The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (36 page)

“Perhaps if we had another child, it would give him a more appropriate channel for his energies,” said Pilate one evening as he carried the limp toddler to the nursery.

“Do you want to kill me?” Porcia said with mock seriousness. “I do not think I could ever do this again! Are all boys such terrors?”

Pilate laughed. “Since this is the only boy I ever raised, I cannot give a definitive answer to that,” he said. “But I do remember by the time I was six, most of my energies were directed towards keeping my brothers in line—or leading them to new mischief.”

“No, thank you, husband!” she said. “Having one child in my thirties was hard enough. I do not wish to go through this again—although it is in Vesta's lap, not mine. But—let's not tempt her tonight, if you please.”

Pilate sighed. Raising their hyperactive son had left his wife too tired to perform in bed very often, but honestly, as he approached fifty, he found that his own libido had slowed down perceptibly. It was enough, he thought, that he had made a home in this forbidding foreign land, with a son who alternately delighted and infuriated him, and a wife who always loved him, no matter how exhausted the day left her. He poured her a cup of wine and she rubbed his tired shoulders before they fell asleep for the evening.

Two weeks after he had sent them out, Longinus and his legionaries returned from the Jordan. Pilate invited his senior centurion to share a cup of wine with him in his quarters, and then listened as Longinus gave his report.

“He was certainly not hard to find,” he said. “Every half mile, it seemed, we passed another group walking or riding out to hear him. And the closer we got, the thicker they were. By the time we arrived at the Jordan, there were at least ten thousand people gathered there. We arrived early in the morning, and the people were quietly talking among themselves, waiting for him to put in an appearance. Sure enough, about the fourth hour, he showed up suddenly—there was a rocky promontory that the river wound around, and suddenly he was standing on top of it, facing the multitude. He chose the spot well, to be sure—everyone could see him, and hear him plainly.”

“What sort of man is he?” asked Pilate.

“Big,” said Longinus. “Not really tall, but broad-shouldered and built like a boulder, with massive arms and stout calf muscles. His voice is remarkable—trumpeting like a war elephant one moment, soft as a mother singing her babe to sleep the next—yet it carried perfectly over the sounds of the river and the crowd, like he was standing next to us the whole time. His eyes are the most surprising part of him—there is a strange gentleness about him, despite the harshness of his message.”

“So what was his message?” asked Pilate.

“In one word—REPENT!” Longinus intoned the command in his best parade ground bellow. “He believes that the Messiah is at hand, and that the people of Israel—and us Gentiles too—have only a short time to get our house in order before the Promised One appears. He urges everyone to turn away from their sins and embrace a life of holiness, before God reaps away the evildoers from the earth and gathers His chosen ones unto Himself.”

“A madman, you think?” asked Pilate.

Longinus hesitated a long time before answering. “You know, sir, that I am a believer in the God of Israel, even though I am a Roman. God has sent many prophets to speak to Israel in the past. I have read some of their writings. I have also seen a half dozen or so false prophets during my years here—vagabonds, charlatans, and at least one who was stark raving mad. False prophets tend to be interested in money or acclaim—which they win by telling the people what they want to hear. This man—he doesn't give a fig what the people think of him, and he certainly does not flatter them. I have yet to see or hear of him ask for as much as a single denarius. One woman tried to give him a purse full of gold, and he told her to give it to the poor instead. I don't believe that this man is a crook or a revolutionary, Prefect. He is either a madman, or a genuine prophet of God.”

Pilate rolled his eyes at Longinus' gullibility where religion was concerned. How could any Roman of the Romans embrace such a bizarre set of beliefs? But then he asked the question that he had sent the man to discover John's answer for. “What did he say when he saw your uniforms? What does he say about Rome?”

Longinus answered: “He did not even blink when he saw me and my legionaries standing at the edge of the crowd; just kept right on preaching. The boys and I were pretty taken in by his message. Legionary Cornelius even called out at one point: ‘Sir, what about us? How can we be considered righteous?' The Baptizer looked right back at him and said: ‘Don't make false accusations against God's people, or anyone else! Don't extort money, and be content with your wages!' The crowd looked at us strangely, I can tell you!”

Pilate seemed surprised. “Anything else?” he said.

Longinus nodded. “There were two or three
publicani
among the crowd. One of them cried out ‘What about us?' and John looked at him and said: ‘Collect no more tribute than your orders require!' That surprised me, because if there is one group that the Jews hate even more than the Legions, it's the tax farmers.”

Pilate nodded. “That is the truth,” he said. “It certainly sounds as if this Baptizer is no threat to Rome. What does the Temple make of him?”

“They sent a delegation to interrogate him,” said Longinus. “They asked him if he was the Messiah—and he said no. They asked him if he was Elijah, come again as the prophets foretold—he said no. They asked him if he was the great prophet foretold by Moses—he said no.”

“Sounds like they don't know what to make of him either,” commented Pilate.

“They were getting frustrated,” said Longinus, “so one of them finally said, ‘Please give us some sort of answer to return to those who sent us! If you are not the Messiah, and not Elijah, and not the great prophet foretold by Moses, then just who are you? Why are you here?'” He paused a moment, replaying the scene in his mind. “His answer was pretty interesting. He told them: ‘I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness: Make the roads straight for the coming of the Lord! For I tell you, there is One coming after me whose sandals I am not worthy to untie! I baptize you with water, but He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit of God, and with fire!' I can tell you the crowd got really quiet at that point. Men were looking at each other, and watching the crowd, expecting this Chosen One to pop out from behind a bush at any moment.”

“Interesting,” said Pilate. “I think this man bears some watching.”

“I agree, sir. In fact,” said Longinus, “I left my chief servant—a Greek named Stychius—to stay over the next few weeks and listen to the Baptizer's message. He was eager to do it—in fact, he had already gone down to the river and asked to be baptized along with many others.”

“Really?” said Pilate. “Did you join him in Jordan's muddy waters?”

Longinus looked a bit sheepish. “Well, sir, it was beastly hot, and if he is a genuine prophet of God, I figured a bit of damp hair would not hurt anything!”

Pilate laughed. “You might as well go ahead and circumcise yourself,” he said. “You're a Jew at heart already!”

A few days later, Stychius came into Caesarea, breathless with fatigue after a very swift journey from the wilderness around Jordan. Longinus heard his story, and then brought him before Pilate immediately. The Prefect was busy hearing cases from local Roman citizens, as he did on the first day of every week, but he hustled them out quickly after listening to Longinus' whispered message.

Once the audience room was clear, Stychius came in, his face less flushed after a long drink from the well and a cup of watered wine. He was a slim, deeply tanned Greek of about forty years. Like many young men from his impoverished country, he had sold himself into slavery at a young age, knowing that he could build a better future for himself as a slave in Rome than he could as a free man in the ruins of Athens. Longinus' father, who had squandered most of the family's fortune on drink and women, had purchased the teenager as a gift for his only son when he joined the Legions. Longinus had told Pilate that Stychius was the only gift his father had ever given him. The slave was completely devoted to his master, and the two of them had saved each other's lives on numerous occasions. So Pilate regarded the man with a respect he might not have accorded another slave.

“My centurion tells me you have some news of interest,” he said.

“Yes, Your Excellency, I do!” said the Greek. “I stayed behind after my master and his men returned to Caesarea last week, in order to hear more of what the Baptizer was preaching. For a while there it was more of the same message that he was proclaiming when we arrived—the day of the Lord is at hand, repent and be baptized, that sort of thing. It sounds repetitive when I describe it, but let me tell you, when you are standing there, it is something else entirely. There is so much fire and conviction in his words! But then, two days after master Longinus and his men departed, something altogether different happened. It started like any other day—a large crowd was gathering, and John was warning them of the wrath to come if they did not cease their sinful ways—but suddenly he fell dead silent. He was staring intently at the back of the crowd, at one man who was standing there among the people, listening. The people began to part, forming a corridor to where this very ordinary-looking Jew was standing, his eyes and John's eyes locked on each other. For what seemed like an hour the two of them stood there, although I suppose it was only a minute or two. No one dared say a word!”

Pilate nodded, intrigued. “So what happened next?” he said.

Stychius continued his tale. “John spoke first,” he said. “He raised one knobby, massive finger and pointed directly at the man, and cried aloud: ‘Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!' When he said that, this young Jew began walking towards him, never saying a word until he arrived at the bank of the river. Their eyes were locked on each other, and John's voice trembled when he spoke next: ‘This is the one of whom I spoke, who is mightier than I, for He existed before me!' The crowd gasped out loud, and began murmuring to one another, so I lost what was said next. The young Jew said something to the Baptizer, I'm not sure what it was, but John shook his head. The crowd grew quiet, and I heard the newcomer's voice for the first time. It was a voice unlike any other I have ever heard, deep and rich and sad, but at the same time shot through with some sort of irresistible joyfulness. It was the most compelling voice I have ever heard in my life!” He fell silent, his eyes far away.

Pilate interrupted his reverie. “So what did this compelling voice say?” he asked sardonically.

“Sorry!” said Stychius. “He said, ‘Permit it this once, that we may fulfill what is righteous.' I didn't know what he meant when he said it, but then it became clear. John walked out into the Jordan, and this stranger followed him. John laid his hands over the stranger's head and bowed his own head in prayer for a moment, then dipped him in the Jordan and raised him up again—he baptized him the same as he had done countless others in the previous days. But when he brought the young man up out of the water, that's when it suddenly became very, very different!”

“How so?” asked Pilate.

“It was a cloudy morning, but at the moment that he brought the young man up out of the water, the clouds split and a single, blinding ray of sunshine blazed down on the stranger. Everyone gasped at that moment, because he seemed to shine with a light beyond just the reflection of the sun's glory in that moment. And just then, a white dove flitted down out of nowhere and landed on his shoulder.”

“A bizarre coincidence, surely!” said Pilate.

“Maybe so, maybe not—but I can tell you I fell to my knees, and so did nearly everyone there!” said Stychius. “And while we were kneeling, the heavens thundered with a deep booming sound, unlike anything I have ever heard before. It made the ground shake, sir! And not just that—there were words in that thunder, although I could not understand them.”

Pilate stopped him. “Wait a minute!” he said. “Are you telling me that the sky actually spoke?”

Stychius nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. I know it sounds improbable, but I was there and that was what I heard.”

Pilate shook his head. Like most educated Romans, he tended to take all religions, even the many gods of Rome, with a grain of salt—but at the same time, he was also deeply superstitious. Signs and portents were real, as any true Roman could attest. But surely some anonymous Jew should not attract the attention of the gods in such a manner!

“So what happened after that?” he finally asked.

“When the sky thundered out like that, most of us hid our heads or closed our eyes,” said Stychius. “When I dared look up again, he was gone—the stranger, that is. John was still standing there in the river, the crowd was still gathered, and the clouds were slowly parting. But there was no sign of the young Jew—although I thought I saw someone disappearing into the wilderness on the other side of the river. It was just a glimpse, so I do not know if it was him or someone else, or just a wild beast retreating into the scrub. But that was the end of it. The crowds began to drift apart, and John the Baptizer was deep in conversation with some of his disciples.”

“Did you at least get the name of this mysterious stranger?” asked Pilate.

“I did hear someone in the crowd say it,” replied the Greek. “They called him Jesus of Nazareth.”

Pilate tossed the slave two golden sesterces. “Thank you for your report, Stychius. Now please leave us.”

Stychius caught the coins neatly, tucked them in his purse, and bowed as he left. Pilate turned to Longinus, who was regarding him silently.