John 18:33—19:1 * March 14, 2007 * Midweek Lent 4 * Dr. Mark Braun

The Nature of the World’s Rejection

Jesus said once, “From everyone who has been given much, much more will be demanded” (Luke 12:48). The corollary, I suppose, is that less is expected from those who have been given less.

By that logic, we should not regard Pontius Pilate as the chief villain in the story of the suffering and dying of Jesus. Others knew—or should have known—much more about Him, and so much more was to be expected of them. Caiaphas, Annas, the Sanhedrin, the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Herodians—all had been given much. Even everyday folks on the streets in Jerusalem and the Galilee had been given more than most.

By contrast, Pilate did not have such advantages. John’s Gospel contains the longest and most detailed account of the trial of Jesus before Pilate, and the account readily divides into three parts. At first, Pilate regards Jesus with the same sort of contempt and condescension that he probably showed most everyone else—the result of years of enjoying an ordinate balance of power over this subject people assigned to him to govern. Then, second, Pilate becomes genuinely intrigued with Him, tantalized by His thought-provoking answers and His obvious lack of fear—of him. But then, phase three, Pilate grows desperate and unhinged, irrational in his efforts to shuck blame for anything that has to do with this prisoner to anyone or anything that will take it.

At no time do we get a sense that Pilate understood who Jesus was, or what He was saying, or the enormity of what was happening to him and in front of him.

But if Pilate is not to be considered the chief villain, let’s not cut him too much slack, either. Whatever else may have become of Pontius Pilate, on the night Jesus stood on trial before him, Pilate rejected Jesus. And Pilate’s rejection gives us a window into how the world still rejects Him—even if that rejection is not as determined—or as predetermined—as His countrymen’s was.

PILATE REVEALS THE NATURE OF THE WORLD’S REJECTION

I. He judges on outward appearances

II. He keeps an open mind to “truth”

III. He fails to act on his convictions

I

By our dating, Pontius Pilate became governor—or better, I guess, procurator—of the Roman province of Judea in A.D. 26, and so when Jesus of Nazareth appeared in his courtroom, he had been at this job for almost four years. By now he must have seen other revolutionaries, other insurgents—as Jesus was accused of being. Pilate must have been thinking, “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

He didn’t look the part. “You—are you ‘king of the Jews’?” Pilate’s question was almost flippant, and, at first, it seems, so was Jesus’ reply: “Is that your own idea, or did others tell you about me?” But there was an important difference. If this was just Pilate’s question and if Jesus was just any sort of king that Rome could understand and that the Roman government must put down, no. But if Pilate got the accusation from someone else—say, from the Jewish religious leaders, if it was their charge, and if He was claiming to be their rightful king, the one their Scriptures prophesied, then, Yes, He was.

But Pilate was getting confused. “Am I a Jew?” (he was probably thinking, “Thank God, No.”) “It was your people and your chief priests who handed you over to me. What is it you have done?” If he was a self-styled revolutionary against Roman oppression, wouldn’t His countrymen be supporting Him instead of bringing Him for charges?

“My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus answered—and for a long time I used to think Jesus was not answering the question when He said that, or was changing the subject. But He was answering Pilate’s question exactly. “What is it I’ve done wrong? What is it that has made my countrymen so angry with me? I’m not the kind of king they want—and clearly, not the kind of king Pilate could understand. “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jews. But now my kingdom is from another place.”

Pilate didn’t get it, but in not getting it he rejected Jesus. He judged on outward appearances. No power, no army, no supporters. What do I have to fear from Him? What good can He do me? Nothing. Nothing.

The world still rejects Jesus when it judges on appearance alone. We want power; He looks weak. We want money; He is poor. We want to be told it’s all right for us to stay the way we are. He confronts us to repent. He’s different. He’s demanding, His way is hard. No thanks, the world says.

II

But Pilate keeps trying. “You are a king, then!” to which Jesus answers, “You are right in saying I am a king,” but what a different sort of king he was! He came as a king of truth. He came to testify to the truth. People on the side of truth are His subjects because they listen to Him.

There was nothing in the Future Roman Procurator’s Handbook to prepare Pilate for a conversation like this one, and so he asked, “What is truth?” It is always interested to watch how these words are read. Some—frustrated actors, perhaps—seize the opportunity as their Hamlet moment: “To be or not to be? What is truth” Other readers find inspiration from Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson? “I want the truth!” “You can’t handle the truth!” Or is it to be read with an indifferent shrug of a shoulder? “What is truth?”

The clue, I think, lies in the difference between what Jesus said to Pilate and what Pilate answered. Jesus said He came to testify to the truth and everyone on the side of the truth listens to Him. Pilate didn’t ask, “What is the truth?” but, “What is truth?” What truth? Whose truth? There are a lot of truths? There are half truths. There are competing truths. There’s what’s true for you and there’s what’s true for me.

This is how the world has always rejected Jesus, but in this new, post-modern, multi-cultural millennium, it is raised to near art form. It appears so open-minded, but such “open-mindedness” to truth may be a thinly disguised rejection of the truth. We sometimes expect people who reject Jesus to be vehement and violent, declaring religion as a lie and Christianity a crutch for the weak, only to be surprised to hear people say nice things about Jesus, and even nice things about us. “It’s wonderful that you are spiritual. I’m glad Christianity works for you. But,” listen for the pity and condescension, “religions are all true. They all help us face the deep questions of life. They all help us find meaning in the transcendent. I have a different truth. It works better for me. It fits my lifestyle better.”

Don’t be fooled. That is rejection of Jesus, who not only said He came to testify to the truth but that He is the truth, and that no one comes to the Father except through Him (John 14:6).

III

Pilate supporters find their greatest confirmation of His goodness—or at least that he is not the chief villain—in his repeated attempts to declare Jesus “Not guilty.” “I find no basis for a charge against him.” In fact, Pilate may have felt that way before the trial ever began. His wife, you may recall, had a dream about Jesus and sent a message to her husband on the bench, “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man” (Matthew 27:19).

And yet Pilate treated Jesus quite oddly for a man he thought was innocent. He appeals to a custom of apparent long-standing that allowed one prisoner to be set free each Passover season. He offered to have Jesus flogged—thought he has just declared Him not guilty—perhaps to placate this crowd and give them he thought they wanted. (Are we surprised it didn’t work?) When they said they would rather have Barabbas out on the streets than Jesus—and, for good measure, after Pilate tried unsuccessfully to shift responsibility to Herod’s court room, it becomes clear that it is not Pilate’s judgment that is clouded but His will that is weak. He knows the right thing to do, but he won’t—or he can’t—do it. He doesn’t have the courage to act on his convictions.

Do people always reject Jesus because they find His claims unsatisfying? Is it always a matter of the Gospel being too outrageous to be believed? Or is it that people are convinced, and they may even believe, but they can’t act. It will cost them. They’ll lose friends. They may be ridiculed. They may be persecuted. They may become one of those Christians.

The irony was probably not lost on Pilate that when the crowds clamored for Barabbas to be set free, they were willing to set free a man who had been convicted of the very crime they were now charging Jesus with having done—though He was not guilty.

Here is an even bigger irony: Bar-Abbas, means “Son of the Father.” This “Son of the Father” would go free—though he was surely guilty—because the true and only begotten Son of the Father was willing to become his substitute and go to the cross in his place. The one and only Son of God would be condemned so that all the estranged sons and daughters of God may be restored to their Father’s family once more.

And here is the ultimate irony—the ultimate mercy: this attempt of Pilate to substitute an innocent man for a criminal was done at Passover, and the custom may, in fact, have had its roots in the message and meaning of Passover. The first born son in every Egyptian home had died, but those sons who had the blood of the lamb painted on their doorposts were spared. A lamb died so that sons could live. Jesus died on Passover so we could live.

In the current issue of The Lutheran Witness—the Missouri Synod’s counterpart to Forward in Christ— Dr. Paul L. Maier, the distinguished history professor and son of The Lutheran Hour’s Dr. Walter A. Maier, has an article about Pontius Pilate. It’s very good. I like everything about it, except the title: “The Judge Who Changed History.” Pontius Pilate is the most famous judge in the human history. He presided over the most significant trial in history. But he did not change history. Only the defendant on trial in his courtroom could do that.

This Jesus still testifies to the truth, through His Word and through the words of His people. Those on the side of the truth still listen to Him. His truth is the only tool to break down the world’s rejection and the only truth that can change our story from a tragedy to one that has an eternally happy ending. Amen.