far removed from the center of the palace, near where his small personal garrison is housed. The courtyard is not actually in the palace but adjacent to it. Its unique architecture allows Pilate to address his subjects from an elevated position while also providing him a private entrance where he can come and go and where prisoners such as Jesus can be led out and tried, then quietly walked back to the prison cells.

Another advantage to the location, at the outer edge of the palace grounds, is that it’s not actually inside the residence, and so Jews are permitted to enter on the eve of Passover. Hence the presence of Temple priests and Caiaphas’s disciples, who are carefully monitoring the proceedings for their leader. They are there to ensure that the sentence passed by Caiaphas and the Pharisees is carried out.

“Is that your own idea, or did others talk to you about me?” Jesus asks in return.

“Am I a Jew?” Pilate asks. “It was your people and your chief priests who handed you over to me. What is it you have done?”

“My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest. But now my kingdom is from another place.”

“You are a king, then!” says an amused Pilate. This is good news for the governor, for by declaring himself to be sovereign, Jesus has now committed a crime against Rome and the emperor. He is now a serious threat to public order. Whatever happens next can now be justified.

“You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I am born, and for this reason I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of the truth listens to me,” Jesus responds.

“What is truth?” Pilate asks, now fascinated by Jesus.

But if the Roman was expecting an answer to that question, he is disappointed, as Jesus stands mute.

Pilate knows that preaching is not a crime—unless rebellion against Rome is a theme of that preaching. But any dissension from the powerful Sanhedrin will not help Pilate with Tiberius. So he turns his attention from Jesus to the disciples of the Jewish Temple who fill the courtyard. From his lofty perch, he can look down upon the group, measuring their reaction.

It is customary for the Roman prefect to release a prisoner at the time of Passover.
⁵
Now Pilate finds a simple solution to ease out of this politically volatile situation: he will give the crowd a choice between releasing the peaceful Jesus or the horrific Barabbas, a terrorist and murderer whose crimes truly deserve punishment.

“Do you want me to release the king of the Jews?” Pilate asks the crowd.

The response surprises him. For Pilate is not aware that the people he is speaking to have been ordered by the high priests and religious elders to make sure that Jesus is executed. It is not the Jewish pilgrims who want Jesus dead, nor most of the residents of Jerusalem. No, it is a small handful of men who enrich themselves through the Temple. To them, a man who speaks the truth is far more dangerous than a mass murderer.

“Give us Barabbas,” they shout back.

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At the same time that Jesus is being judged, the business of Passover begins in the Temple courts. Despite their sleepless night, Caiaphas and the other priests cannot afford the luxury of a morning’s rest. Soon they walk across the bridge connecting the Upper City with the Temple and prepare to go about their day. Already, long lines of pilgrims are forming, and with them grows the incessant bleating of young male lambs.

The first sacrifices will take place at noon, in keeping with the law. Rows of priests are now assembling, some carrying silver bowls and others gold. These are for catching the blood of the lamb as its throat is slit. The bowls are then carried to the altar and the blood poured in sacrifice. A Levite choir is gathering as well, along with men who will honor this great day with blasts from their silver trumpets.

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Pontius Pilate does not care a whit about what is happening inside the Temple. The focus of his attention is the problem still standing before him. The Roman governor does not believe that executing such a popular figure as Jesus is a wise decision. Any unrest among the people following an execution of this sort would certainly be reported to Tiberius, and any fallout laid at the feet of Pilate.

So rather than crucify Jesus, Pilate sentences the Nazarene to
verberatio.
Perhaps that will appease the Sanhedrin. The Roman governor calls the high priests and church elders together to announce this decision. “You brought me this man as one who was inciting the people to rebellion. I have examined him in your presence and found no basis for your charges against him. Neither has Herod, for he sent him back to us. As you can see, he has done nothing to deserve death. Therefore, I will punish him and release him.”

Within moments, the Nazarene is stripped and led into the
praetorium
courtyard.

The scourging pole awaits.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JERUSALEM’S UPPER CITY
APRIL 7, A.D. 30
8:00 A.M.
–
3:00 P.M.

Jesus endures. As with any other victim, his hands are manacled to the metal ring atop the scourging post, rendering him unable to move. Two legionaries stand behind him, one on either side. Each grasps a wooden-handled
flagrum
, from which extend three leather tendrils. Each thong is roughly three feet long. Today, rather than bits of metal or sheep bone, the executioners have affixed to the tips small lead weights known as
plumbatae
. The choice is strategic. These dumbbell-shaped implements do not rip away flesh and muscle as quickly as the sharper
scorpiones
tips. It is not yet time for Jesus to die.

A third legionary stands to one side. He holds an abacus so that he might keep track of the number of blows inflicted. The fourth member of the
quaternio
is the man responsible for tying and chaining Jesus to the scourging post. He now stands by to replace any member of the death squad who tires in his duties. Watching over all of them is the
exactor mortis
, the supervisor.

Jesus feels the lash. There is no gap between the blows. The instant one executioner pulls back his whip, the other unfurls his lash across Jesus’s back. Even when the tendrils of leather and lead get tangled, the soldiers don’t stop. The most lashes a man can receive under the laws of Moses are “forty minus one,” but the Romans don’t always trifle with Jewish legalities. Pilate has told these men to lash Jesus, and now they do so until the Nazarene is physically broken but not yet dead.

That is the order: scourge the Nazarene, but under no circumstances is he to be killed.

After the whipping, Jesus is unchained and helped to his feet. He has cried out in pain during his scourging, but he has not vomited or had a seizure, as many do. Still, he is losing a lot of blood, due to his severely lacerated back. The lash marks extend down to the back of his calves. And in addition to the dehydration that has plagued him all night, Jesus is in the early stages of shock.

The Roman death squad has clearly done its job. Striking at the Nazarene with surgical precision, they have beaten him almost to death. Pilate has made it clear that this will be the extent of their duties today. Yet they stand by for more, just in case.

Jesus’s hands are still tied in front of him. He is slowly led back to the prison, where the Roman soldiers have their own brand of fun with this unique prisoner. Jesus does nothing as they drape that filthy purple cloak over his naked body, knowing it will soon stick to his wounds. The soldiers then make a faux scepter from a reed and thrust it into Jesus’s hands, again mocking his claim of being king. Rather than take pity on a man who has just endured a scourging, the soldiers spit on the Nazarene.

If the soldiers stopped there, it would be a moment of low comedy by a group of barbaric men. But these brutes now turn their mockery into sadism. Up to this point it can be argued that they are merely soldiers, doing the job they were trained to do. Certainly, the Nazi death squads of World War II, who will pattern much of their behavior after the cold, heartless actions of the Roman
quaternio
, used that defense. The actions of Julius Caesar and so many other Roman warriors clearly show that unthinkably harsh punishment was a standard way to deal with enemies of Rome. There was even a certain pathological creativity to their methods.

But now the soldiers guarding Jesus up the ante. This is not a single death squad but an entire company of Pilate’s handpicked legionaries. In an atrocious display, they begin to cut a tall white shrub.
Rhamnus nabeca
features rigid elliptical leaves and small green flowers, but its most dominant characteristic is the inch-long curving thorns that sprout closely together. The soldiers are more than willing to endure the prick of these sharp spikes as they weave several branches together to form a crown. When they are done, this wreath makes a perfect complement to the reed and the purple cloak. All hail the king!

Jesus is too weak to protest when the crown of thorns is fitted onto his head, and the spikes pressed hard into his skin. They brush up against the many nerves surrounding the skull almost immediately and then crash into bone. Blood pours down his face. Jesus stands humiliated in the small prison as soldiers dance around him—some punching him, others spitting, and still others getting down on both knees to praise their “king.” Piling on, the soldiers rip the reed from Jesus’s hand and strike him hard across the head, which pushes the thorns even deeper into that tight network of nerves. The result is an instant fiery sensation radiating up and down his face.

Much to the jailers’ delight, they have contrived one of the most gruesome methods of torture conceivable.

But just when it seems that Jesus can’t take anymore, the soldiers receive word that Pilate would like to see the prisoner. Once again, Jesus is led out into the public square, where the Sanhedrin and its loyal followers stand waiting.

Jesus’s vision has blurred. Fluid is slowly building around his lungs. He is having a hard time breathing. He has predicted his death all along, but the details of his demise are shocking.

The high priests and religious leaders watch as Jesus steps forth, the crown of thorns still on his head. In him, they see the memory of a man who publicly humiliated them in the Temple courts just three days ago. They can see his suffering now, yet they have no sympathy whatsoever. Jesus must die—the more painfully, the better.

It is 9:00
A.M.
as Pilate takes his seat again on the judgment throne. He tries one last time to release Jesus. “Here is your king,” he snarls at the assembly of religious leaders and their disciples. These men should be in the Temple courts, for the slaughter of the lambs is soon to begin.

“Take him away,” the religious leaders chant. “Take him away. Crucify him.”

Pilate is tired of arguing. The Roman governor is not known for his compassion and believes he has done all that he can do. The fate of Jesus is simply not worth the effort.

“Shall I crucify your king?” he asks, seeking a final confirmation.

“We have no king but Caesar,” a chief priest replies. If taken at face value, those words are an act of heresy, for in saying them the priest is rejecting his own Jewish God in favor of the god of the Roman pagans. Yet the followers of the Sanhedrin see no irony in the situation.

“What crime has he committed?” Pilate yells back.

“Crucify him!” comes the response.

Pilate orders that a small bowl of water be brought to Jesus. He dips his hands into the chalice and theatrically makes a show of a ritual cleansing. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he tells the religious leaders. “It is your responsibility.”

But in fact the responsibility belongs to Pilate. Only the Roman governor possesses the
ius gladii
—“the right of the sword.” Or, as it is also known, the right to execute.

So it is that Pilate orders his executioners to take control of Jesus. As they lead the Nazarene away to be crucified, Pontius Pilate prepares for an early lunch.

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The purple cloak is ripped away, but the crown of thorns remains. The death squad places a plank of unfinished wood on Jesus’s shoulders. It weighs between fifty and seventy pounds, it is just a little less than six feet long, and its splinters quickly find their way into the open wounds on the Nazarene’s body. The humiliation at Pilate’s palace now complete, the procession toward the place of execution begins.

At the front of the line is the officer known as the
exactor mortis
. By tradition, this centurion holds up a sign written in Greek, Aramaic, and Latin. Normally, a man’s crimes are listed on the sign, which will be nailed onto the cross above him. This way, any passerby will know why the man was crucified. So if treason is the charge, then that is what the sign should state.

But Pontius Pilate is changing tradition. In a last attempt to get the better of Caiaphas, the governor writes the inscription himself, in charcoal:
JESUS THE NAZARENE: KING OF THE JEWS
.

“Change it,” Caiaphas demands before the crucifixion procession gets under way.

“It stays exactly as it is,” Pilate replies, his condescension apparent.

So the sign leads the way as Jesus and his four executioners make the painfully slow journey to Golgotha, the hill used as the Roman execution ground. The trip is slightly less than half a mile, taking Jesus through the cobbled streets of Jerusalem’s Upper City, then out the Gennath Gate, to the low hill on which a vertical pole awaits him. It is getting close to noon. A substantial crowd has gathered to watch, despite a blazing sun overhead.

As a former builder and carpenter, the Nazarene knows the proper way to carry a length of lumber, but now he lacks the strength to do so. The
exactor mortis
becomes concerned as Jesus repeatedly stumbles. Should Jesus die before reaching the place of execution, it is the
exactor mortis
who will be held responsible. So a pilgrim bystander, an African Jew named Simon of Cyrene,
¹
is enlisted to carry the crossbeam for Jesus.