Good Morning!! This has been a pretty great week. I'm still sick and that's no fun, but I've been reading great books, spent a lot of time with friends, and went to training for my new job!! Of course, being sick is not optimal, but it's ruined enough of my weeks this year, and I am stubbornly refusing it any more x)
Being a Christian at Easter-time means a lot of things. This is, to me, the most meaningful celebration of the year, because it represents the time that, not only did Jesus come alive again, but the way was paved for my eventual spiritual birth as well. It's a time to ponder the fact that if Jesus did not die, sacrificing all, nothing about my life would be the same. So it follows that this would be a time of rejoicing in my life, as well as a time of sorrow and realization of the great torture that was borne for me. Kinda puts you in the mood.
My pastor has been preaching for the last few Sunday evenings on the events leading up to the Cross. On the 6th, his topic was the Garden of Gethsemane and Jesus's trial before Pilate, which I have heard and read for myself countless times. But something about the trial really came alive for me that night. I could envision it as I have never been able to before. These were real men, real words spoken. When I got home, I had to write it down before I forgot. This is what I'm presenting before you today. It may not be any good - actually, it's probably not. But it'll give you an idea of what was going on in my head, as far as I could express it with words.
John 18:33-38
As Pontius Pilate entered the Praetorium, he met a servant, waiting anxiously. The servant scuttled over to him, hastily showing the deference due. "My lord, he is here!" he stuttered.
"Who? This Jesus fellow?"
"He is here in the Praetorium."
Pilate thought for a moment. "I shall be in my audience chamber. See that he is brought to me straight away." The slave hurried off, and Pilate began to make his way leisurely down the hall. The Praetorium was quietest at this hour of the morning, and to the few Roman officials who were conducting their business so early, the silent, gaunt man strolling with his hands clasped behind his back would have seemed almost peaceful.
But Pilate was not at peace. His mind was in a turmoil after the meeting with the Jewish leaders, and it angered him. A peasant wasn't worth all this uproar, he told himself. He prided himself on holding to his Roman education, to always think and reason clearly, but every interaction with the stubborn Jews severely tested his ability. And now they had pushed their own legal issues on him, backing away with their petty excuses. They would not even enter his building, lest they be defiled. Pilate scoffed. This is pure religion. he thought. Shirking duties by hiding behind ridiculous standards. Praise to the gods that they were not so demanding as this angry Hebrew god.
Yet even as he said these words derisively to himself, he could not shake his growing impatience with his own mind. Who was this Jesus, that he attempted to traverse Israelite law with the coolness of a king? He did not know of any crime the man had committed concerning Roman ordinances, but the men of the Sanhedrin assured him that they were plentiful. Pilate felt increasingly curious. One man, this peasant, this boor, had somehow broken the stern balance of the Jewish government. Who did he think he was?
"Bring him in." Pilate ordered, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair. Though it was still early morning, curtains blocked the windows, a few scattered candles providing dim lighting. Pilate had long since learned that a menacing atmosphere could go a long way in deriving a confession.
A heavy knock was heard, and the large double doors were pulled open in response. A man entered, bound, and flanked on both sides by guards. Pilate smirked. The Jews acted as if they were afraid outright of what this man could do. He peered at the figure. "Bring him closer." Jesus was pushed forward. Pilate gazed at him for a long minute, studying his features. He seemed ordinary. Poor. Young.
At that moment, the captive raised his eyes to meet the look of the Prefect. His expression had not changed, but the one Pilate now saw was of an entirely different identity than the man he had seen before. There was nothing horrible or hateful in his eyes, and Pilate was caught off guard. How many criminals had he judged? Hundreds. Maybe thousands. But what of them had not even the slightest appearance of discomfort or anger? Pilate found that he had dropped his gaze to the stone floor, unwilling to look up. Then he laughed at himself. You have aged, Pilate. To fall for a thief's tricks. He's as innocent as the rest of them, the lamb. He could have spat in the prisoner's face. But instead, he affected a bored, amused mood.
"Jesus." he spoke, letting the name roll off his tongue. "You seem to have but the Sanhedrin in an uproar. But they will be easily pacified." He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes threateningly. "Answer me truthfully. Are you the King of the Jews?"
Jesus replied gravely, "Are you speaking for yourself about this, or did others tell you this concerning me?"
Pilate chuckled. "Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered you to me. What have you done?" He ended the sentence in a snarl, glaring at Jesus, though he could not bring himself to meet Jesus' eyes again. He concentrated on his forehead. "Well?"
Jesus smiled. "My kingdom is not of this world. If My kingdom were of this world, My servants would fight, so that I should not be delivered to the Jews, but now My kingdom is not from here."
Pilate stared blankly. This man was a lunatic. Well, he thought, I'll just have to humor him.
"Are you a king, then?" He curled his lips upward in pretense of a smile. Jesus studied him before answering.
"You say rightly that I am a king. For this cause I was born, and for this cause I have come into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears My voice."
Now Pilate was speechless. This man spoke, not as the poor and lawless, but with authority. Anger welled up within his chest, and he wanted to shout. Who did this Jesus, this peasant, this scum, think he was?
He had told him. Pilate sat back in his chair, thinking over the words Jesus had said. He laughed bitterly. "What is truth?"
He sent the guards and their prisoner from him. As he was led away, Jesus looked once more at Pilate, a look full of words he did not understand. And as the great doors closed once more, he had never felt so hopeless.
Well, there it is! It's not very heavily edited, and I may go back and make a few sundry changes at some point. I have no idea how good it is, but I kinda like it. Tell me what you think! I love getting feedback from you guys.
Also, my dear Friend Kate has just made a blog, and you should totally check it out right here. I believe that's it! Until next time, dear Blogosphere!
~Margaret
Wow Margaret! This is fantastic!
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