The Bonds of Death
“Since it was the day before the Sabbath and the tomb was nearby, they buried Jesus there.” — John 19:42
“What is truth?” That was the simple question Pontius Pilate, the Fifth Prefect of the Roman Province of Judea, had posed to the Rabbi. The question haunted this officer of Rome these last three days.
And it was, in fact, the third day since he had authorized the crucifixion, the murder of the one known as Yehoshua— Jesus in the Greek. (Slight pause.) What is truth? Even though it was he, Pilate, who uttered the words, he could not forget them. (Slight pause.)
He tried to put the question out of his mind as he sat up on his bed. The air was cold and damp. He felt chilled to the bone.
The question about truth had kept him from sleep a second night now. He got up and began walking around the headquarters, the Praetorium. Perhaps just being awake and moving might provide some warmth.
The Praetorium was a massive stone structure. It always felt cold, even in the summer. It was meant to be little more than a building for the administrative offices of the Empire combined with a barracks for the cohort, the 500 or so soldiers stationed in Jerusalem.
The garrisons the Empire kept in the whole region of Judea were relatively small. That fit the basic foreign policy of Rome. Once a country had been pacified by the army, a local puppet government was set up. The Jew, Herod Antipas, Tetrarch, performed that function in Judea admirably, providing stability, maintaining its status as a client state.
Still, the possibility of rebellion was always lingered. Populist riots are difficult to quell. So, a small cadre of Roman soldiers maintained peace with the threat of violence.
That violence was made real in crucifixion. In the last year, the garrisons in the area had killed thousands of Jews by this method. Yehoshua, this Jesus, was just one of many who died.
Still, Pilate wondered about his interaction with the Rabbi. He seemed different. He seemed like he knew who he was. He seemed like he knew what was going to happen.
Yehoshua seemed to know this officer of Rome had the power of life and death over him. Yet, that knowledge did not appear to concern prisoner. (Slight pause.) Pilate wondered from where that question he asked the Rabbi had come. “What is truth?” (Slight pause.)
Several times a year the Prefect needed to come from the seat of the Roman Government in this area, the town of Caesarea, to Jerusalem. Right now, at the Passover Festival, was one time Pilate felt the need to be there. The very celebration of the feast highlighted nationalistic sentiments among the Jews. Freedom was an underlying theme. This made the possibility of violence real.
Pilate loved Caesarea. It was on the ocean. The climate was warmer than Jerusalem. He liked walking along its beaches, soaking up the sun.
It seemed to Pilate Jerusalem was not just colder in terms of temperature than Caesarea, but more inhospitable too. Perhaps tensions between the secular Jewish state operated by Herod and the Temple, controlled by the religious authorities, contributed to that. (Slight pause.)
Pilate stood at the entryway of the Pretorium and looked out into the darkness. Hints of dawn flitted about the murky courtyard. A dense fog had settled in. Again, he noticed how cold and wet the air felt.
He wondered if a tomb felt like this— cold, wet. Once more his mind went to the encounter with that Rabbi. He wondered if the tomb which held the body of Yehoshua felt cold like this, wet like this. He wondered if you felt anything when you die.
Or was there just... nothing... nothing to feel? Was life simply done, over? Or was there something like what the Pharisees, the Rabbis spoke about— this... this... what did they call it? Resurrection. (Slight pause.)
There was nothing after life. At least that’s what Romans believed. When it came to the gods, you offered a sacrifice, you might get something in return. As the saying went, you got something if the gods were pleased, if the gods were with you. If you got nothing, it was just bad luck.
Pilate knew from speaking with the Chief Priests that the religion of the Jews was based on a covenant with God, a relationship with God. They said God was alive. God, they said, loved.
God? Love? Those two words together seemed so... so... strange. With Roman gods, no relationship was necessary. It was merely a transaction.
The gods of Rome were practical. Nothing seemed practical about love. Nothing seemed practical about having a relationship with a god. Nothing seemed practical about this idea of resurrection.
Still, in retrospect, it seemed to Pilate that Yehoshua, this Jesus, knew something about God and about love. But the government had its sources. He had heard reports about Jesus.
What this one preached— love, justice, peace, equity— could incite people to rebellion. So it seemed only prudent to execute the Rabbi, even if innocence was clear, even if the charges were obviously false. Unrest, even a threat of it, could not be tolerated.
Did he struggle with the decision to execute? A little. After all, Jesus was innocent.
But he never thought anything to do with innocence or guilt had much place when it comes to governing. Governing was about being practical. If that meant being harsh, even brutal, so be it. (Slight pause.)
That question crossed his mind again. What is truth? (Slight pause.)
Pilate knew the fog would burn off soon. The air was now light with a morning glow and he could see the whole courtyard.
Suddenly, he noticed a centurion running toward him across the empty space at full speed. Pilate recognized the officer as the one who had been put in charge of guarding the tomb where the rabble-rouser Yehoshua was buried.
Out of breath, the soldier sputtered out words as fast as he could. They seemed incoherent. “Tomb... Rabbi... body... gone... women...” (Slight pause.)
Pilate turned and walked away, headed back toward his room. Somehow, he knew what the soldier meant and he knew what had happened and he did not want the centurion to see him cry. But he was crying.
And suddenly the question was there again: what is truth? Were the Jews right? Was a relationship with God a truth? Or is life only a transaction?
Was the resurrection a reality? Did God love? (Slight pause.) What is truth? (Slight pause.) Did God love that much? What is truth? Amen.
04/24/2011 - Easter Sunday
United Church of Christ, First Congregational, Norwich, New York.
ENDPIECE: It is the practice of the Pastor to speak after the Closing Hymn, but before the Choral Response and Benediction. This is an précis of what was said: “I am sure the well known American composer Irving Berlin was a nice fellow. He wrote Easter Parade, he wrote It’s a Lovely Day, Happy Easter, but these are not Christian sentiments. If someone walks up to you today and says, ‘Happy Easter’ shake their hand and say, ‘Christ is risen.’ ‘Happy Easter’ is very secular.”
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