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SUBJECT: 29. Chapter 29: Christ Condemned
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C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - N I N E
Christ Condemned
Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him. Then came Jesus forth, wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the man! When the chief priests therefore and officers saw him, they cried out, saying, Crucify him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Take ye him and crucify him: for I find no fault in him. The Jews answered him, We have a law, and by our law he ought to die because he made himself the Son of God. When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he was the more afraid. And went again into the judgment hall, and saith unto Jesus, Whence are thou? But Jesus gave him no answer. Then saith Pilate unto him, Speakest thou not unto me? knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and have power to release thee? Jesus answered, Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin. And from thenceforth Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, saying, If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend: whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar. When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he brought Jesus forth, and sat down in the judgment seat in a place that is called the Pavement, but in the Hebrew, Gabbatha. And it was the preparation of the passover, and about the sixth hour: and he saith unto the Jews. Behold your King! But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your King? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar. Then delivered he him therefore unto them to be crucified.
—Joh_19:4-16 a.
THE drama is moving to its conclusion. Our second volume has almost been written. The last step in the action which cursed the Lamb of Cod as being impure, and that in the very hour in which the passover lambs were being brought into the temple of God, is now approaching.
In the preceding chapter we observed that the mockery on the part of the soldiers but repeated all the leading ideas which had governed the trial of Jesus. The same holds true now. Again there is a recapitulation, a summary of the things which have held our attention throughout. That summary was drawn up for the soldiers in the first instance; for the judge in this last one.
Yes, a recapitulation was presented by the judge. This is a grievous thing. The judge, in his last official action again passes in review the entire, tedious course of the passion, accentuating each feature sharply and clearly. To Christ this constitutes a temptation. He is exhausted; His blood has been taken from Him; His soul is groping for something on which to rest—and can find that resting point only in God who withholds Himself from Him. In spite of this, however, He must experience it all again. We can say that everything is being done once more. Who would dare to say that Satan, the tempter, is not active in this? And God, He who proves all things? They have their reasons for tempting and proving the Christ. One can always find people in the world who are able to withstand a first temptation of Satan and to sustain the first trial of God, but who invariably succumb when the affliction is repeated. He who would subdue a strong man must make repeated attacks, he must persevere; he must follow the first round by a second, and the second by a third. Had the Christ been a man having finite strength, He would, even though He had withstood the first attack of hell and Satan, certainly have quailed before this recapitulation.
But we shall see that He remained unmoved up to the very end. God’s repetitions and Satan’s recapitulation harm Him not at all.
Pilate had withdrawn into his palace and had in the meantime surrendered Jesus to the sport of the soldiers. But did he have peace of mind? It may be that his wife discussed the matter of that dream with him further. Certainly his conscience troubled him. Besides—as we suggested before—it is possible that he was deliberating the plan of making a last attempt to release the Nazarene after the scourging which had been given.
Accordingly he returns after a while and seizes his last opportunity. The Jews have remained on hand to see the outcome of the affair. As yet they have no definite assurance and they refuse to believe that their attempt has succeeded until their eyes tell them as much. And, as a matter of fact, things were pointing in the wrong direction the moment Pilate made his appearance. For, as a general rule, a person who had been scourged was immediately taken to the cross and led away. Apparently that is not the course which events are to take in this instance. The Nazarene is being led out of doors again. Pilate, then, has not yet concluded to surrender Him to the brutes who want Him.
What can the man have in mind? Well, they did not have to wonder long. He has not yet wholly weakened. He accompanies Jesus out of doors in order to make a display of His misery. He lets Jesus keep the clothes which the soldiers have put on Him; in other words, in the very condition in which Pilate found Him. he takes the Saviour with him outside.
See, the Saviour comes. He comes in the robe of mockery; the crown of thorns rests on His head; He is bowed down beneath the force of the scourging. You ask why Pilate did not first have this robe removed from Him, inasmuch as it loudly protested that in this hall of justice the grossest arbitrariness of the soldiers was being officially condoned. The answer is that Pilate hopes to profit by presenting the pathetic spectacle of this miserable man to the eyes of the crowd. He wants to present Jesus in all His nakedness, and accordingly he says to the Jews: Ecce homo, behold, there is the man. Why does Pilate say this, you ask? One interpretation is that he wants to excite sympathy. He thinks that a public exhibition of the pathetic figure of the man will amount to pouring oil upon the waves. Others think less favorably of Pilate. These suppose that Pilate is making a public exhibition of Christ solely to assure the Jews that in any event they will never again be troubled by this man. A man who has been decorated in this fashion—such is Pilate’s terminology—and a man who is in a condition as pathetic as this man is will never in all his life succeed in making an impression. Now, what more do they want? Surely, this had better be the end of the matter.
Again, we need not choose one of these alternative interpretations. The two are not mutually exclusive. Pilate’s whole desire is to be rid of the case, to escape its consequences, hence, any means which furthers that end is welcome to him.
But, to go on. Is Pilate “successful”? Does his ecce homo help him?
Over against those who think that Pilate erred in his choice of approaches and that he said the wrong thing at this time, we would reply that at first his words did succeed in achieving the expected results. Remember that Joh_19:6 indicates precisely who those were that immediately rebelled against Pilate’s plea for sympathy. They were the high priests and the counselors. This specific reference is not the same as that given in Joh_18:40. There an emphatic reference has it: Then cried they all again, saying, Not this man, but Barabbas.[1] Accordingly, in that instance it was the people who together with their leaders lifted their voices against Jesus. Now, however, the people seemed to be silent; they seemed somewhat hesitant. Hence the leaders are just so much more eager to have their say. The people have suggested that they are inclined to give way; here and there a wave of sympathy moves over the crowd; a change of attitude can be seen in their faces. Now the leaders, who fear such a shift in popular opinion, immediately react. More vehemently than before they raise the cry, Crucify him, crucify him.[2] But Pilate refuses to let his chance slip away from him as easily as that. Not without pathos—for the people are present here, and whoever would move the people to this or that end gets a long way by means of pathos and sentiment—he once more declares emphatically that he finds no fault in Jesus. Why this concerted demand for a death sentence? Let the leaders take care of the matter themselves. If they want to, why, let them proceed to crucify Jesus. Naturally, Pilate does not mean to say by this that the Jews must or may crucify Jesus upon their own authority (crucifixion was not a Jewish form of punishment), but he means to say that he does not want to shoulder the responsibility which they themselvesrefuse to accept. To this the Jewish priests and Sanhedrin immediately reply that they are perfectly willing to accept the responsibility. Even though we may not crucify him, they say in effect, it is true that he has done something which according to our law deserves the death penalty; he has made himself the Son of God.
[1] We agree with those who suppose that the word all in Joh_18:40 which is included in certain manuscripts properly belongs there. For arguments in support of this, see among others Zahn, Das Ev. des Joh., 3, 4, 1912, p. 636.
[2] See Joh_18:15 in which the high priest and not the people has the last word.
In this instance truth scores a victory. While studying the outset of the transactions between the Jews and Pilate, we observed that the Jews said nothing about the charge of blasphemy which in the Sanhedrin had been arrived at as the important accusation. Instead, the Jews immediately gave a political color to the matter in Pilate’s presence. In other words, they transposed the Messiahship of Jesus from the first to the second table of the law. They degraded the Saviour (See page 315). But now that Pilate is making a last effort to release Him, they take recourse to their last word; they shoot their last arrow. Now they give expression to the official charge: Well, yes, according to our law, He is guilty of blasphemy, and among us that is a capital crime.
This is indeed a victory for truth. Before Jesus is condemned by the government, He is again transferred from the second table of the law to the first. Before Pilate’s tribunal also, acknowledgment is finally made of the fact that Jesus of Nazareth is not concerned in matters affecting Caesar, but that He is concerned in the cause of the honor and revelation of the living God. Undoubtedly, this acknowledgment gladdened the Christ, even though the gladness came with trembling. For it is this very acknowledgment which drives Him immediately to death.
That it does so appears very soon. For when Pilate heard this word, he was the more afraid. Why afraid? Because of superstition? Is he somewhat bound still to the notions of Roman paganism which continued to honor gods and a son of the gods? Does Pilate have something in common with the centurion who says of Jesus a little later: Truly this man was the son of God? [3] Or is it that Pilate fears only the results, knowing that as soon as this element becomes a factor in the situation, the fanaticism of the Jews will become quite uncontrollable.
We dare not make a choice between these possibilities. Pilate’s soul has thrown no light upon its inner recesses, and again we need not choose one or the other of the alternatives; again they do not exclude each other.
[3] See Mar_15:39, and Mat_27:54. The translation “a son of the gods” is more faithful to the original than the rendering “the son of God.” We shall discuss this in the next volume of this work.
Instead, we can better attend to the results which followed upon Pilate’s increased concern and aggravated fear. He approaches Jesus and says to Him: Whence art thou? That question is not to be regarded as springing from a sincere interest, and even less as an attempt on Pilate’s part to personally understand and accept Jesus. Pilate’s intent is simply to try to get an understanding of the background to the conflict which obtains between Jesus and the Jews. They call Him the Son of God; He calls Himself that also. It is about that that Pilate wishes to inquire. In effect, his question amounts to this: On what basis can the man’s influence be explained? What is the secret of his success?
But Jesus makes no reply. It is precisely because of Jesus’ silence that we can know that Pilate’s question was not born iron: a heart which was yearning for salvation, for such a question never reaches God too late. Pilate’s question was simply another request for information about the nature of the conflict existing between Jesus and the Jews. But that question comes too late. A judge who has first allowed Jesus to be scourged, and has made Him an outlaw, has no business asking a question afterwards. Who, pray, makes the investigation after punishment has been meted out?
Accordingly, the Saviour makes no reply.
Now Pilate, all the while marvelling at His silence, advises Jesus that it is dangerous not to reply inasmuch as the judge has the authority to restore His freedom to Him or to assign Him to death. Thereupon Jesus pronounces His last word. Observe that this last word which Jesus pronounces in the course of His trial is a reference to the powers that are above. “Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above.” Christ is by this statement indicating that God stands higher than the authority Pilate represents. He assigns to the authority of the government the place of a servant of God. He sees the first cause operative and by means of the second cause. And He accepts the consequences of this vision of faith which is fixed upon God.
That is why this last word of Christ which was spoken during His trial, this final word before His condemnation, is of great and redeeming significance. This statement about God is the very pillar upon which the trembling thoughts of Christ, the Scourged One,[1] are leaning. His whole soul and spirit are exposed in this reference to the power which is above. This concluding word which Christ speaks is the great torch, the great light of righteousness which shines in this dark night of sin.
[1] Not because of Caesar but by the grace of God.
Again we see a beautiful harmony in all that Christ does, even at the time when all that men do represents the grossest conceivable discord.
In our first volume—Gethsemane—we saw Christ struggling to keep His vision fixed upon God. As soon in Gethsemane as He had been able to see His God rather than men, He had a sense of well-being, He acquiesced and found that upon which as a man He could lean.[2] This had been the equivalent of His saying: Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit as I enter into my passion.
[2] See Christ in His Suffering, p. 323 (Chapter 17) and pp. 387 ff (Chapter 21).
Now, in this second volume—the trial—we see Christ again struggling to keep His vision fixed upon God. After the meandering course from Annas to Caiaphas, from Caiaphas to Pilate, from Pilate to Herod, from Herod to Pilate, and from Pilate to the people, from the people back to Pilate, from Pilate to the soldiers, from the soldiers back to Pilate, from Pilate back to the people, and from the people who are outside to Pilate who is within—you are not becoming impatient, are you, for this is your bridegroom?—after all these meandering ways, I say, Christ concludes the whole trial, and proclaims His patience, His speaking, and His being silent to us in this last word which again turns His attention from the people and fixes it upon His God. Now all is well; now He can rest again; now as a human being He finds His resting place in His God. This is the equivalent of saying: Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit, now during the process of My passion. Presently the third volume—the cross—will follow. In it again we will observe Christ struggling, suffering, seeking; we will see His head bowed in the conflict against the dark night of utter forsakenness and judgment. But then, too, He will finally find his resting place in His God, and will exclaim with a loudvoice: Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit, now as I pass out of My passion, for “it is finished.” Oh incomparable grace, Christ’s style ever remains with Him. The temple of holiness and justice stands spiritually erected, a building which cuts its way straight through the crooked dealings of the world.
Thus did Pilate see Christ standing over against Him calmly: God was preaching to Him. Jesus’ quietude troubles him. Pilate’s ecce homo affected the mob but Jesus’ ecce deus affected Pilate. Hence Pilate—and this is the last time—tries once more to release Jesus.
But he cannot do so now. As soon as the Jews notice his hesitant attitude, they raise their last and best argument and openly exclaim: If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend. The friend of Caesar. In those days that was a customary title. The Jews are in effect saying this: If you release this man who not only bears the name of our God but also that of your imperial god you are by such conduct indicating that you are no longer a real friend of the emperor, but are indifferent to the Caesar of all Romans. Figure it out for yourself: consequences are sure to follow.
Pilate, in other words, is formally threatened. Pilate succumbs to the threat. Fearing an official investigation—he had done so much which was of a dubious character—he concludes to make this one Galilean the price of his own future and hopes for promotion. Clenching his teeth, he finally concludes to put an end to the matter.
Now it will take place, people, Jesus, world, God. Now it will happen. The judge, the authority, Rome, the world, God, now definitely, once and for all, over against time and eternity, say: I condemn Jesus Christ. Now it is to take place, angels; the judge. God—these curse Him. My justification is about to be pronounced. It is to take place, apostles, patriarchs, and all singers of the Te Deum, it is to happen now: the just one will be treated and condemned as the unjust, in order that the unjust and wholly lost may again appear before the tribunal of God as a free and redeemed man, against whom the law can make demands no longer.
It is to take place now.
With great dignity Pilate goes to his judgment chair, to his tribunal, and has it carried out of doors. Moses, Moses, you are still regarded as a responsible person in the world. Pilate wishes to show the Jews a favor and therefore has his judgment seat brought outside, inasmuch as the Jews because of Moses’ feasts were not allowed to enter the house of a heathen. Moses, you are being respected, but Jesus Christ is not. You need not move your chair, Moses, up there in heaven, for so it was meet for you to fulfill all righteousness. Is this not exactly what you told him on the mountain of the transfiguration? Besides, the hymn of Moses must be followed, or rather continued, today by the hymn of the Lamb. Hence, Moses, bear the unbearable preferment which is being accorded you. We do not want to sing the hymn of Moses and of the lion (lest you take offence at the occasion on which Pilate for your sake has his chair brought out-of-doors and from it, out of respect for you, proceeds to condemn Jesus). But we want to sing the hymn of Moses and the Lamb. After all, can it be that the Lamb should not be slain? No, no, the Lamb may not find grace in the world. There is a place for Moses, but for the Lamb there is no place other than the place reserved for it: namely, the altar of death.
At this point John’s style achieves a certain dignity. This is the great hour. The man who at the time carefully noted the exact hour in which Jesus first met a couple of embarrassed souls,[1] now notes the place and the hour in which the Saviour was sentenced to death. This occurred at the official place which in the Greek language was called Lithostrotos—probably because of a pavement laid as a mosaic in front of the palace—which in the Aramaic was called Gabbatha—a word which, according to some means “the high place” and according to others something else. There it was that the Saviour surrendered to death. At about noon on a given day—some say that it was the 18th of March in the year 29 A.D.—and if that is true the year in which this book is being written (1929) is removed precisely nineteen hundred years from the time Christ was condemned. But no one called for a few moments of silence. Fortunately God did not call for them either. He demands “only” a life-long silence. There, at Lithostrotos, Pilate, although he had definitely concluded to put Jesus to death, addressed the Jews for the last time. His humiliated pride, His senseof defeat, his pent up anger, the deep disdain with which he in the last analysis condemned the Jews and their Messiah, all these are concealed in his: Behold your king. He replies to the renewed excitement of the Jews with a question: Do you really expect me to crucify your own king? Thereupon the high priests—for God gives them the terrible privilege of having the last say—officially bow before Caesar and thereby actualize Zechariah’s vision of the priest-king. Then Pilate goes away. A nonchalant gesture—an official decision: the Saviour is given up to be crucified.
[1] “For it was about the tenth hour.” Joh_1:39.
Come near now. And pray. Have you noticed the clear distinction which the smitten Saviour is still able to make? In the presence of a whole college of judges, none of them disposed to make clear distinctions, He discriminated fastidiously and distinguished well. He had said to Pilate: I do indeed hold you responsible, but those who delivered me into your hands are guilty of the greater sin. He makes a sharp distinction: God be praised, A judge must be able to discriminate, but if he fails to do so, one must take recourse to the priest. Inasmuch now as Christ, the Priest-King, is surrounded by the furies, after whose name I myself also am called, His perfect gift for discrimination comforts me. He places Pilate’s responsibility over against the Jews in the proper light. Not for one moment may He obscure the distinction between the spheres of general and of special grace. He is very terrible. The most gruesome evil does not make Him lose His penetrating gift of discrimination. Lord, Thou searchest me, and Thou knowest my heart, and Thou knowest that what I think is not to Thy honor. I need Thee, Lord, cleanse me, me in particular, with hyssop. Thou knowest with what penetration the sun’s rays have beat upon me.
He makes distinctions.
Thus He takes upon Himself at last the perfecting of the vicious circle, of Annas, of Caiaphas, of Pilate, and now also of the people called by the name I bear. Pilate wanted to excite their sympathy. Ah me, he wanted to compensate for the suffering which takes its position at the very central point of world history by means of sympathy which, he supposed, could succeed in obliterating the line which describes the course of that vicious circle. He said ecce homo, for he again wished to cleanse the time by means of time, the visible by means of the visible, the heart by means of the heart. Ecce homo—Saviour, Master, forgive him for he knew not what he said. Lord, I mean forgive me, for I do not know what I am saying. Ecce homo—if that is proclaimed from above it is the very essence of truth; but if it is proclaimed from below it is the very essence of insult. Then it casts Thee into the vicious circle, the very circle which Thou hadst already conquered by means of the Word (see chapter 7). Didst Thou hear it, Saviour? A satyr just pronounced the words: ecce homo. And this was his commentary of it: Do not fear him. Hereafter thou shalt see the lost son of man descend in the weakness of His flesh down to the very pit of hell in which the living damned abide. By means of the ecce homo, they tried to excite pity for Thee, Jesus. Alas, that was turning the gospel topsy-turvy. Thou dost not want to be the object of my pity, but it is Thy will to be afflicted in my affliction. The angel of my countenance may not comfort Thee. That is why the offensive ecce homo represents a negation of Thy priesthood. Yet when Pilate pronounced these words, Thou didst reply: What thou doest do quickly, for I see God standing in this place. And that reply, my Saviour, is my redemption. Thou didst place Thy blood in the Father’s sacrificial basin.
Keep my tongue in check, I pray, lest it too quickly and too bravely proceed to sing psalms out of a book. I should be very eager to sing songs about Thy golden crown, and about Thy sharp sickle, and I should be very eager to put into rhyme the songs of Paul who taught me that on the Friday of the Passover feast Satan did indeed make a public exhibition of Jesus, but that on the same day Jesus also publicly made a spectacle of Satan and his whole tribe (Col_2:15). Master, hold my tongue in check, for I must first confess that I have publicly made a spectacle of Thee, that I am Pilate, that I am the high-priest, and court servant, the scum of the people, and Barabbas also. I have said concerning Thee: I dare to condemn Him. I am no better than Pilate, Lord. He sacrificed Thee to protect himself. On this very day my flesh would do the same.
Lord, my God, it is impossible for Thee to be tempted now; the pity of the people which to this day is aroused by Pilate and his aesthetic family, can not tempt Thee any more. But forbid that I should do Thee injustice. What a terrible day. I may not even sympathize with Jesus. Sympathy He calls negation; He calls it saying ecce homo, and saying it from below. He calls it saying ecce homo with Pilate’s inflection. To say it thus is to ignore Him in His triumph of justice. It represents opposing Him even as He is in the idea. Hence, I must keep silence before the people and must raise a hymn of praise and must excite love in my heart in the power of the Lord. The power of the Lord—those are great words—but it requires omnipotence to teach me how to sing a hymn of praise here. I hear good tidings. A voice comes to me from Dordrecht, which answers me as I stand here at Gabbatha unable to sing but summoned to sing. The voice comforts me: Omnipotence is operative; there is such a thing as regeneration, an almighty, an irresistible deed of Christ’s Holy Spirit. Veni, Creator Spiritus, and teach me His hymn now. It seems to me that He needs me, He needs a comforting hymn. But I see Him ever shaking His head. He would also be forsaken of me; He needs no comfort now after the temptation He has just withstood.
Nevertheless, I want to say what I see in Him as He limps to the cross, and I want to say it before my eyes are dimmed with tears. I want to tell Him that I see Him as great here as He was in the wilderness. In the wilderness He was first tempted, tempted by Satan. Satan wanted Him to shun the way of suffering, wanted Him to accept His glory without taking this terrible digression which He is taking today. Today He—be quiet, people; in the name of peace just look—today He is being tempted again. In the last moment He is being tempted, terribly tempted. He is being tempted in the moment of the general repetition, of the painful recapitulation to which we alluded above. When Pilate’s tender voice very movingly pronounced the ecce homo, and when a few women nodded approvingly, and when a few people began to blush in shame, and when the crowd was at the point of reconsidering, then Satan whispered into Jesus’ ear the temptation: Take advantage of this hour, and all will yet be well. Pilate was giving Him the floor and Jesus might have spoken. Even Pilate would have been moved to tears by a perturbing story.
But Jesus held His peace.
He did not answer. He did not profit from the occasion. He was only profited by, He was made sin. His last pronouncement was: I see God standing. Jesus, now I know that Thou didst withstand the temptation even in the last moment in which it was possible for Thee to do something.
They are all going on their way, Saviour. It will take place, it is sure to happen, they are telling each other that it will happen this very day. I stand alone on this court square, and Thou dost not even look at me. Perhaps Thou thinkest that he would not have a good word for me unless it were given him from above. And where would Simon be? I see him nowhere near here to help me; I mean only that he is not helping Thee, that he is leaving Thee alone. I think that Simon is just like me: he does not dare to express any sympathy; he is ashamed, and he is afraid of Thy eyes, I think; I have seen those eyes, seen them when the ecce homo was spoken. But I am wandering from the subject: I simply wanted to say, Master, that when Thou wast tempted in the wilderness the angels came to succor Thee, the beasts to greet Thee, and there was a Paradise, be it a very small one, in the form of a great promise. Now Thou art being tempted again, and now Thou hast triumphed anew. But there are no angels here; the wild animals could not possibly come here—their eyes are too faithful to be tolerated by the people and not to shun Thee. As for Paradise, what shall we say of that? Why bring that beautiful word into this discussion? The cross is coming.
Jesus, Thou goest Thy way alone. Would I dare to accompany Thee? But what shall I do now? Can it be that I am the substitute for angels or for beasts? Why should I follow Thee? The wild beasts have faithful eyes but I have just now condemned Thee. Lord, save Him, for He perisheth. Lord, save me, for I perish. Lord, my God, Thou hast spoken to me today. And the burden of Thy message was this: He that justifies the wicked and condemns the just, even they both are an abomination to the Lord. He knows that text already. Oh, wonderful thing. He quoted the text, and sought me with His eyes. His eyes were tender. I cannot withstand. I am going outside . . . outside . . .
The sun kept on shining. It was very warm. A Jew hurried past, muttering a curse between his teeth. It was hot at high noon. He was sweating freely. The soldiers found the way rather heavy. How long it was, they said to each other, how long it was and how far.