Trial of Jesus before Pilate, the Roman governor. The latter, pressed by the crowd, condemns Jesus and releases Barabbas, a prisoner awaiting condemnation.
Now it was the custom at the festival to release a prisoner whom the people requested. A man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder in the uprising. The crowd came up and asked Pilate to do for them what he usually did.
“Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate, knowing it was out of self-interest that the chief priests had handed Jesus over to him. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have Pilate release Barabbas instead.
“What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked them.
“Crucify him!” they shouted.
“Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”
Wanting to satisfy the crowd, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.
Mark 15:6-15
They won’t get me today, those dogs.
He spits on the ground.
Simeon, dear old Simeon, you and me, it’s been 20 years since we’ve met? 20 years since we’ve fought together for the independence of Palestine, since we’ve fought against those Roman dogs, since we’ve had to live hidden, on the run, always in danger.
Well, this time, I thought I was gonna die. That the Romans were going to kill me like a dog. That all our hopes and dreams were gone... and that it was all over.
He knocks on the table.
Wine, innkeeper! Yes, bring us the best you have. It’s so bad anyway, we’ll make up quality with quantity...
He raises his glass.
Come on, Simeon, let’s drink! Let’s drink to life! Let’s drink to YHWH, to the God of Israel, since it seems that He has not completely forgotten us...
He drinks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Simeon, this wine... Even if it is the infamous wine from the Siloam Inn...
He turns the cup in front of him to smell the wine.
This wine, Simeon... This wine, for me, has the scent of freedom, the taste of life.
But let me start at the beginning...
You remember that we had planned to incite the people to revolt. Some time ago, when Pilate, the Roman governor, had to leave Jerusalem to go to Caesarea to meet King Herod. We thought it was the perfect opportunity to get the people out into the streets; and if there were enough of them, we didn’t know what could happen...
If everybody came to create trouble in Jerusalem. If a few of them had weapons and were ready to fight. If they could lead the others in a rebellion of all the people. If the legionaries, for once, were a little less organized, because Pilate wasn’t there to give them orders...
In short, there was something we could try.
You remember, things hadn’t started too badly. From the morning, there were people, quite a few people. As time went on, people were shouting louder and louder. You could feel the excitement building in the crowd. And above all, we started to see some very normal people joining us: craftsmen, merchants, farmers. In short, the people who normally stay quiet and don’t get involved in these affairs.
Those who are afraid!
Those who don’t realize that, if we all get together, nothing and no one, starting with the Romans, will be able to resist us.
In any case, perhaps we were finally living that historic moment when the Jewish people would drive out the Romans, and we would regain our independence, our dignity, our pride as the chosen people, chosen by God.
But that spark was still missing, the one that transforms an excited crowd into a tidal wave, into an army, into a troop of warriors that nothing and nobody can stop! Something had to happen; that decisive thing that would make this day the day of liberation. Not just another attempt that brings no results and ends in bloodshed and even greater humiliation of our people.
Well, you know all this, Simeon, you were there too. You could feel that crowd vibrating. You could feel them too, the hesitations of the legionnaires. You could see that we had our chance, this time, that this would not end with another failed and bloody attempt.
As we arrived at the Via Imperator, we passed in front of some guards of the praetorium. You know, those who are under the orders of centurion Lucius, the huge moron with his stupid smile. Well, I told myself that this was our chance, that we shouldn’t miss it, that YHWH had prepared an opportunity that I had to seize.
He takes another drink.
It was the opportunity to light the spark that would set the world on fire. It was an opportunity to show everyone that the Romans are not invincible.
I pulled out my dagger and threw myself at one of the legionnaires. He wasn’t really expecting it because these dogs are so used to us being scared of them... I stuck my knife in his throat, just above the breastplate. The blood spurted out, he ended up on the ground and for a rare occasion it was a Roman who died and not a Jew.
I did this without really thinking, just because I felt I needed that damn spark...
Except, I had just killed a legionnaire.
Except, instead of provoking an armed insurrection in the crowd, everyone backed away, horrified at what I had just done.
Except... it all went very badly for me.
I was immediately captured by the other legionnaires in the troop. And Lucius, with his stupid smile, threw me into a dungeon of the Antonia fortress, shouting in my ears: “You know what you’re in for, you filthy Jew...”
He drinks some more wine.
And there, Simeon, I found myself in the dark, locked in a stinking cell, with a little moldy bread and a jug of lukewarm water. Knowing that the next time that door would open, it would be to take me to the cross. There was no doubt killing a legionnaire was going to get me sentenced to crucifixion.
To that inhuman torment where you find yourself hanging, nailed to the wood by your wrists and ankles. Where you choke from lack of air. Where the only way to breathe a little is to straighten up to clear your lungs... by leaning on your arms and legs, tearing even more the gaping wounds of the nails in your wrists and feet.
An unheard of pain that only serves to prolong your suffering. A death that can last hours and even days. An agony during which the legionnaire who smashes your legs with a hammer is seen as a benefactor who takes pity on you, who shortens your suffering by letting you suffocate in a few moments...
He takes another sip, slowly.
How could I have been so naive? How could I have believed that doing this would turn a passive crowd into an armed insurrection? Most of them had no weapons; no one had any military training. They were shopkeepers, members of the common people who had come to see what the ruckus was about.
Of course they don’t like the Romans; but they were not the elite troops we need to fight the mighty legions of Rome. No wonder my gesture provoked fear in them.
It was sheer folly on my part. And now it’s up to me, and me alone, to face the consequences.
Crucifixion...
Then I also thought of that legionnaire.
He embodied all that we hate. The Romans, the invaders who have stripped us of the land given to us by YHWH, our God. Their military power which cruelly reveals our weakness and lack of organization. Their arrogance also... they who have desacrated our temple, who despise our culture, our history and our God.
Yes, he had paid with his blood because of the uniform he was wearing. But I realized that it was first of all a man that I had killed, he was still young, perhaps Jerusalem was his first mission in the legion.
Maybe he had signed up as a brainless idealist who wanted to serve his country and become some kind of national hero. Maybe he just needed the money. And he naively thought that a career as a soldier would provide him with food and cover during his service and a comfortable veteran’s pension. Perhaps he had even decided to enlist because he saw an opportunity to obtain Roman citizenship.
In any case, he was dead. And it was I, Barabbas, who had killed him...
Did he have a wife who was waiting impatiently for news of her lover? And who, instead of receiving a letter signed by him, was going to learn that she was now a widow? Children who would have to grow up without a father?
I had killed a legionnaire. I had spilled the blood of a man, a fellow human. I had destroyed the life of his wife, perhaps, and that of his children, if he had any. My act was not only stupid; it was also cruel, unfair to this fellow.
And I was going to have to pay the price, dearly: crucifixion...
The punishment deserved by the crime I had committed. But you see Simeon, the worst part of all this, the question that haunted me during those hours, those days spent alone in the dark; the one that wouldn’t go away, was the question of God.
Where is YHWH, the God of Israel?
Our religious teachers tell us about his great works, the mighty deeds he has done for us in history by delivering Israel from Egypt and bringing us back from the Babylonian exile.
But where is this powerful and active God today?
All that is left of Israel are corrupt religious leaders who seek only their own self-interest; who are willing to collude with the Romans for a little prestige or a few gold coins.
Or those fanatics who seek to pass themselves off as the messiah; a savior who claims to deliver us from the Romans, but usually ends up leading their followers to their deaths at the very hands of the Roman legions.
He hits the table with a loud bang
If God exists, He should be here, present in Jerusalem. He should be suffering with us the unjust oppression we face every day. He should be acting on our behalf to deliver us from Roman oppression. Better yet, He should be acting decisively against the evil that rots our world!
Instead... This blood I have shed will lead me to the cross, and that will be the end... a cruel end, the end of my life and the end of my dreams... of my illusions...
I don’t know how long I stayed like that in the dark.
That’s it, it’s time... Time to pay for my crime. Time to face suffering and death.
The door creaks open.
I am blinded by the light of the torches carried by the guards. It is Lucius who leads them.
He says nothing, he unties my chains.
I struggle to get up. I massage my aching wrists and realize that the pain that awaits me is far worse.
Lucius has lost his smile. There’s something odd about the way he looks at me. After a while of silence, he finally opens his mouth. I wait for him to tell me my verdict.
Instead, he tells me: “Get out of here. You’re free!”
If this is a joke, it is very bad...
But Lucius insists: “Did you hear me? Go away, you are free. Jesus of Nazareth, the one called Christ, he has taken your place. He is the one who is dying on a cross. So now go away!”
The guards give me back my coat, my sandals and even my purse... And I find myself a few moments later outside the prison. Dazzled by the evening light, the warmth of the sun warms my skin.
I am alive... I am free...
Simeon, I don’t understand any of this.
Didn’t the people consider this Jesus to be the messiah? Didn’t some people even say that he is the son of God? Everyone agrees that he is a righteous man and that he did not commit any crime that deserves crucifixion.
So how could he let himself be condemned without reacting? And if he is the son of God, why did he suffer the agony of crucifixion instead of coming down from the cross and striking down those who were executing him?
He stops for a long time. He breathes in the smell of wine.
Simeon...
This wine, for me, it has the scent of freedom, the taste of life.
But now I see in it the color of the blood of this Jesus, who had committed no crime... but who was willing to die like a dog on a Roman cross to save my skin. He whose life was worth 10 times, 100 times more than my own.