Mark 15:1–20

VERY EARLY IN the morning, the chief priests, with the elders, the teachers of the law and the whole Sanhedrin, reached a decision. They bound Jesus, led him away and handed him over to Pilate.

2“Are you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate.

“Yes, it is as you say,” Jesus replied.

3The chief priests accused him of many things. 4So again Pilate asked him, “Aren’t you going to answer? See how many things they are accusing you of.”

5But Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.

6Now it was the custom at the Feast to release a prisoner whom the people requested. 7A man called Barabbas was in prison with the insurrectionists who had committed murder in the uprising. 8The crowd came up and asked Pilate to do for them what he usually did.

9“Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” asked Pilate, 10knowing it was out of envy that the chief priests had handed Jesus over to him. 11But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have Pilate release Barabbas instead.

12“What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” Pilate asked them.

13“Crucify him!” they shouted.

14“Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.

But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”

15Wanting to satisfy the crowd, Pilate released Barabbas to them. He had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

16The soldiers led Jesus away into the palace (that is, the Praetorium) and called together the whole company of soldiers. 17They put a purple robe on him, then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on him. 18And they began to call out to him, “Hail, king of the Jews!” 19Again and again they struck him on the head with a staff and spit on him. Falling on their knees, they paid homage to him. 20And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him out to crucify him.

Original Meaning

MARK 15:1 FORMS a bridge from the high priest’s proceedings against Jesus to his delivery to the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. It moves the reader from the courtyard, where Peter has denied his Lord for the third time and darted away, back inside the chamber, where the council has finished its deliberations. Mark does not intend to suggest that the council reassembled early in the morning for a second meeting to rehash their earlier decision. He simply recaps the ruling they reached (14:64) during Peter’s denials outside the chamber.1 It is the “whole Sanhedrin” against one, and they bind him securely before sending him off to the governor. Such extreme measures—sending an arresting party with swords and clubs and orders to seize him securely, and now tying him up with trusses to transfer him to Pilate—seem ludicrous for a peaceful, nonviolent prophet. They fulfill what Jesus predicted would happen to him, however (10:33).

The Charge Against Jesus

THE ROMANS DID not interfere in local politics any more than necessary to maintain order. They favored the ruling oligarchies in the cities. Since Pilate was an equestrian (knight), he had no assistants of a similar rank and little bureaucracy to handle all of the administrative matters. A large part of the everyday chores of government and administration, therefore, was carried out by the local councils and magistrates. They had the power to arrest, to take evidence, and to make a preliminary examination for the purpose of presenting a prosecution case before the governor for a formal trial. The prosecution’s case was normally brought by private parties, usually consisting of no more than two to three spokesmen (see Acts 24:1–9). The legal system of the Roman empire served the interests of the wealthy and the governing class. The high priest, Caiaphas (unnamed in Mark), was in office during the entire tenure of Pilate, and one can hardly expect a fair verdict when the accusers are powerful men and have had a long working relationship with the judge.2 Jesus could make no appeal to Caesar, only to God.

The Roman prefect (called a procurator only after A.D. 44) had the power of life and death over all the inhabitants of his province who were not Roman citizens. No criminal code existed for a malefactor who was a non-Roman citizen tried in the provinces. The governor was free in such cases to make his own rules and judgments as he saw fit, to accept or reject charges, and to fashion, within reason, whatever penalties he chose. Tacitus and Pliny record almost forty trials of malfeasance on the part of provincial governors from the time of Augustus to Trajan,3 suggesting that many governors took unfair advantage of their discretionary powers. Josephus and Philo register bitter complaints against Pilate for his arbitrary actions and cruelty.4

A Roman governor would not have put a native Jew on trial for his life simply because he had violated Jewish religious regulations. That is, a religious charge of blasphemy (i.e., Jesus’ declaring himself to be the Messiah) would not suffice for Pilate to take action (Acts 18:14–17), although the Romans would not have been indifferent to threats against temples. The governor could have cared less as long as matters religious did not become matters political. Thus, the high priests reformulate the charge against Jesus in a way that the Roman governor will understand and have to take seriously. Since Pilate’s first question is, “Are you the king of the Jews?” (15:2), presumably this is the official charge against Jesus (cf. also 15:12, “the one you call the king of the Jews”). If Jesus claims to be a king, he is guilty of a crime against the sovereign power of Rome. Sending him to Pilate in tethers also insinuates that he is a threat to public order.

Mark has emphasized Jesus’ greater authority throughout the Gospel. Not surprisingly, Pilate suspects almost immediately that the high priests have handed him over because of their “envy” (15:10). Accused prisoners had opportunity to defend themselves against their charges. If one chose to remain silent, he was directly questioned three times so that he might change his mind before his case was allowed to go by default.

Much to Pilate’s consternation, Jesus chooses to answer the charge enigmatically and then to remain silent (15:2–5). Jesus responds to the question, “Are you king of the Jews?” with (lit.) “You say.” This phrase can have a variety of meanings, depending on the inflection. The NIV translation, “Yes, it is as you say,” is possible; but it is more likely that Jesus’ answer is less direct, “You say so,” or “Whatever you say.” Jesus refuses to defend himself and implicate his fellow Jews in a Gentile’s court. His silence before such charges evokes Pilate’s amazement. The governor may want to release Jesus, but he cannot release someone who refuses to deny such a serious charge. Jesus leaves it to God to provide the answer to the charges and to the evil massed against him. Even after God acts, many will be blind to truth.

Barabbas

ROMAN TRIALS FREQUENTLY took place in public, and it was not unusual for crowds to clamor with judges for and against prisoners. Magistrates were frequently confronted with a unified uproar. The Judeans customarily confronted the Roman governor with large and boisterous crowds.5 Mark records that a crowd now approaches Pilate to remind him of “the custom at the Feast” to release a prisoner to them. The Gospels provide the only evidence for this practice, and some scholars have argued that it is a fiction. The governor, however, had the privilege to do whatever he liked; and the release of a prisoner once a year to appease the people is not improbable.6 Pilate is perplexed, however, that the crowd cries for the release of the murderous Barabbas instead of the harmless Jesus. Mark offers no reason why they choose Barabbas and call for the crucifixion of Jesus except that the high priests have stirred them up. Crowds, of course, can be easily manipulated. The crowd that these leaders so feared (11:32; 12:37) has now become their willing pawn, and things turn ugly.

Barabbas had been arrested for committing murder in an insurrection.7 Mark does not describe the nature of the uprising or riot in which he was involved. Barabbas may have been a right-wing extremist fighting to deliver Israel from the pollution of Roman rule, or he may have simply been a bandit. Social banditry plagued many parts of the empire. In Palestine, some of the peasants forced off their land when they were caught in the maelstrom of debt chose the path of outlawry rather than meek submission as tenant farmers or day laborers. Their victims were usually the rich landlords and their retainers. The bandits operated in the countryside and retreated to their strongholds in the hills.

Josephus, who wrote from the biased perspective of the urban elite, reports that Galilee was a haven for bandits, who were guilty of “habitual malpractices, theft, robbery, and rapine.”8 He also reports that many were caught and duly crucified. The rich man’s terrorist, however, is frequently the poor man’s Robin Hood. The impoverished common people, from whose ranks the bandits came, looked to them as heroic figures who justly exacted vengeance against their oppressors. They openly sympathized with them and frequently offered them protection at great cost to themselves when the Romans punished them severely for complicity. Barabbas may have been a hero in the eyes of the crowd, which explains their choice.

Even though the crowd wants amnesty for Barabbas, that fact does not make Jesus guilty. Pilate cedes his responsibility as judge to the crowd by asking them what he should do with Jesus. Not only do they choose Barabbas over Jesus, they choose crucifixion for Jesus. When Pilate asks, “Why?” they only raise the volume of their screams.

The crowd’s choice is ironic. Jesus, who had no interest in causing sedition or social upheaval, will be crucified between two brigands. Barabbas, a brigand guilty of murder, will go free because Jesus has taken his place on the cross intended for him. The crowd chooses the one who takes the lives of others to achieve his own selfish ends and condemns the one who gives his life for others in obedience to God. They want a king who will be comfortable with murder and mayhem, not one who refuses to resist evil with violence. It is a fatal preference. The violence of renegades like Barabbas continued to spiral until it eventually erupted in war against Rome. The outcome was inevitable: Rome destroyed Jerusalem, its temple, and most of the inhabitants in a brutal siege. The chief priests fear Jesus because he is a threat to the temple, their power base. In turn, they urge the release of one whose violent ways will eventually rain down terror and destruction on the land.

Mark gives us no insight into the workings of Pilate’s mind except that he “want[ed] to satisfy the crowd.” He will give them their prisoner and their victim. Though it is obvious to him that the high priests are driven by envy (15:10) and that Jesus has done no evil (15:14), Pilate is indifferent to his responsibility to carry out justice.

The Scourging and Mockery of Jesus

PILATE HANDS JESUS over to be crucified, and scourging was a customary preliminary. Prisoners to be flogged were bound to a pillar or post and given strokes with a flagellum. This lash was different from the simple whip. It consisted of leather thongs plaited with pieces of bone, lead, or bronze. It was fittingly called a scorpion. There were no prescribed number of lashes, and sometimes the scourging itself was fatal. The balls (sometimes having hooks) would cause deep contusions as the flesh was literally ripped into bloody ribbons. Significant blood loss could also occur, critically weakening the victim. It was so horrible that Suetonius claimed even the cruel emperor Domitian was appalled by it.9

Mark reports that the whole company of soldiers (around six hundred in a cohort) joins in the mockery of Jesus in the courtyard of Pilate’s Praetorium.10 Jesus’ Jewish captors derided him as a false messiah. The Roman soldiers now deride him as a false king. They deck him out in royal purple (15:17; see 1 Macc. 14:43–44) and plait a crown of thorns (Mark 15:17b), which may or may not have been intended as the instrument of torture depicted in Christian art. The soldiers had to improvise and would have grabbed whatever was at hand. A variety of thorny plants were available in Jerusalem. The thorns may have come from a type of palm tree common to Jerusalem, a dwarf date palm or thorn palm, which grew as an ornamental plant and had formidable spikes. The leaves could have been easily woven into a wreath and the long spikes from the date palm inserted to make a radiate crown.11 Evidence for this type of crown is found in the seals from the Roman camp in Jerusalem. The crown may also have been simply a clump of thorns heaped together.

The soldiers’ mock homage climaxes the masquerade. They hail him as “King of the Jews” and bow down before him (15:18–19). Their ridicule probably expresses as much contempt for the Jews as it does for Jesus. Officially, the Jews had had no king after the death of Herod the Great. The mockery implies that this pitiful, weak figure is the kind of king they deserve.

The recognition of Jesus in Mark’s Passion narrative is almost complete. A woman had lovingly anointed him in the home of a leper, but he announced that it was for his burial (14:3–9). The high priest asked if he was the Christ, the Son of the Blessed One, and he responded with a yes. Pilate called him the king of the Jews (15:17–19), and the soldiers mockingly saluted him as a king (15:16–19). While on earth, Jesus was a different type of king, as ruffians anointed him with spit, crowned him with thorns, and prepared to enthrone him on a cross.12 At this point, everyone has abandoned Jesus, and now only God can deliver him.

Bridging Contexts

FROM EARLY ON, Pilate has come off well in Christian tradition as a sympathetic figure. In the apocryphal Gospel of Peter, Pilate does not pronounce the death sentence; Herod does; and Pilate later begs for Jesus’ body from Herod. Tertullian speaks of a full report of the trial that Pilate sent to the emperor and hints that he was a Christian at heart (1 Apol. 21.24). In the apocryphal Acts of Pilate, Pilate puts up a more forceful defense on behalf of Jesus, and his eventual conversion is recorded. A letter claiming to be from Pontius Pilate maintains that he sent two thousand troops to try to stop the crucifixion. In the Ethiopic and Coptic churches Pilate has been canonized. Many today consider Pilate to have been an innocent, bewildered bystander, caught in an impossible situation.

We should be cautious about imaginative reconstructions of Pilate’s state of mind and his later life. We should also be cautious not to present him as a sympathetic figure. Mark certainly did not consider him so. Pilate represents a state concerned only with preserving order, regardless of the injustice suffered by others. His guilt is no greater and no less than that of anyone else in the story, but he is clearly guilty. His investigation is marked by indecision. Is he in charge or not? He asks the crowd, “Do you want me to release to you the king of the Jews?” (15:9), and, “What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?” (15:12). He puts up only a feeble protest when they call for Jesus’ death: “Why? What crime has he committed?” (15:14). Finally, he caves in to moral cowardice. He is the governor who can do as he wishes but he ends up serving the wishes of the Jewish leaders and their crowd (15:15).

The soldiers’ mockery of Jesus reveals the evil that bursts forth from human hearts. It also reflects the human idea of what a king ought to be. The kings the soldiers have served are those who lord it over others and exercise authority, who maintain the illusions of power at the expense of others (10:42–45). Jesus does not fit any royal category known to them. People frequently take refuge in mocking what they cannot comprehend rather than trying to take it seriously. To bow down before such a king must have seemed to them both amusing and absurd. Jesus had no army. His frail followers deserted him. He was totally powerless to save himself.

As Juel points out, however, these soldiers ironically “testify to a truth that is quite hidden from them.” That is, Jesus “is a king, not one who foments rebellion against Rome and who restores Israel to its national splendor as a rival empire, but one who endures mockery willingly and who obediently chooses the path that will lead to his death.”13 Rarely does a king put himself last, take the role of a slave, and willingly suffer death—even death on the cross—and isolation on behalf of his people. But here is the king before whom every knee will bow and whom every tongue will confess (Phil. 2:11). God will turn the mockery into reality. Marcus writes: “So powerful is the kingdom that it reaches down even into the hate-filled minds and venomous lips of its foes, drawing unwitting testimony from those who look without seeing.”14

Contemporary Significance

PEOPLE WITH NO moral compass and no moral backbone ask, What am I to do? The answer they usually get is to satisfy the crowd. In doing so, Pilate cedes his responsibility, acquiesces to injustice, and refuses to risk anything for another. He is the type of leader who forever has his finger in the wind to see which way it is blowing and does something for others as long as it costs him nothing. He will not pursue truth or justice. He only wants to satisfy the crowd, whose intentions he knows are less than honorable, and allows them to make his decisions. Pilate did ask the right question, “What shall I do, then, with [Jesus]?” but came up with the wrong answer.

Many today are like Pilate. They prefer Jesus to the envious, malicious high priests and the violent Barabbas, but that is as far as it goes. They see no harm in him, but they see nothing else, and therefore they see no reason to risk anything for him. They regard Jesus as simply “the king of the Jews” and do not recognize that he is the “King of kings” (cf. Rev. 19:16).

As far as Pilate is concerned, this crucial moment in God’s dealing with our sinful world is only another day in his long tenure of dealing with troublesome Jews. Anatole France, in his tale The Procurator of Judea, imagines that Pilate, when asked to recall the trial of one Jesus of Nazareth, cannot do so. Great evil comes from moral indifference. In this text we can see evil at work in the cunning chief priests, who manipulate crowds to their end; in the mercurial crowds, who allow themselves to be manipulated and cry for blood; and in boorish thugs, who carry out orders with sadistic pleasure. But a reluctant governor unconcerned with justice allows this evil to be unleashed. This attitude continues to allow others to be victims of false arrest, mob justice, and brutal treatment. Many turn away their eyes so they can pretend not to know. Few stand up and say, “Stop!”

The choice of Barabbas represents the human preference for the one who represents our narrow personal hopes—in this particular case, a perverted nationalism. He appeals to our basic instinct to protect our interests, with violence if necessary. In contemporary culture, we have been indoctrinated to prefer the violent answer over the peaceful one. Most Western children are bombarded with television shows and movies where the hero is pushed to the limit by oppressors until he can take no more and strikes back with a vengeance. Usually, the plot pits one man against many, and he always resorts to violence to win the day—the more spectacular the violence, the better the ratings or the box office returns. The subliminal lesson learned is that the only way to handle the evil of others is to blow them away. Our heroes become the Barabbases of the world, who take matters into their own hands and dispatch the enemy with brute force or clever trickery. If the vote came today, then, Barabbas would likely win again, hands down. We are more comfortable with the violent machismo of the knight-errant than with the passive suffering of a seemingly powerless savior who submits to beatings and mockery.

In other words, we have learned little since the day the crowd hailed Barabbas and called for Jesus to be crucified. Barabbas’s way only doles out more violence in a never-ending cycle. Jesus’ way soaks up the injustice, evil, and oppression like the venom of a sting and unleashes a far more powerful force of love and forgiveness. God’s way responds to evil redemptively and short-circuits it. On the cross, Jesus took the sting of death and absorbed all the poison. Our failure to choose this way stems from our failure to trust God. We may trust God to take care of the afterlife, but we do not trust God enough to let go of too much control of the here and now. If we have to suffer, we would rather put our trust in the Barabbases of this world, who fight back and murder enemies. We have yet to see that this way only leads to more death and tragedy.

The suffering of Jesus has made a vivid impact on Christians throughout the centuries. It is especially meaningful to those who have suffered in the same way. One person who endured persecution in a South American torture cellar reported that all the intricacies of Christian doctrine disappeared. The only thing that sustained him was knowing that Jesus had also been on the wrong side of a whip and that Jesus was with him. The same was true of many who suffered in the concentration camps of Hitler. Chuck Colson tells of one man who took courage from the suffering of Christ. Father Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish priest, was sentenced to Auschwitz for refusing to cave in to the Nazi demands “to keep the Poles quiet, stupid and dull-witted.” In a moment of great courage he stepped out of line (in more ways than one) to volunteer to die in the place of someone else who had been arbitrarily chosen for death with nine others because a prisoner from their barracks had successfully escaped. The startled and contemptuous commandant consented to this rash offer. Father Kolbe joined the line of condemned men being herded to their death. They were ordered to take off their clothes. “Christ died on a cross naked, Father Kolbe thought as he took off his pants and thin shirt, It is only fitting that I suffer as he suffered.”15

Jesus also took the place of a condemned man. He did not volunteer to die specifically for Barabbas, but he was chosen by God to die for all sinful humanity. He accepted the bitter cup of judgment and took the place of a murderous Barabbas and all guilty humans.

To fall into the hands of malicious rulers and to be at their mercy is difficult for anyone, but it is particularly difficult for one who has been active in bringing good to other people’s lives. Vanstone hits upon an interesting feature of Jesus’ Passion—his passivity. It is a dramatic turnabout from his ministry:

As He moves about He leaves behind him a trail of transformed scenes and changed situations—fishermen no longer at their nets, sick people restored to health, critics confounded, a storm stilled, hunger assuaged, a dead girl raised to life. Jesus’ presence is an active and instantly transforming presence: He is never the mere observer of the scene or the one who waits upon events but always the transformer of the scene and the initiator of events.16

All this changes in Mark’s Passion narrative. Jesus is no longer the one who initiates the action; he is the subject of others’ actions (the subject of nine verbs, and the object of fifty-six).17 He is silent, answering nothing, taking nothing—except the lashes from their scourges. We can learn of him how to endure suffering with peace and grace, trusting in God to deliver us.