Which Jesus?

Mark 15:1-15

March 6, 2016 • Mount Pleasant UMC

He never planned to be here. In fact, he never thought he would be a free man again. This morning, he expected that, very shortly, he would be dead. When the guards woke him up early this morning, he knew this was it. In very short order, he would be hanging on a Roman cross, another victim of swift Roman justice. That was all right. He was guilty. He had done everything they accused him of and more. Which was why he couldn’t figure out why he was now walking away while some other man, some other Jesus, was being led away to face crucifixion. None of it made sense, especially when he looked into the face of the other man. He didn’t look like a criminal. But he had heard the cries with his own ears. “Give us Barabbas!” the crowd had said. He couldn’t believe it then, and he couldn’t believe it now. Nor could he believe what he heard next. When the governor asked what to do with the other man, the crowd had said, “Crucify him!” And just that quickly, Barabbas was free while the other man went to his death. It just didn’t make any sense.

But then, from a merely human point of view, there’s little about these last hours that makes complete sense. Yet, as we walk through the last 24 hours of Jesus’ earthly life, we’re trying to understand as best we can what happened but more importantly learn what it means. We began our journey with the Thursday evening meal, what we call the Last Supper, as Jesus shared the Passover meal with his disciples. We followed him to his place of prayer in Gethsemane, and watched as those he trusted the most first fell asleep, then ran away and betrayed him. Then, like Peter, we followed him back down the length of the Kidron Valley to the house of the high priest and we listened as they decided he was worthy of death. But, as I mentioned last week, the Jewish ruling council, the Sanhedrin, could not execute anyone. They had been stripped of that power by the Roman Empire. Only Rome could execute people, and so once the illegal nighttime trial was over, the Sanhedrin took Jesus of Nazareth to Pilate, the Roman governor, and they ask Pilate to kill him because he’s a threat to Rome. He claims, they said, to be “king of the Jews,” which, in Pilate’s mind, is a political term (Garland, NIV Application Commentary: Mark, pg. 577). The religious leaders know Pilate would have to take this kind of a charge very seriously. Pilate could not afford another rebellion and another so-called Messiah. So on a trumped-up political accusation, Jesus of Nazareth comes face-to-face with the power of the Roman Empire, represented by Pontius Pilate.

Historians tell us Pilate was not a nice man. He was described by a writer in his own day as “greedy, inflexible and cruel,” one who “resorted to robbery and oppression” to get the job done if necessary. He was appointed to Judea four or five years before this encounter with Jesus, and almost as soon as he arrived, he was at odds with the Jewish leadership because he posted banners in Jerusalem connected to emperor worship. That did not go over well among these people who worshipped one God. Pilate, it seems, went out of his way to show how much he disliked the Jewish leaders and even took money out of the sacred treasury one time to build an aqueduct because they refused to pay more taxes. When the people protested this theft from the temple treasury, Pilate hid guards in the crowd and had them beat those who were protesting (Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, pgs. 615-616). So there’s bad blood here to begin with, and when the religious leaders bring Jesus to Pilate early on Friday morning, he has to wonder what they’re up to.

John records more of the conversation between Jesus and Pilate than Mark does. John even tells us about several trips Pilate makes back and forth from inside the fortress, where he has Jesus, to the outside steps, where the Jewish leaders are waiting (cf. John 18:28-40). John also tells us the religious leaders won’t go inside because they don’t want to be made unclean; they wanted to be able to fully participate in the Passover celebrations. If they went inside a Gentile fortress, they would be excluded. So they wait outside while Jesus is being tried inside. And though he’s on trial for his life, Jesus doesn’t say much at all, in any of the Gospels. Pilate does most of the talking. In Mark’s Gospel, which we read this morning, Jesus only answers Pilate once. When Pilate asks him if he is the king of the Jews, Jesus says, “You have said so.” Which is not really an answer! Pilate tries but he can’t really find any reason to convict Jesus. He certainly doesn’t want to do it just to make the religious leaders happy; he couldn’t care less what they think. He’s only interested in preventing riots, getting through the Passover season without any trouble, and if possible, asserting his own authority over the chief priests. As far as Pilate is concerned, this trial has little to do with Jesus and more to do with showing the chief priests who’s really in charge (Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 207).

Pilate’s in a bit of mess here. He has a prisoner who seems to be innocent. He doesn’t look like a revolutionary. There are no records of him trying to stir people up or of threatening the government. And besides that, according to Matthew’s account, Pilate’s wife has sent him a message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man,” she said, “for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him” (Matthew 27:19). All four Gospels tell us Pilate repeatedly tries to get Jesus released, but every time he tries, the religious leaders subtly threaten a riot or other problems. “You’re no friend of Caesar’s if you let him go,” they say (John 19:12). And Pilate can’t afford any more problems right now. Pilate is certainly not above condemning someone to death. But there’s something about this that’s not right, and as he sits on the judgment seat, he’s desperately looking for a way out.

Then the answer seems to present itself. Mark says the people ask Pilate to honor a custom the Romans and the Jews had during Passover (15:8). In a spirit of cooperation and to celebrate redemption, it was the custom to release a condemned prisoner during the Festival. Apparently, that had not been done yet this year, and so when he’s asked about it, Pilate remembers he has another man awaiting death in the prison right then. Mark calls the prisoner an “insurrectionist” (15:7); today we would call him a terrorist. He’s one who fights for what he thinks is right, and isn’t afraid to use violence to do it. Mark says he had helped commit murder, and because of that, he was most likely scheduled to die, perhaps even that day. So Pilate decides to offer the people a choice. He’ll either release Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews, or the other man, whose name, Matthew tells us, is Jesus Barabbas (Matthew 27:16; cf. Boring, “The Gospel of Matthew,” New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. VIII, pg. 486).

It’s a little detail that we miss, and in fact it’s not included in many English translations of the Bible because some translators either fear it might be misunderstood or want to ignore it. But there are ancient copies of Matthew’s Gospel that include the detail of Barabbas’ first name. Jesus was actually a fairly common name in the first century. It means, “God saves,” and our English form of it is Joshua, so it’s still a common name. In the first century, your “last” name was a combination of the word “bar,” which means “son of” and your father’s name. So Jesus of Nazareth would have been called Jesus Barjoseph. So “Barabbas” is not a first name. It’s a surname that means “son of the father.” Bar-abba. I don’t know that Pilate was aware of the irony, but the choice he places before the crowd is Jesus Barjoseph or Jesus Barabbas. The Son of God or one who is called Son of the Father. Which Jesus will the crowd choose?

The two Jesuses would have had common concerns. Both would have been concerned about the ways politics and religion intermingled as Rome and the Saducees did business together. Undoubtedly, they both would have been upset by the way the high priests allowed the outer court of the Temple (the place of prayer for Gentiles and women) to be turned into a marketplace. They would have both longed to see the nation change, and while their aim may have been similar, they could not be more different in the ways they worked to see it happen. Jesus Barabbas was most likely a Zealot, one who was in favor of armed rebellion against Rome. He may have even styled himself as a sort of Messiah, one who would save the people from Rome, who would do what a real Messiah was supposed to do, someone like Judas Maccabaeus, who several years before was able to establish Israel as an independent state for a brief time. Everything the people were looking for in a “real” savior, they would have found in Jesus Barabbas. Might makes right. Do whatever’s necessary to accomplish the goal. Violence is the answer. Power is the answer (Campolo, Which Jesus?). That’s a Messiah for you! Jesus Barjoseph, on the other hand, called his disciples to love each other. When one of them, Peter, took up a sword and tried to keep Jesus from being arrested, Jesus stopped him and told him, “All who draw the sword will die by the sword” (Matthew 26:52). This Jesus said things like, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). He said, “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal” (Matthew 6:20). He said, “Whoever wants to be first must be slave of all” (Mark 10:44). And just the night before this, he had said, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35). It’s a stark choice. There, sitting on the judgment seat, Pilate offers the crowd Jesus; which Jesus will they choose? Jesus Barabbas—the way of power? Or Jesus Barjoseph—the way of love? Which Jesus will they choose?

Which Jesus will you choose? We’re more familiar with the ways of Jesus Barbabbas, and in some ways, more comfortable with his path. Don’t like what’s going on? Don’t like what’s happening? Revolt! Grab power and make things change. Don’t let anybody push you around. We’re seeing the way of Jesus Barabbas play itself out in the political realm this year, where the candidates from both sides of the aisle are using increasingly revolutionary language, insisting on forcing change on the nation. We see the way of Jesus Barabbas every time ISIS kills another person or group of people because they disagree with their way of life or their faith or beliefs. We see the way of Jesus Barabbas being lived out in our city’s streets, in places of business and even sometimes in our churches. Let me be honest and, I hope, pastoral this morning. We’re always in danger of grabbing onto the way of Jesus Barabbas in the church, and in the last couple of weeks, it’s been a real challenge even here. The temptation in the church is always to insist on our own way, to see our own preferences as synonymous with God’s desire, and to become distracted from why we’re doing what we do. We’ve been arguing, and we’ve been demonizing others as we move closer to opening our rebuilt sanctuary. I’ve been preaching about this since I came last July: the goal in this rebuild is not to have a brand new building. The goal is to have a tool which we can use to reach the community and the world for Jesus Christ. That’s our mission. That’s our calling, nothing else: to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. There have been a lot of things lately that have tried to distract us from that mission, and the way we go about those other things often lead us down the path of Jesus Barabbas, the path of power. The way of Barabbas seems easier, and, we think, it will help us get our way. But that is not our tradition. That is not our faith. Our faith is found in one who said, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35). Our faith was shaped by one who said, “Though we cannot think alike, may we not love alike? May we not be of one heart, though we are not of one opinion? Without all doubt, we may” (Wesley, “Catholic Spirit”). 

Our first choice, the way we’ve learned, is to take the path of Barabbas. If we’re honest, we want Jesus Barabbas, because his way of salvation—force, power, violence—looks so attractive. It makes sense. It looks like it just might save us after all. But history tells us that Barabbas’ movement only led to more violence. We don’t know what happened to Barabbas himself after he left Pilate’s prison, but we do know what happened to the Zealot movement. Forty years after Jesus’ crucifixion, they rallied people to rebel against Rome, and it was a complete disaster. In A.D. 70, the Romans came and destroyed the Temple and the city, killing thousands of people as they attempted to put down the rebellion. The path of power, the way of Barabbas, leads to more violence. Every time we choose Barabbas, we painfully learn that lesson again.

But there is a better way, a better choice. Paul called it a “most excellent way” (1 Corinthians 12:31) when he described the way of Jesus Barjoseph to the Corinthian church in 1 Corinthians 13. We often hear this passage read at weddings, but it’s not about romantic love. Paul was writing to a church that was conflicted, that was struggling to do the right thing. In part, they were arguing over which gifts and abilities were the best, the most important. Into that conversation, Paul says, “There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them” (12:4). Why are you fighting over things like that? Let me show you a better way to live, the way of Jesus Barjoseph: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails” (13:4-8a). That is the way of Jesus: agape. Most of you know that word; it means unconditional, no-strings-attached love. It’s sacrificial love, the kind of love God has for each of us. It’s love that says, “You are loved just because you are.”

It’s the kind of love Jesus lived out when he gave his life on the cross for us, when he chose to die for the sins of the world. There’s a quiet determination that surrounds every scene of this trial with Pilate. Jesus says very little. He chooses not to defend himself and only occasionally challenges Pilate. In John’s Gospel, when Pilate claims he has power to free Jesus or to kill him, Jesus responds, “You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above” (John 19:11). Jesus always chooses the way of love. He said the most important commandment is this: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength…Love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30-31). He showed us what that looks like on the cross. “Nietzsche was right: love creates vulnerability and can get you crucified…Love requires enormous risk taking…Those who are unwilling to risk being hurt can never love” (Campolo). Perhaps most recently, one who lived this out as well as anyone was Martin Luther King. In the midst of the civil rights movement of the 1960’s, King responded to hate with love, even when it was a struggle. He told his enemies, “If you beat us, we will love you! If you jail us, we will love you, and if you kill us, we will die loving you!” You see, even in the darkest days, King knew that those who follow the way of Jesus Barjoseph have a strange way of rising again, because no power on earth can keep love down.

We have a choice. Any situation we enter, we can choose the way of Barabbas or the way of Jesus. We can choose the way of power and control or we can choose the way of love. Struggle and conflict are inevitable. When such times comes, imagine going into it as Barabbas, as one who demands power, who wants control, and who will resort to any means to get his way. What will be the outcome if you approach it like that? Now consider what the outcome will be if you approach it like Jesus. I’m not talking about giving in, or letting people walk all over you. I’m talking about approaching any situation, particularly conflict, with the attitude of agape love, with the willingness to give all you have as Jesus did. I’m talking about trusting that God’s way will respond to evil redemptively and short-circuit it (Garland 583). Power or love? It’s not as easy a choice as we might think. Which Jesus will you choose?

The people chose Barabbas. After all, he’s the easier choice. They knew him. They knew his ways. They may even have fashioned him as a sort of hero, one who put himself out there trying to free them (Garland 579). The chose the way of power, and for 2,000 years we have continued to do the same thing. But I wonder, as Barabbas ran away, if he realized he became the first person whose place Jesus took. Barabbas was the first person Jesus died for. Jesus took his place, just like he takes yours and mine, in order to save us from the way of power and call us to the way of love. We call this substitutionary atonement, which is simply a way of saying that we have sinned, every one of us, and we have been separated from God. We deserve death for what we have done, just as Barabbas did. But God did not want us to die, and so he came in Jesus to pay the price for our sin. He died so we wouldn’t have to; he extended grace to us when we didn’t deserve it (cf. Hamilton, 24 Hours, pg. 67). That’s what happened to Jesus Barabbas; he walked away and Jesus Barjoseph took his place. He took ours, too, and invites us to follow his way.

Pilate allowed the crowd to have its way because he wanted to satisfy them (15:15). He turned Jesus over to them, to have him crucified, and as he did, according to Matthew’s Gospel, he had water brought, washed his hands and told the crowd, “I am innocent of this man’s blood! It is your responsibility!” (Matthew 27:24). And the crowd agreed. “His blood is on us and on our children!” (27:25). Truer words were never spoken, not in the sense of the crowd being guilty for Jesus’ death, but in the sense that it is Jesus’ blood, the Bible says, that can save us from our sins. When we choose his way, his blood is on us, to save us from all that separates us from God. That’s something Pilate never understood. Five or six years after this, he was recalled to Rome and after that, Pilate pretty much disappears from history. Tradition says he killed himself, either on the way to Rome or sometime after his meeting with the emperor. A legend grew up around Pilate that pictured him, every year, emerging from his tomb and washing his hands, trying to remove the guilt from this one incident. But he can’t wash away the stain of sin with water. Neither can we. Only the blood of Christ can make us whole, can make us clean (cf. Revelation 7:14).

This morning, we’re going to come to the communion table and receive these two tokens, the bread and the cup that remind us of Jesus’ sacrifice for us, his love for us. But on your way this morning, in the aisle, is a basin of water. Pilate used water to try to absolve himself of the guilt he felt for condemning Jesus to death, but this morning I invite you, as you come to the table this morning to touch the water, remembering that Jesus gave his life to take your guilt and sin. The water will become for us a symbol of being washed clean from our sin, a gracious gift from Jesus. So as you touch the water, remember that you have been baptized and are a part of the family of God, called to choose the way of love, the way of Jesus Barjoseph. May the water, the bread and cup remind you this morning of the Jesus who leads your life.