Pilate’s Dilemma

Mark 15:6. Page 852. Mark is recording for us here in chapter 15 the final day of Christ’s life before the crucifixion. And we’ve reached verse 6:

“Now at the feast he”—that is, Pilate—“used to release for them one prisoner for whom they asked. And among the rebels in prison, who had committed murder in the insurrection, there was a man called Barabbas. And the crowd came up and began to ask Pilate to do as he usually did for them. And he answered them, saying, ‘Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?’ For he perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered him up. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release for them Barabbas instead. And Pilate again said to them, ‘Then what shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?’ And they cried out again, ‘Crucify him.’ And Pilate said to them, ‘Why? What evil has he done?’ But they shouted all the more, ‘Crucify him.’ So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified.”

Amen.

Gracious God, with our Bibles open, we earnestly ask that the Holy Spirit will reveal, convince, convict, convert, change, open blind eyes, soften hard hearts, redirect those of us on wandering paths. For the glory of Christ we ask it. Amen.

It would be hard to imagine that any who were present on this particular day would ever forget the events of the day for as long as they lived. That would certainly be true, surely, of Pilate and of Barabbas. After all, Barabbas began the day imprisoned as an insurrectionist and as a robber, and he ended the day as a free man. Pilate ended the day stumbling over the cries and coercive powers of the crowd that confronted him, resulting in him doing what he knew was not right to do and yet finding it impossible, in himself, to do the right thing. He was convinced of the innocence of Jesus, he was amazed by Christ’s silence, but he was too shrewd to be conned by the religious authorities. And that comes across again and again.

You have the picture of Pilate trying to do just about everything he can in order to prevent Christ from being confronted by the malicious intentions of his opponents. And here we’re told in verse 6 that this particular feast was an occasion for the potential of clemency—therefore, an opportunity for Pilate to take another exit from the freeway that seemed to be leading inexorably to the crucifixion of Jesus, a chance for him to release Jesus of Nazareth.

Now, there’s not much written about this particular event. It seems to me that it’s somewhat similar to presidential pardons. Every so often—in fact, just this week, actually, in the press, it was announced that in the last little while President Obama has pardoned seventeen individuals. And you can go into the presidential record and find how many hundreds and thousands of people have been pardoned by the presidents throughout the history of America. I did a little research on that (not much), but I was intrigued to discover that Garfield, of Moreland Hills fame—that Garfield was one of only two presidents in the history of the United States who granted a pardon to nobody. But of course, if you think about it, he was assassinated very, very early on in his presidency, and so, you know, we don’t want to hold that against him. If you want to know who the other person was, look it up yourself.

So, it was that kind of context at the feast—an opportunity to set a prisoner free, which would be not only a plus for the prisoner, obviously, but it would say something about the relationships between imperial Rome and those who were in subjection to them. It’s a good opportunity for the governor to placate the crowd, to engage in an act that is conciliatory.

Now, as we look at this section as Mark has it here, we keep in mind, of course, that there are parallel passages in the rest of the Gospels. And if I mention something that you look down at your text and find that it isn’t there, as I’ve said before, I’m pretty confident that if you look either at the other Gospels, of Matthew and Luke or John, then you will find the material there. If you don’t find it there, then you must, of course, come and take me to task.

The Characters

But here we have the section before us between 6 and 15. Notice, first of all, the characters as they are set before us here by Mark. I’ve identified these various aspects of it all with words that begin with R, just to help me and my recollection.

And so the first word that I wrote down is the word Rome. Rome, representative of the power of Rome, and that power being described and exercised in the person of Pilate himself. So when we think of Pilate, we do not see him simply as an individual, but as an individual who has behind him all of the authority of Rome itself. And there are a number of characteristics in relationship to Pilate that are worthy of our consideration. I will not delay on them, but I want to point them out to you.

First of all, he was proud. He was proud. Mark tells us here that he “was amazed” by the silence of Jesus.[1] In the parallel passage in John, John records that he wasn’t simply amazed, but he was annoyed. And this is what he said to Jesus: “You [won’t] speak to me? [Don’t you] know that I have authority to release you and authority to crucify you?”[2] “Don’t you know who I am?” That’s what he’s saying. There is in that personal pride of position. There is in that the representative authority that is his as a servant of Rome. But Jesus’ reply was very straightforward, too, wasn’t it? Remember, he said, “Listen, Pilate, you would have no authority to do anything if it were not given to you by heaven.”[3] He was proud.

Secondly, he was cruel. In [Luke] chapter 13, you read there of his actions in mingling the blood of the martyrs with their acts of sacrifice[4]—a picture of inhumanity. He was capable of vicious brutality. He was proud. He was cruel.

Thirdly, he was shrewd. You see that in verse 10 of our passage: “For he perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests” wanted him to be crucified. He wasn’t conned by them. He was a shrewd character.

Still in our passage, fourthly, he was a man-pleaser. It was important for him to be well thought of. It was important that he was regarded highly by those who were around him. And so, “wishing to satisfy the crowd,” he capitulated.

Fifthly, he was superstitious—superstitious enough to pay attention when his wife said to him (and this you’ll find in Matthew 27), “[Pilate,] have nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much because of him today in a dream.”[5] So, he was unsettled by the silence of Christ; he was unsettled by the statement of his wife. He was superstitious.

And sixthly and finally, he was prepared to attempt the impossible. He was prepared to attempt the impossible. What was the impossible? Adopting a position of neutrality when confronted by Jesus of Nazareth. Again, in Matthew he says, washing his hands, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.”[6] But in actual fact, he’s unable to do what he sets out to do.

Little did he realize that by his silence, Jesus was actually unveiling his true identity. By saying nothing, Jesus was saying something of significance. He was identifying himself as the one to whom John the Baptist pointed at the very beginning of the Gospel records, when he sees Jesus on the other side and he says, “Behold, [you will see over there] the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”[7] Led “as a lamb to the slaughter, … as a sheep before [its] shearers is [silent], so he [didn’t open] his mouth.”[8] By his silence, he was unveiling his true identity. That’s Rome.

Second in the characters involved in this scene, the robber—that is, Barabbas. You will notice that he comes from a group. In verse 7, we have essentially his CV. He was one of “the rebels in prison,” amongst those “who had committed murder in the insurrection,” and his name was Barabbas. Matthew tells us that he was actually “notorious.”[9] In other words, Barabbas’s name wasn’t being picked out of the hat, as it were. He was a standout in relationship to the people who were opposed to the power of Rome. And people knew his name.

John, interestingly, gives him just this little sentence where he points out that he was a robber. Now, if you think about it, it almost seems sort of inconsequential in the vast scheme of things. We’ve got all these cries for crucifixion. We’ve got stories of insurrection and rebellion and murder and everything else. And he says, “[And he] was a robber.”[10] So, there is a reason for him making sure that we understand that. I think there really is. If you look at verse 27, if your Bible is open here at 15 of Mark, Mark records, “And with him”—that is, with Jesus—“they crucified two robbers, one on his right and one on his left.” And Barabbas was a robber. In other words, when he awakened in the morning, he was presumably heading for the same place as his two fellow insurrectionists. He has no speaking part in this event. His freedom, as we’re going to see, was about to be purchased for him by the death of an innocent.

So, we have Rome, represented by Pilate. We have the robber in the character of [Barabbas]. Thirdly, we have the crowd, what I’m referring to just as a rabble. A rabble. I think they are a rabble. They’re rabble-rousers. They are swayed and moved. And it is characteristic of preachers, particularly on Palm Sunday—which will be coming along soon enough—to deliver a sermon at least once in their ministerial career that points out the fickleness of the crowd. You’ve been present on Palm Sunday for these sermons. I think I’ve probably preached one or two myself. I’m not sure I’ll do it ever again.

And it goes like this: “The crowd was such a dreadful group of people. At one minute they are shouting, ‘Hosanna in the highest!’ ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!’[11] and the next minute they were shouting ‘Crucify him.’” And the point is then made about how they vacillate and change and so on. And that may well be right.

But having studied my Bible longer and more carefully, I think it’s highly improbable that this crowd described here actually contained many, if any, of the crowd that had welcomed him when he arrived not so long ago, riding on the colt of a donkey. If that is true, then they’re released from the charge of fickleness. If that is true, then what you have is a crowd that welcomes him into the city—largely the Galilean crowd. They come along with him, announcing triumphantly his arrival. Remember, the Pharisees say, “Tell your disciples to be quiet. We don’t like this.” He says, “Well, listen, if they stop, even the stones will cry out.”[12] So, the Galilean crowd ushers him in. Now the Jerusalem crowd seeks to usher him out. The Galileans’ praise is more than matched by the opposition of those who cry for his crucifixion.

They were “stirred up,” verse 10 and 11, by “the chief priests,” who were the religious authorities. Rome: Pilate. Robber: Barabbas. Rabble: crowd. Religious authorities: chief priests. What a dreadful thing it is that those who were the very representatives of the Jewish faith were so opposed to he who was their King! That’s, you see, what Pilate just couldn’t get: “You are Jewish people. You’re in subjugation to Rome. I represent Rome. Here is, apparently, a really nice man, and he is your King. And you don’t want your King?” He just couldn’t get it.

But when you think about that, there is another character here, isn’t there? That’s the final R. That’s the Redeemer. The presence of Jesus permeates this entire scene. But he’s not identified. He doesn’t speak. He’s there. He’s there observing this, listening to the words of Pilate, hearing the cries for his crucifixion, pondering what’s about to happen to Barabbas.

By his silence, Jesus was actually unveiling his true identity. By saying nothing, Jesus was saying something of significance.

How did Jesus usually respond to large crowds like this? “And when he saw the crowd, he looked at them with compassion, because he saw them as sheep without a shepherd.”[13] He was about to say from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”[14] What kind of love and mercy and kindness and grace is this, that he who is most opposed responds with such tenderness?

The Questions

Well, those are the characters. Those are the individuals that would be identified in this scene. Secondly, let’s notice the questions that are posed by one of these individuals—namely, by Pilate. Because you will notice that they’re here in the text.

First of all, in verse 9, Pilate said to them, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” Now, it’s a fascinating question as to what did Pilate have in mind when he said that? Was he just actually tweaking their noses? Is he saying to himself, “I know they don’t want him released, but I’ll just ask them if they do, and that will get them even more annoyed than they are already”? I don’t know. Does he expect that their answer is going to be yes? When he poses it in the way that he does, when he gives them the option of this Barabbas character—an insurrectionist and part of murderous plots and so on—does he assume that they will go for the good guy, not for the bad guy? Perhaps he does.

Certainly, there is an opportunity for him now to release Jesus, to release the innocent and leave the guilty in his place. But he couldn’t ever understand the depth of the animosity of these people towards Jesus. It’s really hard to figure, isn’t it—their hatred, their envy?

It’s my experience that it is often those who are most religious who have the greatest animosity towards the story of Jesus and his grace. Religious formalists and pharisees, who have devised a man-made religion of rules and regulations that keep your toes to the fire all of life, are often those most opposed. Those who have developed a religion that has no substance to it at all, that is a vacuous thing, that is empty of any truth and reality and power and impact—those individuals have venom towards Jesus and the message he proclaimed.

Just yesterday, as I recall to mind, in one of the newspapers that I read, there was an article written by a fellow from a university responding to those who are teaching Christianity in schools. And the fascinating thing was that the fellow who was so opposed to what was being done was himself a religious professional from a denominational university in the country. And the thing that annoyed him so much was that these people, who were apparently getting to the tender minds of these youngsters, were suggesting that what they had to say about Jesus was true—that his resurrection was true; that his claims were valid. And the opposition was not coming from secular minds. Actually, it was—secular minds dressed up in religious robes.

And anyone who’s going to pay careful attention to the way this drama unfolds has to reckon with the fact that here you have worked out in large measure what John says in his prologue to his Gospel, summarizing so much. Remember, he says that Jesus “came to his own, and his own … did not receive him.”[15] “He came to [that which was] his own, and his own … did not receive him.”

Now, Peter made this perfectly clear after Pentecost, when he began to speak to the crowds on the Jerusalem streets. He didn’t pull his punches. In fact, it’s absolutely remarkable, the clarity and bravery of Peter in relationship to these things. “Do you want me,” Pilate is asking, “to release your King of the Jews?” “Are you kidding me?” they say.

Now, here’s Peter, speaking in Solomon’s portico after the ascension of Jesus. Imagine this. All the people have assembled. They’ve identified him as one of the followers of Jesus. They all “ran together to … the portico called Solomon’s,”[16] says Luke. “And when Peter saw it”—this is Acts 3:12—“and when Peter saw it he addressed the people.”

Now, who does he address? This is his opening line: “Men of Israel.” Okay? So he’s speaking to a Jewish group. He’s speaking to his own people. “Men of Israel, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we … made [this man] walk?” This man has been set free. Remember, he’s asked, “Do something for me,” and Peter has memorably said, “Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk.”[17] The people are all at arms over this now. So now he’s addressing them: “Why are you wondering about this?”

Now, listen again: “The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, [and] the God of our fathers…” Now, let me say this to you again. Listen to this:

Men of Israel, … the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, … the God of Jacob, the God of our fathers, glorified his servant Jesus, whom you delivered over and denied in the presence of Pilate when he had decided to release him. But you denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you, and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. [And] to this we are witnesses.[18]

Such clarity! Such boldness, addressing these people—significant numbers of whom would then be convicted by the Holy Spirit and would come to trust in Jesus as their only Savior and be added to the vast company of those from nations and peoples all around the world that will finally be assembled on that day when we’re gathered to Christ. “Do you want me to release [to] you the King of the Jews?” And they shouted, “No!” stirred up by the chief priests. “No! We would rather have Barabbas.”

Then question number two: “Then what shall I do?” “What shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” Or, in one of the other parallel passages, “What shall I do with Jesus who is called [the] Christ?”[19] That’s a practical question, isn’t it? “I’m only allowed to release one. If I release Barabbas, which is apparently what you want, then we’re going to have to do something with Jesus. What do you expect me to do with Jesus?”

Now, it’s a practical question, isn’t it? I mean, it has to do with jurisdiction. It has to do with the immediacy of the situation. But it’s just one of those classic questions. It is actually the question of the ages. It is the question for all of us. It is the question to be asked by every single person in earshot of my voice right now: to ask yourself, “What am I going to do with Jesus who is called Christ? What am I going to do with Jesus?” Neutrality is not an option. To meet Jesus is to find ourselves standing at a crossroads. Either we have in the New Testament the record of the birth, life, death, resurrection, ascension of the Lord Jesus and the prospect of his return, or we’ve got a complete fabrication. We have either got history, or we’ve got nonsense. So when we confront Jesus of Nazareth, we can’t just fob him off. We’re going to have to decide, and to say “I’m taking the Fifth” is to say no to him. That’s what Pilate’s about to discover. “What do you want me to do with Jesus?” What are you going to do with Jesus?

You see, I think that it is fairly common for us to start from the assumption that we live in a kind of intellectual-moral-theological neutral zone. And so, if you’ve come today as a seeker or a questioner, you probably think that you are in a sort of relatively safe place, and the challenge for anyone addressing you is the challenge of trying to convince you of the importance of moving from your safe zone into the ultrasafe zone of believing. But actually, that’s not the case. John 3:17: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

So actually, we are (with Barabbas, as it were) justifiably imprisoned for our insurrection—an insurrection against the lordship and kingship of Jesus. We are in a position where we are condemned—justifiably condemned—by our unbelief and our actions that go with them. We haven’t loved God with all our heart. We haven’t kept the Ten Commandments. We have not pleased him; we’ve pleased ourselves. We are justifiably condemned. “What am I going to do with this Jesus?”

To meet Jesus is to find ourselves standing at a crossroads. Neutrality is not an option.

Now, there are classic stories of great conversions, aren’t there? I was reading again this week in an anecdote concerning C. S. Lewis. You know the story of C. S. Lewis. He wrote in Surprised by Joy a little biography explaining how he had begun within a believing framework. His mother had died, I think, when he was nine. He woke up one day and decided he was finished with all matters concerning Jesus, walked out of the Anglican chapel, and said he was done with it. And then, eventually, he became a “reluctant convert,”[20] as he put it.

The anecdote went like this: that when C. S. Lewis arrived in Oxford—you know, he was an Irishman; he came from Dublin—when he arrived in Oxford with a great sense of anticipation, he got out of the railway station, and he mistakenly began to walk in the wrong direction. Instead of walking into Oxford, he was walking out of Oxford, and he didn’t realize it. And he describes in this little anecdote that he was struck by just how ordinary the place was—he’d thought it was going to be much better—and he described the shops and the fascia of the buildings as being dreadfully plain.

Only when he reached the edge of Oxford did he realize what he’d done. And he turned around, and he looked back—and then he saw all the spires and the towers, all the beauty that constitutes the town of Oxford. And in telling this story, Lewis said, “This little adventure was an allegory of my whole life.”[21] “An allegory of my whole life”: walking away in the wrong direction, finally being turned around and looking and seeing the beauty and the wonder of who Jesus is and what he’s done.

I could take you to wonderful churches tomorrow in the city of London. You’ve visited many of them. We would stand on the outside, and I would tell you that the windows are magnificent. You would be prepared, perhaps, to accept that, but by looking at it, you would say, “I don’t believe so. They look gray and cold to me on a misty day in London.” And then we’d go inside, and there will only need to be the shadow of a light coming through those same gray windows from the outside to bestow on us all the beauty and artistry and clarity that is discovered only from within.

Now, I put it to you again; this is the question of the ages: What are you going to do, what am I going to do, with Jesus, who is called Christ?

Well, the final question that he asks is in relationship to the fact that they don’t really come back with anything other than the same old cry: “Crucify him.” Well, what has he done wrong? “Why? What evil has he done?” That’s the question, isn’t it? See, there’s a dreadful injustice in this. And the injustice of it ought to strike any of us who are thinking. In the scheme of things, the guilty should be punished, and the innocent should be set free. But in actual fact, here the guilty’s about to set free, and the innocent is about to be punished.

Now, this is where we need what we often talk to one another about in our understanding of the Bible, where we say that in the Gospels, Jesus is revealed; so we see this scene. In the Acts, he is preached; we’ve seen a little of that with Peter in Acts chapter 3. And then in the Epistles, or in the Letters, Jesus is explained—so that in the writing of Peter, if we stay with Peter, he’s able to give to us a succinct explanation of what is happening here in this injustice.

And this is how he puts it in 1 Peter 3: “Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring us to God.”[22] Yes, there is an injustice here. Paul addresses it; he marvels at it when he writes Romans. He says, “And this is the amazing thing: that it was while we were still sinners that Christ died for us.”[23] While we were sinners that he died for us!

Some of you are clever souls and have made it through whatever that dreadful exam is that you need to get into med school or into an MBA program or whatever it might be. I’m glad I’ve never had to face that. It would be a salutary experience to fail continually, to keep receiving a little word from somebody saying, “There’s still a chance if you get your grade up. There’s still a chance if you get your grade up.” That horrible feeling of it going down rather than up. And that is the way many, many people have viewed the whole notion of Christianity: “Somehow or another, I’m vaguely religious, but if I want to get into the honors program, then I need to get my grade up.” Then why would Christ die? There is no grade that you or I can ever get up that would negate the work of Jesus. There is no lousy score on the test that would ever be too low to leave us outside the wonder of his love.

“What evil has he done?” None. And so the sorry collapse. Verse 15: “Wishing to satisfy the crowd,” Pilate “released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him [over] to be crucified.” I think there’s a lesson there for some of us, isn’t there? Because it’s really the crowd that has prevented us from believing in Jesus. It’s the crowd that is preventing us from actually standing up straight and saying, “Yes, I know you think I’m crazy. I know you think the message is foolish. But I am unashamedly a follower of Jesus Christ. When I was lost, he came and rescued me.” But is it the crowd at your gym that prevents you from believing in Jesus? Is it the crowd in your office? Is it the crowd in your laboratory, because you’re a scientist? And wishing to satisfy your little crowd, you’re prepared to deliver up Jesus all over again.

The Challenge

The characters are as outlined. The questions are as recorded. And just a word in closing concerning the challenge that this conveys.

Let’s go back to our words beginning with R. Let’s start with Rome for a moment and the imperial authority of Rome. And what do we see here? We see that it is brought, if you like, to its knees, not by insurrection but by the silence of a Galilean carpenter—the one of whom the disciples said, “What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the [waves] obey him!”;[24] the one who, when pressed by Pilate, refuses to give any answer at all, because his silence is unveiling the glory of his person. And what is true of Rome is true of every proud empire throughout history, and will be for the future of history, until Christ wraps up history.

Now, I’ve lived some sixty years of my life, paying attention as I’ve gone along. I’ve seen the collapse of the British Empire. I, with you, saw the Berlin Wall come down. I have observed with you, both by travel and by introduction, that the proud boasts of Chairman Mao and all the aggravation and brutality that went with it not only have been unable—unable—to silence the voice of the risen Christ but have actually contributed to the vast, epidemic impact of Christianity in mainland China. And one day, if we live long enough, the real story of that will eventually become apparent. It won’t be possible for the totalitarian regimes, whether it’s there or in Korea, to silence the voice of Christ on the lips of his followers.

And for those of you who are worried about the American empire, let me just tell you flat out: this one is going away as well. But don’t be alarmed. Disappointed, maybe. Concerned, legitimately. Infuriated, frequently. But recognizing this: that one day the kingdoms of this world will become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, and he will reign forever and ever.[25] Pilate says, “Don’t you know who I am? I’ve got the power to release you. I’ve got the power to crucify you.” Really? Yeah, how did that work out?

What about religion? What about religion that believes nothing? What about religion that is formalist? Religion without the risen Lord Jesus Christ is ultimately worthless. That’s why so many people today, having identified the worthlessness of religion, want to tell one another, “I’m not a religious person at all, but I am a spiritual person.” Because they’ve already identified the fact that sort of religious orthodoxy as it is represented as a system of rules and regulations and rigmarole, or whatever it might be, it has no power to change or to transform a life.

What about the rabble? What about the crowd, moving to and fro and here and there, stirred up by the chief priests, moved, motivated? The crowd doesn’t do well, does it, in history? It doesn’t do well with Shakespeare—you know, Coriolanus, when the rabble of the crowd come, and Coriolanus greets them, and the fellow’s at the front, and he’s in charge, and he says, “[And] what do you think, you, the great toe of this assembly?” And the fellow, I remember from school, the fellow says, “I the great toe! why the great toe?”[26] It’s so demeaning on the part of Coriolanus as a senator. But he’s pointing out, “You folks are just worthless.” He doesn’t mean individually but as a mass.

T. S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Remember, he says, “[And so the people] come and go [with talk] of Michelangelo”—whatever is on the news, whatever is the latest advertising fad, whatever there might be. Look at them: here they go, here they come, interested in everything and opposed to only one thing—that in the person and work of Jesus Christ is the answer to the dilemma of their sinful lives and the only answer to their eternal destiny.

And what about the robber? What about the robber? I have a dream. I have a dream that I will meet Barabbas. It’s a dream. It’s a hope. There is nothing in the Bible that tells me that I will. But if Barabbas didn’t get this, who got it? Don’t you think he grasped… He certainly, on a physical level, grasped the reality of what was happening to him. He awakened in the morning with the prospect of his own death. He went to bed in the evening a free man. And there was only one explanation for that: Jesus of Nazareth had been put in his place.

I wonder: Did he follow along to the cross as the day unfolded, as these three-hour intervals, as we noted last time, began to lead to the crucifixion of Jesus? Did he listen with big ears as the two robbers first of all reviled Christ? Did he hear the one fellow say to his other friend, “Hey, there’s something wrong here. We are up here getting what we deserve, but this guy, he’s done nothing wrong.”[27] Do you think that resonated with Barabbas, an insurrectionist, charged with the rest, and legitimately so?

You see, here you are at the very heart of the story: that Christ dies, the innocent for the guilty; that the Shepherd gives his life for the sheep;[28] that he is substituted, bearing the curse of God upon him, so that those of us who enter by grace and faith into the reality of the salvation he offers may be relieved of the curse.[29]

I said to you earlier—and with this I conclude—it’s quite fascinating, isn’t it, that Jesus invades this entire little section of nine verses or so, but he never says anything? He never says anything. Well, of course he doesn’t say anything. Listen to the prophecy of Isaiah:

Behold my servant, whom I uphold,
 my chosen, in whom my soul delights;
I have put my Spirit upon him;
 he will bring forth justice to the nations.
He will not cry aloud or lift up his voice,
 or make it heard in the street;
a bruised reed he will not break,
 and a faintly burning wick he will not quench.[30]

In other words, he doesn’t dispense with us when our light burns low. He doesn’t dispense with us when the tune goes out of the melody line of our Christian conviction. He doesn’t shout in the streets.

Was there ever [such a] shepherd,
Half so gentle, half so sweet,
As the Savior who would have us
Come and gather round his feet?[31]

Such love! Such compassion! Has it brought you to an awareness of your need of him? Have you turned to him in believing trust and childlike faith? If not, why not? And why not today? Why not, in the dying moments of our service, cry out to him from where you are, “Lord Jesus Christ, get me out of the crowd thing; save me from the cries of the religious; make me one of your own”? And he will. He will.

Well, just a moment of prayer.

Oh make me understand it,
Help me to take it in,
What it meant [for you], the Holy One,
To bear away my sin.[32]

We pray in your name. Amen.

[1] Mark 15:5 (ESV).

[2] John 19:10 (ESV).

[3] John 19:11 (paraphrased).

[4] See Luke 13:1.

[5] Matthew 27:19 (ESV).

[6] Matthew 27:24 (ESV).

[7] John 1:29 (ESV).

[8] Isaiah 53:7 (KJV).

[9] Matthew 27:16 (ESV).

[10] John 18:40 (ESV).

[11] Matthew 21:9 (ESV).

[12] Luke 19:39–40 (paraphrased).

[13] Matthew 9:36; Mark 6:34 (paraphrased).

[14] Luke 23:34 (ESV).

[15] John 1:11 (ESV).

[16] Acts 3:11 (ESV).

[17] Acts 3:3, 6 (paraphrased).

[18] Acts 3:12–15 (ESV).

[19] Matthew 27:22 (ESV).

[20] C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life (1955), chap. 14.

[21] Lewis, chap. 12.

[22] 1 Peter 3:18 (paraphrased).

[23] Romans 5:8 (paraphrased).

[24] Matthew 8:27 (KJV). See also Mark 4:41; Luke 8:25.

[25] See Revelation 11:15.

[26] William Shakespeare, Coriolanus, 1.1.

[27] Luke 23:40–41 (paraphrased).

[28] See John 10:11.

[29] See Galatians 3:13–14.

[30] Isaiah 42:1–3 (ESV).

[31] Frederick W. Faber, “Come to Jesus” (1854).

[32] Katherine Kelly, “O Make Me Understand It” (1944).