“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Where’s Judas?”
Peter took off running after Jesus and the soldiers, and I took off running after Peter on the way to the high priest’s house.
When we arrived, we found a group of people had gathered in the courtyard and were warming themselves by an open fire. The soldiers jostled them aside as they rushed Jesus inside.
“Coming through. Get out of the way.”
“Who is that?” whispered a servant girl to one of the men.
“It’s Jesus, the one who thinks He’s the Messiah.” He laughed, as did some others.
“I saw Him heal a blind man once,” said someone else.
“Parlor trick.”
“Call it what you want. A lot of people think He’s the Messiah.”
“Then why has He been arrested?”
Peter pulled his hood over his head and moved closer to the fire. No one paid any attention to him. No one, that is, except the servant girl. She eyed Peter from the left side then carefully moved around to his right. He turned his head to avoid looking at her. She pulled on the sleeve of the man she’d spoken to earlier and pointed to Peter.
“That man was with Jesus.”
The men stopped talking and looked at Peter.
“I don’t know what you mean, lady.” Peter rubbed his hands together over the fire.
“I saw you too,” a man called out. “You’re one of them.”
“I am not!”
Peter moved away from the fire, and the men went back to talking among themselves. It was about an hour later when another man joined the group.
“What’s happening? It’s late. Are you waiting for something?”
“They brought the man called Jesus in a while ago. Looked like He was under arrest, but we don’t know why.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” the newcomer said, pointing to Peter. “I’ve seen them together lots of times. They’re both from Galilee.”
Peter’s forehead was sweating but not from the heat of the fire.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”
“You’ve got a Galilean accent,” said the servant girl.
Another man accused him. “You’re lying. What have you got to hide?”
“You were with Jesus. I saw you.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You’re an accomplice!”
“I don’t know Him!”
At that moment, the rooster crowed.
Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times.
Just like Jesus said would happen.
Peter ran outside the courtyard gates and wept bitterly. I stayed with him until daybreak, when I saw the council of the elders, priests, and the teachers of the Law filing into Caiaphas’s house. I followed them in. The deputy priest ushered everyone into position behind a long table, where Caiaphas and his chief priests were seated. When they were settled, the deputy waved to the guard. Jesus, bruised and still tied up, was brought before them.
“Look at Yourself,” Caiaphas said sarcastically. “Bound like a common criminal. Who did You say You were?”
The crown began tittering.
“If you are the Messiah,” said one of the priests, “tell us for the record.”
Jesus didn’t answer.
“What’s the matter, Teacher? Not quite so bold without Your ruffian cohorts and crowds of ignorant people around You, I see.”
More tittering came from those gathered. Caiaphas raised his hand for quiet. Placing both elbows on the table and clasping his hands together in front, he chided Jesus.
“Not so sure of Yourself, Son of Man?” He paused and glanced to the right and left to be sure he was the center of attention. “Tell You what—while we’re waiting for You to figure out who You are, why don’t I tell you who
I am
?”
The priests gave a slight but audible gasp at Caiaphas’s intentional choice of words. No one was allowed to refer to himself as “I am” anything. Using the name reserved for God alone was the basis for one of the charges against Jesus. I wasn’t sure whether Caiaphas was an insensitive, arrogant boor or if he was looking for a button to push with Jesus. When he finished his sentence, I decided he was both.
“
I am
the high priest of the most high God.
I am
the prince of Israel. Now, who did You say You were?”
Jesus may have been tied up, but when His eyes locked on those of the high priest, the other priests who were already nervous at Caiaphas’s boasting took a step back. Jesus stared Caiaphas down and said, “You are a viper and a son of hell.”
One of the older priests fainted and had to be carried out.
“You will see Me seated at the right hand of My Father,” Jesus said.
“Are you saying You are the Son of God?”
“You say that
I AM
.”
The smirk that had been on Caiaphas’s face the whole time disappeared, and a look of fear took its place. He tried to hide it, but I know humans too well. His hands shook, and his voice quavered as he accused Jesus.
“Why do we need any more testimony? We have heard it from His own lips.” He motioned to the guards. “Take Him to Pilate.”
“You heard him,” the soldier said as he grabbed Jesus by the arm and jerked Him toward the door.
“All of you go with them as witnesses,” Caiaphas ordered the priests.
Somewhat reluctantly, it seemed to me, they filed out to follow the soldiers and Jesus. I was about to go with them when I noticed some of the higher-ranking priests were staying back with Caiaphas. One of those walking out the door looked back over his shoulder to see if the others were coming.
“In a moment,” the elder priest said and waved them on. When they were out of earshot, he turned to Caiaphas.
“Take Him to Pilate? Really? What do you think Pilate will do? The Romans don’t care about our religious problems.”
“Jesus is much more than a religious problem, my friend.” Caiaphas said. “The man’s a heretic. You heard Him claim to be God.”
“Oh, so now you’re concerned about heresy. You’re a Sadducee, Caiaphas; you don’t even believe in God.”
“I do so.”
“Really? Then what kind of God is it? One who doesn’t involve Himself with people; One who doesn’t intend a final judgment? No heaven, no hell? One who will never hold you accountable for your actions?”
Caiaphas slammed his fist on the table.
“Don’t talk to me as if you have no part in this. You were in on it from the beginning.”
“I never agreed to involve Rome. I thought you were sending Him to Herod to be locked up.”
“Herod’s a puppet and an ignoramus. He thinks Jesus is John the Baptist come back from the dead. He can’t do anything to help us.”
“He could put Jesus in jail and leave Him there.”
“I don’t want Him in jail. I want Him crucified.”
“Are you mad? There is no evidence against Him to warrant execution. Pilate will laugh at you if you accuse Jesus of heresy and ask for a death sentence.”
“You underestimate me,” the high priest said as he sat back down in his soft chair. “Pilate won’t care if Jesus claims to be God, but he will care when he learns that Jesus claims to be king. That’s a threat to Caesar. Believe me, Pilate will care.”
“I see. And I suppose there are witnesses, because I know of no instance when He made such a claim.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
Caiaphas stared him down.
“No, Your Grace, certainly not.”
The elder priest bowed politely to Caiaphas, nodded to the other priests to follow, and headed toward the door. Just before they reached the arched passageway, he turned back.
“Caiaphas, whether you believe in the same God as we Pharisees is unimportant. All of us Jews have waited for hundreds of years for the Messiah. Jesus has done remarkable things that a man cannot do. There are too many witnesses to the miracles. Suppose you’re wrong. Suppose He is the Messiah.”
“I never said He isn’t the Messiah,” Caiaphas answered. “I said I don’t care.”
I
RACED BY THE
soldiers and the priests taking Jesus to Pilate’s palace. I had to get there ahead of them, although I had no plan for what to do when I did. I flew right past the guards at the entrance and rushed from room to room until I heard voices and guessed it to be coming from Pilate’s private quarters. I went in to find Pilate standing at the opening to his balcony. An attractive woman stood next to him. She rubbed his shoulder gently as she talked.
“I know how stressed you’ve been, and I don’t want to add to it, but you must listen to me. I’ve had a dream, and I’m certain it’s an omen for you.”
“Portia, if it’s about the Jewish priests, spare me. I already know they’re out to get me.”
“Why do you hate them so?”
“They’re superstitious oafs. It makes me angry that Tiberius placates them.”
“Why does he?”
Pilate moved away from the window and sat down behind the marble table that served as his desk.
“Because their religious beliefs make them dangerous. They will fight to the death before they will worship Caesar. I say let them die in the streets if they want to, but Tiberius says it doesn’t serve Rome’s purpose to see them slaughtered.”
I wonder what Rome’s purpose is.
Portia folded her arms and leaned against the wall but didn’t speak.
“Are you going to say something?” Pilate asked.
“Only that I don’t understand what difference it makes. None of us Romans believes Caesar is a god either.”
“Don’t start.”
“Caesar worship is nothing but the political manipulation of ignorant people. You know that. But even if he were, there are hundreds of gods; how does one more or less matter to anyone?”
“It doesn’t, except to the Jews. They believe there is only one God. They’re not like the other nations Rome has conquered. To say Caesar
is
god is to say their God
isn’t.
Do I have to remind you what they’re capable of when they think their God is threatened?”
Portia sat down on a cushioned bench in front of his desk, and I sat down beside her. I hoped Pilate was going to talk more, because I didn’t know about his personal history with the Jews.
“I know they’ve harassed you about having standards and shields with Caesar’s image on them,” she said gently. “But maybe you’ve overreacted a bit to their protests.”
“I haven’t.” He hit his desk with his fist.
“As I recall, you threatened to cut their throats.”
“They should have backed down out of fear of Rome.”
“Instead, they dared you to do it.” She walked over to her husband and stood behind his chair and massaged his temples. “Why didn’t you?”
Good question. Why didn’t you kill them?
“I couldn’t.” Pilate closed his eyes and yielded to the comforting touch of his wife. “I knew Tiberius wouldn’t allow a massacre.”
As if suddenly remembering some horrible thing, he pushed his wife’s hands away and stood up abruptly.
“He had no right to try to have me removed from authority.”
Who are you talking about?
“Who are you talking about?” she asked.
“Caiaphas, the high priest. I hate him. Three times he’s reported me to Tiberius, and three times Tiberius has sided with him against me. I can’t afford to have something like that happen again.”
“I see,” she said softly and turned away.
“What is it?” Pilate touched her shoulder and coaxed her to face him. “Say what you came to say. What did you dream?”
She bit her lower lip and looked down toward the floor. When she met his gaze again, her eyes were teary.
“I saw a man, bound and beaten and dragged into your court by the priests. Pilate, if this happens, you must promise me you will have nothing to do with him.”
Then a guard entered the room and saluted Pilate.
“Procurator.”
“What is it?” Pilate asked as his wife turned her back and dabbed her eyes.
“The leaders of the Sanhedrin have arrived in the courtyard.”
“What do they want?”
“They have a prisoner with them.”
Portia gasped as all emotion drained from Pilate’s face.
“Tell them to go away; I’m busy.”
“It’s Caiaphas, my lord. He’s insistent.”
She grasped Pilate’s arm and shook her head, mouthing
no
with each shake. Pilate leaned close and spoke in a low voice.
“If I don’t see him, he’ll make a scene. It’s better for me to bring him in here where I can deal with him in private.”
She continued to shake her head, but Pilate cupped her face in his hands and calmed her as he ordered the guard.
“Bring them in.”
In came the soldiers, the Sanhedrin, and the high priest himself. Offering no resistance and saying nothing, Jesus stood among them. I went over and stood beside Him to let Him know He wasn’t alone. He seemed nothing more than an ordinary man, one unlikely to have warranted such a prestigious custody escort.
“State your purpose,” Pilate said.
“We have found this man subverting our nation. He opposes payment of taxes to Caesar,” Caiaphas said.
No He doesn’t. I distinctly heard Him tell Peter to render unto Caesar what was Caesar’s just after Peter pulled a coin out of a fish’s mouth.
“When did Israel become so concerned about Rome’s welfare?”
“He’s a threat to Caesar,” Caiaphas answered, ignoring the question.
“Is that so?”
“He claims to be Messiah, a king.”
Pilate looked Jesus over and asked him, “Are you a king?”
“You have said so,” Jesus replied.
“Is that Your answer?”
Jesus said nothing more.
“What else?” Pilate asked the high priest.
“You don’t need anything else. He’s a subversive against Rome. Do your duty.”
“If that’s all you’ve got, case dismissed. I find no basis for a charge against this man.” Pilate glanced at his wife, who had been holding her breath, then gave a wave of dismissal and went back to shuffling paper. But Caiaphas was not about to be dismissed.
“He’s a danger to the peace. He stirs up the people all over Judea by His teaching. He started in Galilee and has come all the way to Jerusalem, practically at Rome’s back door. You must stop Him now.”