Here, then, at the Passover, were priests and people, thus waiting for a Man to die for them. Their Scriptures taught that every sacrifice, to be effective, must be without blemish, since no one, however generous, can pay a debt for another, even to a human creditor, when he himself is a bank rupt. If, then, this unknown Man, standing in the palace of the high priest, was to die for the people, must be innocent, and innocence means a being perfect in love, as God is perfect, who is Love. To condemn such a Victim must be a miscarriage of justice. Their own ceremonies foreshadowed it. His Divinity was proved by the Book of Leviticus. It was true, as they told Pilate, that by their law He ought to die, because He made Himself the Son of God. It was astoundingly true.
When wrong is done, we like to say that the system is to blame. It salves our consciences. But not one word was uttered by Jesus against the laws of Rome and Jewry, under which He was tried. On the contrary, the law of Rome, fairly administered, would have secured His acquittal. No conviction was possible without evidence on which two witnesses must agree, and the witnesses did not agree. While the ecclesiastical authority could prosecute, only the civil power could inflict death, and the civil power vainly tried to wash its hands of the responsibility. The very rules of the feast told in favor of the prisoner. If the Jews would be defiled by entering Pilate's judgment-hall, there should have been a remand. But they who met in Jerusalem to seek mercy for themselves refused mercy to Him, and instead of delaying His fate, hurried it on, so twisting against Him the customs which--humanly speaking--might have helped Him. Even the dying thief, who railed against a cruel sentence, was moved by our Lord's patience to declare that the cross, though barbarous, is no more than a just penalty for sin, which, indeed, was the reason why Christ endured it. In Him, we thus learn that what we need is not a better law, for He vindicated Law, but a better heart--not legislation by Parliaments, but equity or righteousness within us. He was not slain because laws were bad, but because men were wicked. And His Gospel is not a reform of the penal code. It is salvation.
Arrested
Jesus was wrongfully arrested. The proper time to seize an offender is when the offense is committed, or as soon afterwards as possible; and an offense which the State permits without protest is thereby condoned, nor should it be revived. He taught daily in the Temple, but they did not take Him. They had no right to seize Him in the Garden. For their sakes, lest they sin,--not for His own,--He told them so.
When the soldiers came toward Him, He gave Himself up willingly; and it was wrong, therefore, to bind His arms, as if He were a thief, like Judas, who, if caught, might escape from justice. That introduced prejudice into the case, and suggested that He must be guilty merely because He was in custody. Annas and Caiaphas sat as magistrates in a court of first instance, and it was their duty to protect His Person and His reputation until a plain indictment was submitted by the prosecution. Instead of doing this, Caiaphas questioned, not His accusers, who alone had, at that stage, to make out a case, but the Prisoner, not yet accused; and this examination was renewed before the Sanhedrin. Pilate threatened Him with torture, and did actually scourge Him, while Herod encouraged men to maltreat Him. During this ordeal, lasting many hours, Jesus was denied food and drink and sleep, and endured all and more than all that horrifies us in the rack and the thumbscrew. Yet His teaching, if obeyed, would have prevented these cruelties. We who are sinners, and need forgiveness, have no right to punish sin, as such, in others. It is only when sin becomes crime--that is, an offense against society, or "Cæsar," or one's "neighbor"--that we dare to judge it. Unless somebody else is injured, there can be no crime; and to prove a crime, there must be evidence other than the prisoner's own. No one suggested that Jesus and His disciples had injured anyone. Eager as His accusers were to make out a case, it is to be noted that they did not mention the loss of the Gadarene swine, the withered fig-tree, and the overturned tables of the money-changers, which were undoubtedly attacks on property. What they resented was His more exacting claim on themselves--what He said and what He was, not what He did; His words, not His deeds. Thus unconsciously they subjected Him to the standard which He Himself set up when He said that in the day of judgment men must account for every jot and tittle that passes their lips.
First, Caiaphas wanted to know about His disciples, which was suggesting that He should turn king's evidence, as Judas did. Two disciples, Peter and John, were there, and we may imagine what they felt when they listened. Neither of them confessed Him before men, and this meant that He did not confess them. He mentioned no name of a disciple, for the time had not come when they would be proud to suffer with Him. Yet He made an appeal. For when the high priest went on to inquire about His doctrine, He told him to ask the men who had heard Him. "They knew it," He said. Peter and John were the very witnesses needed, and their testimony would have agreed; but they remained silent. It was the Spirit that came to them later which made them bold.
Suborned Witnesses
In His reply to the accusations of the chief priests, there was no disrespect. He was right in saying that evidence should be called, and they knew it, for they sent detectives to gather the evidence. For months, agents provocateurs had tried to entangle Him in His talk, which again was wicked, because every criminal investigator should seek to prove innocence, if innocence be possible, rather than to suggest guilt. The detectives suborned witnesses, and the witnesses thus suborned shared the sin by saying many things, indeed anything, that would help a zealous prosecution. The "Crown," as we call it, was rich; He was poor; but He was offered no legal assistance, nor during the investigation was He released on bail or surety, or permitted to consult His friends. He had no defense; He needed none, for, undefended, history has reverently acquitted Him.
The warders also sinned against Him. Though He had committed no contempt of court, one of them struck Him on the mouth a blow that was the first of many. Others blindfolded His eyes, and called on Him as Prophet to name the men who buffeted Him. He who had loosed men's tongues, opened their eyes, and restored their limbs, stood there dumb, blind, bound. And there rang out that laughter in court at His expense which is ever the most callous, the most cowardly merriment--such a spectacle was He whose voice now blesses us, whose eye now guides us, whose arm is not shortened that it cannot save. He did not curse them; He looked not upon their iniquity; He did not smite them; and the oblivion which enfolds them is the measure of His forgiveness.
The Sanhedrin assembled. It was the special or selected jury. In the street, the common jury was gathering. Both juries gave a verdict; equally unrighteous, since it condemned Christ without specifying the offense. Then, as often since, the course of justice was deflected by public opinion. The very domestic servants made Peter tremble. And Pilate's wife, who slept uneasily amid the growing tumult of those early morning hours, terrified the governor with her dreams. The trial involved all classes and both sexes. One nation instituted it; every nation helped to conduct it. And it tests every age--Truth for ever on the scaffold; Wrong for ever on the throne.
The Accusation before Pilate
The indictment, when framed at last, was frequently varied. Charged first with disrespect to the Temple, He was found guilty of blasphemy against God. But the accusation before Pilate was a refusal to pay tribute to Cæsar, and Pilate sentenced Him for claiming to be a King. Such proceedings were contrary to every canon of criminal jurisprudence, and all the diverse charges separately broke down.
So far from insulting the Temple, He twice cleansed it; and, in saying that He would rebuild it in three days, He referred to His body, the Living Temple, which was to die and rise again. It was no crime to declare that man, filled with God's Spirit, is greater than what he achieves.
The second charge was forced on Him by adjuration to God. Commanded to say if He was Messiah--the Son of Jehovah--He answered simply: Yes, and they would see Him return in power and glory. Assuming it false, they should have pitied the delusion. But the point is that they dared not so declare it. They did not in fact deny His Deity, they only hated Him the more for asserting it; and Caiaphas broke the law of his order-as laid down in the writings of Moses-by rending his clothes, as the veil of the Temple was to be rent, so in symbol abdicating his office, in presence of Him who is our great High Priest, eternal in the heavens.
As for tribute to Cæsar, what He said was the opposite of what they, who themselves revolted against the tribute, now alleged. He paid taxes, and told others to pay them; while His claim to be King, though calmly admitted, satisfied even Pilate, who found no fault in One who only desired to rule the hearts and allay the passions of men by leading them into His realm of Truth--the frontiers of which Pilate regarded with doubt and cynicism. "To this end," said He, "I was born," and a birthright--be it royal or be it Divine--cannot be criminal, however often it is so treated.
Finally, it was illegal to inflict Roman crucifixion on Him, when His offense, as alleged, was Jewish, and therefore punishable only by stoning. Pilate knew this, and called on them to deal with Him by their law; but they refused to carry out the sentence for which they clamored. And in seeking to apply the last prerogative of mercy, Pilate himself gravely erred. The fate of one prisoner should not have been made dependent on the fate of another--that was contrary to law; and if the Prisoner was not guilty, as Pilate believed, His sentence of death should have been canceled outright, and not reduced to scourging. To compromise between guilt and innocence only lacerates the victim of injustice. Strict righteousness, hard though it be, is ever the truest mercy.
So that it came to this--without indictment, He was arrested. Without evidence, He was accused. Without verdict, guilty or not guilty, He was condemned. He was scourged because He was too good to be slain, yet afterwards He was slain. No one who demanded His death or saw Him die could say what evil He had done. And behind that contradiction of sinners lay a profounder meaning. That meaning was our redemption.