The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ (40 page)

“But that is unjust!”

Zadok shrugged. “Caiaphas wants it done. That’s all the justice you need in Jerusalem. Call for the Nazarene’s death when the time comes, Jonas, and I will put in a good word for you with Abiathar.”

Jonas shook his head. “The Galilean is a good man. I wish Him no harm.”

“Neither do I,” said Zadok matter-of-factly. “But I have to live and since Caiaphas means to destroy Him anyway, it’s no harm to do as Abiathar wishes.”

“Why does he need you to shout against the Galilean?” Jonas asked. “After all, the Sanhedrin can sentence Him.”

“The Nazarene cannot be executed unless Pontius Pilate approves the sentence,” Zadok reminded him. “Caiaphas cannot have much of a case against Him, but if Pilate believes the people are stirred up against the Nazarene, he will be easy to convince. After all, what is one dead Galilean to a Roman governor if he can serve to prevent a riot? With enough of us who have something to gain from it shouting for the Galilean’s death, how will Pilate know that most of the people believe Him to be a prophet?”

Zadok’s explanation was so logical that Jonas could find no flaw in it. But he could still feel sorry for the prisoner and be glad he was going to have no part himself in the death and degradation of this innocent man.

Crucify Him! Crucify Him!

John 19:6

One thing remained before Caiaphas and the Priestly Council could demand that Pilate put Jesus to death. The formal sentence of the Sanhedrin had to be passed upon Him once again, and for this purpose something resembling a meeting of the whole court had to be held. By arranging it for early in the morning and sending out notices only a short time before, Caiaphas had insured that most of the members who attended the meeting of the court would be those who, like himself, wished to see Jesus destroyed.

Consisting legally of seventy-one members, although the number was less than that from time to time, the Great Sanhedrin ordinarily met in the building just outside the sanctuary area reserved for it. Since only twenty-three members were required to constitute a quorum, Caiaphas had experienced little difficulty in summoning mainly those whom he could be sure would vote as he wished.

Jesus came before the judicial group shortly after the sun had risen. He had been reviled, spit upon, and struck repeatedly. The blood from some of the wounds caused by this maltreatment showed on His face and body. Yet none of it had been able to destroy the regal bearing which had characterized Him from the moment when He had faced His captors in the Garden of Gethsemane. Now, as He was brought before those who could sentence Him to death, there was no sign of subservience or pleading in His manner. Instead, the look in His eyes was still one of compassion, compassion for these men who, in order to destroy Him, were prostituting the function of the most noble court in all of Israel.

Caiaphas took charge of this hearing as he had the meeting of the Priestly Council in his palace. He was determined that nothing would be introduced which might prevent the carrying out of his plan for destroying Jesus.

“Are You the Christ? Tell us,” he demanded contemptuously.

Jesus broke the silence which had characterized Him during most of the arraignment so far.

“If I tell you, you will not believe Me,” He said quietly. “If I also ask you, you will not answer Me, nor let Me go. Hereafter the Son of Man shall sit on the right hand of the power of God.”

“Are you then the Son of God?” one of the judges asked Him.

“You say that I am,” Jesus answered.

“What need do we have of any further witnesses?” Elam demanded from his seat near the center of the half-circle occupied by the members of the court. “We ourselves have heard from His own mouth.”

The taking of the vote was simply a formality. It was quickly done and Abiathar, at Caiaphas’s order, led Jesus from the house of the Sanhedrin to present Him to Pontius Pilate for approval of the death sentence.

To the camp of the Galileans on the slope of the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem, and to those of Jesus’ followers who had waited in Bethany for His return after eating the Passover in the city, word of the Master’s arrest in Jerusalem and His condemnation by the Sanhedrin came shortly. Mary of Magdala had been looking after the mother of Jesus and she now undertook the sorrowful task of taking Mary of Nazareth into Jerusalem in the vain hope that she might be able to plead with the authorities for the release of her son.

They set out at once, but could make only slow progress; word of the dramatic events that had taken place during the night had already sped through the countryside around Jerusalem and people were beginning to move toward the city in great numbers. Many were saddened by the arrest of one they had come to respect and love as a great Teacher, if not as the Son of God. Others were drawn only by the excitement and the prospect of that most thrilling of public events, an execution.

On any other occasion, Mary Magdalene would have been happy at the natural beauty all around her as she hurried with the mother of Jesus along the road leading to the city. The hillsides were already beginning to break out in a riot of color from the spring flowers that would soon be completely covering them. Daffodils were already in bloom, with here and there clumps of sea-leek as well as the star-shaped blossom of the “flower of Sharon.” Now and then a cluster of “cuckoo flowers” could be seen, making against the white and green a splash of lilac. The burnt thorn grew everywhere, but only an occasional clump as yet showed its tiny bloodlike blossoms.

Many of the pilgrims who had come to Jerusalem for the festival were already folding their tents preparing to leave. With luck they could reach Bethabara and the caravansary at the ford of the Jordan that day and spend the Sabbath there on the next. Only black coals where the paschal lambs had been roasted the afternoon before and the litter that accumulates around a campground remained to show where those who had already departed had spent the days of the festival.

Many of the tents had still not been struck, however, for the news from Jerusalem was more exciting than the festival had been. People were hurrying from the camps and filling the road into the city, shouting eagerly as they walked. Mary, in her eagerness to learn what had happened to Jesus, would have liked to go faster, but His mother was not so young as she, and their pace was slow. Besides, something had blocked the traffic between Bethphage and Jerusalem and there the flow of people had slowed almost to a halt. The two Marys were not able to see the cause until they rounded a curve in the road. The line of travelers was being diverted from the path around an olive tree whose branches overhung the roadway there. Swinging from one of the limbs with his girdle tight about his neck was the body of a man who had obviously hanged himself.

Mary did not need a second look to recognize Judas of Kerioth.

The Jews traveling into the city shunned the body, making a wide half-circle around it. Mary could see at a glance that Judas was beyond help; his protruding tongue and eyes, the bluish pallor of his skin, the complete absence of movement in his body as it swung on the tree—all these indicated death some time before.

Anyone could see what had happened. A tall rock stood beside the road, and Judas had obviously stood upon it while tying one end of the girdle to the limb and the other around his neck before stepping off. He had slowly suffocated from strangulation, kicking and jerking while his body turned and turned again upon the improvised gibbet.

A small knot of people stood to one side looking at the body. As she passed, Mary recognized Simon Zelotes who, alone among the disciples, had been a close friend of Judas Iscariot. The Zealot’s face was drawn and his eyes were haunted with fear.

“Simon,” Mary called to him and Zelotes turned like a hunted thing that hears an unexpected sound, ready to flee.

“It is Mary of Magdala, Simon,” she called. “The mother of our Lord is with me.”

People were staring now and Simon came to them rather reluctantly as they stood with Joanna the wife of Chuza, Salome the mother of James and John, and several others.

“What has happened to Jesus, Simon?” Mary asked.

The Zealot spoke rapidly and in a low voice, looking about him nervously all the while. “Judas betrayed Him to the high priest. For thirty pieces of silver.”

Mary caught her breath. “Then Jesus has really been arrested?”

“And condemned by the Sanhedrin.”

A sob broke from Mary of Nazareth. “Did no one defend Him?” Mary Magdalene asked.

“Peter tried, but was disarmed. We were all driven away by the swords of the guards and forced to flee.”

As clearly as when He had spoken of it only a few days before, Mary remembered how Jesus had prophesied His death in Jerusalem, foretelling it exactly as it was happening now.

“Where is the Master?” Mary asked.

“For fear of being recognized, I could not get closer to where they have Him,” Simon answered. “Someone said the temple guards were taking Him to the Antonia—to Pontius Pilate.”

Mary looked up at the body of Judas still hanging from the limb. She had never liked the man of Kerioth. He had been moody, given to sharp words and bursts of anger when he did not get his way. But she could feel no hate for him now, even for what he had done to Jesus. Perhaps alone among the close followers of the Master, she understood that this thing had to be done, she could not have said exactly why; it was a part of God’s plan for bringing to pass His kingdom on earth.

“What of him?” Mary inquired of Simon, indicating the dangling body.

“I will cut him down later,” Simon said, “after the crowds have passed. He was paid thirty pieces of silver for betraying Jesus, but I heard in Jerusalem that he took it to the temple early this morning and gave it to the priest as a gift.”

Mary took some coins from her purse. “See that his body is buried somewhere,” she said. “If you need more money, I will give it to you.”

“God will bless you, Mary,” Simon said humbly. “A man who came from Jerusalem just now said the priests are going to buy the potters’ field with the thirty pieces of silver Judas gave them. If so, he could be buried there.”

Pontius Pilate had not been pleased when he was notified that the Sanhedrin was sending him a prisoner for confirmation of death sentence. So far the Passover had been uneventful. As usual he had assigned two dozen legionnaires to Caiaphas to help keep order. But from what Pelonius, the centurion in charge of the troops assigned to the Antonia, told him, Caiaphas had used the Roman troops to arrest the Nazarene prophet. Pilate did not doubt that this was the person who was now being sent to him for sentence.

At any other time Pilate would have approved the sentence of the Sanhedrin with hardly a glance at the condemned man, since in Judea Rome customarily left the handling of religious affairs to the Jewish court. But irritated at Caiaphas for using the Roman troops to arrest one of his own people on a religious charge, Pilate was determined to look into the matter further. He had thought the high priest had learned his lesson when the Galileans led by Barabbas had been killed on the floor of the temple recently; now it seemed that the haughty son-in-law of Annas needed a further reminder that Rome ruled here.

The sound of voices shouting outside the paved praetorium in front of the Antonia warned Pilate of the arrival of the prisoner, even before the centurion Pelonius came to tell him of it. The Jews would not come into the Antonia itself, since to enter a heathen building would cause them defilement at this, one of their holiest times. Pilate let them wait until he had finished breakfast. Only then did he show himself upon the elevated terrace overlooking the courtyard.

Pelonius was an old hand at handling this sort of situation. Pilate noted with approval that he had drawn up his troops on either side of the court with weapons ready in case there was trouble. The crowd had surged to the gate of the court, and from their midst Abiathar and another guard now emerged, dragging between them the slender form of the Nazarene. It was the first time Pilate had seen Jesus since the afternoon they had both arrived simultaneously from Jericho. He was surprised now by the courage evident in Jesus’ manner and the lack of any fear in His eyes.

Behind Jesus and His guards, Elam and several of the leaders of the Sanhedrin, including some of the chief priests, approached Pilate to present the case of the high court against the prisoner. They were careful, however, not to come close enough for the shadow of the covered terrace to fall upon them and defile them.

“Free the prisoner and step back,” Pelonius commanded Abiathar curtly. Jesus had been brought to the foot of the steps leading to the terrace where Pontius Pilate stood with a lictor bearing behind him the fasces of authority signifying that this was actually a court of law.

“What accusations do you bring against this man?” Pilate demanded coldly of the Sanhedrists.

“If He were not a malefactor,” Elam said unctuously, “we would not have delivered Him to you.”

“Take Him and judge Him according to your Law then,” Pilate said sharply.

“It is not lawful for us to put any man to death,” Elam protested.

Pilate stepped back and motioned for Jesus to come closer. “Are you the king of the Jews?” he inquired.

“Do you say this of yourself,” Jesus asked gravely, “or did others tell it to you concerning Me?”

Pilate was pleased by the question. He was no groveling wretch, certain of death and begging for His life, but a man who held Himself proudly and spoke without fear. “Am I a Jew?” Pilate asked. “Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered You to me. What have You done?”

“My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus said quietly. “If My kingdom were of this world, then My servants would fight so that I should not be delivered to the Jews.”

“Are you a king then?” Pilate inquired.

“You say that I am a king,” Jesus said. “To this end I was born and came into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth.”

“What is truth?” Pilate said with a shrug, and turned to address Elam and the Sanhedrists who stood some distance away, still carefully avoiding the shadow of the building.

“I find no fault at all in Him,” the governor announced.

Abiathar was watching. At the words, he gave a signal to the crowd which pressed against the gates, and immediately, as planned, they set up a howl of indignation.