The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (50 page)

“Spontaneous!” roared Pilate. “That event was about as spontaneous as a Greek mime! You even had your oily little clerk, Saul, on hand to hold the cloaks of those who threw the stones! Understand me clearly, High Priest—there will be no more unauthorized executions! Roman law forbids it!”

Caiaphas spread his hands with an unctuous smile. “My dear governor, I cannot control the passions of the people!”

Pilate allowed the beast within to glare out of his eyes for a moment. “No more of Jesus' disciples will die in ‘spontaneous demonstrations,' priest, or I may arrange for a spontaneous demonstration of Rome's displeasure—on one of your sons! Am I clear?”

Caiaphas blanched in fear. “You would not dare!” he said.

“I nearly killed Caesar's heir with my bare hands,” said Pilate. “You think an obnoxious priestly brat would give me a moment's pause?”

“Fine!” snapped the High Priest. “We won't kill any more—but we will imprison as many as we see fit!”

“That is within the law,” said Pilate. “But know that I will be watching you, Joseph Caiaphas.”

Over the next year, dozens of followers of the Galilean were snatched from their homes and thrown into dank prisons, to be held without charges or trial. But the “apostles” remained in Jerusalem, occasionally roughed up by the Temple guards, but otherwise unharmed. The High Priest himself seemed reluctant to lay hands on them. However, the arrests continued, and Saul of Tarsus, the young clerk of the Sanhedrin, was sent to the surrounding area with orders to arrest any followers of The Way he might find, regardless of age or gender, and bring them to Jerusalem for trial.

Suddenly, a remarkable interruption stopped the march of persecution in its tracks. On the way to Damascus to arrest a group of believers, Saul was struck down by some sort of apoplexy and blinded. Then he suddenly showed up a few weeks later in the synagogue at Damascus, renouncing his allegiance to the Sanhedrin and boldly proclaiming that Jesus of Nazareth was indeed the Son of God and the Messiah of Israel. The Jewish leaders were thunderstruck at this defection, and then tried to have the apostate Pharisee seized and killed. But Saul slipped over the city wall and eluded them, vanishing from sight for the next three years.

But even as the Sanhedrin paused in its oppression of The Way, Herod the Tetrarch stepped up. He had been watching with alarm and hostility the remarkable numbers of those who followed Jesus, and was not at all convinced by Pilate's assertions that they were harmless. However, he waited until Pilate was in Caesarea to make his move against the Apostles of Jesus.

Armed with his authority as Tetrarch of Galilee, he sent a group of soldiers to arrest any of the original followers of Jesus they could find. The unfortunate disciple that they happened across was none other than James, the brother of John the Healer. After a trial that lasted less than an hour, James was hustled outside the city walls and beheaded, according to Titus Ambrosius, who had witnessed the whole thing.

Pilate was furious, but Herod was within his rights as Tetrarch, since all the original followers of Jesus were from his province of Galilee. Pilate nonetheless sent him an angry letter.

Lucius Pontius Pilate, Proconsul of Rome and Prefect of Judea, to Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee and King of the Jews by decree of the Senate and People of Rome –

My dear Herod, I am deeply distressed to see you doing the dirty work of the Priests and Sanhedrin, who bear you neither love nor respect. The followers of the Galilean, Jesus of Nazareth, are a harmless lot who have done nothing to earn the abuse the Temple faction heaps upon them. They do not break the law, commit acts of violence, or seek to undermine the authority of Rome. I would ask you as a friend to reconsider this course of action; we have seen from experience that persecution does nothing to silence this sect, but only increases their devotion to their founder. Killing the Galilean's disciples will not earn you respect but the enmity of the common people of this region, who regard them as holy men and prophets.

Pilate received a rather brusque message in return:

Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee and King of the Jews, to Lucius Pontius Pilate, Prefect of Judea and Proconsul of Rome –

My dear Pilate, I am not in the habit of giving you advice about how to govern Judea, so please refrain from telling me how to run my own affairs. I know that one of the Galileans healed your son, accounting for your unusually tolerant attitude towards them. But the High Priest is right on this issue: the Nazarenes seek to overturn the ancient traditions of the Jews and destroy all respect for the religious and civil authorities of the land. I have arrested their chief, the fisherman called Simon son of Jonas, also known as Cephas. By the time you read this, his head will have parted company with his shoulders, and this pernicious sect will be on the path to extinction. I am sorry your sentimentality has blinded you to the seriousness of this situation, but out of respect and in memory of our friendship, I will refrain from mentioning this to Caesar.

Pilate furiously balled the scroll up and threw it into his brazier, then began preparing to head to Jerusalem. He was unsure of how he would proceed when he got there, but he hoped that perhaps the big fisherman could be saved. However, a letter from Titus Ambrosius arrived by courier only a few hours behind Herod's missive.

Titus Ambrosius, Centurion of the Jerusalem Cohort, to Lucius Pontius Pilate, Prefect of Judea, greetings!

You have asked me, Governor, to keep you informed of any events pertaining to the sect of the Nazarenes, or The Way, as they call themselves. The events of the last two days certainly merit a full report! First, Herod ordered the arrest of Simon Peter after seeing how pleased the Sanhedrin was with him for killing the Galilean James. The leader of the Nazarenes was dragged to prison and flogged, then informed that he would be put to death the next morning. The other disciples of Jesus were gathered at a house where they frequently meet, praying for the deliverance of their beloved leader. (In case you are wondering, my source is none other than our former Primus Pilus Centurion, Cassius Longinus! He has risen quite high in the leadership of the Jesus cult.)

While they were praying away, someone came knocking at the door of the house. A servant girl went down and answered and was stunned to see none other than Peter himself standing there, asking to be let in! She was so shocked she left him there and ran upstairs to tell the others. They thought she was hallucinating, but finally agreed to go to the gate and see for themselves. They were stunned to see Peter standing there alive and well! According to what he told them, he was praying and singing in his cell when he fell asleep and dreamed that an angel was urging him to stand up. He stood and found his chains were loosed, and the gates opened before him as he walked past the sleeping guards into the street. It wasn't until he was several blocks from Herod's palace that he realized it was not a dream, and went to the house where the disciples were accustomed to meet.

Herod was furious the next morning, I can tell you! He did find a use for his headsman, though—all six of the guards who were watching Peter's cell were executed before the day was out. Then Herod packed up his bags and headed for Sepphora in disgust. For the moment, at least, the followers of The Way are free of the fear of arrest, although the Temple guards are still under orders to rough them up any time they are seen in public, and to disrupt any attempts to proclaim their message about the Galilean they worship.

I don't know what to make of all this, sir, but you ordered regular reports, and I figured you would want to know about these events. I will keep you informed if anything else happens.

Pilate shook his head in wonder. Someone was definitely looking after the followers of The Way—he wondered if it was their risen Master. His own feelings on the matter remained complex. The guilt of having murdered a god, or demigod, or whatever this Jesus had been, remained a heavy burden on his conscience. The dreams of the blood on his hands recurred fairly often, and he always woke up shaking and sweating from them.

He also began to notice a change in his wife. He and Porcia had never had secrets from each other, even during their long separations. Unlike most Roman men, Pilate did not feel the need to take on lovers when he was away from his wife, and Porcia had never given him reason to suspect her fidelity. But now he found her gone at odd hours of the day, and none of the servants seemed to know where she was. She glossed over these absences glibly at first—claiming she had gone to the market to fetch this or that item, or down to the docks to purchase some fresh fish—but her answers seemed somewhat contrived to him. Finally, one day, he saw her slipping out the door that led down to their secret beach. Wistfully, he realized they had not gone swimming together since right after his injury, when the exercise had helped his leg to heal. On impulse, he decided to follow her.

Standing at the door, he saw her slipping past the rocks that separated the small beach from the coast south of town. She seemed furtive in her manner, so he ducked back in and donned a hooded cloak. It was time, he decided, to get to the bottom of her mysterious absences. He slipped through the gap in the rocks just in time to see her disappear over the hillside on a road that led to a small spring a mile or two out of town. It was a popular watering hole for local shepherds to bring their flocks, and there were several stone sheep pens around it. Pilate's heart was aching—surely, after all they had been through, Porcia had not decided to stray!

He eased toward the sheepfolds, listening intently. From inside one of them, low voices came. He crept toward the door, trying to make out their words. One of the voices was definitely that of a man.

“Then Jesus told us, what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? What shall any man give in exchange for his soul?” said a familiar voice. “That young ruler had everything that the world could offer—but he left us that day a broken and empty man, because he chose the riches of this world over the kingdom of God.”

“John?” exclaimed Pilate, stepping into the sheepfold. A circle of perhaps a dozen men and women were seated at the feet of the apostle, and one of them was his own wife, Porcia. The Jews shrieked at the sight of him and huddled together against the far wall, but Porcia and John stood their ground, facing him calmly.

“Greetings, Prefect,” said the Apostle. “Your wife tells me young Decimus is doing very well.”

“He is the same little terror that he was before he fell ill,” said Pilate with a reluctant smile. “But I am curious—what is the meaning of this?”

“Please do not be angry, husband,” said Porcia. “I have been searching for a way to tell you. Ever since John healed Decimus—I'm sorry, rabbi, I mean, ever since Jesus healed Decimus through John—I have been consumed with curiosity about this Galilean and his followers. I asked some of the members of The Way in Caesarea to tell me more, but they were afraid of me because you were my husband. When I heard that the man who healed our son was coming to speak here in Caesarea, I could not contain my curiosity. I have been coming out here every day to hear the stories of Jesus for two weeks now.” She lowered her eyes. “I was baptized three days ago. I am a follower of The Way myself, now.”

Pilate sat down on one of the stone benches and let out a long sigh. This was an unexpected development! After a moment, he looked up at the group. The local Jews were still pressed against the far wall, regarding him with anticipation and dread. John seemed completely calm, as if the possibility of physical danger had lost all fear for him. Porcia looked at him with the same loving gaze she had always borne for him, but he could see now that there was something else shining in her eyes—a fervor that had nothing to do with the passion between husband and wife. Finally he shrugged.

“You may believe what you wish, my wife,” he said. “However, it is awkward for me as governor and a representative of the Senate and People of Rome to have my own family involved with such a controversial cult. I must ask—no, I must order each one of you”—he glared at the assembled circle—“to let no one know that my wife is among your number. Especially not in Jerusalem, where the priests would almost certainly use such information against me. I have withheld my hand from you people out of gratitude for what this man John did for my son. But do not presume that I will continue to withhold it if you cross me! Am I clear?”

The Jews nodded, their faces pale, while John the Apostle regarded him with a smile that was almost fond.

“Will you return to Caesarea with me now, wife, or would you like to listen to the end of this story?” Pilate asked.

Porcia blushed slightly. “With your leave, dear, I should very much like to hear a little more. But if you wait for me at our beach, I will join you there shortly.”

The Apostle John spoke. “Prefect, I would be honored if you, too, would stay,” he said softly.

Pilate looked at him. The invitation was obviously sincere. He thought a moment, and shook his head. “Another time, perhaps. I think that if I stayed, the rest of your audience might not enjoy the story as much.”

With that, he turned on his heel and slowly walked back to the grounds of the governor's palace. His own wife, a follower of the Nazarene! He did not know what to think.

This uncertainty lasted for a good while longer. Porcia continued to be as loving and affectionate toward him as ever, but he could see in her eyes and hear in her voice that something was different. There was a strange otherness about her that had not been there before—Pilate did not understand it, and it made him uncomfortable. It reminded him too much of the eyes that haunted him in his dreams—the eyes of a man who had been a simple Galilean carpenter, and yet something more.

Over the next two years, Pilate's attitude changed. Whatever it was that weighed down his soul, he found himself becoming accustomed to the burden. The idea of forgiveness, redemption even, that had appealed to him at first now seemed like an elusive dream. His old nastiness began to surface—never toward his wife and child, but more and more toward the people he governed. True to his word, he did not lift his hand against the followers of Jesus, but he ceased interfering with the Temple when they continued their persecution of The Way. It was as if his heart was growing harder by the day.