“What witness will step forward to confirm that this man has claimed to be God?” Caiaphas asks.
Strangely, none step forward.
“Come now!” Caiaphas encourages. “Surely one of you has heard the rabbi preach his sermons. Has he claimed to be God, or not?”
No confirmation comes from the assemblage.
“Without corroboration, how am I to convict him then?” Caiaphas asks in frustration.
When no one has a satisfactory answer to his question, Caiaphas proclaims, “I am going to my bed. Take this blasphemer to Pontius Pilate. Maybe he will know what to do with him. Take him at once!”
Pilate is different. He is not a Jew, and he has no axe to grind with Yeshua. In fact, he finds the self-proclaimed king (or was it others who had anointed him as the Messiah?) to be rather comical, a farce. All this talk of Messiahs and Hebrew Kings—it seems only to annoy the governor. “These Jews are a curious tribe,” he declares to one of his aids. “They are a people in bondage, yet they remain full of themselves, as if they have a claim on this land, or as if they will be around when the stars fall from the heavens!” He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he assesses the prisoner that has been brought to him by his own people.
“Why have you brought this man before me?” he asks a member of the Sanhedrin who has accompanied the arrest detail to the governor’s headquarters.
“This man is a blasphemer!” the Sadducee replies.
“A blasphemer?” Pilate inquires as he chews a mouthful of savory pie. “But blasphemy is a violation of Hebrew law, not of Roman law. Why has the Sanhedrin not dealt with him according to your laws?”
“He stood before Caiaphas after midnight,” the spokesman responds. “The High Priest found him to be most uncooperative, so he told us to bring him to you, Governor.”
“I see,” says Pilate with mild interest. “And has he committed any other crime?”
“Five days before the Passover, he created a disturbance in the Temple.”
“What sort of disturbance?” the governor inquires with a smirk on his face.
“He drove out the money-changers,” he is told.
Pilate laughs out loud. “Truly?”
“It is not a laughing matter,” replies the Sadducee, irritated with the Roman Governor.
“Nevertheless, these are internal matters not worthy of a hearing by the prelate.”
“He says he is King of the Jews,” the Sadducee informs trying to evoke a bit more interest from the Roman, if not a rebuke, or better yet, a condemnation.
Pilate looks directly at Yeshua, who has yet to speak a single word in his own defense. “This man says you claim to be a king: is it true?”
“The only kingdom I know is the Kingdom of Heaven,” answers Yeshua.
“Do you not acknowledge the divine countenance of the Roman Emperor?” he asks.
Yeshua offers no reply.
“He seems harmless enough to me,” Pilate assesses with disinterest.
“Truly, Your Excellency, Yeshua ben Yosef is neither harmless to our community nor to Rome. He has substantial support among the common people—tradesmen and merchants, beggars and paupers!”
“And you are telling me you fear that the Roman protectorate is in danger from beggars and paupers…”
“This man is not to be underestimated,” concludes the Sadducee gravely.
“True or not, Rome is an empire built on laws, and I find no infraction on which to convict this man. He may be a troublemaker, but that is something with which the Sanhedrin must deal. He may be a charlatan, or delusional—like that other one, the Baptist—or maybe he is just a pathetic fool, but none of those conditions—unfortunate though they might be for the one in question—is an infraction of Roman law.”
“The Hebrew people demand swift justice, Your Excellency. Even as we speak, they are gathered in the street in great numbers. They call for his crucifixion.”
“Since when do the Jews execute their prisoners on the High Holidays?” Pilate asks.
“This is a unique circumstance, Your Excellency,” explains the Sadducee. “It is crucial that justice be swift and final.”
“But if blasphemy is his offense, then why not stone him according to your laws and be done with him?” Pilate asks.
“The High Priest Caiaphas begs your indulgence in this matter, Prelate,” argues the Sadducee.
Again Pilate looks directly at Yeshua. “What do you have to offer in your defense?” he asks. “They claim you call yourself King of the Jews. Are you a king?” he demands.
“It is you who call me king,” says Yeshua. “I am the Son of Man.”
Supremely irritated, Pilate laments, “Kings dressed in rags! Messiahs! It is all nonsense to me. Tell me directly, Son of Man, are you the Messiah your people are incessantly speaking about?”
“I am…” says Yeshua.
“Then a king should have a crown,” proclaims Pilate, and he directs a crown of thorns to be placed on the head of the accused. Once the crown is in place, the prelate smiles and pronounces, “There it is! A crown fit for the King of the Jews!”
“But what of his fate, Prelate?” asks the Sadducee.
“He has committed no crime,” Pilate insists. “How can I condemn him for being an insolent idiot?”
“Prelate, go to the window and behold the crowd in the street. Ask them, if you will, what should be done with this blasphemer.”
In disgust, Pilate goes to the window and throws open the sash. Just as the Sadducee has described, an angry mob has gathered outside the governor’s residence. “I have here the man Yeshua ben Yosef, and he says he is the Son of Man, the Messiah. Is he the one for whom you wait to deliver you from your Roman overlords?”
“No!” screams the mob in unison. “Crucify him, Your Excellency!”
“But he has committed no crime against Rome,” Pilate insists.
“His crime is against Yahweh,” they proclaim. “He must die!”
“I will give you a choice,” says the prelate. “I offer you Yeshua ben Yosef… Or I will give you Barabbas, a known thief. I will spare only one. Which do you choose?”
“Give us Barabbas!” they call out.
“Very well! As you wish, I give you Barabbas!”
Returning to the assemblage, Pilate coughs from the dust that has entered his chambers as a result of the unruly crowd out in the street. “What a stinking, filthy place full of stinking, filthy people,” he mutters in disgust, then washes his hands in the clear water of a bathing trough.
So it is done. The Son of Man is found guilty of sedition against Rome and sentenced to death by crucifixion, to be carried out immediately so that the whole ugly business will be finished before the onset of the Jewish Sabbath. The arrest detail disperses, Yeshua is led away by Roman soldiers, and Pilate returns to his breakfast, giving the matter not another thought and wishing only that he were back in Rome, delivered from this squalid society of Jews.
Sir Harold and I are in the street as the Son of Man is brought forth to bear his cross. He has been stripped to the waist and his back shows the bloody marks of nineteen lashes. On his head is the crown of thorns that Pilate ordered made for the King of the Jews.
The street known as the Via Dolorosa is thronged with people ready to follow the condemned man to Gûlgâlta, the Place of the Skull. Some taunt him as he drags the heavy wooden cross along the cobbled street. Others spit at him. Behind him follow three Jewish women, each one weeping openly.
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”
The Son of Man stumbles from exhaustion and from the weight of his burden, and a hearty man, Simon of Cyrene, steps forward to bear the cross part of the way to Calvary. The procession continues slowly with Roman soldiers periodically whipping the condemned as they proceed toward a low hillside just outside the city walls. Reaching the mount, the site of countless executions, the crowd disperses, now confident that their bidding will be done by the detail of Roman soldiers enlisted to carry out the sentence. The three women, each one called Mary, watch the horrifying scene from a distance.
Already upon their crosses, two common criminals relive their own agony as nails are driven into Yeshua’s hands and feet to secure him to the cross. He is stripped naked, and his clothes are divided among the centurions. As the cross is raised the Son of Man calls out, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Quite aware of the identity of the newly condemned man, one of the thieves upon a cross says to Yeshua, “Is what they say about you true, Rabbi? If it is true, save yourself, and save us too.”
Yeshua, nearly blind with exhaustion and pain turns to the thief and says, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be in Paradise with me.”
And seeing his blessed mother watching from a distance, he proclaims, “Woman, behold, your son!”
As the sun reaches its meridian and the horror continues, the Son of Man, now delirious implores, “
E′li, E′li, la′ma sa bach tha′ni
?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Then, almost replete of breath, he says simply, “I thirst.” A Roman centurion offers the dying man sour wine poured over a dried branch, and as he tastes the fruit of the vine gone rancid, the soldier pierces his side with a spear, and liquid pours out of the body of the King of the Jews.
“It is finished,” he pronounces, and bows his head.
The three women rush forward, hoping to suspend time, to interrupt the inevitable. Yet they know it is not possible. Their beloved is dying quickly now. The sky darkens, the wind swirls, and a rumbling is heard in the distance.
“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!”
Then it is finished.
“Surely, this man was the Son of God!” weeps one of the Roman centurions.
Yosef of Arimathea approaches to claim Yeshua’s body for burial in a tomb that he has donated, but he is instructed by the Romans to draw back: “Leave him to the bald vultures; it is the way!”
A second rumbling of the earth is heard and felt, and the Romans flee in fear of what they have done. Yosef takes down the body of the crucified rabbi, as the women anoint it with perfumed oil. Yeshua is carried to the tomb, where he is laid to rest. A large stone is placed in front of the sepulcher. It is nearly five o’clock now, and the Passover has begun.
I am shaken, devastated. Sir Harold extends his arm to support me because I can barely stand, and we leave the Place of the Skull and begin walking in the direction of the Temple. Though why we are going anywhere near the Temple I can’t say. On the outskirts of the city we pass through farmlands. Coming to a barren tract of land, we see a man hanging from a lone tree in the desert, an array of silver coins scattered on the ground. His blackened tongue protrudes through his cheek; his abdomen has been ripped open and his entrails hang, bloody and gaping, from his body. Already the scavengers have found the corpse.
“Judas?” I say to Sir Harold.
He nods and tells me to look away.
Walking through the city gates, Sir Harold and I are magically transferred (thanks to VL technology) back to modern-day Jerusalem. These days—in PL and in VL, too—the Temple is certainly not what it was in 33 A.D. As history tells us, it was destroyed (for the second time) when the Roman occupation ended, abruptly and violently. Yet the Temple in the heart of Jerusalem remains at the center of the Jewish faith and the Nation of Israel, and it is vital in a different way than it was two thousand years ago. Many in our time decry the policies and actions of Israel as intolerant and inhumane, but that is an argument for a different time and a different venue. What I see here—albeit in VL—is the legacy, or perhaps it is the outcome of the long and colorful history of a culture that has undeniably given the world the foundation on which it still rests to this day. Granted, the Jews have had their ups and downs, and the story of Jesus is just one chapter. Whether one excuses the politically expedient actions of an ancient oligarchy probably depends on your point of view regarding the Christian faith as it has evolved over the centuries. But I know one thing, the drama of the events that I have just experienced firsthand is undeniable and profound. And whether these events actually took place as they are portrayed here in VL, or if something else entirely happened, the story itself has exhibited rather extraordinary staying power. As it should…
But Sir Harold Smithson has his own ideas about all that, as he tells me over coffee at a virtual café in the shadow of the Temple. “Only one question concerning the life and deeds of the man called Jesus ‘the Christ’ is relevant, and that question concerns authenticity. The means by which we question (or establish) authenticity must be determined by historical documentation, which in this case is somewhat limited. We can rely upon firsthand accounts (authentic or contrived as they may be), or we can base our conclusions on hearsay, which in this case is plentiful. Whatever evidence we have to analyze, we must always differentiate between hardcore physical evidence and mythology.
“Virtually every critical thinker in modern times has abandoned the idea that Jesus of Nazareth was an incarnate manifestation of God Almighty, Creator of the universe and beyond. This abandonment of (faith) is nothing short of progressive western thought at odds with ancient Middle Eastern superstition; and the larger question that arises from this confrontation is whether religion or humanity itself will determine the path of our progress as a race.