Fifth Sparrow

 

Fifth Sparrow

Fifth Sparrow - Audio/Visual

What is the price of five sparrows — two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. (Luke 12:6-7)

Do we matter? We fear we don't. We fear nothingness, insignificance. We fear evaporation. We fear that in the last tabulation we make no contribution to the final sum. We fear coming and going and no one even knowing. That's why it bothers us when a friend forgets to call, or the teacher forgets our name, or a colleague takes credit for something we've done, or the airline loads us like cattle onto the next flight. They’re affirming our deepest trepidation: no one cares, because we aren't worth caring about.

For that reason we crave the attention of our spouse, or the affirmation of our boss. We drop names of important people in conversations, and wear college rings on our fingers. We put silicone in our breasts, flashy hubcaps on our cars, grills on our teeth and silk ties around our necks. Fashion designers tell us, "You'll be somebody if you wear our jeans. Stick our name on your rear end and insignificance will immediately vanish." So we do. Fashion redeems us from the world of littleness and nothingness, and we are something else. Why? Because we just spent half a paycheck on a pair of Italian jeans.

But then, horror of horrors, styles change, the fad passes, the trend shifts from tight to baggy, from faded to dark. And we're left wearing yesterday's jeans, feeling like last month’s news. Maybe we can outsource our insignificance, we think. By coupling our identity with someone's Gulliver-sized achievement, we give our Lilliputian lives some kind of meaning. For instance, how else can you explain our society’s fascination with sports franchises and athletes?

I admit that I’m among the fascinated: an unabashed fan of Padres baseball. When they play baseball, I play baseball. When they score a run, I score a run. When they win, I shout with the fans at Petco Park, "We won!" But how can I make such a statement? Did I attend a single practice? Scout an opposing team? Contribute a coaching tip, or sweat a drop of perspiration? No. I would if they asked, but I'm too insignificant, slow, old and uncoordinated. Still, I hook my wagon to their rising star. Why? Because it separates me from the plebeians. It momentarily elevates me; knights me.

Or sometimes, out of a fear of not mattering, we try to outlive life. When the billionaire realizes that he will run out of years before he runs out of money, he establishes a foundation. No doubt some altruism motivates the move, but so does a hunger to matter.

We have kids for the same reason. Giving birth gives meaning to ourselves. One day, when we die, our descendants will remember "Good ol' Dad," or "Sweet ol' Mom," and we will extend our lives through theirs. And there you have it. Italian jeans. Foundations. Legacies. Forever looking to prove Bertrand Russell wrong – the fatalistic atheist who concluded, "I believe that when I die my bones will rot and nothing shall remain of my ego."

"But he can't be right," we sigh. "He isn't right!" Jesus announces. And in some of the kindest words ever heard, Jesus allays our fears. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:29-31)

Now, what's more inglorious than hair? Who inventories follicles? We monitor other resources like the amount of money in the bank, gas in the tank or pounds on the scale. But hair on the skin? No one, not even the man with the expanding bald spot, posts tiny number signs adjacent to each strand. We style hair, color hair, cut hair, braid hair . . . but we don't count hair. Well, God does. "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Just like the sparrows in the field.

In the days of Jesus, like today, a penny was one of the smallest coins in circulation. One such penny would buy two sparrows. In other words, everyone could own a couple of sparrows. But why would they? What purpose did they serve? What goal would they accomplish? In Luke's gospel Jesus goes a tender step further. "What is the price of five sparrows—two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them." (Luke 12:6) One penny would buy you two sparrows. Two pennies, however, would buy you five. Apparently, the seller threw in the fifth one for free.

Society still has its share of fifth sparrows – indistinct souls who feel dispensable, disposable, worth less than a penny. They drive in carpools and work in cubicles. Some sleep beneath cardboard on the sidewalks, and others beneath comforters in the suburbs. What they share is a feeling of smallness. In fact, you'll find a whole flock of fifth sparrows in a Chinese orphanage for the deaf and mute.

China's one-child policy has a way of weeding out the weak. Males are selected over females. Healthy babies outrank the impaired. Chinese children who cannot speak or hear stand little chance of a healthy, productive life. Every message tells them, "You don't matter." So when someone says otherwise, they melt. Chinese missionary, John Bentley, witnessed such a moment.

Deaf orphans in the Henan province were given a Mandarin translation of a children's book entitled, You Are Special. The story describes Punchinello, a wooden person in a village of wooden people. The villagers had a practice of sticking stars on the achievers and dots on the strugglers. Punchinello had so many dots that people gave him more dots just because. But then he met Eli, his maker. Eli affirmed him, telling him to disregard the opinions of others. "I made you," he explained. "I don't make mistakes." Punchinello had never heard such words. And when he did, his dots began to fall off. And when the children in the Chinese orphanage heard these words, their worlds began to change.

John explained, “When they first distributed these books to the children and staff of the deaf school, the most bizarre thing happened. At a certain point everyone started crying. I couldn’t understand this reaction. . . . Americans are somewhat used to the idea of positive reinforcement. . . . Not so in China, and particularly not for these children who are virtually abandoned and considered valueless by their natural parents because they were born ‘broken.’ When the idea came through in the reading that they are special simply because they were made by a loving creator . . . everyone started crying – including their teachers!” Do you need such a reminder? Any chance that these words are falling on the ears of a fifth sparrow? If so, it's time to deal with the fear of not mattering.

The fear that you are one big zero can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It works like this. You're slugging away at a menial job that pays poorly and saps your energy. The salary covers the bills but not much else. Your God-given abilities languish like un-watered roses. But then you read about a job opening that capitalizes on your skills and maximizes your abilities. So in a moment of uncharacteristic courage, you submit your application. The employer invites you in for an interview. "I'll never impress them," you moan. "I'll look stupid in the interview. They'll ask questions I can't answer. I'll never get the job." A mouse in a lions' den has better odds of success. So, you flop miserably and descend yet another level into the basement of self-defeat.

Or consider the girl who’s asked out on a date by a good-looking guy. So good-looking that she wonders what he sees in her. He's completely out of her league. Once he gets to know her, he'll drop her. Why, she may not even be able to maintain his interest for more than an evening. So, insecurity drives her to use the only tool she trusts – her body. She sleeps with him on the first date for fear that there won't be a second. She ends up feeling like the disposable woman she didn't want to become. Fear of insignificance creates the result it dreads, arrives at the destination it tries to avoid and facilitates the very scenario it disdains.

If a baseball player stands in the batter’s box repeating, "I just know I’m going to strike out; I’ll never get my bat on the ball, much less get a hit,” guess what? He'll never get to first base. If you pass your days mumbling, "I'll never make a difference; I'm not worth anything," guess what? You’ll be sentencing yourself to a life of gloom without parole. Even more, you’re disagreeing with God. Questioning his judgment. Second-guessing his taste. According to him you were "skillfully wrought." (Ps. 139:15) You were "fearfully and wonderfully made." (Ps. 139:14) He can't stop thinking about you. If you could count his thoughts about you, "they would be more in number than grains of sand." (Ps. 139:18) Why does he love you so much? The same reason the artist loves his paintings, or the boat builder loves his vessel. You are his idea. And God has only good ideas. "For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."
(Eph. 2:10)

In the movie Hook, Peter Pan had grown up, become old and overweight, and looked nothing like the Peter that the lost boys knew. In the midst of the boys shouting that this was NOT Peter, one of the smallest boys took him by the hand and pulled him down to his level. He then placed his hands on Peter's face and proceeded to move the skin around, reshaping his face. And then the boy looked into Peter's eyes and said, "There you are, Peter!"

Sound familiar? God is saying the same words to you. Finding the beauty that the years bury, the sparkle that time tries to take. Seeing you and loving the you that he sees. "There you are,” he says. And isn’t that enough? It is – even for a fifth sparrow like me.

Grace,

Randy

Time Change

 

Time Change

Time Change - Audio/Visual

O God, you are my God. Earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. (Psalm 63:1)

Tom had this problem of getting up in the morning and was always late for work. His boss was mad at him and threatened to fire him if he didn't do something about it. So Tom went to his doctor who gave him a pill and told him to take it before he went to bed. Tom slept well and, in fact, beat the alarm in the morning. He had a leisurely breakfast and drove cheerfully to work. "Boss," he said, "the pill actually worked!" "That's all fine" said the boss, "but where were you yesterday?"

Have you ever thought that God has a habit of being late? Recently, I’ve become more aware that God operates on a different time, almost as if he uses a different clock. So, from my perspective, and using my clock, God is late – a lot. Have you ever thought that? Some people get just a little uncomfortable when others speak about God in pretty common ways. Sometimes there’s a degree of artificiality about our faith that doesn’t permit us to see God in ways that are just natural to life. As a result, we can’t bring ourselves to speak of God in ways that may appear common or negative or, worse yet, blasphemous.

For instance, when God appeared to Abraham in Genesis 18, it was with the intention of telling Abraham that he and Sarah were finally going to have a son. Unfortunately, Abraham was 99 years old at the time, and Sarah was 89. Both knew that it was already way too late to be having kids. And the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Abraham and Sarah since they both burst out laughing when they heard the news. I can just imagine them saying, “God, it’s a little too late for that one!”

And how about Moses? Can you imagine this 80-year old geezer, living in exile for the past 40 years, who God startles at a burning bush? I’m thinking that the dreams and hopes he had had 40 years prior had pretty much evaporated. His people, the Israelites, had been in bondage, slaves of Egypt, for over a hundred years or more. And during this period a death decree had been proclaimed against the Israelites. The resulting pogrom led to the death of hundreds, maybe even thousands of infant male Israelites. In fact, Moses himself had been miraculously rescued from this same decree. So why does God come at this late hour and attempt a deliverance of his people? Is it possible that Moses’ hesitancy was partially driven by his doubts about God’s sense of timing? It’s like you can almost hear Moses muttering, “God, you’re too late on this one.”

Or, what about Job? Job had experienced monumental tragedies. He’d lost all his material possessions; his children had perished violently; his wife walked out on him; and his friends had turned into vicious accusers. Slowly but surely, Job began to sink into despair and despondency. And that’s when God shows up. But why then? Why let it go on for so long? Wasn’t it too late? I mean, you can just hear job lament, “God, where were you?” Worse yet, God was responsible for this whole ordeal by bragging about Job to Satan, and then letting Satan wreak havoc in Job’s life, almost to death. What’s up with that?

Mary and Martha watched their brother, Lazarus, fall ill, his health deteriorate and then die. They had sent desperate messages to Jesus to come and help. He didn’t. Then, four days after Lazarus’ burial, Jesus shows up. Can you feel the pain of the sisters when they saw Jesus? Out of desperation they cried, “Lord, if you had been here, you could have helped Lazarus. But you’re too late!” (John 11:21) And then, when Jesus asked that the tombstone be rolled away, Martha protested, “Lord, he’s been in there for four days!” (vs. 39) Again, God was late.

It seems that the most commonly asked questions of faith have little to do, frankly, with God’s existence, or even his providence. The most troubling questions for God’s people inevitably have to do with his sense of timing. Far too frequently our God seems late. So God’s people are often left to cry out, “When, O Lord? How long, O Lord? Why weren’t you here when we needed you? Why didn’t you come? Why are you so late?” Ever asked those questions? Yes, God is frequently late. But he’s always on time.

In Isaiah 55:8-9 God reminds us of a fundamental truth. He says, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways . . . As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” In other words, God operates on a different thought level – one that we’re incapable of achieving. And God also runs on a different clock. “With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” (2 Peter 3:8) You see, God functions on a totally different time scale – his time is not our time.

In Jeremiah 29:11 God makes a wonderful promise: “For I know the plans I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” You see, God functions at a very different level of intentionality. Unlike you and me, he has only good plans. This is further corroborated in Romans 8:28 where Paul writes, “We know that in everything, God works for the good of those who love him, and who are called according to his purpose.” This forces a conviction upon us that says: Whatever happens to us fits a design. God is in control of our lives, and he alone knows what is truly best for us.

Abraham and Sarah thought that God had appeared too late, but because God came Isaac was born. Moses may have entertained similar thoughts about God’s timing, but because he came the Israelites were delivered from Egypt and we are left with the story of the Exodus – the greatest tale of deliverance in human history. When God came to Job, a tenfold restoration ensued. All the losses that Job experienced were more than amply compensated. Mary and Martha were certain that Jesus was too late. However, he came and because he did Lazarus was raised from the dead.

In each of these stories, and others like them, God is quite obviously “late.” That’s what we see. That’s our perception of his actions. That is the view we are allowed to have. And if we examine our own lives we notice those times when God was late, or that we were certain he was. This view of reality is the most trying one for God’s people because we frequently struggle to make sense of all this. Frankly, on its face, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. But the curtain has been drawn aside for us, and we’ve been given the privilege of getting a peak – from God’s side – of our reality. And, from God’s side, he’s always on time.

God’s intentionality and heart for us means that he’s always on time. From his vantage point, and with his love always directed at us, he can, and does ensure that he is truly on time, regardless of what our clocks say. And with that truth in hand, we can turn to an important lesson of faith. Isaiah 40:31 states: “Those who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall rise up on wings like eagles. They shall run and not be wearied; they shall walk and not faint.” Faith discovers its strength, not in a busy life or in the preponderance of effort, but in the tranquility of soul that enables us to tune in to God’s frequency. It’s in our waiting upon the Lord that we learn the lessons we need the most.

The three Hebrew teenagers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, could have been tempted to believe that God was late – that he had forgotten all about them. Their king had given a decree that everyone should bow before a golden image of him or die in a blazing furnace of fire. So when the theme music played, all the people obediently fell on their faces before the image – well, everyone except those three Hebrew boys. The king was so enraged at their disobedience that he commanded the fire to be heated seven times hotter than it was already. Then the boys were given one last chance to change their minds, but they wouldn’t. And by then, the heat from the fire was so intense that it killed the guards who had been assigned the task of throwing Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego into it.

So why didn’t the Lord come and scorch this idolatrous king and his followers? Where was he, anyway? What we find is that God was waiting for Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the furnace. And when they were thrown in, much to the king’s surprise, he saw four figures – not three – walking around in the furnace: “He said, ‘Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.’” (Dan. 3:25) Sometimes God delivers us from the trial, and sometimes he delivers us through it. In the case of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, God received greater glory by allowing them to go through this fiery trial rather than delivering them from it.

In other words, God is never late; he’s always on time. As we look at the world around us, we see horrible violence, perversion and people not only breaking God’s laws but flaunting their wicked lifestyles. And we wonder when God will return to put an end to all of the suffering and sorrow. That’s when we need to trust in God’s perfect timing. The apostle Peter wrote: “First of all, you must understand that in the last days scoffers will come, scoffing and following their own evil desires. They will say, ‘Where is this ‘coming’ he promised? Ever since our fathers died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation….’ But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” (2 Peter 3:3-4, 8-9)

The day will come when God will make all things right. There’s a time for everything, and a season for every activity. (Ecc. 3:1) So if your watch is running a little fast, maybe you should take it to the Watchmaker; word has it that he makes adjustments for free.

Grace,

Randy

New Math

 

New Math

New Math - Audio/Visual

He replied to the one speaking for the rest, “Friend, I haven't been unfair. We agreed on the wage of a dollar, didn't we? So take it and go. I decided to give to the one who came last the same as you. Can't I do what I want with my own money? Are you going to get stingy because I am generous?” Here it is again, the Great Reversal: many of the first ending up last, and the last first. (Matt. 20:13-16, MSG)

Remember "new math" when it was first introduced in our schools during the 60’s? It was launched just after the Sputnik crisis in order to boost science and math skills in the United States so that the intellectual threat of Soviet engineers, reportedly very skilled mathematicians, could be met. It was basically an experimental form of arithmetic, and it was very confusing. According to "new math," adding, subtracting and multiplying simply didn’t work the old way. Things didn’t add up. So they came up with “new math,” which involved something called "base theory." For instance, in base ten (which is the "base" we use in "old math"), 2 + 2 = 4. But in base three, for instance, 2 + 2 = 11. I really can’t tell you why it equals eleven because I’m not exactly sure that I really understand it myself. But you can see how it would be very confusing since, if you change the context, or “base,” numbers mean entirely new things.

There's a sense in which, sometimes, the Christian faith sounds an awful lot like “new math;” there are times when what God does just doesn’t seem to add up. For example, there's Jesus' parable of the shepherd who left his flock of ninety-nine and headed out into the darkness to search for one lost lamb. It’s a noble deed, but think about the underlying math. Jesus says the shepherd left the ninety-nine sheep “in the country,” which presumably means they were vulnerable to rustlers, wolves or just the general idea of bolting for freedom. But how would the shepherd have felt if he’d returned with the one lost lamb across his shoulders, only to find twenty-three others were now missing? It doesn’t make mathematical sense.

And then there’s the scene in John's gospel where a woman named Mary takes a pint of exotic, expensive perfume, worth an entire year's wage, and pours it all over Jesus' feet. Have you ever owned a $51,916.27 bottle of perfume? Even Judas noticed that it didn’t add up. Surely Mary could have put just a little, an ounce maybe, on Jesus' feet and then sold the rest to feed the poor. Arguably, Jesus would have smelled just as good. So, why overdo it? Why waste the entire jar, especially on Jesus’ nasty feet, when an ounce on the pulse points would have done the job? Apparently, Mary flunked math since, in our way of thinking, her calculations were way off.

Mark's gospel contains a third example. After watching a widow drop two little coins into the temple collection plate, Jesus compared it to the larger financial gifts of more wealthy worshipers. He said, "I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others." (Mark 14:23) What kind of rocket science did Jesus consult to come up with that conclusion? How could two pennies equal more than handfuls of brand new hundred dollar bills?

The parable in Matthew chapter 20 is about a farmer who, at sunrise, goes into town and hires day laborers to help him pick grapes in his vineyard. Temperatures in Palestine during the harvest season frequently exceed 100°; it’s really hot work. Grape harvests are also hectic and demanding since there’s a very narrow window of opportunity to harvest the grapes at the peak of their sugar content, or brix, and the bad weather setting in. If the “window” closes, the crop’s not worth picking. So maybe in his haste to get the job done quickly, the farmer goes into town at 6:00 a.m. to hire workers, and then again at 9:00 a.m. to hire more. He did the same thing at noon, 3:00 p.m. and again at 5:00 p.m. in order to get the harvest through the final stretch. At 6:00 p.m., the farmer tells his foreman to call it quits for the day and give everyone their pay, starting with those who were hired last. Now the order must have made the workers just a little curious since, usually, pay was handed out on a first-come, first-served basis. So the workers were probably looking pretty closely as the paymaster began handing out the paychecks.

As the owner had instructed, the guys who had worked only an hour were paid a denarius, i.e., a day’s wage, e.g., $104.00 in California these days, less taxes of course. That was a great wage back then. In fact, it was the same wage paid a Roman soldier, which was a whole lot more than a common day laborer could ever expect to get for even an entire day's work. So, the math doesn’t add up at this point. But the other laborers probably didn't mind; at least not yet. They were likely amazed at the farmer's generosity, especially the guys who’d been working since sunrise. They probably ran the numbers and thought, "Wow, if these guys who only worked an hour got an entire day’s wage, imagine how much we’ll take home. We're going to make a bundle!" But when they got to the paymaster, they got the same amount and now they’re steamed.

How is that fair? It doesn’t add up. After all, they'd been sweating and slaving at high speed under the hot sun all day. According to "normal" math, they should have received $1,456.00, throwing in time and a half for the four hours overtime. But here, the boss’s actions contradicted everything known about employee motivation and fair compensation. It was atrocious economics, plain and simple. So then what’s the point with these atrocious payroll calculations? What is Jesus teaching us in this parable about a seemingly mathematically-challenged landowner?

To answer that question we’ve got to realize that if we try to understand Jesus' story on the basis of math, we'll miss the point entirely. Jesus’ parable isn't supposed to make economic sense; it isn't supposed to add up. The point of the parable is about grace, and grace can't be calculated like a day's wage. Grace is not about finishing last or first. It’s about not counting at all. As Paul says in 2 Cor. 5:19, "God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them." If God did count our sins against us, if he did pay us according to what our sins have earned us, we'd all be in very deep trouble. Here’s some more math excerpts from Romans: "...all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God ... and the wages of sin is death." (Rom. 3:23; 6:23) Praise God that he dispenses gifts and not wages. And here’s another: "The free gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ our Lord." (Rom. 6:23) Because of his great and truly amazing grace, people who respond to the Gospel do not get paid according to their merit.

Using our “new math” example, God's "base" is grace. His actions are prompted not by math, but by his great, all-encompassing, unconditional love. This love, this grace, is the key to understanding the atrocious mathematics of the gospel. And we have a hard time understanding that. We often have trouble comprehending God's grace because we’re still programmed to think according to our traditional math upbringing. Grace baffles us because it goes against our mental calculators that insist that some price must be paid for our sin. But if you struggle with the mathematics of the Gospel, remember that a price was paid. As Romans 3:24 says, "We are justified freely by His grace -through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." In other words, God gave up his own Son rather than give up on humanity. Jesus paid our sin debt.

In the movie, The Last Emperor, the young child anointed as the last emperor of China lives a magical life of luxury with a thousand servants at his command. There's a scene in which his brother asks him, "What happens when you do wrong?" The boy emperor replies, "When I do wrong, someone else is punished." And to demonstrate the point, he breaks a jar, and to pay for his sin one of the servants is beaten. Jesus reversed that ancient pattern: when the servants erred, the King was punished. Jesus was beaten. He was tortured. He was crucified. He was the payment for our sins.

I never really liked math all that much growing up. In fact, I struggled with math so much, and got so far behind in school that my parents became a little concerned and got me some sort of mechanical contraption to help me with just simple, basic math. And I can’t tell you exactly when I eventually got it, but by college and graduate school I was doing calculus. At one time in my life, math just didn’t make any sense. Then, with some help, math made all the sense in the world.

Once, I didn’t get Jesus, either. But with the aid of his Word, I got Him. Not “got Him” in the sense of completely understanding him since that’s a journey, but “got him” from the standpoint of grace – a place where, thankfully, the math doesn’t have to add up.

Grace,

Randy

Mistrial (Part 2)

 

Mistrial

Mistrial (Part 2) - Audio/Visual

(Part II)

Pilate said, “So you are a king?” Jesus responded, “You say I am a king. Actually, I was born and came into the world to testify to the truth. All who love the truth recognize that what I say is true.” “What is truth?” Pilate asked. Then he went out again to the people and told them, “He is not guilty of any crime.” (John 18:37-38)

Jesus has already been through three (3) “trials,” none of which were legitimate. Of course, that didn’t stop the religious leaders from reaching a verdict anyway. The problem was that the charge of blasphemy wouldn’t stand up in a Roman court. However, Annas had made it very clear that this Jesus must be put to death – today – and Caiaphas had already tipped his hand earlier by telling the gathered intelligencia that, “It’s better that one man should die for the people.” (John 18:14) Faced with a new legal dilemma, what’s the Sanhedrin to do? Easy. Just switch the charge to treason rather than blasphemy. And that’s exactly what they did. Between the time they’d dismissed the proceedings and gained an audience with the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, they switched the charge: this time the charge was treason. In other words, they claimed that Jesus was guilty of attempting to overthrow the government.

Now Pilate was an anti-Semitic, Gentile born in Spain. He was appointed by Caesar to govern Judea. He was what you would call the governor of a state, though in those days they were called provinces. Pilate was a short-timer in the mind of Caesar due to a number of revolutions that had broken out under Pilate’s governance. The truth is that Pilate had made some pretty poor decisions during his administration, murdered plenty of his Jewish subjects, tightened the screws of Roman rule on his largely Jewish population and lacked basic diplomacy skills. As a result, the state over which he served was in constant turmoil. Despite these shortcomings, Caesar tacitly approved of Pilate and left him there as governor, but Pilate was under constant surveillance. In fact, not long after Jesus’ trial, Pilate was banished to Gall where he later committed suicide.

Apocryphal accounts of Pilate’s suicide suggest that Tiberius Caesar had become gravely ill and had heard of a wonderful Judean physician who could heal with just a word. As a result, the Caesar sent orders to Pilate to bring the doctor to Rome. There was just one problem with that plan: Pilate had earlier ordered the doctor’s crucifixion. Furious at Pilate’s stupidity, Caesar sentenced Pilate to the most disgraceful death possible. Thus, and in order to avoid this disgrace, Pilate committed suicide. In a nutshell, Pilate was a very unstable guy. But because of some shrewd, political maneuverings, he’d become the governor of a province – if only for a short time.

The time was now around 6:30 to 7:00 a.m., and the Sanhedrin was leading Jesus from Caiaphas’ house to the judgment hall. (John 18:28) But doing so presented a problem; the religious leaders didn’t dare physically enter into the judgment hall itself because no Jewish person could enter a Gentile court on Passover – if they did, they’d be defiled, or ceremonially unclean and this was certainly NOT the time to be unclean, considering it was Passover – the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

As a result, Pilate literally had to come out and meet the religious leaders. You see, they may have been criminally-minded in attitude, but they were extremely legalistic when it came to religion. It’s because of this, then, that you see Pilate going in and out of the judgment hall, almost as if he were acting the part of a mediator trying to settle a legal dispute, rather than acting as the governor.

Now, the first law of the Roman code of criminal procedure was accusation, and that's the first thing Pilate covered. “So, what’s the charge here, guys?” Jesus’ accusers sarcastically responded, “Hey, Bub, if he weren’t guilty, we wouldn’t be here, you dope!” (John 18:29-30)  But in Pilate’s defense, he really had no earthly idea that he was being asked to adjudicate a capital case. He simply said that if it's a problem with the Jewish law, then take him and judge him yourselves. (John 18:31) And that’s when the lights came on. “It’s not lawful for us to put any man to death,” the leaders said. (Id.) Well, now; that changes everything. And from the other gospels, we know that they’d declared that Jesus was guilty of treason, i.e., claiming to be another Caesar. (Luke 23:2)

The second law of the Roman code of criminal procedure, after accusation, was interrogation, i.e., to probe and search for evidence against the accused. Thus the following question: "Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered him, “Is this your idea, or did somebody else tell you that?” Pilate answered, “Hey, do I look like a Jew? It’s your people that brought you here, buddy. So, what’s the rap?"
(John 18:33-35) In other words, Pilate wanted to figure out if Jesus was in the process of attempting to overthrow the Roman government. Jesus responded by saying that his kingdom was not of this world since, if it were, his servants would be fighting in the streets, taking lives, storming the temple and putting an end to this mockery of a trial. “But you don’t see them, do you?” Jesus implied. (John 18:36)

The third process in the Roman code of criminal procedure was defense. And now Pilate, acting more like a defense attorney, begins to look at the facts from Jesus’ perspective. By the way, Roman law, much like American law, allowed for a defense attorney, but Jesus was never allowed that opportunity – not even a court-appointed attorney. So, Pilate considers the evidence and says, “So, you are a king," to which Jesus responds, “You say that I am a king, and for this reason I was born so I could come to this world and bear witness to the truth.” Pilate, at this point, incredulously says, “What’s truth?” (John 18:37-38)

In other words, “This has nothing to do with the case, Jesus. You’re on trial for sedition, not your philosophical beliefs.” Ahhh, but this had everything to do with Pilate’s mind set. He’s a very mixed up, miserable man who, in a matter of months, will take his own life. So it’s no wonder that he’s in a quandary when it comes to objective, sound truth. And so he says, “What's truth?” And when he said this, Pilate went out to Jesus’ accusers and said that he found Jesus not guilty. (Now that was the truth!) But we’re not done here. The fourth step is a verdict, and Pilate said he found Jesus not guilty. In fact, all Pilate could find was that Jesus claimed to be a king from some sort of weird, spiritual kingdom. That's not a threat to Rome. But the crowd goes crazy anyway, yelling that Jesus is a rebel rouser stirring up trouble from Galilee to Jerusalem.

And then it hits him.

Pilate may not have been the brightest crayon in the box, but he’s not stupid. He hears the word “Galilee,” and knows exactly what to do: kick this can down the road since Galilee isn’t in his jurisdiction. “Hmmmm, I wonder where the proper venue would be for this action? Aha! I know. That’s Herod's jurisdiction; I’ll send Jesus to Herod and it just so happens that he’s in town today. What a stroke of luck!” (Luke 23:6-7) Now, for whatever reason, Herod and Pilate were political enemies, at least up until this particular event. Maybe it was because Pilate was a loser with a plumb job in Jerusalem. Regardless, Herod had a reputation of his own. He was the one who beheaded John the Baptist. He's the one who dealt with vicious cruelty over his subjects.

But Herod had heard about Jesus and was excited to see Jesus perform a miracle: kind of like a circus monkey in a freak show. He thought Jesus was some sort of magician and was anxious to see Jesus do a trick. (Luke 23:8) Jesus, knowing Herod’s intent, didn’t throw him a bone. This was no proceeding at all! All Herod wanted was a jester for his court; a clown. And when Jesus wouldn't cooperate, Herod’s court personnel mocked him as a king and sent him back to Pilate.
(Luke 23:10-11)

Now back at the Palace, Pilate was eating eggs Benedict and thinking, “Whew! Dodged that one. I’m not as dumb as I look.” And then, as he’s chewing on his English muffin, he looks out the window, and lo and behold there’s Jesus, bound and robed as a king. “Are you kidding me?” It was obvious to Pilate that Herod was not in a particularly cooperative mood. Curiously, the whole event brought Herod and Pilate together as friends. Maybe it was due to the fact that Pilate had showed Herod some deference in allowing him to adjudicate a capital case involving one of his own subjects. (Luke 23:12) Others have speculated that Pilate and Herod Antipas despised the Jewish religious authorities. Of course, feelings were mutual since the scribes and Pharisees hated the Roman authorities. So, by returning Jesus to Pilate, Herod was effectively saying to the Pharisees and Sadducees that Christ was their problem, not his. And Pilate felt exactly the same way and as the saying goes, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." Go figure.

But Pilate still didn’t want to declare Jesus guilty, and his wife had had a bad dream about this guy. Even Herod was on his side, who didn’t do anything except send Jesus back. So, he tried several angles to get out of having to reach a verdict. The first thing he offered to do was to chastise and beat Jesus and then release him. But the people said “No.” Then he tried to release Jesus through a custom of that day: to release a prisoner during Passover. (Matt. 27:15) The choice? Barabbas or Jesus. And Pilate, in selecting Barabbas, thought this would be a shoe-in. Barabbas was a notorious criminal. He was a murderer; he was an insurrectionist; he was guilty of sedition; and he was bound in prison awaiting death by crucifixion. Barabbas had been convicted of a capital crime. He was the one guilty of treason. So, Pilate thought that if he were to put Barabbas next to Jesus, and offered to release one of them, the crowd would surely say, "Don't release Barabbas! Release Jesus, instead!" But it backfired. They wanted Jesus dead. (Matt. 27:19-23)

 

So, Pilate gathered a band of soldiers, stripped Jesus and put on a scarlet robe, placed a crown of thorns on his head, a reed in his right hand and then mocked him by bowing down and saying, “Hail, King of the Jews!” They struck him on the head, spit on him and led him away to be crucified.
(Matt. 27:26-31) C.S. Lewis, an atheist turned apologist said in his book, God in the Dock (implying, God on Trial), "One of the great difficulties is to keep before the audience's mind the question of Truth. They always think you are recommending Christianity not because it is 'true' but because it is 'good'. One must keep on pointing out that Christianity is a statement which, if false, is of no importance, and if it is true, of infinite importance. The one thing it cannot be is moderately important."

The case against God should have been declared a mistrial. But for the sake of our redemption, God didn’t ask for a mistrial which, when granted, would have rendered him immune from further prosecution. Instead, he voluntarily bore our sins so that, at our trial, we can be declared righteous, or not guilty: not of our own selves, but because the consequences of our actions were borne by God’s son who only wants to have a relationship with those whom he made for that very purpose.

Want some free legal advice? Hire Jesus. There’s no better advocate, and he’ll represent you pro bono since he’s already paid your retainer. Pretty good deal, if you ask me. And I should know – I’m a lawyer in need of a Savior.

Grace,

Randy