“You’ve opposed Jewish crowds on other occasions.”
“And you know the result. If the long shadow of Sejanus weren’t touching us, I might have countered the crowd. But with Tiberius committed to his new pro-Jewish policy, it would have been insanity.”
Procula was silent for some moments. Then she said, “What if it were true, Pilate? What if he were the son of God?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“You always were the superstitious one, weren’t you? Well, you may find it hard to believe, but even I gave a moment’s thought to that possibility when I was searching for a way to release him. Yet I reasoned that if, in some fantastic unlikelihood, I actually were judging divinity, the whole affair wouldn’t get very far. Jesus would have waited for my judgment, then laughed at me and the screaming mob and either struck us all down or simply walked away from the tribunal. And none of us could have done a thing about it. But the fact that he couldn’t prevent his punishment proves that he was not, in fact, what he claimed to be. A true ‘son of God,’ if such exists, wouldn’t allow himself to be beaten, mocked, insulted. Therefore, when the scourging took place successfully, when the first drop of blood reddened his back, I knew we had a mere mortal on our hands, and that, if crucified, the man would actually die. You see, Procula, no divinity could die.”
“You make the logical error of assuming that what did happen, had to happen. Because Jesus did not defend himself doesn’t prove he could not defend himself. Perhaps he meant to suffer. Anyway, none of this excuses you from judicial murder.”
“Watch your language, Wife!” He glared at her. “Now, we’ve established that this was no son of God in fact—”
“We established nothing of the sort.”
“All right. The one body qualified to judge such arcane matters, the Sanhedrin, decided that this was no son of God. Therefore, they condemned him as a false prophet and blasphemer. Now, even though I think it’s barbaric to execute someone who uses his tongue the wrong way while involving their deity, this is their law. And Tiberius ordered me to uphold their law. What else could I do?”
When Procula did not respond, he pressed his case. “Four years ago, Jesus wouldn’t even have come before my tribunal. The Sanhedrin still had the jus gladii over Jewish nationals at that time. But under pressure from Sejanus I withdrew their right to execute; yet it was understood that I’d usually endorse their verdict in capital cases. It was extraordinary on my part even to conduct a second hearing.”
“Why did you do it, then?”
“Because I wanted to determine if the man were really guilty, also according to their law. This was a very rare situation, since they hardly ever seek capital punishment. One rabbi told me: ‘The Sanhedrin which issues a verdict of death more than once in seven years is a slaughterhouse.’ So you can see how important this case was to them. But the point is this: if Jesus’ trial had been held four years ago, they could simply have stoned him to death without asking our permission.”
“Doesn’t it seem a rather strange argument, Pilate? ‘I can crucify an innocent man, because four years ago they would have stoned an innocent man.’”
Pilate fumed. “You keep calling him innocent. Remember, he was guilty in the eyes of the Jewish authorities. Should I blithely have disregarded Tiberius’s orders to respect their ancient and holy laws?”
Procula hesitated, then asked, “Was there no chance of sending him to a higher court, or appealing to Caesar?”
“No, for two reasons. He made no appeal. And he couldn’t have appealed, since he wasn’t a Roman citizen. But put the case that he had been. Tiberius still wouldn’t have heard the appeal, since he’s not bothered with such affairs on Capri. Probably Macro, as praetorian prefect, would have handled this appeal, and you know Macro.”
Procula said nothing for the next minutes. Finally she asked, “If you had to judge the case over again, would you give the same sentence?”
With only a moment’s hesitation, Pilate replied, “Yes, of course. I would have had to. My hands were tied.”
“I thought they were washed, Pilate.”
“Enough!” he bellowed. “There simply was no other way. Would you have preferred a riot, then an angry delegation to Tiberius? In his present testy mood, he’d have listened only to their side of it, and I’d be recalled in disgrace, imprisoned, exiled, or ‘invited’ to commit suicide, while you’d be stigmatized for the rest of your life. It was simply a choice—a choice between us and this man Jesus. Can’t you see that? Be honest now, Procula!”
“Yes…that’s probably true.”
“Well?”
Slowly and deliberately, she said, “To have acquitted him anyway would have been a glorious demonstration of principle, an act of supreme altruism.”
“Supreme folly!”
Saturday mornings were always quiet in Jerusalem, and this one especially so. Except for the faithful attending worship, there was no activity in the city during that high and holy day, for this Sabbath was also the Passover. Pilate was doubly surprised, then, when a number of priests and leading Pharisees paid him a visit about mid-morning.
“Your Excellency,” said Rabbi Helcias, “we recall how that deceiver once said, while he was still alive, ‘In three days I will rise again.’ Not that he will, of course.” The temple treasurer smiled. “But could you arrange to have his sepulcher guarded until after that third day? Otherwise his disciples may come and steal the body. Then they would announce that he had risen from the dead. And this last fraud would be worse than the first.”
Pilate wanted no part of it. He had washed his hands of the case once and for all. “You have your own guard. Take your temple police and make the tomb as secure as you can,” he retorted, amazed at a fanaticism which could hound a man not only to his grave, but beyond it.
The priests followed Pilate’s advice, dispatching a detail from the temple guard to surround Joseph’s tomb. They secured the precinct, sealed the stone which had been rolled in front of the sepulcher, and remained on guard.
The rest of Saturday lazily exhausted itself in a torpor which served as welcome contrast to the previous day. It was an unusually warm Sabbath for so early in spring, but the evening was beautiful, as were all nights that week, shimmering in a silvery sea of moonlight. The Passover fell at the time of the first full moon on or after the vernal equinox.
The fact of the full moon was bothering Pilate. He was still somewhat intrigued by the atmospheric phenomena which had blackened part of Friday afternoon. At first he had written off the unnatural darkness as a solar eclipse. Though hardly an astronomer, he now realized that when the moon was full, any eclipse of the sun was utterly impossible. The moon was in a diametrically wrong position.
Pilate shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps Joseph of Arimathea was right…nothing was normal that Friday.
Chapter 20
Sunday dawned clear and bright, though the northwestern part of Jerusalem was shaken by another mild tremor just before sunrise. The quake evidently centered in a small park or garden just west of Golgotha, for reports reached Pilate that knots of people were starting to cluster there, perhaps to survey a deep fissure of some kind. Before the day was out, the clusters had grown to sizable groups.
On Monday, the groups developed into crowds, and all Jerusalem buzzed with rumors that the dead Jesus of Nazareth had risen from the dead, as he had predicted. Pilate learned that it was no fissure at all which was attracting the people west of Golgotha, but the sepulcher of Joseph of Arimathea in which Jesus had been buried. Supposedly it was empty.