The most interesting moral choices that surround the trial and death of Jesus do not take place in the plotting of the chief priests or the howling violence of the crowd, but in the mind of an otherwise obscure Roman bureaucrat named Pontius Pilate. That Jesus was crucified "under" him is his only real claim to significance. He is the only historical character, apart from Jesus and his mother Mary, who is mentioned in the Creed. In part, he is only mentioned there to affirm its historicity. The death of Jesus and his resurrection are not a timeless myth; they took place at a certain moment in our history. They happened. But Pontius Pilate also represents humanity—not at its best or at its worst, but as it is. In the Inferno, Dante and his guide Virgil encounter Pontius Pilate in the vestibule of hell, among those who in their lives did nothing, either good or bad. There Dante is asked to pass judgment on him—and so are we. We are asked to judge the judge.
And Pilate is not a bad man—just a competent Roman functionary. When he asks Jesus if he is the king of the Jews, he clearly does not take the question with great seriousness, although the charge was a grave one. We know from Luke 13:1 that Pilate had already savagely put down several Jewish insurrections, and can be sure that he was prepared to deal peremptorily with any political threats to Roman rule in the region. When Jesus was brought before him, he is prepared for denials and for rage, but not for what he got—silence. Matthew, who is always looking back to the Old Testament to show that Jesus is in fact the promised Messiah, sees Isaiah 53:7 as prefiguring this. Jesus remains detached, non-committal, entering no plea, and Pilate is "greatly amazed."
But Pilate knows that there is no real evidence behind the charge, and he does his best to get his silent prisoner off. The gospels tell us that it was customary for the Romans to release a convict during Passover. The city of Jerusalem was always packed with pilgrims at that time of the year, and the religious and patriotic implications of the feast fueled unrest. The city was a tinderbox. There were often riots, and letting a prisoner go served to release some of the pent up tension in the air. Selection was made by popular petition. Mark 15:7 tells us that Barabbas was a revolutionary—the very thing Jesus is accused of being. It is interesting that certain ancient manuscripts of the New Testament call him Jesus Barabbas, which adds further irony to the situation. So the choice is between two men named Jesus, one the rabbi from Nazareth the other a terrorist. Matthew calls him "a notorious prisoner"—scum, but apparently a popular hero.
Matthew has a great interest in dreams (see 2:13ff). The dream of Pilate's wife is to be found only in Matthew's account, and it serves as a dramatic warning of the terrible consequences anyone who plays any part in Jesus' death will suffer. Ancient Romans were profoundly superstitious, and this warning would certainly have had an effect upon the governor, who now presses even harder to win Jesus' release. But the crowd will have none of it. They demand the release of Barabbas and the crucifixion of Jesus. When Pilate sees that he is getting nowhere and in fact a riot seems to be beginning, he surrenders to evil and calls for water to wash his hands before the crowd—"I am innocent of this man's blood; see to it yourselves," he says (27:24). But what is the nature of innocence? Is it only the refusal to accept responsibility? Is one who surrenders under pressure and condemns what he knows to be an innocent man morally any better than those who exert the pressure. Is it really better to be nothing at all—lukewarm—than actively bad? Often people treat their refusal to take responsibility as innocence. They want to forgive themselves for being neither good nor bad.
The evangelist emphasizes that the Jews—especially their leaders—accept the responsibility for the execution of Jesus--even though it was carried out by Romans, in the Roman manner, under Roman, and not Jewish law. The blood curse spoken the people "as a whole"--"His blood be on us and on our children!" (27:25)—has unleashed centuries of anti-Semitic violence. But what about Pontius Pilate? What is our judgment of the judge who knew what was right and did not do it? We know that evil is not the opposite of good; it is the absence of good. It is the vacuum left when goodness and mercy have been sucked out of the world. So that is what Pilate of guilty of—the absence of good. But when we judge him, we judge ourselves for all those times when in the face of evil we have washed our hands and turned away from Jesus protesting our innocence. But the story of Pontius Pilate reminds us that the greatest crimes are not committed; they are permitted.
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