At last has there appeared one Jew who understands our Roman conception of the State.” * * * * *
Next I saw Pilate’s wife.
Looking into her eyes I knew, on the instant, after having seen Miriam’s eyes, that this tense, distraught woman had likewise seen the fisherman.
“The Divine is within Him,” she murmured to me. “There is within Him a personal awareness of the indwelling of God.”
“Is he God?” I queried, gently, for say something I must.
She shook her head.
“I do not know.
He has not said.
But this I know: of such stuff gods are made.” * * * * *
“A charmer of women,” was my privy judgment, as I left Pilate’s wife walking in dreams and visions.
The last days are known to all of you who read these lines, and it was in those last days that I learned that this Jesus was equally a charmer of men.
He charmed Pilate.
He charmed me.
After Hanan had sent Jesus to Caiaphas, and the Sanhedrim, assembled in Caiaphas’s house, had condemned Jesus to death, Jesus, escorted by a howling mob, was sent to Pilate for execution.
Now, for his own sake and for Rome’s sake, Pilate did not want to execute him.
Pilate was little interested in the fisherman and greatly interested in peace and order.
What cared Pilate for a man’s life?—for many men’s lives?
The school of Rome was iron, and the governors sent out by Rome to rule conquered peoples were likewise iron.
Pilate thought and acted in governmental abstractions.
Yet, look: when Pilate went out scowling to meet the mob that had fetched the fisherman, he fell immediately under the charm of the man.
I was present. I know.
It was the first time Pilate had ever seen him.
Pilate went out angry.
Our soldiers were in readiness to clear the court of its noisy vermin.
And immediately Pilate laid eyes on the fisherman Pilate was subdued—nay, was solicitous.
He disclaimed jurisdiction, demanded that they should judge the fisherman by their law and deal with him by their law, since the fisherman was a Jew and not a Roman.
Never were there Jews so obedient to Roman rule.
They cried out that it was unlawful, under Rome, for them to put any man to death.
Yet Antipas had beheaded John and come to no grief of it.
And Pilate left them in the court, open under the sky, and took Jesus alone into the judgment hall.
What happened therein I know not, save that when Pilate emerged he was changed.
Whereas before he had been disinclined to execute because he would not be made a catspaw to Hanan, he was now disinclined to execute because of regard for the fisherman.
His effort now was to save the fisherman.
And all the while the mob cried:
“Crucify him!
Crucify him!”
You, my reader, know the sincerity of Pilate’s effort.
You know how he tried to befool the mob, first by mocking Jesus as a harmless fool; and second by offering to release him according to the custom of releasing one prisoner at time of the Passover.
And you know how the priests’ quick whisperings led the mob to cry out for the release of the murderer Bar-Abba.
In vain Pilate struggled against the fate being thrust upon him by the priests.
By sneer and jibe he hoped to make a farce of the transaction.
He laughingly called Jesus the King of the Jews and ordered him to be scourged.
His hope was that all would end in laughter and in laugher be forgotten.
I am glad to say that no Roman soldiers took part in what followed.
It was the soldiers of the auxiliaries who crowned and cloaked Jesus, put the reed of sovereignty in his hand, and, kneeling, hailed him King of the Jews.
Although it failed, it was a play to placate.
And I, looking on, learned the charm of Jesus.
Despite the cruel mockery of situation, he was regal.
And I was quiet as I gazed. It was his own quiet that went into me.
I was soothed and satisfied, and was without bewilderment.