And immediately in the morning the chief priests, having taken counsel with the elders and scribes and the whole sanhedrim, bound Jesus and carried [him] away, and delivered [him] up to Pilate.
The night hearing before the high priest is over. At daybreak the whole council meets again, ties Jesus up, and hands Him to the Roman governor — so why a second meeting, and why Pilate at all?
They had already made the real decision in the dark. What happens at dawn is only paperwork. Men who cared nothing for justice cared a great deal about how things looked.
The civil trial follows the religious one... It seems the real trial and condemnation of our Lord happened during the night, which Jewish oral law forbade. They did not announce the formal sentence until morning. Religion of the flesh is always known for straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel. They had no hesitation about staining their hands with the blood of the Innocent. Yet, as John tells us, they would not go into Pilate's judgment hall. They feared it would make them unclean and keep them from eating the Passover.
Having settled the verdict in advance, they now needed it to look lawful.
They have condemned a guiltless man. Now they try to give their unholy proceedings a show of legality, and they deliver Him bound into Pilate's custody.
The council could pronounce Him worthy of death, but it could not carry the sentence out.
The Romans had taken the power of capital punishment away from the Jews. They placed it in the hands of Caesar's representative alone. So the religious leaders knew they had to bring Him before Pilate and demand the death sentence on some ground that seemed adequate to him.
The transfer from the council to the governor means every kind of human authority gets its turn with Him.
So the chief priests, the elders, the scribes and the whole council agreed to hand Jesus over to Pilate, the representative of the civil power. The whole people consented too. Man had to condemn Jesus in every capacity, religious and civil. The Jews carried the chief guilt, and they did it in the name of religion. They stirred up the civil authorities and forced them to give in against their own conscience... We will find that as the priests were, so were the people; as the governor was, so were the governed. Down to the lowest of them, all joined in speaking evil of the Son of God.
Another writer looks at the whole scene around the cross:
The scenes surrounding the cross show the evil of fallen man in all its enormity. Every class is there — Jews and Gentiles, priests and people, the ruler and his soldiers, the passers-by and the criminal thieves. However great their political and social differences, all unite in their hatred and rejection of Christ.
Mark's Gospel presents Jesus as the perfect Servant. He lets them bind Him and lead Him away.
The Jewish council has already condemned the Lord unjustly. But all the world has to be proved guilty. So, as the perfect Servant of Jehovah, the Lord submits to appear before the judgment seat of the Roman power. This only proves the utter breakdown of government in Gentile hands.
Once He stands there, His silence is not weakness but a choice about what He came to do.
First the religious power had condemned the blessed Servant, and now the civil power had to do the same... Again the Servant witnesses a good confession. But when the chief priests accused Him, He kept His blessed lips sealed. He stood there to witness, not to defend Himself. What a gracious example He gives to all His servants.
Nothing here took Jesus by surprise. He had told His disciples in advance what would happen.
"The Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn Him to death and deliver Him over to the Gentiles... And after three days He will rise" (Mark 10:33-34)... All was foreknown by Him. All that He said came, as we know, to pass. He had been betrayed to the chief priests and scribes. They had condemned Him to death. And now they handed Him to the civil power to deal with, as one who opposed the rights of Caesar.
- Delivered by design. The dawn council added nothing but a signature. They had reached the verdict in the night. The morning meeting only made it look lawful.
- Delivered to Rome. Only Caesar's governor could order an execution. So the leaders had to find a charge that Pilate would accept.
- Delivered by every class. Priests, people, governor and soldiers each take a turn. No class of people can claim innocence.
- Delivered in silence. Bound and accused, the Servant speaks to confess the truth, not to defend Himself. He is an example for anyone accused wrongly.
- Delivered as foretold. He had told His disciples He would be condemned and handed to the Gentiles. The ropes at daybreak are His own words coming true.
And Pilate asked him, Art *thou* the King of the Jews? And he answered and said to him, *Thou* sayest.
Mark sets Jesus before the Roman governor with almost no scenery: one question, one answer, then silence. Pilate asks about kingship, and Jesus does not deny it.
The religious leaders had already condemned Him. They could not put anyone to death themselves, so they needed a charge Rome would act on.
The Romans had taken the power of capital punishment away from the Jews. It lay wholly in the hands of Caesar's representative. So the religious leaders knew they had to bring Him before Pilate and demand the death sentence on some ground that seemed adequate to him. We are struck by the way one phrase occurs over and over in the earlier part of the chapter — "The King of the Jews" (verses 2, 9, 12, 18, 26). Luke tells us plainly what they said: He was "forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that He himself is Christ a King." Mark's brief account implies this. It does not say it outright.
The Lord's reply is short, and commentators read it as plain agreement rather than evasion. Mark records only two statements from Jesus during the whole trial, one before each court.
Once more, before Pilate, the Lord confessed who He was. Challenged about being the King of the Jews, He simply answered, "You have said so." That is the same as "Yes." Beyond that He again answered nothing. In all the wild charges of the chief priests there was nothing to answer. It is worth noting that Mark records only two statements of our Lord before His judges. Before the Jewish leaders He confessed that He was the Christ, Son of God and Son of Man. Before the Roman governor He confessed that He was the King of the Jews. No evidence prevailed against Him; He was condemned because of who He was, and He could not deny Himself.
The answer was not a legal admission. It was testimony.
It was His good confession. (1 Tim. 6:11.) It was the truth; and He came to bear witness of the truth. ... Here, before Pilate, our Lord simply owns the truth of what He was according to Jewish expectation. He was not there to defend Himself, but to confess who and what He was.
One word of retreat would have opened the way to His release.
Suppose the blessed Confessor had now changed the word that went out of His lips and withdrawn His claim to be a King. Then Pilate would have had no reason to fear his master's displeasure or the uproar of the people. He could have followed his own will without fear and released his prisoner. But Jesus answered, "You say that I am a King." From this claim there could be no retreat.
There is a strange irony in the scene.
The chief priests still charge Him with being what He truly is, although as a charge they make it falsely. He is the King of the Jews. To their further accusations He answers nothing, and Pilate marvels. But He has no thought of saving Himself from what lay before Him. If He had any such purpose, He would not have stood in this way before His accusers. Mark almost leaves Pilate out: from his point of view he is only a passing detail.
He answered Pilate's question, then said nothing to the accusations. Commentators hold both up as an example for us.
To the accusations of the Jews, He answered nothing. In the perfection of His way, He knows when to speak and when to keep silence. For the truth He will speak, but when it is a question of meeting personal malice against Himself, He is silent. It is good for us to profit by His perfect example, and follow in the steps of the One who, when He was reviled, did not revile in return. There is a time when silence will produce a far greater effect upon the conscience than any word that can be uttered. Yet such silence is entirely foreign to our fallen nature.
Darby calls this confession the last piece of work Jesus had left to do.
Before Pilate (Mark 15), He only bears a good confession. It is a testimony to the truth, given where the glory of God required it. This testimony stood against the power of the adversary. To all the rest He answers nothing. To render this testimony was the last service and duty He had to perform.
- Charge — The leaders needed Rome to kill Him, so they recast the accusation as a rival kingship. "King of the Jews" then echoes through the chapter.
- Confession — "You have said so" means "Yes". Before the Jewish court He owned that He was the Christ; before Rome, that He was King.
- Cost — A single retraction would have freed Him; Pilate had no wish to condemn Him. He did not retreat from the claim.
- Contradiction — They turned the one true thing about Him into a false charge. No evidence convicted Him; they condemned Him for who He is.
- Composure — He spoke for the truth and stayed silent under personal malice. That example does not come naturally to us.
And the chief priests accused him urgently.
Mark's account moves fast. The priests hand Jesus to Pilate. Pilate asks whether He is the King of the Jews. Then the accusations pile up, and Jesus says nothing. The verse raises two questions at once — what were they charging Him with, and why did He refuse to reply?
Mark does not list the accusations. The other Gospels do. One commentator sets out the wording the priests used before the Roman governor.
He stood at Caesar's judgment seat, and the Roman governor was the emperor's representative. Luke tells us what the charge was, and perhaps its very wording: "We found this man misleading our nation and forbidding us to give tribute to Caesar, and saying that He Himself is Christ, a king" (23:2). But Pilate evidently was in no mood to take the accusation seriously… Both Matthew (27:18) and Mark (15:10) tell us that he knew the chief priests had handed Him over out of envy.
He had already answered Pilate's one direct question. What follows is silence.
He had no more to say here. The chief priests accused Him of many things, but He answered nothing. He was not there to defend Himself, but to confess who and what He was… His silence had a far more serious effect than any words could have had. There is a time to be silent as there is to speak; and silence now was the more convincing to the conscience. In moral terms He stood above His judge… Before the high priest and before Pontius Pilate alike, He confessed the truth. Men condemned Him for that truth. All their lies achieved nothing.
The charges were empty. So the verdict rested on something else — His own confession of who He is.
For the rest He again answered nothing. In all the wild charges of the chief priests there was nothing to answer. It is worth noting that Mark records only two utterances of our Lord before His judges. Before the Jewish leaders He confessed Himself to be the Christ, Son of God and Son of Man. Before the Roman governor He confessed Himself to be the King of the Jews. No evidence prevailed against Him; He was condemned because of who He was, and He could not deny Himself.
Commentators link this scene to Isaiah 53. One of them points out how unnatural such silence is.
Verse 7 emphasises His silence before His accusers. When men are oppressed and treated unjustly, protest is natural and normal. So His silence went against all experience. The Gospels note it — Matthew 27:11-14; Mark 15:3-4; Luke 23:9; John 19:9. A sheep really is silent before the shearers. Anyone can see that today by standing and watching shearers at work. But He was not like a sheep being sheared. He was like a lamb led to the slaughter. He was indeed "the Lamb of God," as John the Baptist announced, yet no word of protest escaped His lips.
The silence was not weakness. Another writer presses the point that the One they accused held all power in His hands.
Not a word did He utter. Why was this? Answer me that. Those small creatures of His own making insulted their Creator. He could have swept them out of existence with a single word. Why then did He keep silence? Isaiah prophesied this of Jesus centuries before His birth into this world: "He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth" (Isa. 53:7). Here it is fulfilled. The love of His heart for sinners brought Him to this.
So where did the strength for that silence come from?
In the presence of all His accusers His resource was in God. He committed Himself to Him who judges righteously. When the Jewish council falsely accused Him, He "kept silent" (Matthew 26:63). When the Jews accused Him in front of Pilate, "He answered nothing." When Pilate himself questioned Him, "He answered… never a word" (Matt. 27:12-14). The mocking Herod questioned Him in many words, "but He answered him nothing" (Luke 23:9). He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
But His silence had a limit.
In the presence of insults the Lord was silent (Mark 15:3-5). When it was a question of bearing witness to the truth He spoke out plainly (John 18:33-38).
- Motive — The charges looked political. Pilate knew better: the chief priests handed Him over out of envy.
- Emptiness — Nothing in the wild charges was worth answering. No evidence ever prevailed against Him.
- Confession — He came to confess who He was, not to defend Himself. Men condemned Him for the truth He owned, not for the lies they told.
- Willingness — He could have destroyed His accusers with a word. Love for sinners kept Him silent, as Isaiah foretold.
- Pattern — He stayed silent under insult, but spoke plainly when truth was at stake. He was quiet before men because His resource was in God.
And Pilate asked him again, saying, Answerest thou nothing? See of how many things they bear witness against thee.
The chief priests have piled up charge after charge, and Pilate presses the prisoner a second time for an answer. The striking thing is not what Jesus says but what He refuses to say — and why.
Two things stand opposite each other in this courtroom: a crowd of accusers and a silent Man.
Early in the morning the council met formally to condemn the Lord. All claimed to be clear about His guilt; they agreed He deserved death. So He was taken to Pontius Pilate. On the one hand were the chief priests accusing Him of many things; on the other was the Lord, perfectly silent to all their charges against Him. Pilate's surprise comes out in his words to the Lord, "Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you." Still the Lord was silent. His conduct was so different from what Pilate, as a judge, was used to.
He had already answered one question — the one about who He was. That single reply explains the silence that follows.
Here, before Pilate, our Lord simply owns the truth of what He was according to Jewish expectation. "Are you the King of the Jews?" And He answered him, "You have said so." That was all; He had nothing more to say here. The chief priests accused Him of many things, but He answered nothing. He was not there to defend Himself, but to confess who and what He was… He was clearly superior, morally, to His judge… Before the high priest and before Pontius Pilate alike, it was the truth He confessed. For that truth, man condemned Him.
The silence was not passive. It was a choice, and it drew a line between what He would answer and what He would not.
In the perfection of His way, He knows when to speak and when to keep silence. For the truth He will speak, but when it is a question of meeting personal malice against Himself, He is silent. It is good for us to profit by His perfect example. When people insulted Him, He did not insult them back, and we should follow in His steps. There is a time when silence will have a far greater effect on the conscience than any word anyone could speak. All the same, such silence is completely foreign to our fallen nature.
Isaiah had described this silence long before it happened.
Isaiah's prophecy emphasises His silence before His accusers. When men are oppressed and afflicted unjustly, to protest is natural and usual. So His silence went against all experience, and the Gospels note it — Matthew 27:11-14; Mark 15:3-4; Luke 23:9; John 19:9. A sheep truly is silent before the shearers. But He was not like a sheep being sheared. He was like a lamb led to the slaughter. He was indeed "the Lamb of God," as John the Baptist announced, yet not one word of protest escaped His lips.
Silence here was not weakness, and it was not lack of material for a reply.
Though charged with many things He answered nothing; and Pilate marvelled. He made no defence. The accusations, falsely brought, fell back on the consciences of the accusers. There were many to condemn, none, sadly, to befriend Him! Where were the crowds He had healed, and fed, and forgiven?… He could have thrown back every charge and cleared Himself against each accuser. But self-defence was not His object. Self-surrender, complete and unmistakable, was the business of His blessed life here below.
The silence fulfilled an old prophecy — and love lay behind it.
Not a word did He speak. Why was this? Answer me that. When those small creatures of His own hand insulted their Creator, He could have swept them out of existence with a single word. Why then did He keep silence? Isaiah prophesied this of Jesus long centuries before He was born into this world… Here it is fulfilled. The love of His heart for sinners brought Him to this.
The charges deserved no reply — and Pilate's surprise went no further than surprise.
Why should He answer? If Pilate were so unjust as to condemn Him on the basis of such things, this would be only Pilate's folly. Yet Pilate had never before faced a prisoner who would not be anxious to defend himself. He marvelled at this, but failed to take to heart its significance.
- Confession — the silence was not evasion. He had already answered who He was. He stood there to confess, not to defend.
- Choice — the silence was chosen. He speaks for the truth. When the attack is personal malice, He says nothing.
- Prophecy — the silence was foretold. Protest is the natural response to injustice. Isaiah had already pictured Him as a lamb led to the slaughter.
- Love — the silence was love. He could have thrown back every charge. Self-surrender was the business of His life, and love for sinners brought Him to it.
- Conscience — the silence still speaks. It reached Pilate's conscience more than any word could. Yet he marvelled and moved on.
But Jesus still answered nothing, so that Pilate marvelled.
Jesus stands in a Roman court. The chief priests pile charge on charge, and He gives no reply at all. Pilate had never seen a prisoner behave like this, and it amazed him. Why did the one Man who could have answered every charge say nothing?
Before Pilate the Lord replied to one question only: the question about who He was.
When they challenged Him about being the King of the Jews, He simply answered, "You say so," which means "Yes." Beyond that He again answered nothing. In all the wild charges of the chief priests there was nothing to answer... No evidence prevailed against Him; He was condemned because of who He was, and He could not deny Himself.
He had come to say who He was, not to win His case.
He was not there to defend Himself, but to confess who and what He was... His silence produced a far graver effect than any words could. There is a time to be silent as there is a time to speak; and silence now was the more convincing to the conscience. He was morally superior to His judge... In truth they judged nothing but what was completely false, and they condemned Him for the truth... All their lies achieved nothing. So it was not on the ground of what they brought forward, but of what He said, that Jesus was condemned.
His silence was deliberate. He knew when to speak and when to say nothing.
In the perfection of His way, He knows when to speak and when to keep silence. For the truth He will speak, but when it is a question of meeting personal malice against Himself, He is silent... Sometimes silence presses on the conscience far harder than any words could. Still, such silence is completely foreign to our fallen nature. So Pilate marvelled at His silence.
Pilate pressed Him to reply, and got nothing.
Pilate's surprise comes out in his words to the Lord, "Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you." Still the Lord was silent. His conduct was nothing like what Pilate, as a judge, normally saw.
People protest when they are treated unjustly. He did not.
reason: stray "Verse 7" reads as Mark 15:7; two very-hard sentences He was indeed "the Lamb of God," as John the Baptist announced, yet no word of protest escaped His lips.
He kept back an answer He was fully able to give.
Though charged with many things He answered nothing; and Pilate marvelled. He made no defence. The accusations, falsely brought, fell back on the consciences of the accusers... He could have thrown back every charge and cleared Himself against each accuser. But self-defence was not His object. Self-surrender, complete and unmistakable, was the business of His blessed life here below.
Silence was not helplessness. Behind the injustice, God's purpose was moving forward.
The apostle tells us that if the Lord was silent while men heaped insults on Him, it was not that He had no resource. Instead of answering the false charges of men, He committed Himself to God who judges righteously. It is clear that the wickedness of men was only carrying out the counsels that God had determined beforehand.
Mark tells this trial more briefly than the other Gospels. The lesson it leaves is for those who serve.
Mark's account of the Lord's trial before Pilate is the briefest; Matthew's is the longest. Again the Servant gives a good confession. But when the chief priests accused Him, His lips stayed closed. He stood there to witness and not to defend Himself. What a gracious example He gives to all His servants.
- Nothing — the charges had no substance, so there was nothing to answer. Evidence did not convict Him; they condemned Him for confessing who He was.
- Not defence — He stood there to confess, not to clear Himself. Self-surrender was the business of His life.
- Unnatural — protest is the normal reaction to injustice, so His silence stands out in all four Gospels.
- Marvel — silence like this is foreign to fallen nature. It pressed on Pilate's conscience harder than any speech could.
- Committed — He was not without resource. He committed Himself to God who judges righteously, and left His servants a pattern to follow.
But at [the] feast he released to them one prisoner, whomsoever they begged [of him].
At the Passover feast the Roman governor let the crowd name one prisoner to set free. Pilate knew Jesus was innocent, so why did he reach for a custom instead of a verdict?
The release was not a random act of goodwill. It fell at the season when Israel remembered God bringing them out of Egypt. One prisoner going free echoed that older rescue.
It helps to understand that there was a custom of remembering how God had stepped in for the nation. Each year they released a prisoner, to recall that God had released Israel long ago.
Pilate wanted two things at once: the crowd's goodwill, and a clear conscience about an innocent man. The custom seemed to give him both.
Pilate knew full well that all the accusations of the Jews carried no real weight as proof of any wrong on Christ's part. So he tried, on one side, to appease the Jews, and on the other, to escape the shame of condemning an innocent person. He did this by falling back on a custom at the Feast of the Passover of releasing "one prisoner for whom they asked." What is more, Pilate's injustice in not releasing an innocent Man at once is made worse by one fact. He was fully aware that these wicked men had bound the Lord and brought Him before the judgment seat out of envy.
Offering Jesus as the crowd's pardon sounds generous. It was not. A pardon assumes guilt, and Pilate had already found none.
At the Passover feast the Roman government had a custom, offered as a flattering concession to the people: it released any prisoner the people chose. So at this same time the crowd began to call for the release of a prisoner. Pilate saw in this a chance to get out of a difficult situation, and proposed releasing the Lord Jesus. In fact this was completely dishonourable. He ought to have released Him quite apart from this custom, for there was no reason for Him to be a prisoner at all.
The prisoner set beside Jesus was no petty offender. Even his name, placed next to the Son of God, points up the contrast.
Barabbas was a terrible character. "Bar" means "son"; "Abbas" means father. Barabbas — "the son of a father"… And here was the Son of God! It was a solemn moment for that nation. Before them stood the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father. One was the Blessed One, the Originator of life. The other was a murderer, the destroyer of life, who had been put in prison for rebellion and murder. It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
Barabbas was a rebel and a murderer. The feast becomes a picture: one man goes free because another takes his place.
Barabbas appears as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. For him the feast of redemption offers a possibility of release — but only, on Pilate's alternative, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? the judge asks in vain; where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, that can deliver even a Barabbas. Not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none. Barabbas is released: Jesus is given up.
There is a reason the custom had to fail for Jesus. Had the crowd chosen Him, He would have left that courtyard with a criminal's pardon stamped on Him.
Their choice confirms the people's guilt. But there is another side: God watches over the scene. He makes sure that His Son is not released as a guilty but pardoned criminal, but is condemned as innocent.
- Custom — The release at Passover recalled God freeing Israel from Egypt. One prisoner walked out free, a reminder of a whole nation set free.
- Compromise — Pilate used the custom to dodge a verdict. He knew envy had brought Jesus to him, and offering a pardon to an innocent man was itself unjust.
- Choice — The nation had two men before them: the Son of God, and "the son of a father," a rebel and murderer. Their choice exposes the human heart — yours and mine.
- Substitute — Barabbas goes free on no merit of his own, only because Jesus is given up. Release for one meant destruction for the other.
- Condemned innocent — God oversaw even this. His Son left the court not as a pardoned criminal but as the innocent One condemned — the true passover that can deliver a Barabbas.
Now there was the [person] named Barabbas bound with those who had made insurrection with [him], [and] that had committed murder in the insurrection.
Mark names one prisoner in the cell: Barabbas, chained with fellow rioters and guilty of murder in the uprising. Within minutes the crowd will ask for him by name, and a guilty man will walk free while an innocent Man is led away.
The other Gospel accounts fill out the man's record. One writer collects the details, and shows what the choice revealed about those who made it:
John 18:40 calls him a "robber," and Matthew 27:16-26 calls him "a notorious prisoner." He had started an uprising and had committed murder. Yet the Jews, led by the chief priests and elders, asked for the release of this man instead of the Lord Jesus. Why they asked for this particular prisoner is not known. But their choice shows their ungodliness in the clearest way: they preferred a man known for his wickedness to the Lord of life and glory, their Messiah. Peter did not fail to press this home on the Jews: "But you denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you." Acts 3:14.
Pilate reached for a holiday custom instead of a verdict. One commentator says this only deepened his guilt, and names the motive Pilate himself had already spotted in the priests:
Falling back on this custom was a mere compromise, and it added to the wickedness of the judge. Pilate knew the blessed Lord was innocent, and a righteous judgment would then demand His release, apart from any custom. What is more, Pilate did not release an innocent Man at once. His injustice grows worse because he knew full well what moved these wicked men: they had bound the Lord and brought Him before the judgment seat out of envy. Envy, or jealousy, whether in a sinner or in a saint, is one of the greatest drivers of evil in the world. Envy led to the first murder, when Cain killed his brother. Envy led to the greatest murder, when the Jews killed their Messiah.
Barabbas was not popular. He was only the alternative, and one writer presses that point:
Urged on by their religious leaders, the people shouted fiercely, "Not this man, but Barabbas." The question this time was clear: "Whom will you RECEIVE?" Sadly, anyone but Jesus was welcome. It is not that the crowd had the slightest regard for Barabbas; the point was that they did not want Jesus.
One writer looks behind the choice Pilate offered, and finds in the prisoner's release the shape of the gospel:
He is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer, for whom the feast of redemption offers a possible release — but only, on Pilate's terms, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? The judge asks in vain; where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men, and in the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover. By that offering even a Barabbas may be delivered — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none. Barabbas is released: Jesus is given up.
One writer draws out the pattern of Christ's whole service, and the words Barabbas was then in a position to say:
"So true it was that, even in this last scene, Jesus delivers others at His own cost and in every sense. Just before, He had delivered the disciples from arrest; now He is the means of delivering Barabbas, wicked as he was. He never saved Himself. It was the very perfection of the moral glory of Christ to deliver, bless, save, and in all of it at the expense of Himself" (W. Kelly, Gospel of Mark). Barabbas went free, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Barabbas, once released, could have looked up at Him who hung on the cross and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty."
- Guilty. Barabbas was a rebel and a murderer, held with others from the same riot. His guilt was never in doubt.
- Envied. Pilate knew envy drove the priests to hand Jesus over. He still hid behind a festival custom instead of freeing an innocent Man.
- Chosen. The crowd had no love for Barabbas. Asking for him was their way of refusing Jesus.
- Exchanged. Barabbas could go free at one price only: Jesus given up in his place.
- Yours. Commentators read the freed prisoner as a picture of the gospel. Christ never saved Himself, but He saved Barabbas — who could have stood at the cross and said, "He died for me."
And the crowd crying out began to beg [that he would do] to them as he had always done.
Pilate has already questioned Jesus and heard the chief priests pour out their charges. He can see there is nothing in them. Now the crowd itself pushes forward and asks him to keep a yearly custom. That one request decides everything. It also raises a question: who really controlled that morning?
The crowd did not invent this request. Rome kept a custom at the feast, and Pilate saw a chance in it.
At the Passover feast the Roman government had a custom. To flatter the people, it would release any prisoner the people chose. So at this same time they began to clamour for the release of a prisoner. Pilate saw in this an opportunity to get out of a difficult situation, and proposed releasing the Lord Jesus. This was thoroughly dishonourable. He ought to have released Him apart from any custom, for there was no reason that He should be a prisoner.
The feast itself was about a release.
This feast marked their release from slavery in Egypt. It was a favour granted to them that at that feast they could release one prisoner.
Mark says the crowd, not Pilate, started this. One writer sees the people lining themselves up behind their leaders.
So it was the crowd that wanted to mark their complete submission to the wicked priests even more. They did it by preferring Barabbas and sealing the death of Jesus. He might still have been set free, but the deluded crowd would not hear of it.
Pilate was not deceived about the motives in front of him. That is what makes his handling of the custom so damaging.
Pilate had enough knowledge to see what lay at the root of all the accusations. He knew that the chief priests had handed Jesus over out of envy. So he made a useless attempt to turn the thoughts of the crowd to Jesus, when the question was which prisoner to release. But the influence of the priests with the people was too much for him. Wanting to please the crowd, Pilate outraged what sense of justice he had.
Once Pilate handed the decision to the people, the loudest voice settled it. The same writer draws a blunt conclusion.
The voice of the people prevailed over the better judgment of Caesar's representative. An old Latin proverb states that the voice of the people is the voice of God. The facts of the crucifixion flatly deny that proverb. Here the voice of the people was the voice of the devil.
Another writer traces the same failure back to the standard Pilate was using to decide anything at all.
After a brief examination of the case, Pilate states that he "finds no fault in this man" (v. 4). This should have settled the matter for him, but we read that the crowd was "the more fierce." This is where a first element of politics becomes visible: what matters is not the correct moral judgement of the issue in question, but the opinion and mood of the crowd.
The custom the crowd asked for ended with one man walking free. Commentators see in that release a picture of the cross.
Barabbas was released, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Barabbas, once released, might have gone out and looked up at Him who hung on the cross. He might have said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a blessed illustration of the atonement.
Another writer points out that Jesus kept delivering others, and always at His own cost.
Even in this last scene, Jesus delivers others at His own cost and in every sense. He had just before delivered the disciples from being taken; He is now the means of delivering Barabbas himself, wicked as he was. He never saved Himself. It was the very perfection of the moral glory of Christ to deliver, bless, save, and in all at His own expense.
The two names set side by side that morning are not just history. One writer explains the name Barabbas, then turns it on the reader.
"Bar" means "son"; "Abbas" — father. Barabbas — "the son of a father." And here was the Son of God! It was a solemn moment for that nation. They had before them the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father. One was the Blessed One, the Originator of life; the other a murderer, the destroyer of life. It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
- They asked. At the feast that marked their release from Egypt, the crowd itself called for the yearly favour and set the choice in motion.
- He dodged. Pilate knew envy drove the charges. He still used the custom as an escape instead of freeing an innocent man.
- They decided. The people's voice overruled the judge's own better judgment. Commentators call that voice the devil's, not God's.
- One went free. Barabbas, guilty and condemned, walked out because Jesus took his place. Jesus delivered others at His own cost, and never saved Himself.
- You choose. The two men set side by side that day put the same question to every heart: the Son of God, or the son of his father.
But Pilate answered them saying, Will ye that I release to you the King of the Jews?
Pilate has already questioned Jesus and found no case against Him, yet he still reaches for a holiday custom and offers the crowd a choice. His question raises two problems: why a judge sure of the prisoner's innocence bargains instead of ruling, and what happens when a crowd decides about Christ.
Commentators call the offer itself a failure of justice. An innocent man needs no favour:
At the Passover feast the Roman government had a custom, meant to flatter the people: it would release any prisoner they chose. So at this same time they began to clamour for the release of a prisoner. Pilate saw in this an opportunity to get out of a difficult situation, and proposed releasing the Lord Jesus. In truth, this was completely dishonourable. He ought to have released Him custom or no custom, for there was no reason for Him to be a prisoner.
Pilate tried to satisfy his conscience and the crowd at once. One writer calls that halfway move the fatal step:
Our Lord answers nothing to the charge. Pilate seems already convinced of His innocence. Yet instead of dismissing the case and reprimanding His false accusers, he proposes a compromise. Compromise is always fatal, for evil will not settle for a part. If that is given up, the whole is demanded. Our Lord did not need a pardon on the ground that it was the time of the Passover. Blessed results were indeed to flow from this Passover for many. A prisoner would be set free — but not the One whose love alone made Him a slave, to win liberty for others at infinite cost to Himself.
Pilate does not say "Jesus." He says "the King of the Jews." That title strikes at the people he governed as well as at the prisoner. Writers link it to his scorn for the nation:
He had displayed the typical Roman contempt for Jewish customs. He loved nothing better than to offend the feelings of the people he governed, wherever he could... And on this very morning he did not hide his scorn for this subject people. He examined Jesus in the governor's palace. Then he brought Him out to the people waiting outside the hall, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. It was as if he had said, This is your Prophet, this is your King.
By asking what they want, Pilate moves the decision from the judgment seat to the street. It did not save him:
Now the governor began his failed attempts to release Him. At that feast the custom was to release one prisoner of the people's choosing. Barabbas or Christ — that became the question... Poor Pilate! Wanting to stay in the people's favour while wishing to set the Lord free, he put the issue into their hands and asked them what he should do with Him... Judgment and righteousness were separated that day, to be brought together again when the King returns, as Psalm 94:15 long ago foretold.
The crowd's answer exposes more than one mob in Jerusalem:
Such is the evil of our hearts. We may dislike a murderer and a thief. Yet if the question is Christ or the murderer, apart from the grace of God we will choose the murderer. We take the one who takes life rather than the One who gives life.
Commentators look beneath the injustice to God's purpose. Pilate's offer put one man's freedom and another's death on the same scales:
Barabbas is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a chance of release — but only, on Pilate's terms, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus."... Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true Passover, which can set even a Barabbas free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
- Duty. Pilate had already found no case. His one honest option was to release Jesus outright, not offer Him as a festival favour.
- Compromise. Reaching for the custom was a halfway measure. Evil never takes a part; give ground, and it demands the whole.
- Title. Pilate used the words "King of the Jews" to scorn the nation, parading their Prophet and King before them in a crown of thorns.
- Choice. Handing the verdict to the crowd did not spare Pilate. It exposed every heart: we take a murderer over the One who gives life.
- Substitute. One man did go free that day — Barabbas, because Jesus was given up. He is the true Passover by which even the worst may go free.
for he knew that the chief priests had delivered him up through envy.
Pilate read the case himself. Behind the charges he saw envy. That raises two questions. What could make religious leaders envy Jesus? And why did a judge who saw through it all still hand Him over?
One writer traces envy through Scripture and finds its worst work here.
In Ezekiel 35:11 we find in the case of Edom that envy leads to HATRED. In the case of Daniel (chapter 6:3, 4) I think it is clear that envy drove the presidents and princes to their cruel plan. It can only be called WICKED and UNSCRUPULOUS. We now pass on to the most fearful thing envy ever accomplished, in Mark 15:10. The chief priests, God's professed servants, handed Jesus, the Son of God, over to Pilate. They acted out of a wretched, miserable envy that had eaten away everything even human in their hearts. Here envy led them to CRUCIFY CHRIST.
Envy needs something to fasten on. Here it was the crowds going after Jesus, while the leaders watched their own standing slip.
The rulers and the Pharisees were jealous of His prestige. "Look, the world has gone after Him," they said, in alarm. They felt that because of Him their own popularity and influence were fading. This is why they took the lead in clamouring for His blood. How different was the spirit of John the Baptist! He said, "He must increase, but I must decrease." He was glad to fade into the background, so that Christ his Lord might, as God intends He shall, "in everything be preeminent."
Pilate's insight did not count in his favour. He could name the motive, so he could not plead confusion.
To fall back on this custom was a mere compromise, and it added to the wickedness of the judge. If the blessed Lord was innocent — and Pilate knew He was — then a righteous judgment would demand His release, custom or no custom. What is more, Pilate's injustice in not releasing an innocent Man at once is worse still, because he knew exactly what drove these wicked men. When they bound the Lord and brought Him before the judgment seat, envy moved them.
Why, then, did he not act on what he knew? One writer finds the answer in what Matthew and Mark report.
Pilate was sure the Lord was innocent of every charge the Jews brought against Him, and he told them so again and again. Why then did he not release Him? Why did he agree to His crucifixion? Both his conscience and his judgment condemned such injustice. From Matthew and from Mark we get the answer. Matthew tells us (27:24) that Pilate saw a riot was starting. So, to stop it and to satisfy the people (Mark 15:15), he released Barabbas and delivered Jesus to be crucified.
The envy is real. Underneath it, one writer sees the purpose of God at work in the choice between Jesus and Barabbas.
Barabbas is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible release — but only, on Pilate's terms, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? The judge asks in vain: Where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, by which even a Barabbas may be set free.
The motive Pilate spotted still works today. One writer traces it from the first murder to quarrels among God's people.
Envy led to the first murder in the world, when Cain rose up against his brother and killed him. Envy also led to the greatest murder in the world, when the Jews killed the Prince of life. We read that Pilate "knew that it was out of envy that they had delivered Him up." Will it not be found that envy has been the main cause of all the quarrels among the people of God?
- Envy sees. The leaders watched the crowds go after Jesus. They felt their own popularity and influence fading.
- Envy hides. It came to Pilate dressed as a legal charge, yet the judge saw straight through to the motive underneath.
- Envy spreads. Pilate knew the truth. He still chose to stop a riot and please the people, and the guilt became his.
- Envy kills. The same root that moved Cain against his brother moved religious men to choose a murderer over the Prince of life.
- Envy is overruled. Beneath the wicked wills of men stood God's purpose: the guilty man goes free because Jesus is given up in his place.
But the chief priests stirred up the crowd that he might rather release Barabbas to them.
Pilate had found a way out: a festival custom let him release a prisoner, and he offered them Jesus. The priests shut that door by working on the crowd.
Pilate was not fooled about why Jesus had been handed over to him.
Pilate knew enough to see what lay behind all the accusations: "he perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered him up." So he tried to turn the crowd's thoughts toward Jesus, when the question was which prisoner to release. It did not work. The priests had too much influence with the people. Pilate wanted to please the crowd, so he violated what sense of justice he had. He released Barabbas, the rebel and murderer. Then he had Jesus scourged and handed Him over to be crucified.
The men doing the stirring held the religious office.
The world got its choice. Jesus and a robber were placed before the world, and the question was put, "Which will you have?" What was the answer? "Not this man, but Barabbas." … The religious leaders and guides of the people persuaded the poor ignorant crowd to reject the Son of God and accept a robber and a murderer instead! These were the men who ought to have led the people in the right way.
Commentators differ on how much the crowd was misled and how much it wanted this.
So the crowd wanted to show their complete subjection to the wicked priests even more. They did this by preferring Barabbas and sealing the death of Jesus. He might still have been freed, but the crazed crowd would not hear of it… They could find no evil. They only imagined it out of the murderous evil of their own hearts.
Either way, the crowd's voice, not the judge's, settled the case.
The voice of the people won out over the better judgment of Caesar's representative. In other words, one man's rule gave way to the crowd, and the popular vote decided it. An old Latin proverb says that the voice of the people is the voice of God. The facts of the crucifixion flatly deny that proverb. Here the voice of the people was the voice of the devil.
The swap was not between two doubtful cases. One prisoner's record was public and appalling, and the charge stuck to the nation long afterwards.
John 18:40 calls him a "robber." Matthew 27:16-26 calls him "a notorious prisoner." He had started a rebellion and had committed murder. Yet the Jews, led by the chief priests and elders, asked for the release of this man instead of the Lord Jesus. Why they asked for this particular prisoner is not known. But their choice shows their ungodliness in the clearest way. They could pick such a notoriously wicked man over the Lord of life and glory, their Messiah. Peter pressed this home on the Jews: "But you denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you." Acts 3:14.
Pilate's offer forced a swap: Barabbas or Jesus. Under the scheming of men, God had a purpose in it.
Barabbas is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. For such a man the feast of redemption offers a possible release. But that release comes only, on the terms of Pilate's offer, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? The judge asks in vain: where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover. By it even a Barabbas may be set free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none. Barabbas is released: Jesus is given up.
One man could have said this of himself that day.
Barabbas went free, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas might have gone out and looked up at Him who hung on the cross. He might have said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a blessed illustration of the atonement.
- Envy — Pilate saw the real motive behind the charges. But his wish to please the crowd beat his own sense of justice.
- Persuasion — the stirring came from the priests. The men who should have guided the people talked them into rejecting the Son of God.
- Choice — the people preferred a rebel and murderer to the Lord of life. Peter later charged that choice home on the nation.
- Voice — the popular vote decided it. So the cross forever disproves the idea that the voice of the people is the voice of God.
- Exchange — God's purpose ran under their sin. "Release Barabbas" meant "destroy Jesus." The guilty man walked free because Christ took his place.
And Pilate answering said to them again, What will ye then that I do [to him] whom ye call King of the Jews?
Pilate has offered the crowd a choice between Jesus and Barabbas, and they have shouted for the murderer. Now he turns back with a second question. It hands the fate of a man he believes innocent to a mob.
Pilate's job was to weigh the evidence. Instead he asked the crowd what to do.
Poor Pilate! He wanted to stay popular with the people, and he also wanted to set the Lord free. So he put the issue into their hands: "What shall I do with Him?" The answer came from the crowd again, "Crucify Him!" Pilate made his last appeal: "Why, what evil has He done?" They met it with a stubborn demand for His death. The judge had already cleared the Lord in public of any charge deserving death. Now he declared Him innocent of every evil they had accused Him of. Yet, to keep the people happy — unhappy man — he gave in to their noisy demand. That day judgment parted from righteousness. The two will come together again when the King returns, as Psalm 94:15 long ago predicted.
Some have called the wording of Pilate's question clumsy Greek. One commentator answers that charge and explains the sense.
One critic says of "that I do to Him" that the Greek grammar here is incorrect. Such foolishness in a professed scholar is hard to account for. The Greek language was flexible everywhere and at all times. In everyday Greek, "to do good to a man" means to treat him well, and "to do ill to a man" means to treat him badly. So "What shall I do to him?" means "How shall I treat him?" There is no error, no awkwardness in Mark's wording here.
Pilate keeps calling Jesus their king, and the crowd keeps denying it.
They denied Jesus as "King of the Jews." In Mark 15 we read Pilate's questions, and his wording was emphatic, for he had already asked them, "Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?"
The crowd's answer came at once. It says something about every human heart, not only theirs.
Pilate may be a hardened man of the world. Still, he made some feeble protest against the condemnation of the One that everyone knew to be innocent. So, if he is to release Barabbas, he asks, "Then what shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?" Without any hesitation they cried out, "Crucify Him." We do not care for the company of a rebel and a murderer. But the hostility of our sinful nature to God is such that, if we are left to ourselves and have to choose between a murderer and Christ, we prefer the murderer.
Pilate made it an either/or: one man walks out, the other goes to the cross. Under that bargain lies a picture of the gospel.
Barabbas stands out as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible release — but only, as Pilate puts the choice, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, that can set even a Barabbas free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none. Barabbas is released: Jesus is given up.
Pilate tried to free Him and got nowhere. His failure was not an accident.
In all this the Jews are guilty. Of course the Roman governor should have been firm, and acted justly, and not left the Lord exposed to the priests' hatred. In Mark's Gospel, however, all the hatred and hostility against the Lord comes from the priests. They are always and everywhere the enemies of the truth and of Him who is Himself the truth in person. Pilate's resistance had no effect. It was God's will that Jesus should suffer. He had come for this, and it was for this that He gave His life a ransom for many.
The crowd had to decide about Christ, and not one of them spoke up for Him. The same question reaches us now.
Jesus or Barabbas? This was the question which divided them. Surely someone will stand for Jesus. Not one! I can almost hear you say, "I would have, if I had been there." Well, show yourself on His side now.
- The question — "What shall I do?" means "How shall I treat Him?" Pilate is no longer asking about law. He is asking a crowd how to handle a man he has already called innocent.
- The abdication — A judge who hands his verdict to the mob splits judgment from righteousness. The King's return will put the two back together.
- The choice — Offered a murderer or Christ, the crowd took the murderer. Left to itself, the human heart prefers anyone to Jesus.
- The exchange — The guilty man walks free because the innocent One is given up. Barabbas adds nothing to his own release.
- The purpose — Pilate's weakness and the priests' hatred did not overrule God. Christ came to give His life as a ransom for many, and the same question now asks each reader which side to take.
And they cried out again, Crucify him.
Pilate asked the crowd what to do with the man they called King of the Jews. Instead of an answer he got a demand — and it came from His own people, not from Rome. Who put those words in their mouths? What were they asking for? And what was God doing while they shouted?
The voice is the crowd's, but the mind behind it belongs to the religious leaders who had already decided the outcome. One writer shows who was really in control, and what the charge against Jesus rested on:
So the crowd chose Barabbas and sealed the death of Jesus. In this way they showed even more clearly how completely the wicked priests controlled them. He could still have gone free, but the deluded crowd would not hear of it... Pilate, cruel and hardened as he was, still protested: "What evil, then, has He done?" And they cried out even more, "Crucify Him." They could find no evil in Him; they only imagined it out of the murderous evil of their own hearts.
They did not just ask for His death. They named one particular kind:
To crucify was to put a person to death in unending shame and disgrace. The Jews could not crucify; stoning was their way of execution under the law. Nor could the Romans crucify a Roman citizen. This way of executing someone was for slaves and foreign criminals. That is the deep meaning of the cry, "Crucify Him, crucify Him." He must not only die. As far as man was concerned, His death had to carry disgrace, cursing and shame that would never be lifted.
Days earlier the crowd had cheered Him. How did the mood turn so fast?
It is a terrible thing to see how changeable the crowd is. They are just the same today... Within a few days, the same crowd that cried, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" and praised Him to the skies cried with one mouth, "Crucify him, crucify him!" And how did that happen? It was the power of Satan. It was their unbelief, because their applause meant nothing. Applause is only human feeling stirred up for the moment. That feeling can give way to a completely opposite one, and very quickly.
The cry judges more than one crowd. It measures the human heart:
Do we want a perfect standard to measure the world, to measure the human heart, to measure sin? Then we must look at the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ... When the human voice cried out, "Crucify Him! crucify Him!" that voice was the human heart speaking. Nothing else could show so clearly its true condition in the sight of God... When man preferred a robber and murderer to Christ, he proved that he would rather have robbery and murder than light and love.
Barabbas went free instead. Under that exchange lay a purpose the crowd knew nothing about:
Barabbas is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a chance of release — but only, under Pilate's choice, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we can see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover. By Him even a Barabbas may be delivered — not because of any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
It is easy to read this scene as a spectator. One writer takes that distance away:
It is no use pleading that we would not have done it if we had been there. True, we will never be able to throw stones at Him in the street, or to cry, "crucify him, crucify him." But everyone has been able to show what they think of Him. Our hearts have been open to every folly, vanity and sin that Satan could put in front of us. Can we deny that they have been completely closed to the beloved Son of the Father?
What did God do with the people who shouted?
"Away with him!" was the world's prayer; His was, "Father, forgive them"... He dies, but He does more than that. When He is risen He tells His disciples to begin at Jerusalem, the place where they had put Him to death. They must go to the very people who had cried, "Crucify him! crucify him!" He tells them to preach the forgiveness of sins through Him — Jesus.
- The cry's source — The words came from the crowd. The will came from the priests. No one could name any evil in Jesus.
- The cry's meaning — They asked for the death kept for slaves and criminals. Not just death, but shame that would never lift.
- The cry's mirror — The human heart chose a robber over Christ. That choice speaks for all of us; none of us watches from outside the crowd.
- The cry's fickleness — Days earlier the same mouths had cheered Him. Applause is feeling, not faith.
- The cry's answer — God's purpose ran under their choice. The guilty man went free, the Substitute took his place, and the first offer of forgiveness came to the city that shouted.
And Pilate said to them, What evil then has he done? But they cried out the more urgently, Crucify him.
The crowd has demanded a crucifixion. Pilate asks them for a reason, and no reason ever comes — only a louder shout.
Pilate was not making a speech. He was asking for evidence. No one gave any, and one commentator traces that silence back to the accusers themselves.
Pilate was cruel and hardened, yet he still protests: "What evil, then, has He done?" And they cried out all the more, "Crucify Him." They could find no evil. They only imagined it out of the murderous evil of their own hearts.
The question also puts Pilate's own verdict on record. He clears the man he is about to sentence.
Pilate makes his last appeal: "Why, what evil has He done?" They meet it with a most persistent demand for His death. The judge had already cleared the Lord in public from any charge worthy of death. Now he declared Him innocent of any evil they had accused Him of. Yet, to content the people — unhappy man — he yielded to their clamouring demand. That day judgment and righteousness came apart. They will come together again when the King returns, as Psalm 94:15 long ago predicted.
The crowd never answers the question. It shouts over it, and one writer asks what the judge should have done.
Pilate tries to reason with a crowd that will not reason. He puts the fitting question: "What evil has He done?" They override the question as unimportant, and cry out more fiercely for His crucifixion. Where was the sober order that belongs in a hall of justice? Where was the control of the judge over his own court? Should he not have silenced the crowd and told them to honour the claims of honest justice?
The crowd had a choice: a rebel and murderer, or Christ. One writer turns that choice on the reader.
Without any hesitation they cried out, "Crucify Him." We do not care for the company of a rebel and a murderer. But the flesh is so hostile to God that, left to ourselves and having to choose between a murderer and Christ, we prefer the murderer.
Pilate looked for a cause and found none. One writer explains where the real cause lay.
And yet, despite His acts of love and His words of grace, they repaid Him evil for good, and hatred for His love (Psalm 109:5). Truly He could say, "They hated me without a cause." There was plenty of cause for hatred, but no cause in Him. No cause in man to call out Christ's love, and no cause in Christ to call out man's hatred.
Barabbas was the prisoner the crowd wanted freed instead of Jesus. One writer looks past the wills of men to God's purpose.
To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? because He has done evil? the judge asks in vain; Where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy sin-offering, the true passover, which can deliver even a Barabbas — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none. So the gospel story is more fully unfolded. Barabbas is released: Jesus is given up.
Shouting settled this verdict, not evidence. One writer asks who carries the guilt for it.
Was there ever such a barefaced travesty of justice? What judge would dare to let the shouting of the accusers settle the verdict? Least of all when the sentence was death. Pilate passed the death sentence while saying that he found no fault in our Lord. That made the Gentiles guilty. The Jews shouted for His death, and that made the Jews guilty.
- No cause. Pilate asks for evidence and gets none. The evil was not in the Prisoner. His accusers imagined it out of their own hearts.
- No answer. The crowd does not answer the question. It shouts louder instead, because it has no evidence.
- No excuse. The judge declares Him innocent and sentences Him anyway. That day judgment and righteousness came apart.
- No neutrality. Given the choice of a murderer or Christ, people chose the murderer — and one writer presses that choice on every reader.
- No accident. Barabbas goes free because they give Jesus up. In that exchange we see God's purpose in the true passover.
And Pilate, desirous of contenting the crowd, released to them Barabbas, and delivered up Jesus, when he had scourged him, that he might be crucified.
Pilate had already said he found no fault in Jesus. Here he hands Him over anyway — one prisoner walks free, and soldiers whip the innocent One and lead Him to a cross.
If Pilate believed Jesus was innocent, why did he not release Him? One writer answers from Matthew and Mark.
He was convinced that the Lord was innocent of every charge the Jews brought against Him, and he said so to them again and again. Why then did he not release Him? Why did he agree to His crucifixion? Both his conscience and his judgment condemned such injustice. From Matthew and from Mark we get the answer. Matthew tells us that Pilate saw a riot was starting. So to stop it, and to satisfy the people, he released Barabbas and delivered Jesus to be crucified.
Going along with the crowd looked like the safe choice. One writer weighs what it cost.
Pilate was not the last who has gone along with what was wrong for the sake of temporal interests. Such a course may look successful at the time. In the end it very often turns out anything but happy for the person. Conscience, at some time or other, will speak and make itself heard... He was weak, and afraid of public opposition or resentment. So he gave way against his conscience and better judgment. "The fear of man lays a snare" (Prov. 29:25). How many since his day have had to reproach themselves bitterly for yielding to that fear!
The word points to a specific Roman punishment, not a general beating.
This was a punishment inflicted by the Romans. They stripped the prisoner, stretched him on a frame with cords or thongs, and beat him with a whip or a rod. From about 300 B.C. Roman citizens were exempt from scourging. Paul claimed this privilege when they were about to examine him under this punishment... The Lord was subject to the pain and indignity of scourging.
In Mark the whipping follows straight after Barabbas walks free. The guilty man goes out; the innocent One takes the lash.
And what did this representative of the Gentile power then do? He was the judge, and he was convinced that there was no fault in Jesus. He deliberately released the robber and murderer. And then what? Was there a little relief now? Was the bruised and beaten prisoner, the declared just One, allowed to rest His weary body a while? The first thing they did was inflict the cruel torment of the Roman lash — a torment that often killed prisoners.
One writer sees an exchange in the choice Pilate offered.
Barabbas's crimes are told out here, as they are not in Matthew. He is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. For him the feast of redemption offers a possibility of release — but only, according to Pilate's alternative, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? The judge asks in vain: where is it?... Barabbas is released; Jesus is given up.
Behind the politics, one writer sees God guarding the terms on which His Son would die.
Their choice confirms the people's guilt. But there is another side. God watches over the scene. He makes sure that His Son is not released as a guilty criminal who has been pardoned, but condemned as innocent.
The exchange tells us as much about Christ as about Pilate.
"So true it was that, even in this last scene, Jesus delivers others at His own cost and in every sense. A moment earlier He had kept the disciples from arrest; now He is the means of delivering Barabbas, wicked as he was. He never saved Himself. It was the very perfection of the moral glory of Christ to deliver, bless, save — and in all at the expense of Himself" (W. Kelly). Barabbas was released, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas might have gone out and looked up at Him who hung on the cross. He might have said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a wonderful illustration of the atonement.
Through it all the Lord Himself says almost nothing.
Before Pilate He only makes a good confession — a testimony to the truth where the glory of God required it... To all the rest He answers nothing. He lets them go on... Giving this testimony was the last service and duty He had to perform. He gives it.
- Motive — Pilate acted to please a crowd, not to do justice. His conscience said one thing; his own interests said another.
- Snare — the fear of man decided the verdict, and many since have had to reproach themselves for yielding to that same fear.
- Exchange — by Pilate's own terms, to release Barabbas was to destroy Jesus.
- Substitute — the guilty rebel walked free because the Lord Jesus took his place. Writers call it a picture of the atonement.
- Servant — to the last, He delivered others at His own expense and never saved Himself.
And the soldiers led him away into the court which is [called the] praetorium, and they call together the whole band.
Pilate has passed sentence, and the soldiers march Jesus away to carry it out. What happens next inside the governor's headquarters says less about Roman procedure than about the human heart.
Mark names the building by its Roman title. That title marks it as the governor's own house.
The word is πραιτώριον, praetorium, which is how Mark 15:16 renders it. It was the official residence of Pilate the governor in Jerusalem. John 18:28, 33; John 19:9; Acts 23:35. In Philippians 1:13 it is translated "palace" — the barracks of the Praetorian soldiers, the body from which Paul's guards were chosen. In Matthew 27:27 it is "common hall," and in John 18:28 "hall of judgement."
Another writer separates it from the high priest's court:
In the corrected wording of these accounts it is the high priest's "court" that is in view, not a palace. The word "palace" belongs more properly to the governor's residence, the praetorium (Matthew 27; John 18). That building no doubt had a court of its own as well, as Mark 15:16 also hints.
The soldiers do not simply receive a prisoner and get on with the job. They call out the whole company. One writer weighs what did not drive them to it:
A new class of men are the soldiers to whom Pilate has given Him up, and in them man comes to a new trial. They have heard the judge justify the One whom he sends as innocent to an agonising death. These soldiers are not Jews. They care nothing about the Sanhedrin, the Jewish ruling council. The chief priests do not push them to what they do, and neither do the shouts of a people they despise as senseless and bigoted fanatics. There was not only in general no love between them and the Jews, but the fiercest scorn and enmity. Their office as executioners does not force them to it either. They gather the whole band for a mocking and an insult all their own — sport that none of them would willingly miss.
Nothing in their duty called for this. One writer finds the cause in the Prisoner Himself:
In the way the soldiers treat the Lord we see the brutality of man, which takes its pleasure in abusing a defenceless person. It was no part of a soldier's duty to mistreat a prisoner. But the lowly grace and perfection of this Holy Prisoner brought God near to them, and fallen man could not bear that.
The same writer watches these men give themselves away, and names the one thing they cannot touch:
Through this whole scene the various classes of men are made to bear witness against themselves. They act out the very depths of their hearts, while God's purpose overrules it all to display the glory of the Man who seems so helpless in their hands. These are the men of blood and iron, the men for whom might is right. They delight to pull others down from their high place. They have no wrongs, even imagined, to repay. They are simply at their business, and they throw themselves into it with the zest of the amphitheatre — the cruel Roman frenzy that gripped every class of the people. Now they have a king in their hands — a King! — and a dignity about Him beyond understanding, which nothing man has done can touch.
The cruelty here is not a Roman fault alone. One writer draws Jew and Gentile into a single verdict:
In what follows we find the story of the brutality of the human heart. It takes its pleasure in abusing those who are handed over to its will and cannot defend themselves. Besides, the Lord must be despised and rejected of men, both by the Jews and by the Gentiles. This proves that man would not have God in His goodness.
The mockery aimed wider than the one Man in front of them:
Again, the Jewish nation had to be humbled — and the soldiers mocked the whole nation in mocking its King. The Lord was dressed in purple as a king, struck and mocked with pretended honours, and then led away to be crucified. On the cross was written "King of the Jews," and the Lord was numbered among the transgressors too. What stands out here is the humiliation of the king of Israel.
- Place. The praetorium is Pilate's official residence in Jerusalem. Elsewhere the same word is given as "palace," "common hall," and "hall of judgement." Roman ground, Roman authority.
- Band. The soldiers call the whole company together. Nothing in their orders demanded it; they did not want to miss the sport.
- Motive. Cruelty here has no grievance behind it. His grace and perfection brought God near to them, and fallen man could not bear it.
- Reach. Priests handed Him over, soldiers took Him up. Both Jew and Gentile despised Him, proving that man would not have God in His goodness.
- King. They mock a King, and in mocking Him they humble His nation. Yet His dignity stays beyond the reach of their hands.
And they clothe him with purple, and bind round on him a crown of thorns which they had plaited.
Roman soldiers take the condemned prisoner into their courtyard and dress Him up as a king for a joke. Yet the robe and the crown both say something true: commentators see here the depth of man's contempt, and the curse Jesus came to carry.
Mark packs the whole insult into a few lines: the robe, the crown, the salute, the blows. One writer sums up how far the mockery went.
They clothed Him with purple and tied on Him a crown of thorns they had woven. They began to greet Him: "Hail, King of the Jews!" No contempt was too gross for them to show Him. "They struck His head with a reed, and spat on Him, and knelt down and worshipped Him."
Mark calls the garment purple; Matthew calls it scarlet. One writer explains the difference from what the garment was.
After the cruel flogging they clothed Him with a purple robe in mockery. Matthew reports a scarlet cloak. This is not a contradiction. "A scarlet military robe stood for the imperial purple, so it was called a purple robe. And because that is what the robe stood for, there is no contradiction" (Lange).
The differences between the accounts are read as fitting each Gospel's portrait of Christ.
Matthew, the Gospel of the King, tells us that Pilate's soldiers mocked Him with a short "scarlet cloak" of royal military design. They put a reed in His right hand and a crown of thorns on His holy brow (Matt. 27:27-29). Mark, the Gospel of Jehovah's devoted Servant, adds the "purple" (Mark 15:17). Herod's troops put a shining or "splendid robe" on the Son of Man in mockery in Luke, the Gospel of the perfect Man (Luke 23:11).
The thorns were more than cruelty. One writer ties them to man's sin, and to what Jesus was taking on Himself.
They made the crown of thorns to drive cruel pain into His brow. Thorns came because of man's sin; they are the signs of the curse. He took the curse upon His own head.
One writer sets that crown against the world's need — and against our own part in it.
He had come to redeem the world; to remove the curse and bring in the blessing, and to do this He must bear the curse. He has redeemed us "from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us — for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree'" (Gal. 3:13), but the original curse fell upon Him, and the sign of this was the crown that He wore. Oh the shame and the glory of it! Shame to man, who crowned Him: to us all, for we all had our part in it, but glory to Him, who in divine compassion, for God's glory and our salvation, took the curse on Himself so that by His death He might remove it.
Mark presents Jesus as the Servant, and here the Servant answers none of it — which was written of Him long before.
Mark next carries his readers from the judgment seat to the Praetorium. In its courtyard the soldiers make the Lord their sport. He endures fresh insults and mockery in silence, just as Isaiah had prophesied: "He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth" (Is. 53:7).
The soldiers were only one group among many in this chapter, and the spread of participants is itself part of the point.
All classes combined against the Lord. Pilate already had scourged Him. The Roman soldiers mocked Him in ways that were cruel as well as contemptuous. The ordinary people — just passers-by — railed at Him. The priests mocked Him with sarcasm. The two crucified thieves — the criminal class, the very scum of humanity — reviled Him. High-born and low-born, Jew and Gentile, were all involved. Yet the result was that they all helped to fulfil the Scriptures, though no doubt without knowing it.
The titles the soldiers gave Him in fun are titles He will hold in fact.
The day will come when the One Whom men crowned with a crown of thorns, and mocked as the King of the Jews, will come forth wearing many crowns as the King of kings. The One Whom men clothed with a purple robe will come to earth "clothed in a robe dipped in blood," and the One Whom men struck with their wicked hands will strike the nations with a rod of iron.
- Cause. Thorns came into the world through man's sin. They are the sign of the curse, and that curse was pressed onto His head.
- Crown. He wore the curse to remove it, so that blessing could come in.
- Colour. Scarlet in Matthew, purple in Mark: the soldiers' military cloak stood in for imperial purple, so the accounts agree.
- Calm. Mark's Servant takes all of it in silence, just as Isaiah had foretold.
- Crowds — and crowns. Soldiers, priests, passers-by, criminals: every class shared the guilt. One day they will all see the mocked King wearing many crowns.
And they began to salute him, Hail, King of the Jews!
The soldiers have dressed Jesus in purple and pressed a crown of thorns onto His head. Now they line up to greet Him as royalty, and every word is meant as a joke.
The greeting was an ordinary Greek word, and its usual sense was not "hail" at all:
As a secondary meaning the verb is used for "saluting," and so for "farewell." But this sense is held within narrow limits of context, as in Matthew 26:49; Mark 15:18; Luke 1:28; John 19:3... Everywhere else it means "rejoice," or "be glad."
So the soldiers were shouting something close to "Joy to You, King of the Jews!" They said it to a bleeding prisoner they were about to execute. The joy was the joke.
The insult had a wider target than the Man in front of them:
The Jewish nation had to be humbled — and the soldiers mocked the whole nation in mocking its King. The Lord was dressed in purple as a king. He was struck and mocked with pretended honours, and then led away to be crucified. On the cross was written "King of the Jews"; the Lord was numbered among the transgressors as well. What is especially brought out here is the humiliation of the King of Israel.
The soldiers were one group among many. Every level of society took its turn:
All classes combined against the Lord. Pilate had already scourged Him. The Roman soldiers mocked Him in ways that were cruel as well as contemptuous. The ordinary people — just passers-by — railed at Him. The priests mocked Him with sarcasm. The two crucified thieves — representatives of the criminal classes, the very lowest of humanity — reviled Him. High-born and low-born, Jew and Gentile, were all involved. Yet in the end they were all helping to fulfil the Scriptures, though no doubt without realising it.
Mockery wants a reaction. They got none, so they pushed further — and they were not the ones in control:
It seemed that the Holy Sufferer was wholly in their hands. Yet who can fail to see that behind all they did, a higher power ordered the details and caused the wrath of men to praise Him? They bowed the knee saying, "Hail, King of the Jews," and since no retaliation came from that blessed One, their satire and mockery turned into sheer brutality. They spat on Him in derision and struck Him. All this only fulfilled the words of the prophet: "I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard. I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting" (Isaiah 50:6).
Why treat a prisoner this way at all? The answer exposes the mockers, and the defeat turns out to be theirs:
Before His crucifixion the Roman soldiers add their malicious abuse. This was not done to criminals, but again it exposes the cruel hatred of man toward his Creator. His own perfect truth and goodness seem to be the very reason for their harsh violence, contempt and mockery. The believing heart can easily picture the calm dignity with which the blessed Lord of glory bore all this. In reality His was a precious moral triumph. His enemies little realised how great a defeat they were suffering when their wickedness rose to such a height.
The soldiers picked the one title that was true. Believers repeat their words and mean them:
We take up those very words which they uttered in blasphemy, and make them the expression of what is divinely true. He is a crowned King; the crown of thorns is the crown of glory now. They write over the cross His accusation. It was the truth about what He was, "The King of the Jews," for what charge could there be against the all-perfect One?
Bent knees and a royal greeting will return to this same Man — but not as theatre:
Those who mocked Him in this way will yet see Him in His glory as King of Israel. They will be compelled to bow the knee before Him. From His lips they will receive the righteous sentence on their mockery and on all their sins. He is indeed Israel's King... Soon the day will come when He will take the kingdom that the leaders of Israel refused Him when He came the first time.
- Salute — the Greek word normally means "rejoice"; the soldiers were wishing joy to a Man they were about to kill.
- Nation — in insulting the King, they were insulting the people whose King He was.
- Everyone — Pilate, soldiers, crowd, priests and criminals all joined in, and all helped fulfil Scripture without knowing it.
- Silence — He did not hit back, so the mockery turned into brutality, just as the prophet had said.
- Knee — the same knees that bent as a joke will bend for real, and the title they used as sarcasm is His by right.
And they struck his head with a reed, and spat on him, and, bending the knee, did him homage.
Roman soldiers have already dressed Jesus in purple and pressed a crown of thorns on His head. Now the mockery turns into blows, spitting and a bent knee — and the question is who is really losing here.
One writer follows the mockery from the mock salute to the moment they lead Him out, and finds no limit to it.
But, further, they heaped every indignity on Him along the way... "And they began to salute Him, Hail, King of the Jews!" There was no contempt too gross for Him. "And when they had mocked Him, they stripped Him of the purple cloak and put His own clothes on Him. And they led Him out to crucify Him."
Soldiers had no duty to treat prisoners like this. One commentator finds the reason in what the Prisoner Himself was — and sees who really lost that morning.
This was not done to criminals, but again this exposes the cruel hatred of man toward his Creator. His own perfect truth and goodness seems to be the very reason for their harsh violence, contempt and mockery... they add to it the striking of His head with a reed, clearly meant to press the thorns further into His flesh. They spit on Him and mock Him with worship... In reality, His was a precious moral triumph, and His enemies little realised how great a defeat they were suffering when their wickedness rose to such a height.
The spitting was written down long before the soldiers did it. One writer reads Isaiah's words here and points to what gave men their opening: the very proof of His love.
"I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting." How solemn the thought, and what a picture of God in the presence of man! His humiliation should have made Him infinitely more precious, since it was the incomparable proof of His love. Instead it gave man, under Satan's leading, the chance he wanted to insult to the utmost the One who did not revile in return.
Read the whole passage and one thing is missing: any recorded word from Jesus. That silence is not weakness but the mark of the Servant.
All men in that hour were showing themselves in their darkest colours. In these verses we do not read of one thing that He said. It was just as the prophet had said, "like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth." It was man's hour, and the power of darkness was at its height. We see the perfection of the holy Servant of the Lord in this: He suffered in silence all that men did to Him.
Each detail of the mockery has an exact opposite waiting in the future. One writer lines them up one by one — crown, reed, knee.
A righteous God will yet crown Him with many crowns. Here He submits while wicked men crown Him with thorns. He who will rule the nations with a rod of iron allows poor wretched man to strike Him with a reed. In mockery they bow the knee before the One to whom they will have to bow in the day of judgment.
Mark, unlike Matthew, does not put a reed in His hand as a mock sceptre — here the reed only strikes. One writer sees in that blow a picture drawn from Israel's wilderness journey.
As in Matthew, He is crowned with thorns, the sign of the curse, and clothed with the purple. But here there is no reed-sceptre: the reed only strikes Him. And it is indeed only a reed that strikes the Rock. Yet soon, through the marvellous working of God, the waters will flow out. They will become a great river, going out on every side to gladden the earth.
The soldiers were only one voice in the chorus. One writer counts who else joined in.
All classes combined against the Lord... The Roman soldiers mocked Him in ways that were cruel as well as contemptuous. The ordinary people — just passers-by — insulted Him. The priests mocked Him with sarcasm... High-born and low-born, Jew and Gentile, were all involved. Yet in the end they all helped to fulfil the Scriptures, though no doubt without knowing it.
- Cause. His goodness, not any crime, drew out the violence. What should have made Him precious gave men their chance to insult Him.
- Silence. He answered nothing — the Servant's perfection showed in bearing it all without a word.
- Reach. Soldiers, passers-by, priests, high and low, Jew and Gentile all had a hand in it — and each one helped fulfil the Scriptures without knowing it.
- Reversal. The thorn-crown answers to many crowns, the reed to a rod of iron, the mocking knee to the knee that must bow in judgment.
- Result. The reed struck the Rock — and from Him the waters flow out to gladden the earth.
And when they had mocked him, they took the purple off him, and put his own clothes on him; and they lead him out that they may crucify him.
The soldiers finish their game. They pull the mock robe off Jesus, put His own clothes back on Him, and march Him out of the city to die. Commentators ask what that moment exposes in man, and what the outside place means for us.
Commentators read this verse as the end point of all that came before.
These are solemn words. They were written as the climax to the world's rejection of the Son of God. Israel's leaders had plotted the death of Jesus. They made a bargain with Judas Iscariot to betray Him. When He allowed them to take Him, they heaped on His holy head every insult their wicked hearts could invent. How awful was the treatment of the Creator by the creature. How horrified the angels must have been to see man's dark rebellion. How puzzled at their Lord's meek submission to all the dishonour.
Mark calls the robe purple. Matthew calls it scarlet. There is a simple reason for the difference.
After the cruel scourging they clothed Him with a purple robe in mockery. Matthew reports a scarlet cloak. This is not a contradiction. "A scarlet military robe was made to imitate the imperial purple, so the description, a purple robe. And because this is the symbolic meaning of the robe, there is no discrepancy" (Lange). They made the crown of thorns to inflict cruel pain on His brow. Thorns came because of man's sin; they are the signs of the curse. He took the curse on His own head.
Through the whole scene of abuse Mark records nothing that Jesus said.
All men in that hour were showing themselves in their darkest colours. In these verses we do not read of one thing that He said. It was just as the prophet had said, "like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth." It was man's hour, and the power of darkness was at its height. We see the perfection of the holy Servant of the Lord in this: He suffered in silence all that He endured at the hands of men.
Each piece of the mockery has a real counterpart still to come.
In the way the soldiers treated the Lord we see the brutality of man, which finds pleasure in abusing a defenceless person. It was no part of a soldier's duty to mistreat a prisoner. But the lowly grace and perfection of this Holy Prisoner brought God near to them, and fallen man could not bear it. A righteous God will yet crown Him with many crowns; yet He submits as wicked men crown Him with thorns. He who will rule the nations with a rod of iron allows poor wretched man to strike Him with a reed. In mockery they bow the knee before the One to whom they will have to bow in the day of judgment.
They led Him out of the city. That outside place becomes a call to His followers.
So we come to the practical exhortation, "Therefore let us go to Him outside the camp." But note: that outside place is no longer seen as the place of judgment from God. It is the place of reproach from man, and we are called to go there to the very limit. He suffered as the holy victim under the judgment of God: He endured as the patient martyr under the reproach of men. We cannot share His sufferings at the hand of God, but it is our privilege to share the insults He received at the hands of men. He went outside the camp to bear our judgment: we go outside the camp to bear His reproach.
The same writer sets this scene against the resurrection, where Jesus leads people out for a very different purpose.
In the rejection of Jesus there is a background of darkness, evil and hatred. But in the resurrection of Jesus, we see His actions in the light of the love shown in His death. We see this as the blessed Lord leads out His disciples as far as Bethany, for "lifting up his hands he blessed them."
- Climax. The mock robe comes off and the walk to death begins. This is the high point of the world's rejection of the Son of God.
- Costume. The purple robe was a soldier's scarlet cloak, mocking imperial purple. The thorns are the sign of the curse, and He took it on His own head.
- Silence. Man's hour was at its darkest, and Mark records not one word from Him. The perfect Servant suffered it all without answering.
- Reversal. They crowned Him with thorns; God will crown Him with many crowns. They struck Him with a reed; He will rule the nations. They knelt in mockery; they will kneel in judgment.
- Outward. He went out to bear our judgment; we go out to bear His reproach. And the same Lord leads His own out to bless them.