New Thoughts (11/22/12-11/26/12)
It is pretty obvious, in looking at the section of John’s gospel covered here, that parts of what he describes more reasonably sits parallel to passages covered previously in this study. This is part of the challenge faced when attempting to figure out how John’s account correlates to the others. The events of the final week in Jerusalem have proven particularly challenging in that regard, which really shouldn’t surprise. Who among us, had we been witness to such a week, would be able to recall all the details in order after years had passed? Oh, we would come away from the event thinking the power of the moment had etched these things irrevocably upon our brains, but time erodes the best-etched memories.
For my part, I am rather considering this part of the study as John’s take. The small bits of narrative being considered from Matthew and Mark add a few details, but by and large, I once again see John really trying to fill in some of the details missed by the other, earlier gospel accounts. Turning to Matthew and Mark, one is met almost immediately by what would seem to be a discrepancy in what is recorded. For, Matthew describes the robe put on Jesus as scarlet, where Mark and John both declare it to have been purple. In terms of hue, the distinction between the two might not be so great as we would imagine. But, both being colors achieved by dyes of a very distinctive nature, the one coming from the crushed bodies of an insect, and the other from the shells of a few particular mollusks, the terms are certainly distinct. In fact, as the ISBE notes, the dye of these mollusks could be mixed and managed so as to arrive at an array of hues, ranging from crimson to a deep purple.
How to explain the difference, then? Well, let’s begin with the similarities. These are both colors that are, by the very nature of their processing, reserved for the higher classed individual. In fact, as one can see from some of the parallel verses, it has pretty much always been the case, at least up to that point in history. Even going back to the establishment of the tabernacle in the desert, we see that both the purple and the crimson were prized. Looking forward to the text of the Revelation, we see that these two dyes remain the mark of wealth and power. One interesting note from Fausset’s might explain Matthew’s choice of description: Scarlet was a color affixed by a method of double-dying, and is used to describe the extent of the sin of God’s people (Isa 1:18). Thus, it is certainly in keeping with his efforts to point up the fact that Jesus’ ministry remained connected with, and so thoroughly fulfilled what was written throughout the Law and the Prophets. I will simply comment once again that the distance between these two hues may not have been all that great, and it needn’t be supposed that Matthew altered what he recalled to arrive at that connection with Isaiah. I could point out how often my wife and I may disagree on just what color a certain piece of clothing is, and matters of lighting and distance can hugely effect one’s ability to distinguish.
The simple fact is that whether the robe was dyed purple or scarlet, the significance remains unchanged. And, if the significance of the robe does not suffice, there is the crown and, in Matthew’s account, the faux staff of office put in His hands to ensure the image is understood. He was supposed to be a king, and He certainly hadn’t looked the part when He was brought in. This was the charge that had been laid against Jesus, and they were going to have their sport at the thought of it. So, they dressed Him after the fashion of a Caesar, a king, albeit not entirely – just sufficient to make the point and have their fun.
A seemingly more difficult issue arises when John makes it a point to indicate that Pilate passed judgment in the sixth hour on the day of preparation for the Passover. That’s a pretty precise placement of the event, and it is generally understood that John was most certainly present to observe what had happened. How exactly he would have marked the time is another issue, but it’s not all that difficult to imagine he had the ability to judge the time reasonably well.
But, this mention of the timing becomes an issue when compared with other points. For example, that last meal that Jesus and the disciples shared is understood as a fulfillment of the Passover, and we have those instructions given to His disciples, regarding their going to the temple to deal with the sacrifice of the lamb they would eat, and finding the upper room in which to observe the feast. Yet, here we are on the day after that final meal, and John says it’s only now the day of preparation for the Passover. He noted earlier how the priests had avoided actually stepping foot in the Praetorium lest they be rendered unclean, and therefore unable to eat the Passover. How are we to resolve this?
Well, here’s an interesting point: John has Jesus laid out in a nearby tomb “because it was the day of preparation” (Jn 19:42), and Matthew apparently concurs with this timing. He notes that the next day, “which is the one after the preparation”, the priests came to Pilate with the request that Jesus’ tomb be guarded, lest His disciples try some trickery (Mt 27:62). I am struck by that rather peculiar phrasing that Matthew uses. He is, after all, writing for a Jewish audience, one that would presumably be thoroughly familiar with the order of events during the feast of Passover in Jerusalem. And, it strikes me, that we, describing Christmas, for example, may refer to Christmas eve and Christmas day, but we would never refer to the day as being the day after the eve! It strikes me that, were the day after the preparation the Passover itself, it would have been called such, would it not? Why would Matthew not simply have said, “the next day, which is the Passover”?
I am no expert on Jewish ritual of that period, but I do understand that the Passover, being a specific date on the Jewish calendar, could certainly vary in its relationship to the weekly Sabbath. I have read before of theories suggesting that in this year, the weekly Sabbath and the Passover were on consecutive days, and this was an occasion which allowed for certain irregularities in the order of things. It is not at all clear to me that one could find sufficient variation in those irregularities as to allow that Jesus and His disciples prepared for Passover on day 1, ate it that evening; Him being arrested and sentenced on day 2, the which also being the day of preparation for the Passover, put in the tomb on that day, and the priests out seeking the guard on day 3, the day after the day of preparation. Does this make it that there was a second observation of the Passover on day 4? It’s unclear. I would dearly love to understand how this all works, but I suppose, given two millennia of opportunity for better men to ponder an answer without arriving at any certain explanation, it’s hardly likely that I shall suddenly hit upon it of a morning. Suffice it for me to accept that there is an explanation beyond the idea that one or more of the disciples had a faulty memory of events.
There is one other question which, while I am inclined to ask, I cannot say I expect to answer. John’s account provides us with a great deal of testimony concerning matters to which he could not possibly have been privy. Nor is he alone in this. We should wonder how Matthew came to know of that message Pilate’s wife sent out, or how any of them were made aware of the particulars of Pilate’s interrogation. So the question arises: Who was reporting from inside?
I have read explanations that attempt to write this off as merely a matter of style. Histories of that period would not have thought twice about placing dialog in the mouths of those they were discussing, dialog that the historians could have no way of really knowing. So it is, the suggestion goes, with Luke’s account. So it is, in this instance, with John’s. But, that seems to me to sell the nature of Scripture far short. If, indeed, all Scripture is God-breathed, if the Holy Spirit was indeed overseeing the writing of what is, after all, is revelation, then current trends in literature really aren’t of interest.
We are inclined to hold that the practices of the Church need not, and probably ought not reflect current trends in the culture. Indeed, even last Wednesday I was hearing the subject broached in regard to the nature of our worship music. Hymns or choruses? Solo piano, or full band? These things matter! I tend to minimize them in my own view, but they matter, and to some, they matter deeply enough to determine whether fellowship can be maintained. So be it.
But, my point is this: If we recognize that our practices must transcend the culture, why do we not expect and understand that the Scriptures upon which our faith and practice stand likewise transcend the culture? Why do we suppose the authors of the Gospels must necessarily follow not only the forms, but the habits of their erstwhile peers? Yes, Luke, measured by the standards of the day, is an historian par excellence. That does not require us to suppose that he had the same almost careless approach to the narrative use of his subjects’ lips. Perhaps it is so, but it seems just as likely that what Luke and John and Matthew record for us has a stronger foundation than some ancient book of style for reporters.
So, it seems not unfair at all to ask who was on the inside? Who was privy to these deliberations that could have provided the details? Well, there is Pilate’s wife, I suppose. She is understood to have been a God-fearer. It’s possible she also became a convert to this new Christian faith, or was at least inclined to provide them with background. But, by the time the Gospels were being written, she was long gone. It also would seem unlikely that she was out there in the courtyard amongst the legionnaires. Hardly the place for the governor’s wife, I should think, and besides, if she was feeling this strongly about the Man in question, I’m not convinced she would care to be witness to His destruction.
I should think it more likely that there were some amongst those soldiers in the courtyard, at least one, who in time came to faith themselves. I think, for instance, of that one we read about who witnessed the final moments of Jesus and acknowledged, “Surely, this was the Son of God” (Mt 27:54). One doesn’t come to such a realization, I don’t think, without acting upon the data. This would be particularly so when news of His resurrection began to come out. Maybe such a one was even out there patrolling at the Feast of Pentecost, when Peter gave his first sermon, and so many came to the Lord. Maybe he was in that early number. At any rate, I am inclined to think that there were enough coming to faith in those earliest of years that by the time the apostles were putting events in writing, they had access to what these men had witnessed as well. In short, the things we are told of that transpired within the confines of the Roman Praetorium are assuredly more than fanciful suppositions on the part of these writers, and quite probably founded on evidence obtained from those who were part of the proceedings.
Here is one other thing I find characterizing John’s coverage in particular. He, it seems to me, demonstrates a greater mercy, a greater compassion, if you will, for many of those involved. Pilate, in particular, is cast in a much better light by John than by the others. Or, perhaps I have just come to recognize too much of myself in the man. But, I notice John stressing the degree of effort Pilate put into seeing Jesus released. He notes the fearfulness with which Pilate received the news, when the accusers finally laid out the basis for their charges. “He claims to be the Son of God, therefore we must kill Him.”
Now, we could almost make sense of this from the perspective of the priests (if we didn’t know the utter corruption and duplicity behind it. It is at least something that could be arrived at from the tenets of their religion. But, for Pilate, the idea that a god is walking the earth, and we ought to kill him must have seemed the height of insanity. You want me to do what? Then, too, it is very clear that he has long since lost any confidence in the validity of what these priests were telling him. They had been evasive from the start, laying out charges that were obviously contrived to force his hand, surely not the sort of charges any Jew was likely to bring against his fellow man. Why, the only reason they weren’t guilty themselves of the sorts of charges they were bringing was because they were to fearful. He advises them against paying taxes? Show me the Jew who was pleased to do so! Show me the one who did not suppose it a crime against God.
I think, also, that as John depicts the decisive moment, we ought to be somewhat careful as to the measure we take of Pilate. Yes, fear is playing into it. Yes, you can bet there are political calculations, risk assessments going on in Pilate’s thoughts. But, that final taunt from the priests, on the heels of Jesus’ point about the nature of his authority: that’s what decided him. Jesus reminds him how much his authority depends on his superiors. Whether Jesus intended this understanding, or pointed to the Father Himself as the sole authority is immaterial. Pilate would hear it according to his own lights, would be put in mind of the precariousness of that authority which depended on the good will of a Caesar.
And, right on the heels of that reminder comes the taunt from outside: Release this man and you are no friend of Caesar (and rest assured we’ll make certain he knows it!) Anyone claiming the title of king for himself necessarily opposes Caesar! It is this point that settles Pilate’s mind on the matter. No, he finds no real guilt in the Man. However, the course of justice (not to mention self-preservation) requires that the claimant be punished, however improbable the claim. From the Roman’s perspective, pretty much any claim of rebellion was pretty improbable. Some casualties might be inflicted, sure, and there was the personal cost should things go poorly, but a successful rival to Caesar? Honestly, if there was going to be one, it was more likely to come from the army itself than from any of these nations they had subdued.
Yet, Jesus had made the point about how, had He desired a kingdom here, His own would indeed be fighting for Him. It is to be noted that in that statement, He specifically said, “to keep Me from being handed over to the Jews.” He specifically avoided any claim whatsoever to Roman territories. But, yes, one could construe a threat to Caesar in this Man, and Caesar, being less familiar with the case, would certainly find a threat there.
What I am belaboring somewhat more than I necessarily need to, is that Pilate’s decision was not such an abandonment of Roman justice as we typically suppose. The charge was serious, and while he may have found Jesus unserious as a candidate for such charges, yet He had not really denied the charges, only sought to qualify and redefine them somewhat. As I have said elsewhere, Jesus does not wholly absolve Pilate of his sinful involvement in these affairs, and therefore, I must acknowledge that his sin remains. Yet, there is mercy even in that message John reports. “He who delivered Me up to you has the greater sin.”
I also find myself wondering if the crowds weren’t beginning to be somewhat turned off as things proceeded. This is a more difficult question, and I suspect I shall find my views shifting more than once before the Crucifixion has been completed in these studies. But, I notice something in John’s coverage. It begins with the presentation of Jesus after His scourging. Picture what is presented to the crowd. This Man has been lashed to a bloody pulp by the lash of the Romans. He is bruised. He is grimy. He is dressed in that mock finery that the soldiers had put upon Him, but He is a wreck. Silent though He stands, yet His suffering is impossible to miss. And Pilate demands of them, “Look at the man!” Here, I’m following the CJB translation of that shout.
Look at Him! Look at what your bloodlust has brought about already. He is destroyed, though He is still standing. He’s never going to be the same. If you were worried about Him leading an insurrection, well, look at Him! He’s not going to be leading anything anytime soon.
And, what’s striking is this: The response John records is no longer the shouting of the crowd. It has become more restricted. “The chief priests and the officers […], they cried out” (verse 6). Later, when Pilate again presents Jesus before them, that last effort to change the course of events, even the officers are removed, and only the chief priests are left as antagonists.
This is not necessarily conclusive. There are other points where John speaks of ‘the Jews’. They answer with that issue about the Law. They are the ones who threaten Pilate with Caesar’s wrath for releasing such a traitor. But, as is pointed out in many footnotes, there is always a question as to just who John means to include when he speaks of the Jews, nor does there seem to be a single answer to that question. Sometimes it’s the nation. Sometimes it’s the Judeans, sometimes just the citizens of Jerusalem. And, sometimes, it’s even more selective, reducing to those same priests and officers that he mentions specifically.
The influence of the Hollywood epic leads us to suppose the whole of the city is out there calling for His blood right to the end. And, perhaps they really are there. But, there is at least this hint in John’s coverage that the fervor of that crowd is fast abating. It strikes me that Pilate may have been very near succeeding in his efforts to release Jesus. The sight of Jesus, bloody and battered in that first presentation, shown to be truly a man, who bleeds as they would bleed, might have been enough to turn a lot of folks off to the idea of further tortures. I cannot say. I may be reading my own propensities into a culture that would have had no such response. Stoning was, after all, still a popular enough pastime, it would seem. But, that had the benefit of personal involvement. This was Gentile on Jew. Maybe that would be less satisfying.
Quite aside from that, it’s not clear to me that the crowds in general had so definite an understanding of why the priests were bringing Jesus here for crucifixion. After all, the Law said nothing about crucifying anybody. The demand was for stoning. And, there’s sufficient evidence that they were fully capable of managing a stoning in spite of Roman prohibitions. One suspects the coffers in the temple were a tad emptier from paying this mob to stand and shout and rave in the first place. The idea that they had any great involvement in the matter has always seemed a bit suspect.
Recall that this was the same city that had welcomed Jesus with a victory parade just a few days ago. And we read that with the understanding that this same crowd would be calling for His death in so short a time, and we marvel at the perverseness of humanity. We marvel that they could go from naming Him as their hero to denouncing Him as the most heinous criminal. But, did they? Is it the same crowd? We have, really, no basis for that statement. It is not as if the whole of the city of Jerusalem (swollen to bursting as it was during this Paschal season) was crushing into the street outside the Praetorium for this. It’s inconceivable that Pilate would have allowed so great a massing of riotous citizens without sending out the army in the first place. The riot was there in potential. But, then, this was Jerusalem in feast season. The riot was always a potential. That’s why Pilate was here in the first place, to ensure that it remained no more than a potential.
So, ought we really to suppose that it is the same adoring crowds who had welcomed Jesus into the city who are now out here demanding His death? It’s not out of the realm of possibility, but I remain unconvinced that it is a necessary conclusion to draw. Look: The priests had already been paying off false witnesses in an effort to create some cover for their own treachery. They had paid of Judas to provide the opportunity for arrest, and then betrayed Judas to boot. Why would we not suppose them to have procured a riot-for-hire? Why would we think that it was the general populace, a populace actually quite aware of the nature of the priesthood, and of their determination to destroy Jesus and anybody associated with Him, had decided come out? Why would they even have been aware of the event?
His arrest, after all, had been carefully orchestrated to avoid their attention. He was being rushed to the Praetorium early in the morning to avoid them knowing what was happening. So, tell me again, who’s out there with the priests and their officers?
As I said, I reserve the right to change perspective on this one or more times before I have finished studying the whole of the event. But, at this juncture, I find more and more cause for a merciful reading of events, with the exception of those who are most clearly set for His destruction. They have the greater sin. But, that is also a matter deserving of greater consideration, and I shall seek to give it that deliberation when the time comes.
First, however, I would consider this matter of authority. Pilate, whether because of his fear or in spite of it, is inclined to assert his authority. It’s similar in nature to the plaint of the modern politician when faced with the difficulties of the common man. “Do you know who I am?” I have power over you, and don’t you forget it! It is mine to decide whether you live or die.
Bear in mind where this outburst originates. He has just heard the charge that Jesus claims to be the Son of God. Unless the man’s an outright atheist, this is likely to resonate with him. After all, the Roman mythos is replete with gods who appear in human form, who comingle with humans. If that’s what he’s dealing with, it behooves him to tread very carefully. It also, in his estimation, appears reasonable to assert his own power, to point out that he has the upper hand, even if this Jesus really is the son of some god or other. That’s all well and good, sir, but I have authority over you.
Being as I am working back through the earlier chapters of Mark’s Gospel in Sunday School at present, it’s rather amusing to consider the juxtaposition. Over there at the beginning, we see the real Authority which is in Christ Jesus. He teaches with authority. He acts with authority. He commands demons and they have no choice but to comply. He commands the weather, and it has no choice but to comply. And, this governor, this mere mortal with his few hundred soldiers thinks he’s in control? It’s amazing that Jesus doesn’t simply laugh him out of the palace. But, He does no such thing. He simply sets the record straight. “You have no authority over Me except what is given you from above.”
It is probably little more than the natural male competitiveness in me that hears this as something of a slam on Pilate. Of course, Pilate suffers the same natural male competitiveness, and quite probably in far greater degree. Yet, look at his reaction: “As a result of this Pilate made efforts to release Him.” No. Apparently he wasn’t offended by this, merely acknowledged the facts. It is questionable how far he took the thought. It was certainly true, after all, that his authority was subject not only to Caesar’s appointment, but also to the governor of Syria. He was, after all, only a procurator. His power was severely limited. It was true, he had been authorized to adjudicate cases such as this. But, he had already found his authority checked by those who had oversight of him. He could not simply do as he pleased. He was answerable to authorities greater than himself.
Did he view Caesar as likewise answerable to higher authority? It’s unlikely. The senate had not yet come to such power as could rein in the Caesars at this point. Caesar seemed to be answerable to nobody. But, the point Jesus is making applies to him just as much as to Pilate. He, too, had only such authority as was given him from on high. This is a point that Paul brings out in Romans 13. All earthly authority is delegated. It matters not whether you are a Caesar risen to power by brute force, a king deemed to rule by divine right, or a president elected to office for a season. It matters not whether you are a dictator, a tyrant, or a servant of the people. Your authority is not from yourself, nor from whatever other outside agent may have set you in office. Your authority is from a higher source, or it is wholly non-existent.
All earthly authority is delegated, and authority does indeed imply power. To have the right to pursue a particular course of action is of no value without the power to pursue it. But, this powerful authority is not license. It is a delegated thing, and he who wields it is but a delegate. He is authorized to act only insofar as his actions are in line with the designs of the authorizing power. The moment he exceeds that bounding limit, he is no longer authorized. He may still have the power to act, but no longer the right.
This is captured in the old Pilgrim oath that they will follow their pastor so far as he follows God. The implied addenda is, “and not one step further.” In matters of church polity, this is right and reasonable. The representative of God who fails to represent God faithfully is not fit to the task of shepherding God’s flock. If the teacher teaches heresy, he is to be rejected, expunged, denounced and disproven. Certainly, there is no requirement to follow such a one. Honoring those authorities God has set over us does not in any wise excuse us from personal responsibility.
I have known those who thought that somehow their authority was such that we who were in their charge ought follow them, as it were, blindly. If they err, they reasoned, God would hold them accountable. If we acted upon their erroneous instruction, they would still be the ones held accountable. But, this is already error! Yes, the teacher is held to a higher standard, and rightly so! But, the student is hardly off the hook. No! We are all of us to demonstrate ourselves as approved of God, and rightly able to apply His Word to our own decisions and actions.
In terms of our religious leadership, then, the line seems reasonably clear. We are still required to be cautious in assuming our own understanding is the proper measure. We are still to be teachable, correctable. But, we are not to be blind followers of blind leaders. We are not excused responsibility for such sins as we led into willingly. For blindness is, in this case, only an excuse, not a malady.
But, turning to the civil authorities, the line is much more difficult to perceive. One would hardly accuse the government in Paul’s day of pursuing a godly course. Oh, there was a nodding concern for justice, such as it was understood. There may even have been a conception of mercy, although it would be hard for us to recognize. No. It was primarily government by fear and by raw power. There was no need for concern that they might post the ten commandments in their courts; no fear that they might be promoting prayer to the God of Israel in exclusion of all others. Yet, Paul says to obey them!
But, Paul! Look at the sort of people who are in power! You want us to follow that sort of leadership? Yes. Insofar as they do not require you to act in ways contradictory to the Law of God. There is a boundary, but it is not drawn along the line of what government permits. Rather, it is drawn along the line of what government requires.
We have our challenges along these lines, to be sure. Government permits abortion, and in some places permits the artificial termination of life at the other extreme. It does not, as yet, require that we do so. It permits the possibility. Government also permits excessive consumption of alcohol, under certain limited circumstances. It permits sexual relations that are anathema, reprehensible, and downright destructive to the human organism. That does not require that we participate in the self-destruction. When that government seeks to require a violation of conscience, a violation of the clear tenets of faith, its authority has come to an end. We may very well be arriving at that point. And, if we are, it would be well that those who are yet in authority remind themselves as Pilate was rather forcibly reminded, “You have no authority unless it is given you from above.”
There is One higher. He determines the duration of your term. This may come as a smack in the face to us in our love affair with democratic governance. We don’t determine the term. He does. The voting booth may provide the means, the mechanism, but it is He who has decided that for this period, for reasons we may or may not comprehend, this is the government we shall have. He decided the duration of the Roman Empire, of the British Empire. By His decree they arose, and by His decree they subsided. That’s it. No further answer need be sought.
By His determination, nations rise and nations fall. By His determination, denominations rise and denominations fall. By His determination even the false religions that plague mankind rise and fall. If we are to take Scripture as His Word (and I trust we do!) it must be accepted that even the devil himself is constrained by God’s Perfect and Almighty Will. His is the only final authority. All else is subject to His disposition. This is something we do well to remain mindful of as we go through our days. Political gains and losses are not the basis for hope, nor are they the end of hope. The Church survived Rome, and even overpowered Rome. The Church survived European power struggles. The Church will survive American excess.
While I remain on this topic of authority, it is worth noticing the picture that is completed here before the Praetorium. Long and long ago, God had established a new nation, a nation to be ruled directly by Himself. He set apart the tribes of Israel and established them in their lands, and He decreed that He would be their God and they, His people. But, they became jealous of the surrounding nations. They wanted to fit in. They wanted a king like everybody else had. And, God allowed it. He made certain they understood that this was not ideal, that they would regret the decision, but so be it. This is what you want. This is what you get. And, every once in a while it actually appeared to be working out. There were a few high points in this new order. But, only a few. The vast majority of those kings Israel replaced their God with were poor choices.
But, here, as the priests do their utmost to eliminate the Son of God, that process of removing God from the throne of Israel is effectively completed. Consider that statement they make when Pilate says, “Behold your King!” “We have no king but Caesar!” Read through the history of Israel’s problems with Roman governance, and at the very root of it lies this issue with Caesar declaring himself a god. This was the big issue for the early church. We cannot bend the knee to Caesar, for there is no God but God! We are not allowed to worship any other. Yet, here is God’s priests (or so they claimed), insisting they have no king but this heathen Caesar who proclaims himself a god.
This ought to be thoroughly shocking. This ought to have completely discredited the entire priesthood in the eyes of the nation. Here was Israel, a nation intended to have no king but God, and here are His ostensible representatives insisting that they have no god but this king, this Caesar. And, once again, God’s response is effectively: This is what you want? This is what you get.
Oh! That we would learn from this! Oh! That we would not be a people insistent that God play things our way. Will we really insist that He must nod and wink at our particular sins? That He ought to install our preferred candidate in office? Are we as wise as all that? It is a terrible, terrible thing when our pride manages to convince us that we know better, that we are particularly well suited to advise God how He ought to do things. And, there can be no more terrible outcome than that He takes our advice.
The next point I would consider is that made in Jesus’ response to Pilate; in particular, the latter part of that reply. “He who delivered Me up to you has the greater sin.” Looking upon that statement, I don’t see that we have any room remaining in which to claim that all sins are equal in the Lord’s sight. Oh, it is true that the least violation of the Law is already sufficient to earn the penalty of death. Indeed, that is the case! And, it may be that there are no gradations in the terms of punishment, although that strikes our sense of justice as being unjust. It seems reasonable that if there are degrees of sinfulness, there ought to be degrees of punishment suited to the case. Dante apparently assumed as much, and constructed his perceptions of hell accordingly. Certainly, there a numerous accounts of God’s holy irony displayed in His response to sinners in this life. So, it may well be that punishment is meted out in the degree suited to the sin. On the other hand, if the minimum sentence is death, what remains?
My concern remains not so much on the punishment eventually meted out as upon the cause for that punishment. Sin is sin, we are told. Yet, not all sins are equal. There is, for example, that sin which is unto death, for which we are no longer required to pray that the sinner might repent and be forgiven. There is that sin against the Holy Spirit which Jesus says shall never, in no wise be forgiven. There are sins which, by our estimation, ought surely to set the perpetrator beyond all hope of redemption. Yet, in God’s eyes, is it so? In God’s eyes, ought our own crimes be beyond that hope? Yet, here we are, recipients of His mercy through the grace of His goodwill towards us. Here we are, our sins forgiven not because we have done some fine act of contrition, but because He Himself took upon His own being the full penalty that was our due.
It strikes me, before I proceed, that there is something in what Jesus says here that gives me pause. Let’s back up and look at the whole response. I’ll take it from the NASB. “You would have no authority over Me, unless it had been given you from above; for this reason he who delivered Me up to you has the greater sin.” When Jesus says, ‘for this reason,’ the only possible point of reference is the thing He has just stated, that Pilate’s authority is delegated. What, then, is the implication? Is it to be understood that the priests did not function under a delegated authority? I’m not sure what other implication one could draw from this, yet it doesn’t seem right to me. All authority is delegated, with Christ its fundamental source. Certainly, if this is true of the civil authorities, it is all the more true in the government of God’s own house!
No, I think we have to look a little deeper. Pilate, as he sought to arrive at his judgment, was operating within the constraints of his office. I understand that we have this general perception that he was violating every tenet of Roman justice in what he did, but I’m less and less convinced of that as I read. Was it a perfect execution of justice? Hardly. Was it a judgment rendered with no thought for personal concerns? Not even likely. But, I do see Pilate trying his best to arrive at the correct verdict. He may bend here, but he has not completely broken with the law he is to enforce. Those outside are correct that he has a certain responsibility to punish those who would overthrow Caesar, however risible their chances of doing so.
The priests, on the other hand, are effectively the pinnacle of their power structure, at least in earthly terms. They have no higher earthly authority constraining their actions, and it is clear that they have not allowed the Law they supposedly uphold to constrain their actions either. I looked at this in the last study, or perhaps the one previous. Almost every commandment upon the table of ten has been broken in their pursuit of Jesus. They, the priests of the Law! And, they knowingly, willfully, repeatedly, not only set that Law aside, but utterly disdain that Law as they pursue their own agenda. There is the greater sin, I think. Their authority is as assuredly a matter of delegation as is Pilate’s, whether there be an earthly antecedent we can point to or not. But, Pilate is still seeking to work within what has been delegated him, they are not. They have thrown off all legal constraints to seek the death of the very one from whom their only real authority derives.
It does, I confess, reshape my understanding of what Jesus was saying. When He spoke to Pilate of that source of authority that was above him, my inclination was to infer a heavenly authority there as well as for the priests. But, now I’m not so sure. It would certainly hold true, were that His intended meaning, yet such a meaning is not required by the context, I don’t think. Indeed, it makes the whole statement the more difficult to understand if that’s the case. If it is heaven’s God to which He points, then both parties are delegated authorities. But, if it’s the earthly agency He has in mind, then Pilate’s situation is distinct from the priests. We might also look at which is acting within the bounds of what has been delegated them, something that is in no doubt whatsoever as concerns the priests. They are well beyond the authorized bounds. Pilate? I’m not so sure. There’s room for sympathy, for accepting his intention to remain in bounds. It’s just not entirely clear that he succeeded in doing so.
So, let’s get back to this matter of unequal sins. “He who delivered Me up to you has the greater sin.” Ah, it’s so easy to stop at the consideration that He is saying the priests are more sinful than the governor. Yes, and if I leave it there, it hardly hurts at all, does it? Look at them! Oh! We can slide right into that Pharisaic attitude of, “Thanks be to God I am not like that!” But, then I have to ask myself: If their sin was greater for having pursued His death, how much greater yet is my own sin for being the thing that made His death necessary? It may be (we cannot know) that there were some, even amongst those shouting the loudest for His destruction, who would yet find the Spirit of the Living God descending upon them, replacing that stone-cold heart with a warm, fleshy heart of remorse. They might yet have come to the place of real repentance, discovered real forgiveness, come to comprehend the enormity of their sins, and the greater enormity of God’s mercy having covered even those sins.
For us, though, there is no question. We are found among the elect, and we are here not because we managed some sufficient degree of atonement for sins past. It’s not even that we’ve arrived at the point in our maturity where we are assured there will be no sins future. If anything, we’re quite certain there will be. But, we’re also certain of this: Jesus paid it all. We know what we deserve. The wages of sin is death, and that’s an end to it. And yet: Can I really look down upon these priests as evil beyond my own measure? I can argue that He did not die on their account. He died on my account. They may have been instrumental in bringing His death to pass, but had it not been in His purpose, there’s not the least chance they could have managed it. How often had they tried before, but it was not yet His time?
I, on the other hand, did nothing to stop it. I did nothing to make it unnecessary. I have not even managed, in spite of long years with the thought, managed to do much of anything to reduce the weight of the punishment He would bear. The cross, horrible though it is, as inhuman as we find such a means of punishment today, was nothing compared to the nearly unendurable agony of separation from Father. That was the part that really hurt, I think. That was the thing that came near to breaking Jesus. Father! Why have You forsaken Me? The physical pains, oh He felt them, to be sure. I do not wish to belittle that experience in any way. But, these things did not break Him. After that flaying by the scourge, He stood as silent and strong as before. Absolutely, He was feeling the effects. Have no doubt! He was fully human. But, He continued. They set the crossbar upon which He would hang across His scarred and bleeding shoulders and as best He could He bore that weight. They nailed Him to that beam, lifted Him upright, and the jarring shock of post going home in the socket must have seared every nerve in Him. Yet, we hear no sound. He has nothing but compassion, for the thief at His side, for the mocking crowds below His feet. “Father, forgive them.”
But, when the eternal fellowship was broken, even though He must know that it was only for the briefest time, this was too much. “Why, Father?” How can You? You know My innocence! Yes, but the full stain, the awful stench of all my sin was upon Him. Not just mine. Yours, theirs, the sins of every last member of the human species who was or is to be counted amongst the adopted elect of heaven: It was all of it taken upon Him. It was all of it set to His account, and the absolute Holiness of God could no more abide that sin upon Him than He could when it was upon us. He must turn away. Even then, even knowing. The full penalty must be paid, and that penalty begins with death, death being defined as separation from God, from our Creator.
And, would I still account their sins as greater than my own? Was their sin upon Him when He hung there forsaken, experiencing the agony of spirit which was and is my due? It’s all well and good to look at their actions and say, “I would never!” Yet, I think the more honest assessment is, “I have done so repeatedly from my youth up.” Yet, He has forgiven me, repeatedly, from my youth up. Oh! How deeply I am reminded of that chesed, that everlasting love of my Father!
It arose, that reminder, in conjunction with preparing my lesson for Sunday School, such as it was. I looked back at my notes on Mark 5:21, and lo! A three day exploration of the steadfast love of my Father. And then, come to the sermon yesterday, and what is Pastor Dana speaking of but that very same chesed! The steadfast love of the Lord never changes, His mercies they are new every day. Oh, but there is reason to praise Him! Oh! But, there is a song that is always new, however many times we may sing it! His steadfast love for me held Him as He died, as He felt the horrors which ought to fall on me. How I ought to feel that horror even at the thought! How I ought to agonize at having so harmed the One who loves me as no other. How can I take that for granted? And yet I do so often. How can I cease from praising His name? And yet I do so often. How can I fail to burst forth with endless gratitude that I have been spared? And yet I do so often. How can I even still, even now, seek a way around repenting? And yet I do. And so I add to His burden again, even in the midst of wonder, even in the midst of considering.
God! I would repent if I but knew how. I can apologize, but that cannot possibly be enough. I could collapse in tears, recognizing the enormity of my crime against You. I can feel only the least hints of it this morning, and it’s enough to overwhelm. Yet, I feel myself powerless. Apart from You I clearly can do nothing. I can’t even handle the agonies of the dog in my living room, being as easily offended by his weakness as heartbroken by his fast approaching end. I feel powerless because I am powerless. Yet, You are powerful. It is not only upon Your mercy that I must fling myself this morning, but also on Your power; Your power to so will and work within me as to bring the change I cannot. Oh, what a wretch I am! How undeserving of Your love. Yet, You have loved me. You have loved me with an everlasting love. You have called me yours, and yours I am. Yes, and I know You to be faithful. You have begun the work, else I would surely not be here seeking You out in my misery. You have begun the work, and You will surely complete it. Oh, but how You bared Your holy arm in the Son Who hung upon that cross! Oh! How You bared Your holy arm when the grave proved incapable of holding Him Who is Life! Oh! How the nations have seen Your salvation as He ascended into heaven to join You once more. Thank You, Father God, that You did not cause Him to suffer the eternity of suffering that I deserved, but somehow, by Your power, condensed eternity on His behalf, that He might live, and because He lives, I, too, have come to life. Oh, Holy One! Though it seem so impossible, aid me. Though it is clearly beyond me, let me yet walk worthy of this price You have paid.
