For the true story see see Matthew 27:57-60; Mark 15:42-46; Luke 23:50-54; John 19:38-42.
Jesus of Nazareth is hanging on a cross.
I went to see the crucifixion because it felt like that was all I could do to
support him in his undeserved trouble, but while I was there, I saw other members of the council. They were laughing at him and challenging him to save himself – men with whom I have sat, talked, worked and argued. I could not bear to listen to any more of what they said; it was too horrifying. So I came back here to the temple to write down my thoughts and ponder my questions.
I hate injustice.
False witnesses are an abomination to
me.
Yet I have seen both of those things paraded before me during this last day, promoted as necessary and even good. I sat and listened as a man was first condemned by leaders interested solely in their own positions of power, then crucified because of the terrifying power of a ranting mob.
Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth, was arrested, tried, convicted and crucified this day for the crime of – would you believe it? – telling the truth. Our council, the
Sanhedrin, so distorted God’s rules that our long-awaited Messiah could not tell the truth without them convicting him of blasphemy. The only way he could have escaped alive would have been to become a liar like them.
I fought the rhetoric, I fought the decision, but I could do nothing. I did not agree that Jesus deserved any punishment, let alone death. As a member of the council, I did all I could, yet I was powerless in the face of self-centred bigots.
There were only two on the council who would stand against the injustice: Nicodemus and myself. Only two who said we should reject the false witnesses and their lies. Only two against the rest; and even we two were cowed into silence as the proceedings reached their climax – and this is the peak body of Jewish justice!
So what did Jesus do wrong to deserve such punishment?
Well, he healed the sick; he raised the dead; he cleansed lepers; he gave sight to
the blind.
Are those heinous crimes? They are not like paying blood money for betrayal; like recruiting false witnesses to convict an innocent man; like calling simple words – which the evidence shows are likely to be true – “blasphemy,” simply because they are unwelcome. Yet our council has committed all of these this last day; and I am part of the council.
So what did this man do that so upset the members of the council?
He ate with
sinners and taught them God’s commands.
He forgave the sins of cripples and proved his credibility in doing so by healing them as well.
He worked humbly and tirelessly, receiving any who would come to hear the words of God in his mouth. If you could find Jesus at any time, day or night, he would speak to you – Nicodemus proved it when he found Jesus at night to tell him that he believed he was truly from God. Within moments, Jesus had taken him out of his
depth in describing what God requires of us. That night, Israel’s teacher was taught deep things by a carpenter turned prophet!
He spoke truth and wisdom as no man has ever spoken them before.
And then he practised what he preached.
These “crimes” upset many members of the council greatly because they disrupted the comfortable order of things. They threatened to make religion genuine, a matter between a man and his God where riches and power
were no longer the aim. Yet even with these annoyances, he might still have been left alone had he not at the same time condemned greed, selfishness, the love of money and hypocrisy.
This teaching was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and it was really for these “crimes” that he was killed. Oh that more people would commit them!
Of course, his behaviour was construed as blasphemy to win over a Jewish audience, and then as rebellion to demand action
from an unwilling Roman procurator.
Necessity was all that mattered. The council decided that Jesus had to be disposed of, and any method which could work towards that goal was pre-approved. Blood money was paid to a betrayer. Lies were told and re-told. False witnesses were found – which was bad enough – and then protected from punishment when their lies did not agree – which was utterly inexcusable.
Of all of the members of the council,
only Nicodemus and I opposed these actions. Yet we were too cautious, too afraid, and our words were disregarded. Our objections were passed over and spurned. Despite our repeated requests and then insistence, no record was ever made of our objections.
None of this could I stop. Yet to feel powerless against overt evil in the highest authorities in the nation is soul-destroying. Corruption in the representatives of Rome I can understand and
accept. But corruption in the leaders of God’s own people I can neither understand nor accept.
So now I have to make my decision: do I quit, or try to fight on? Do I fight for justice for a man who will soon be dead? Or do I join his followers even though the leader they followed can no longer lead?
Of course, it may already be too late: I may already have made too much noise and spoken too loudly against the council’s decision.
Maybe my position on the council is already in jeopardy. During the trial, I objected to matters of process and law, and when the question was put, I could not vote in favour of the decision to declare Jesus guilty. But I did not declare myself Jesus’ disciple – although that is what I am. I was too afraid.
I couldn’t keep away. I went back to Golgotha and heard a criminal, hanging
on the cross next to Jesus, cursing him. Then I heard the criminal on the other side of Jesus acknowledge his own guilt and beg Jesus for forgiveness.
So then I had to return to the temple and ask myself the question: Should I do the same?
This whole episode has tested me deeply. I have been forced to think in ways I have never thought before. I grew up in a rich family in Arimathea. Comfort has been my constant companion, and our
national religion fitted well into my life. The way our religion operates honours the rich and values each of them above a hundred of the poor. When I was called to take a place on the council of Israel, it seemed a fitting reward for years of responsible, community-minded living. I had a position of importance and enjoyed it.
Yet I was not heartless. I genuinely tried to keep the laws of our God as I understood them. When I sat on the council, I
did try to do justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God. But now I realise that my commitment to God was a limited commitment. My fellow-man’s opinion of me has always been more important to me than keeping God’s law. During Jesus’ trial, my concern about the council’s opinion kept me silent, kept me in my seat when I should have stood with Jesus. It might not have made any difference, but it would have been the right thing to do.
That thief
heard the scoffing and condemnation of Jesus from his rulers and his peers, and yet still spoke out in defence of Jesus. A convicted, self-acknowledged criminal had more courage than I. I suppose he had nothing to lose. Or was he motivated by what he had to gain? Maybe what he will gain is what I will lose if I don’t follow his example. Imagine that! Joseph of Arimathea, respected member of the Sanhedrin, learning a lesson from a robber, following the moral
example of a robber; and all over the crucifixion of a poor carpenter.
My world is spinning out of control.
Am I brave enough to go and talk to Jesus?
