“Well, how did he then?”
“The same way that Jesus’ sepulcher was empty on Sunday morning.”
“How?”
“By divine intervention. Just as Jesus most assuredly rose from the dead.”
Pilate studied his friend for some time with a quizzical expression. Finally he shook his head and said, “Do you really believe that, Cornelius? A solid, sensible citizen like yourself?”
“I do.”
“But I thought you were a good Jew.”
“I never became a full proselyte. But even if I had it wouldn’t have made any difference. My wife is Jewish and Christian at the same time. So are my children. So, in fact, are most members of the Christian congregations.”
An element of strain had intruded in the dinner-table conversation, so the women quietly retired while Cornelius and Pilate continued their discussion.
“I can’t believe how credulous you are, Cornelius. I, your friend, put a man to death, and now you believe that man has come back to life and is the object of your faith. Yet you still consider me your friend?”
“Yes, of course.”
Pilate shook his head in dismay. Then he asked, “When did you go beyond Judaism to join this…this cult? And why do Peter and James, if those are the names, mean something special to you?”
“I was converted to Christianity by Peter.”
“When? How?”
“It was in a mid-afternoon, shortly after you left Caesarea, that I had a terribly realistic perception or vision—now don’t scoff, Pilate: this thing happened.” Cornelius was glaring in earnest. “I was instructed in this perception to send to Joppa for a man named Simon Peter, who was staying at the seaside home of another Simon, a tanner by trade. Naturally, after this vision passed, I questioned the reality of the whole experience. But obviously I had one check on its validity. I sent two servants and my orderly off to Joppa. They came back with Peter, who was staying at precisely the address indicated in the perception.”
By now Pilate wished Cornelius would either suppress his new fanaticism or leave him in peace. Only visionaries had visions. Only enthusiasts were so enthusiastic. He wondered how to terminate the conversation with any shred of decency.
“I don’t trust visions any more than you do, Pilate, especially since our late, crazed emperor used to specialize in them.” Cornelius chuckled. “But hear me out. I most solemnly swear to you as a friend and as a Roman that I had not previously known the location of this Simon Peter. You see, I didn’t believe the perception either. I was just testing out my sanity in sending for the man. When he arrived, I couldn’t help but recognize the intervention of a higher power. Wouldn’t you have?”
Pilate shifted uneasily in his couch and replied, “If what you say is precisely what happened, there may be an explanation. Perhaps you had already heard that Peter was in that area but forgot you’d heard he was. Or it might—”
“Explanations!” Cornelius erupted. “Excuses! An old habit of yours! I brought you eyewitness reports about Jesus’ healings and the phenomenon of raising the dead, and you only opened your bag of logical tricks and came up with some threadbare explanation which was far more fantastic than the event it was supposed to explain. Even though I wasn’t in Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection—would that you’d taken me along—from even your reports of what happened I was far more impressed with the facts, even your version of the facts, than the explanations for them which you volunteered.”
“But every effect must have its natural cause!” Pilate bellowed.
“Every effect must have its cause,” Cornelius corrected. “And the cause in these cases is Jesus the Christ, the power of God-become-man.”
At this point Cornelius ventured his core explanation of Christianity. The universe, he explained, was created by God, but its perfection was violated by man. Instead of condemning humanity, the Creator-God sent an extension of himself—his Son—into the world in the form of a man, Jesus of Nazareth, who atoned for human disobedience by suffering, dying, and rising again for all mankind. Through faith in him, sinful men are forgiven, despite their unworthiness, and gain everlasting life. Cornelius elaborated on this theme, using the thinking and language of the Roman military.
Pilate said nothing. He reflected for some time, then went down to the cellar of the villa to fetch more wine. After pouring two large goblets and handing one to Cornelius, he asked, “Where did you learn all this?”
“From Peter. Let me finish that story. Before my men met him, Peter had had a similar perception indicating that I would be sending for him. So he came without further ado, bringing along six members of the Christian congregation at Joppa. I invited some of my closer Roman friends and my wife’s Jewish relatives to meet Peter, and we had quite a conference.”
“I can imagine,” Pilate observed, his comment only barely disguising his skepticism.
Cornelius ignored the tone and continued. “Peter is a most impressive man, and held us spellbound for several hours. He was exuberant about what he called ‘the universal faith.’ His visit proved that Christianity was to become more than a special brand of Judaism: now gentiles were to be welcomed into the faith as well as Jews. ‘Truly, God shows no partiality,’ he said, ‘but in every nation anyone who is god-fearing and does what is right is acceptable to him.’”
Pilate continued sipping his wine carefully.
“When Peter finished, we found his message so convincing and the faith so magnificent that we asked to join the movement. Peter welcomed and baptized us.”
“You mean everyone at your gathering? The Romans too?”
“Everyone. My wife, our children, the Jewish relatives, and Roman friends. Peter stayed on with us for about a week, teaching us more of the faith and filling in details about Jesus’ life which I hadn’t known. In leaving, he told me, ‘You, Centurion, are the first in what will be a great army of gentile converts to the faith. Since you were selected for this honor, battle nobly for the Christ.’”
Pilate felt Cornelius’s eyes boring in on him. He took a long quaff from his goblet and said, “I believe in your sincerity, Cornelius. I also believe we’ve discussed this enough for one day.”
They moved on to politics, a far more congenial theme, thought Pilate, and they downed additional flagons of wine. Finally the household and the guests retired for the night.
In bed, just one or two comments from Procula told Pilate that the women had been discussing the same matters as the men. Before dropping off to sleep, he wondered when the Jesus phenomenon would finally leave him in peace…all but forgotten in recent years, and now revived.
The next day, Cornelius was careful not to mention Christianity to Pilate. He realized he had administered a concentrated dose of religion to an unsuspecting and unwilling patient, and there was risk of undesirable reactions. And the faith was not a medicine.
But it was the factor which had altered Cornelius’s life, and therefore, also his relationship with Pilate. It had to be discussed, and, surprisingly, it was Pilate who broached the matter that evening.
On balance, he had received so much additional information about Christianity that the movement strangely intrigued him. Not that he had a moment’s sympathy for the new faith. He saw that Cornelius was indirectly but unabashedly trying to convert him, a prospect Pilate found too bizarre for further thought. But, after all, he had unwittingly served as midwife at the birth of what evidently was becoming a new religion—a rare enough situation—and so he felt something of an obstetrician’s responsibility for it.
There was also the undercurrent of the mysterious, the occult, the inexplicable which had attended the entire career of the man whom he had crucified but whose memory clung. Pilate had at least a philosopher’s interest in this phenomenon. As Cornelius related new details of the life of Jesus of Nazareth, many additional supernatural incursions studded the story, establishing the Christ in a metaphysical dimension.