But Jesus stood before the governor. And the governor questioned him, saying, Art *thou* the King of the Jews? And Jesus said to him, Thou sayest.
Israel's long-promised King stands as a prisoner before a Roman governor. He is asked about the one title His nation had refused Him, and He answers with two words that He will not take back.
The reply is short enough to miss. One writer explains what it settles in the public hearing before Pilate:
Pilate examined Jesus in front of the crowd. Jesus said only two words, which the ESV gives as "You have said so." They amount to one English word: "Yes." He confessed that He really was the King of the Jews. That was the exact charge laid at His door in front of the Roman power. The first three Gospels agree on this point.
Before the Jewish council the question had been whether He was the Son of God. Before the governor the question changes:
The Lord stands before Pilate. Here the question is not whether He is the Son of God, but whether He is the King of the Jews. He was indeed the King of the Jews. Yet He would only let the Jews receive Him as the Son of God. Had they received Him as the Son of God, He would have been their King. But that could not be: He had to complete the work of atonement. Having rejected Him as Son of God, the Jews now deny Him as their King... Once again He was condemned on His own confession, and on that alone. He said the same thing in the Gentile court that He had said in the Jewish court, and in each He told the truth.
Nothing His accusers said stuck. His own words condemned Him — words that told the truth about Himself.
This is why the moment carries such weight. One word of retraction would have set Him free:
Suppose the blessed Confessor had now changed the word that had gone out of His lips and withdrawn His claim to be a King. Then Pilate would have had nothing to fear — neither his master's anger nor a riot from the crowd. He could have freely done what he wanted and let his prisoner go. But Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king." From this claim there could be no retreating... Though His own did not receive Him, yet He was theirs. Though the world did not know Him, yet it was made by Him. Though the tenants were casting Him out, yet He was the Heir of the vineyard.
The transfer from the council to the governor spreads the guilt. It also puts the nation's King in the hands of the empire occupying His land:
First He was condemned by the Jews and delivered into the hands of the Gentiles, who also condemned Him. The crowning sin of the world was therefore committed by both, the Jews and the Gentiles. His own people handed Israel's long-promised Messiah and King over to the Roman governor — the Gentile power that was oppressing them. Before Pilate, the leaders of the nation charged Him with being a rebel, a man who made himself king against Roman authority... The answer to the governor's question comes at once from His lips. How brief and full of dignity!
Everything visible contradicted the title He owned. That is where His example touches us:
It is very hard to hold on to what we profess when everything in us and around us seems to contradict it. Jesus made the good confession before Pontius Pilate: He was a king. Yet He had no mark of royalty about Him. His confession seemed contradicted by His appearance. Timothy had made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses, and he needed to be reminded of it. And so do we. How easily we forget that what we are now, we are in hope.
Of all the things Paul could have pointed Timothy to, he points to this trial:
Paul gave his son Timothy a solemn instruction to keep the commandment "unstained." He charged him "in the presence of God, who gives life to all things, and of Christ Jesus, who in His testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession." ... Paul makes no reference to His glorious resurrection or ascension. He does not mention any of the miracles He worked, though each of them gave such rich testimony to His power and grace. Instead he takes special notice of how Christ behaved before the judge.
- Confessed. Asked directly, He said yes — the same truth in the Roman court that He had told in the Jewish one.
- Condemned. No charge from His accusers stood against Him. His own confession alone sentenced Him.
- Costly. Withdrawing the claim would have freed Him, and He would not withdraw it.
- Contradicted. He said He was a king while nothing about Him looked royal. Faith stands in the same place today.
- Commended. When Paul charges Timothy, he points not to the miracles but to this hour before the judge.
And when he was accused of the chief priests and the elders, he answered nothing.
The trial has moved from the religious court to the Roman one. The men who had already decided on His death now press their charges before the governor. Jesus had just answered Pilate's question about kingship. To His accusers He says nothing at all, and that silence says more than any defence could.
The charges had nothing in them, so there was nothing to answer. The governor himself saw through the case almost at once.
In the public examination Jesus "gave no answer," because there was nothing to answer. Pilate saw that very soon, though it amazed him greatly. He was well versed in the subtle ways of the Jews and his sharp legal mind soon discerned that envy was at the bottom of the prosecution. On the other hand he feared the people and wished to stand well with them.
He had spoken a moment earlier, then said no more. He answered what concerned the truth about who He was, and let the rest go.
The governor asks Him if He is King of the Jews. The Lord replies that He is (for He was the truth), witnessing a good confession. ... He was "Son of God" before the priests, "King" before the Roman governor. To the accusing Jews He gives no answer. He was not there to defend Himself or escape. He was a willing Victim, and a witness to the truth. But the heads of the Jewish people stand before us here as the enemies of God.
Silence under false charges is not what anyone expects from an innocent man. All four Gospel writers record it.
When men are oppressed and treated unjustly, to protest is natural and usual. 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 is truly 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 proclaimed, yet no word of protest escaped His lips.
A judge sees prisoners fight for themselves every day. This prisoner did not, and Pilate could not make sense of it.
Before the governor the Lord answers the question of who He is: the King of the Jews. But to the many accusations of the chief priests and elders He gave no answer. There was no reason to answer, for they could prove no charge. Pilate himself saw that none of their charges was worth considering. Yet he does not understand why the Lord stays silent. He knew that the first natural impulse of men is to defend themselves.
Because He said nothing, the charges had nowhere to land except back on the men who made them.
Though charged with many things He gave no answer, and Pilate marvelled. He made no defence. The false accusations fell back on the consciences of the accusers. There were many to condemn Him, and none, sadly, to befriend Him! ... 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 below.
Saying nothing was not giving up. It rested on something the court could not see.
In the presence of all His accusers His resource was in God. He entrusted Himself to the One who judges righteously. When falsely accused before the Jewish council, He "remained silent" (Matthew 26:63). To the accusations of the Jews in front of Pilate, "He gave no answer". ... He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
The same writer makes His silence a pattern for us when others insult us, and he sets its limits.
How good for us to follow in His steps and keep silent when men speak malicious words against us, whoever they come from. Other Scriptures make clear that the Christian may "entreat," "exhort," and even "rebuke." But he must never insult or threaten.
Knowing which moment calls for words takes a wisdom we rarely have.
He had given one testimony. He never made a mistake. He never spoke when He ought to be silent, or was silent when He ought to speak. We often are.
- Silence with cause — There was nothing to answer. No charge could be proved, and envy drove the whole prosecution.
- Silence with purpose — He confessed who He was, then stopped. He stood there as a willing Victim, not as a prisoner fighting to get free.
- Silence like a lamb — Protest is the natural response to injustice. His stillness ran against all experience, like a lamb led to the slaughter.
- Silence that exposed — The charges fell back on the consciences of the men who brought them, and left Pilate amazed.
- Silence to copy — It rested on His trust in God. It marks our path too: we may entreat, urge and rebuke, but never insult or threaten.
Then says Pilate to him, Hearest thou not how many things they witness against thee?
The chief priests and elders had just poured out their charges, and Jesus said nothing back. Why did He answer Pilate's question about His kingship, yet leave every accusation untouched?
Pilate knew the charges were empty, and the silence still puzzled him.
Before the governor the Lord answers the question about who He is: the King of the Jews. But to the many accusations of the chief priests and elders He answered nothing. There was no reason to do so, for they could sustain no charge, and Pilate himself recognised all their charges as not worth considering. Yet he does not understand the Lord's remaining silent, for he knew that the first natural impulse of men is to defend themselves.
His answer and His silence follow one rule.
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. 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. Such silence, however, is entirely foreign to our fallen nature.
Saying nothing did not leave Him at a disadvantage. It reversed the positions in the room.
He was not there to defend Himself, but to confess who and what He was… His silence produced a far graver effect than anything that could be uttered. Silence now was the more convincing to the conscience. He was clearly superior, morally, to His judge. He was exposing them all, whatever they might say or judge of Him. In truth they judged nothing but what was utterly false, and they condemned Him for the truth.
He was not helpless before the charges. He could have taken every one of them apart, and He chose not to.
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.
Isaiah had pictured this silence long before Pilate met it.
Isaiah 53 verse 7 emphasises His silence before His accusers. When men are oppressed and treated unjustly, protest is natural and usual. So His silence went against all experience, and the Gospels note it… Truly a sheep is silent before the shearers, as anyone may see today who stands and watches the 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 proclaimed, yet not one word of protest escaped His lips.
Isaiah wrote: "like a lamb that is led to the slaughter… so he opened not his mouth" (Isaiah 53:7).
Pilate felt the difference in this prisoner. Feeling it changed nothing.
Throughout this solemn scene Pilate clearly wanted to quiet the people and free Jesus from the malice of the Jews. From the very first it appears that he was aware of something unusual in this prisoner of theirs. His silence had such a character in it that, as we read, "the governor marvelled greatly." And what divine attraction there must have been in every small passage of His life, in every path He took among men! What state must man's eye and ear and heart have been in, not to see and own all this? But it is ourselves: we have looked in the face of the Son of God and have seen no beauty there.
The same silence held before the Jewish council, before Herod, and before Pilate.
When falsely accused before the Jewish council, He "held His peace." To the accusations of the Jews in the presence of Pilate, "He answered nothing." To Pilate himself, "He answered… never a word." The mocking Herod questioned Him with many words, "but He answered him nothing." He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
- Accusation. No charge would stand, and Pilate treated them as not worth considering. In the end they condemned Him for the truth He confessed, not for anything they proved.
- Silence. He spoke for the truth of who He was and stayed silent under personal malice; that silence reached the conscience more powerfully than any words.
- Surrender. He could have dismantled every charge; He did not, because self-surrender, not self-defence, was the business of His life.
- Prophecy. Isaiah had drawn the picture already: a lamb led to the slaughter, and not a word. His silence went against every human instinct, and it was foretold.
- Response. Pilate marvelled and went no further. The danger is to look into the face of the Son of God and see no beauty there.
And he answered him not so much as one word, so that the governor wondered exceedingly.
When Jesus stood before the Roman governor, His accusers piled on charge after charge. He answered none of them, and the silence startled the man who was judging Him.
Jesus gave Pilate a straight answer about who He was. Then He said nothing while the charges piled up. One writer notes that the accusations were so thin that even the judge could see through them.
Before the governor the Lord answers the question of who He is: the King of the Jews. But to the many accusations of the chief priests and elders He answered nothing. There was no reason to answer. They could not make a single charge stand, and Pilate himself saw that all their charges were not worth considering.
He kept the same silence everywhere they took Him. One writer lines up those scenes and gives the reason for them.
When falsely accused before the Jewish council, "Jesus remained silent" (Matthew 26:63). To the accusations of the Jews in front of Pilate, "He gave no answer". To Pilate himself, "He gave him no answer, not even to a single charge" (Matt. 27:12-14). Herod mocked Him and questioned Him at length, "but He made no answer" (Luke 23:9). He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
His silence was not helplessness. He had come for something other than winning an argument.
He could have thrown back every charge and cleared Himself against every accuser. But self-defence was not His aim. Total and unmistakable self-surrender was the business of His blessed life here below.
That choice shaped the whole trial. His silence did more than any defence could have done.
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 a time to speak. Silence now was more convincing to the conscience. Morally He was clearly above His judge… Whether it was before the high priest or before Pontius Pilate, it was the truth He confessed, and men condemned Him for the truth.
Isaiah had described this silence long before. One writer shows how unnatural such silence is for anyone treated unjustly.
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, and the Gospels record it — Matthew 27:11-14; Mark 15:3-4; Luke 23:9; John 19:9… He was not like a sheep being sheared, but like a lamb led to the slaughter. He was indeed "the Lamb of God," as John the Baptist proclaimed, yet no word of protest escaped His lips.
Behind the fulfilled prophecy lies a motive. He was not powerless to stop what was happening.
Not a word did He utter. Why was this? Answer me that. When those small creatures made by His own hand insulted their Creator, He could have swept them out of existence with a single word. Why then did He keep silence? … "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth" (Isa. 53:7). Here it is fulfilled. The love of His heart for sinners brought Him to this.
Pilate knew what an accused man normally does.
Yet he does not understand why the Lord stays silent. He knew that the first natural impulse of men is to defend themselves. He cannot help being deeply impressed by the calm dignity of one so viciously accused: he was greatly amazed.
Something in the prisoner reached him, and other events pressed the same way. Yet he still handed Jesus over.
From the very first it appears that he was aware of something unusual in this Prisoner of theirs. His silence had such a character in it that, as we read, "the governor was greatly amazed."… Everything that happened as the scene went on strengthened the governor's first impression. His wife's dream, the clear malice of the Jews, and, above all, this righteous, guiltless Prisoner — though in shame and suffering — still insisting that He was the Son of God: it all assailed his conscience. But the world in Pilate's heart was too strong for these convictions in his conscience.
- Silence — He answered Pilate's one question about who He was, then said nothing to the charges. No charge could stand, and He had not come to defend Himself.
- Surrender — the silence was chosen, not forced. Self-surrender, not self-defence, was the business of His life.
- Scripture — protest is the natural reaction to injustice. His silence went against all experience and fulfilled what Isaiah wrote of the Lamb.
- Love — He could have destroyed His accusers with a word; love for sinners kept Him quiet.
- Two responses — Pilate was amazed, yet the world in his heart shouted his conscience down. Jesus stayed silent before men because He had a resource in God.
Now at [the] feast the governor was accustomed to release one prisoner to the crowd, whom they would.
Every year at the feast, Pilate let the crowd pick one prisoner to set free. That small custom becomes the hinge of Jesus' trial: whom will the crowd choose?
The custom was a political tool, not an act of justice. Rome used it to win the people over. Pilate reached for it because he wanted a way out.
Thinking to find a way out, Pilate introduced another element at this point. The Romans had adopted a custom of releasing a prisoner of the people's choice at the Passover feast, no doubt with the object of currying the people's favor. He proposes then a choice between Christ and a notorious prisoner named Barabbas, whom Mark says was a rebel and a murderer. The suggestion of course was unjust, for Christ should have been released apart from this.
This was Pilate's second try at escape, and his motive was not justice but self-interest.
His duty, then, is plain. Justice demands that an innocent man go free. But self-interest pushed Pilate to stay on good terms with the Jews. So he makes a second try at avoiding the condemnation of an innocent man, and at pleasing the Jews at the same time. He falls back on the custom of releasing a prisoner at the Passover. But, custom or no custom, Pilate's plain duty as a judge is to release One in Whom he finds no fault.
The feast is the Passover. Freeing one prisoner matched a day that recalled a whole nation walking free — and the name of the man they picked adds a dark twist.
This feast marked their release from slavery in Egypt. It was a favour to them that at that feast they could set one prisoner free. Barabbas was a terrible character. "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 in front of them the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father — the Blessed One, the Source of life; and a murderer, the destroyer of life.
Now the crowd must choose. Writers press that choice on every heart, not just the crowd's.
Our hearts are that evil. We may hate a murderer and a thief. Yet if the choice is Christ or the murderer, then apart from the grace of God we will choose the murderer — the one who takes life rather than the One Who gives life.
Behind Pilate's moves, writers see a plan that is not Pilate's at all. The custom, the timing, and the prisoner on hand all serve one end.
But now all the people must face the question: will they accept Him or reject Him? Again we see how the government of God has arranged everything to this end. First, a custom had grown up of releasing a prisoner at the time of the Passover feast, and the people chose which prisoner it should be. Then, just at this time, they had a prisoner of a notable kind. He was suitable in every way for comparison and contrast with the spotless Victim standing before them.
The offer had to fail, and the reason cuts two ways.
Their choice confirms the people's guilt. But there is another side: God watches over the scene. He makes sure that His Son does not go free as a pardoned criminal, but is condemned as an innocent man.
The custom set free one man — and that man becomes a picture of the whole gospel.
Barabbas went free, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas could have walked out, looked up at Him hanging on the cross, and said, "He died for me; he paid my penalty." It is a blessed illustration of the atonement.
- Custom — At the feast the governor let the crowd name one prisoner to go free. Pilate used it as an escape route, though justice already told him to release the man he found innocent.
- Feast — The Passover marked Israel's release from slavery in Egypt, so freeing a prisoner fitted the day. The name "Barabbas" means "son of a father," standing opposite the Son of God.
- Choice — One gives life; the other took it. The crowd's pick shows what the human heart wants, and writers press that choice on every reader.
- Control — God arranged the custom, the timing, and the prisoner on hand. So His Son did not go free as a pardoned criminal; He was condemned while innocent.
- Cost — One guilty man walked free because Christ took his place. Barabbas set free is a plain picture of the atonement.
And they had then a notable prisoner, named Barabbas.
Pilate set a second man in front of the crowd. He was already in jail, and everyone in Jerusalem knew his name. This verse gives it, and everything that follows turns on one question: which of the two goes free?
Barabbas was no petty criminal. The other Gospels fill in his record, and it makes the crowd's later choice shocking. Sedition, the charge against him, means stirring up revolt against the rulers.
Mark and Luke add that he had been cast into prison for sedition; so he had actually committed the crime with which they were falsely charging Jesus. Added to that, he was a robber and a murderer. So for the people to choose Barabbas would seem impossible. Now Pilate wanted to know which man he should release: this notorious criminal, or "Jesus who is called Christ."
His name sharpens the contrast. One writer takes it apart, then turns it on the reader.
"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. Standing before them were the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father — the Blessed One, the Originator of life, and a murderer, the destroyer of life, "who for sedition and murder was cast into prison." It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
Some ancient copies give the prisoner a fuller name. Commentators differ over whether it belongs in the text. One writer argues that no one would have invented such wording:
The Syriac and some other versions, along with some cursive manuscripts, even read "Jesus Barabbas." Such an insertion is very hard to explain if it is not genuine. All Christian feeling would naturally be against it, and would certainly favour leaving it out rather than putting it in. Together, the two names would be a terrible, devilish grab at titles that have their full meaning in the Lord.
Another weighs the manuscript evidence and rejects the longer name:
The ordinary text rests on the fullest and most satisfactory authority… Editors in general throw the addition out as not genuine.
Pilate handed the decision to the crowd. Their answer exposes more than one crowd on one morning.
What has become of this blessed One? How has the world treated Him? It has cast Him out! It would not have Him! It preferred a robber and a murderer to this holy, gracious, perfect Man. 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."
Barabbas walked out of prison while Jesus went to the cross. Commentators read that exchange as a picture of what Christ's death accomplishes.
"Even in this last scene, Jesus delivers others at His own cost, and in every sense… He never saved Himself." Barabbas was guilty and condemned, yet he went free, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas might have gone out and looked up at the One hanging on the cross. He might have said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a wonderful illustration of the atonement.
Arno Clemens Gaebelein (quoting William Kelly)
Another writer points to the place Barabbas would have taken:
Barabbas was a "notable prisoner." Three men were to be crucified, and the notable prisoner was to be in the middle. That place was given to the Lord.
That morning's choice was not the last of its kind. One writer hears in it words Jesus spoke about a leader still to come.
Barabbas, "the son of the Father" — a strange name indeed for the man chosen by a people who had abandoned God, instead of the true Son of the Father! They chose a leader in lawlessness and a murderer. That reminds us of our Lord's words about the coming Antichrist: "I have come in my Father's name, and you do not receive me. If another comes in his own name, you will receive him."
- Notable. Barabbas sat in jail for sedition, the very crime they falsely charged Jesus with. He was a robber and a murderer as well.
- Named. "Bar-Abbas" means "son of a father"; the false son stood beside the true Son of God.
- Chosen. The world faced a straight choice between the two, and it took the murderer. Writers press that same choice on every reader's own heart.
- Exchanged. The guilty man walked free because the innocent One took his place. The middle cross, kept for the notable prisoner, went to Jesus.
- Repeated. Choosing the lawless man over the true Son casts a shadow of the Antichrist, whom those who refuse Christ will welcome.
They therefore being gathered together, Pilate said to them, Whom will ye that I release to you, Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?
Pilate believes his prisoner is innocent, yet he lets the crowd decide: Barabbas, or Jesus. His question is a legal move, but it tests the human heart — and God uses it to make the nation's choice public.
Pilate did not invent this offer. He fell back on a yearly custom. But that custom did not fit the prisoner he put before them.
It was the Roman custom to release one prisoner at the Passover, and the Jews could choose which one. The custom assumed the prisoner was guilty. So it should never have been applied to the Lord Jesus at all. But Pilate was unjust: he let the Jews choose between Jesus and Barabbas, a rebel and a murderer.
Yet this was no accident of Roman policy. A higher hand had set the stage.
But now the question of whether they will accept or reject Him is pressed on all the people. Again we see how the government of God has arranged everything to this end. First, a custom had grown up of releasing a prisoner at the Passover feast, and the people chose which prisoner it would be. Then, at this very time, they had a prisoner of a notable kind. He was suited in every way for comparison and contrast with the spotless Victim now before them.
The contrast reaches down into the two names Pilate spoke aloud.
"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. Before them stood the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father. Here was the Blessed One, the Originator of life. There was a murderer, the destroyer of life, thrown into prison for rebellion and murder. It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
The irony went deeper still.
Mark and Luke add that he was in prison for rebellion. So he had committed the very crime they were falsely charging Jesus with. On top of that, he was a robber and a murderer. For the people to choose Barabbas would seem impossible.
Pilate was not confused about the case. He was trying to escape it.
Pilate knew enough to see what lay at the root of all the accusations: the chief priests had handed Him over out of envy. So he tried to turn the crowd's thoughts to Jesus when the question was which prisoner to release. The attempt failed. The priests had too much influence over the people. Wanting to please the crowd, Pilate violated what sense of justice he had.
Pilate could have named Jesus in many ways. He used the one title the nation was denying.
They denied Jesus as "the Christ." For we find Pilate so presents Him: "Whom do you want me to release for you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" (Matt. 27:17). And again: "What shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?" They all said, "Let him be crucified!" (Matt. 27:22).
The crowd's answer was not about Barabbas at all.
The question this time was: "Whom will you RECEIVE?" Sadly, anyone but Jesus was welcome. It is not that the crowd had the smallest regard for Barabbas. The point was that they did not want Jesus.
The outcome of Pilate's question turns into a picture of the gospel itself.
Barabbas was released, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once free, 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.
- Arranged. God had already put the release custom and a notable prisoner in place. The whole nation would now have to give its verdict on Christ.
- Contrasted. "Barabbas" means son of a father. Facing him stood the Son of God: the destroyer of life beside the Originator of life.
- Exposed. Pilate knew envy drove the charges. He used the crowd as an escape route. When that failed, he broke his own sense of justice to please them.
- Refused. The real question was whom they would receive. They had no love for Barabbas. They just did not want Jesus — and they refused Him as the Christ.
- Exchanged. The guilty man walked free because Christ took his place. Barabbas could have looked at the cross and said, "He died for me." That is the atonement in picture.
For he knew that they had delivered him up through envy.
Pilate received a prisoner and a list of charges, and he did not believe a word of them. Matthew stops the trial here to show the judge's own mind: Pilate had already worked out the real motive behind the charges.
The men who brought Jesus to Pilate were strict about ceremony and careless about murder. Pilate saw the contradiction.
They were strict to the last degree about everything ceremonial and outward, yet their hearts were the home of every evil passion. They would not go into the judgment hall "so that they would not be defiled, but could eat the Passover." They were "whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people's bones and all uncleanness." And Pilate, a shrewd judge of character, saw through them. He knew that they had delivered Him up out of envy, and he treated them with well-deserved contempt.
The word Matthew uses is not fear, or misunderstanding, or zeal for the law. It is envy — and commentators trace a line from the world's first murder to this one.
Envy, or jealousy, whether in a sinner or in a saint, is one of the greatest drivers of evil in the world. It was envy that led to the first murder, when Cain killed his brother. It was envy that led to the greatest murder, when the Jews killed their Messiah. The preacher may well say, "Wrath is cruel, anger is overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy?" (Prov. 27:4). With envy filling their hearts, these religious leaders stir up the people to choose Barabbas rather than Christ. Moved by envy they reject Christ, the One who is "altogether lovely," and choose a murderer and a rebel.
(Older translations of Proverbs 27:4 read "envy" where the ESV has "jealousy.")
Envy needs a cause. Here the cause was popularity.
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 shouting for His blood. How different was the spirit shown by John the Baptist, who said, "He must increase, but I must decrease."
Pilate's knowledge is the very thing that condemns him. An innocent man stood in front of him, and he knew exactly why the charges had been brought.
Pilate did not release an innocent Man at once, and his injustice is made worse by this. He was fully aware that these wicked men had bound the Lord and brought Him before the judgment seat because envy moved them.
He saw the truth. Then he weighed it against his own career.
It was a solemn moment for that nation. In front of them stood the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, the Originator of life — and a murderer, the destroyer of life. It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine… Pilate "knew that it was out of envy that they had delivered" Jesus up. He could see beneath the surface, and it put him in a solemn position. As far as his own determination went, he was "determined to let Him go." But he had to choose between the world and Christ — between Caesar and Christ. That decided him, although he knew he was doing wrong.
Pilate wanted the case off his desk. Yet the very hatred he tried to dodge was carrying out something planned long before.
Pilate would have liked to leave the matter to the Jews; he saw clearly that it was only envy and hatred without cause. But the Jews were to be the instrument by which Christ was treated as a criminal. He was not even stoned as a blasphemer, as Stephen was. In God's wonderful purposes, His Son was to be put to death as a criminal among the Gentiles — cast out of the vineyard. But the guilty ones, the ones who caused it, were the Jews.
If envy could do this, it is not a small fault to tolerate anywhere — including among believers.
Will it not be found that envy has been the main cause of all the quarrels among the people of God? The Apostle Peter warns us that envy knows no pity. It leads to "malice" and "slander." The malice leads to "deceit," by which a man tries to cover up what he is. It also leads to "hypocrisy," by which a man pretends to be what he is not (1 Peter 2:1).
- He knew the motive. The charges were a cover; Pilate saw that envy, not justice, had brought Jesus to his court.
- He knew what envy is. The same root that caused the first murder caused the greatest one. Here it grew from jealousy of His influence with the crowds.
- He knew, and still condemned. Insight was not integrity; Pilate's clear sight only makes his sentence more inexcusable.
- He knew, and chose Caesar. Faced with Christ or the world, he took the world — the same choice set before every heart.
- Yet God knew first. Human envy carried out what God had purposed: His Son died as a criminal. That is why envy is never a harmless fault to keep.
But, as he was sitting on the judgment-seat, his wife sent to him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that righteous [man]; for I have suffered to-day many things in a dream because of him.
Pilate was on the judgment seat when a message arrived from his own home. His wife told him to drop the case, which raises two questions: where did her dream come from, and why did it change nothing?
Pilate had already seen through the chief priests. This message came from a side he could not accuse of plotting.
The mercy of God gave Pilate a warning from a completely unexpected quarter... It was perhaps the very thing most likely to work on the sceptical Roman. It also came from outside all priestly influence. His wife becomes the witness to his conscience, and a witness against these priests. Pilate had long since taken their measure and saw through their motives. "He knew that for envy they had delivered Him."
Another writer sees God doing here what He had done once before with an unlikely messenger.
Matthew alone records the warning of Pilate's wife. Long ago God rebuked the madness of the prophet Balaam by a dumb animal. In the same way here, through the dream of a woman, He would stop the hand that was about to shed innocent blood.
Only Matthew records this message. Why did God arrange for Pilate to hear it?
God takes care, too, that there should be a testimony from his own home to the conscience of the governor. His wife sent him a message, and this, recorded only in Matthew, disturbed Pilate all the more. God arranged all of it so that man's wickedness in rejecting Jesus should be plain and without excuse.
She chose a stronger word than "innocent."
Of course, we know what she meant. She did not want Pilate to take on himself the responsibility of condemning an innocent man. Somehow she knew He was innocent — no, more than that, righteous, for she does not use a merely negative term. If she knew little, and was still far from the kingdom of God, the Governor was much farther off.
Pilate used her word himself a few verses later, in public.
We cannot help noticing the echo of her warning in Pilate's official declaration. The wife testified that the prisoner was a "righteous man." Pilate repeated that verdict when he said, "I am innocent of the blood of this righteous man."
(Older translations read "this righteous man" in verse 24. The ESV reads, "I am innocent of this man's blood.")
Hers is the one voice pleading for the prisoner, and sending the message cost her something.
The story of Potiphar's wife and her shameful wickedness tends to leave women under a cloud. What Pilate's wife did fully restores them... She braved her husband's anger to persuade him to refuse his consent to Christ's crucifixion. Without that consent they could not have put Him to death legally. The Roman's wife pleads for the righteous One; the Egyptian's wife persecutes.
Pilate now had his own judgement, his reading of the priests' envy, and this message. He still condemned Jesus.
His own wife sends him a message. She urges him to take no part in judging "that righteous man." God had sent her a deeply disturbing dream because of Him. In fact this only confirmed what he knew already. Why did he not then silence the unjust accusations of the Jews, and dismiss the case? The answer appears to be that he feared that his own position might be threatened if he did so.
Take her plea literally, and it asks the one thing no one can do with this prisoner.
Have nothing to do with that righteous man. No — with Him we must all have to do. Claudia Procula, and her husband the Roman Governor, and all mankind — as Saviour or as Judge... Blessed are they who have to do with Him now, who bow to Him now, and prove the value of His precious blood that cleanses from every sin... This poor woman little knew that the terrible thing would be for Christ to leave her alone.
- Warned — God's mercy sent Pilate a witness no priest could have arranged: his own wife, speaking to his conscience from home.
- Righteous — She did not just call the prisoner innocent. She called Him righteous, and Pilate later repeated her verdict in public.
- Recorded — Only Matthew keeps this scene. God arranged it so that man's rejection of Jesus stands plain and without excuse.
- Refused — Pilate already knew. The message shook him further. He still gave way, it seems, out of fear for his own position.
- Required — Her advice is the one thing no one can take: everyone must have to do with Him, now as Saviour or later as Judge.
But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds that they should beg for Barabbas, and destroy Jesus.
A pause in Pilate's court became the moment when the nation's religious leaders went to work on the crowd. The choice between a condemned criminal and the Son of God now lay with the people. Their own guides told them how to answer.
Those who stirred up the crowd held the very positions meant to teach the people the right path.
What has become of this blessed One? How has the world treated Him? It has cast Him out! It preferred a robber and a murderer to this holy, gracious, perfect Man. The world got its choice. Jesus and a robber stood before the world, and the question came: "Which will you have?" ... The religious leaders and guides of the people should have led them in the right way. Instead they persuaded the poor ignorant crowd to reject the Son of God and accept a robber and a murderer!
Days earlier this same crowd had cheered Him. One writer explains how the mood turned so fast.
It is a terrible thing to see how fickle the crowd is. They are just the same to this day... The same crowd cried, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" and applauded Him to the skies. Within a few days, with one mouth, they cried, "Crucify him, crucify him!" How was that? It was the power of Satan. It was their unbelief, because their applause was nothing. Applause is only human feeling stirred up at the moment. That feeling can swing to the opposite very quickly.
The men who pushed hardest for His death held the greatest religious advantages. One writer finds a lasting principle in that.
Here is the solemn lesson. The greater the moral advantages, where there is not simple faith in God, the greater the hatred of Jesus. The reception or rejection of Jesus now is the same thing in principle.
Barabbas was no doubtful case. His crimes were on record.
John 18:40 calls him a "robber", and Matthew 27:16-26 calls him "a notable prisoner". He had started a rebellion and had committed murder... Yet the Jews, led by the chief priests and elders, asked for this man to be released instead of the Lord Jesus. Why they asked for this particular prisoner is not known. But their ungodliness shows in the clearest way: they chose a man known for his wickedness over the Lord of life and glory, their Messiah.
The offer itself came from a custom of the feast, and the prisoner's name made the contrast sharper.
This feast marked their release from slavery in Egypt. As a favour, they were allowed to have one prisoner set free at that feast... "Bar" means "son"; "Abbas" — father. Barabbas — "the son of a father."... 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 — the Blessed One, the Originator of life; and a murderer, the destroyer of life... It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
The two requests in the verse make one deal. Barabbas can only go free if Pilate gives Jesus up.
He stands there as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible release — but only, under 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."... Look deeper than the wicked wills of men, and in the purpose of God we can see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover. Through that offering even a Barabbas may be delivered — not for anything good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
Their aim failed even as it succeeded.
The cross was judgment indeed. But it was the judgment of this world. It was shame, indeed. But it was the wisdom of this world that was "made foolish" there. It was death — death dropping like a curtain and closing the story. But though the rulers aimed to "destroy Jesus" (Matt. 27:20), it was not Jesus who was destroyed. Instead it fulfilled what had been written: "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and will bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent" (1 Cor. 1:19).
Pilate's question did not stay in that courtyard.
"What then shall I do with Jesus, who is called Christ?" What a solemn question it was; and it is so still. The question was answered there and it must also be answered by every person to whom the Lord Jesus Christ is offered. He must either be accepted as Saviour and Lord or rejected.
- Persuaded. The crowd did not reach this verdict alone. Their own guides talked them into asking for a murderer and demanding the death of the Son of God.
- Privilege. Religious advantage without faith bred the deepest hatred of Christ. More light, held without trust, only made the hatred fiercer.
- Preferred. Barabbas was a proven rebel and murderer, and his name means "son of a father". Set beside the Son of God, the choice exposes the human heart.
- Exchanged. Releasing Barabbas and destroying Jesus were one act. The guilty man goes free only because Jesus takes his place.
- Overturned. They aimed to destroy Him, yet the cross undid the world's wisdom instead. The same choice still faces everyone who hears of Christ.
And the governor answering said to them, Which of the two will ye that I release unto you? And they said, Barabbas.
Pilate tries once more to get free of the case. He puts one question to the crowd, and the crowd answers with one word: Barabbas. Everything hangs on that word. Why did a governor let a crowd decide? Why did the people prefer a murderer? And what did it mean that a condemned man walked out free that morning?
Pilate does not ask because he is confused about the facts. He asks because he wants the outcome to belong to someone else.
In his uneasiness Pilate would gladly put on the people the responsibility he did not want to face. Not the chief priests but the popular voice shall decide what happens. And the people, too, shall decide only one way, if he can manage it — it shall be Barabbas or Jesus who is called Christ!
The plan collapses, and it collapses on a point he had no right to raise at all.
But the unhappy people are under the control of their leaders, and they insist urgently on their choice of Barabbas. It is the heart of man exposed to its depths — the mind of the flesh, which is enmity against God; and when Pilate, still anxious to escape the fatal responsibility, puts it to them (as he had no right to do) what they would have done with Jesus then, immediately the awful cry breaks out from the crowd as with one voice, "Let Him be crucified!"
Someone put that word in the crowd's mouth. The verse before names them: the men whose job was to teach the people better.
The world got its choice… The religious leaders and guides of the people persuaded the poor ignorant multitude 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.
The prisoner's name sharpens the scene. Broken into its parts, it sets two sons side by side.
Barabbas was a terrible character. "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. Here was the Blessed One, the Originator of life; and there was a murderer, the destroyer of life, "who had been thrown into prison for insurrection and murder." It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
Their answer was not enthusiasm for the prisoner they named. It was a way of saying no to the One they would not have.
Urged on by their religious chiefs, the people fiercely shouted, "Not this Man, but Barabbas." This time the question was clear: "Whom will you RECEIVE?" Sadly, anyone but Jesus was welcome. It is not that the multitude had the smallest regard for Barabbas; the point was that they did not want Jesus.
Behind the crime of the moment, commentators see a picture. What happened to Barabbas that morning shows how a guilty man can go free.
The story of Barabbas and his release is full of helpful instruction… Barabbas went free, 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 to Him who hung on the cross and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a wonderful illustration of the atonement.
The feast offered a chance of release, and Pilate set the terms of it. One writer looks past those terms to God's purpose.
Barabbas stands out as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him 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." Looking deeper than at the wicked wills of men, we may see in the purpose of God that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, by which even a Barabbas may be delivered — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
Jerusalem did not forget this one shouted word. Later Peter quoted it back to the same city as evidence.
Why the Jews asked for this particular prisoner is not known. But their choice shows their ungodliness in the clearest way: they preferred such a notoriously wicked man 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)
One writer turns the scene on the reader.
Jesus or Barabbas? This was the question which divided them. Surely some will be found for Jesus. Not one! I seem to hear you say, "I would have been, had I been there." Well, show yourself on His side now.
- Choice offered. Pilate handed the verdict to the crowd. He wanted to escape a responsibility he did not want to face himself.
- Choice coached. The answer was not spontaneous. The men who should have guided the people talked them into rejecting the Son of God and choosing a robber.
- Choice exposed. Nobody wanted Barabbas; they wanted anyone but Jesus — the son of a father set against the Son of God.
- Choice reversed. The guilty man went free because Christ took his place. Releasing Barabbas meant giving up Jesus, and behind the wicked wills of men stood the purpose of God.
- Choice repeated. Peter later charged the same city with asking for a murderer. The question still stands to every reader: Jesus, or Barabbas?
Pilate says to them, What then shall I do with Jesus, who is called Christ? They all say, Let him be crucified.
Pilate has just offered the crowd a choice between a notorious prisoner and Jesus, and the crowd has chosen Barabbas. Now he asks what to do with the One still standing before him, and he puts that question to the crowd instead of deciding it himself.
Pilate does not name Him as a criminal. He names Him by His title, Christ. That is the title under which the nation refused Him.
They denied Jesus as "the Christ." We find Pilate presenting Him this way: "Whom do you want me to release for you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" (Matthew 27:17).
Each Gospel writer has his own emphasis, and Matthew's shapes this trial.
John's Gospel especially brings out the deity of our Lord, and Luke His humanity. In Matthew we see Him as Messiah. That is why Pilate asks Him here, "Are you the King of the Jews?"
A governor who has found no fault has one lawful move left. Asking the crowd is not it.
Something, at least, makes Pilate uneasy. He waits for no answer, but goes off to the crowd to declare that he can find no fault with Jesus. In that case his business was only to release Him. But he seeks a compromise with his conscience instead of yielding to it. It looks to him like a way out of a difficult situation, so he puts the whole matter into the people's hands. So he makes it almost impossible to return to the path of righteousness he has left. He openly shows himself as not of the truth.
Pilate also shifts the ground of the case.
So he weakens and wavers. He makes it not a question of righteousness, as at first, but of mercy. He puts it into the hands of the Jews themselves, whose malice even he cannot understand.
The religious leaders and the Roman judge fail together. Only one person in this scene stands clear — the prisoner.
Here we see the bitter unrighteousness of these religious men... This is what the world's righteousness amounts to, whether in the chief priests or in the Roman. True righteousness is only found where God governs. One alone in this scene is found in the patience, goodness, wisdom of God — perfect in every way. When it was the time to speak, He spoke. When it was the time to be silent, He kept silent.
The whole crowd answers as one, after years of watching what this Man did among them.
It is the popular vote. He has been among them three or more years. A constant display of power in grace bore witness to Him, and it met every need of man. His wonderful words went even beyond this. Like light from heaven, they revealed the whole face of the world, while bringing in for it the glory of what is beyond and above it... The end is full, absolute rejection. It is hatred for His love — passionate hatred, as if for some unspeakable wrong. It dooms Him to death: a death of shame, of unspeakable anguish, the death of a criminal, a frightful and accursed death. They hand over the Prince of life and ask for a murderer to be given to them.
The crowd answered that morning, but the question did not die with them.
What a solemn question it was; and it is so still. They answered the question there, and every person to whom the Lord Jesus Christ is offered must answer it too. Each one must either accept Him as Saviour and Lord or reject Him. The choice decides eternal destiny. Those who accept Him and own Him as their Saviour are saved. All who reject Him as Son of God and Saviour are lost.
Saying nothing does not keep a person out of it.
The Christ question is with us still, and every man must give his answer to it. No neutrality is permitted, and in fact no neutrality is possible. Whatever men may say with their lips, or whatever they may hold back from saying, everyone has his opinion of Christ. In his own heart at least, every man has recorded his vote, for or against Him. The Saviour Himself has said: "Whoever is not with me is against me" (Matthew 12:30).
- The question. Pilate asks what to do with "Jesus who is called Christ" — the very title under which the nation denied Him.
- The dodge. He had only to release a man he found faultless. Instead he compromised with his conscience and handed the decision to the crowd.
- The exposure. Priests and judge alike show what the world's righteousness is worth next to the one perfect Man standing bound before them.
- The verdict. After years of grace and power among them, the vote came back as one cry. They chose hatred for His love, and a murderer over the Prince of life.
- The answer owed. The same question is put to every person who hears of Christ. No neutral answer exists; in his own heart each one has already voted.
And the governor said, What evil then has he done? But they cried more than ever, saying, Let him be crucified.
Pilate's question is the one thing in this trial that sounds like justice. A judge asks for the charge before passing sentence. He gets no answer — only a louder shout.
The governor asks for a crime, and the crowd has none to name. What comes back is not evidence but volume. One writer points to the leaders standing behind the crowd.
But the unhappy people are under the control of their leaders, and they press hard for their choice of Barabbas. This shows the human heart down to its depths — the mind of the flesh, which is hostile to God. Pilate is still anxious to escape the fatal responsibility. So he asks them what they would have done with Jesus — which he had no right to do. At once the awful cry breaks out from the crowd, as with one voice: "Let Him be crucified!" Pilate asks in vain, "Why? What evil has He done?" The only answer is a fiercer cry: "Let Him be crucified!"
Two kinds of people fail here: religious leaders demanding a death, and a Roman judge who seemed better than that.
Here we see the bitter unrighteousness of these religious men. At first Pilate seemed too sensible to act like this. But we shall see what his own righteousness comes to. … This is what the world's righteousness amounts to, whether in the chief priests or in the Roman. You find true righteousness only where God governs. Only One in this scene shows the patience, goodness and wisdom of God — perfect in every way. When it was time to speak, He spoke; when it was time to be silent, He stayed silent.
A judge is supposed to control his own court. Instead the shouting sets the verdict. One writer asks the obvious questions.
Pilate tries to reason with a crowd past reasoning. He puts the fitting question: "What evil has He done?" They brush it aside as unimportant, and cry out louder for His crucifixion. Where was the control of the judge over his own court? Should he not have silenced the crowd and told them to respect the claims of honest justice?
That way of deciding did not die with Pilate. Another writer sees the same pattern in public life today.
Here a first element of (democratic) politics comes into view. What matters is not the right moral judgement of the case, but the opinion and mood of the crowd. In one sense, it is not surprising that this principle has become the general rule in many countries. They have rejected the Bible as God's Word and as the standard. So there are no absolute values, and no basis at all for defining "correct moral judgment." … We do well to respect the old warning: "You shall not fall in with the many to do evil" (Ex. 23:2).
No evil could be named. So the hatred had no cause in Him, and the cross gathered witnesses to say so.
David could speak of the wicked as fighting against him "without a cause." Take these words in the fullest, most searching sense, and only One fits them completely. He applied them to Himself, as we see in John 15:25. No one but He could face a crowd of hostile critics and ask, "Which one of you convicts me of sin?" No one else ever died the criminal's death of crucifixion and still had witnesses like these — the judge, a fellow-sufferer, and the officer in charge. Their testimonies were: "I find no guilt in him." "This man has done nothing wrong." "Certainly this man was innocent."
The same trial that condemns Jesus releases another man. Barabbas walks out because the One with no evil to answer for is led away.
"So true it was that, 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, wicked as he was. He never saved Himself." … Barabbas went free, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Barabbas released might have gone out and looked up to Him who hung on the cross, and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty."
- No charge. Pilate asks for the crime and gets none. The leaders control the crowd, and volume replaces evidence.
- No justice. The judge lets shouting settle a death sentence. That is what the world's righteousness comes to, in the priests and in the Roman alike.
- No cause. No one could name a crime, so the hatred had no cause in Him. The judge, a fellow-sufferer and the officer all called Him innocent.
- No self-sparing. No one could charge Him, yet He goes to the cross, and the guilty prisoner walks free in His place.
- No excuse today. When the mood of the crowd replaces the moral question, people repeat the same verdict. So the old warning stands: do not join the many in doing evil.
And Pilate, seeing that it availed nothing, but that rather a tumult was arising, having taken water, washed his hands before the crowd, saying, I am guiltless of the blood of this righteous one see *ye* [to it].
The governor has already declared three times that he finds no fault in the prisoner. But the shouting outside is turning into a riot. The basin he calls for raises two questions: what was he claiming, and did it work?
The word Pilate picks for himself is rare. Only one other man in the New Testament uses it.
A word often used in the Old Testament in contrast to those showing wickedness. It occurs only twice in the New Testament. Judas used it of the Lord, and it fits Him truly — "guiltless." Pilate used it of himself. Matthew 27:4, 24. It was the true state of Adam and Eve before they fell.
The gesture had a precedent in Israel's law, and one writer measures Pilate against it.
This reminds us of Deuteronomy 21:6. When a man was found murdered, the elders of the nearest city had to wash their hands to affirm that they had no part in the crime. Pilate washed his hands and declared himself innocent of the blood of the Lord Jesus. Right afterward he took blood-guilt on himself by giving up the Lord Jesus to be crucified. So his hand-washing was mere hypocrisy.
There may also have been mockery in it. His accusers had refused to enter his hall that morning in case it made them unclean.
He knew their habit well. Every time they came home from the market, they washed themselves to be free from any defilement they might have caught from contact with a Gentile. So this household ritual was a daily witness by the Jews that the Gentile was "unclean." The governor saw a chance to answer back. With solemn irony he washed his hands in front of a crowd too particular to enter his palace in case it defiled them.
Behind the injustice there was a purpose, and inside it there was a weak man.
The moment came when God let iniquity have its full course, so that it would show itself for what it is. In this way propitiation came about through the suffering and death of Jesus. Pilate shows only the weakness of a man who despised everything around him. He would like to keep his conscience, but he had very little of it and still less of the fear of God. When holding to righteousness became too inconvenient, he gave way to the violence and persistence in evil of a will that fights entirely against God and good. In Pilate's eyes this was a poor just man with no human importance. He was not worth compromising himself and the public peace for. He washes his hands of it, and leaves the responsibility for this death with those who wanted it.
The pattern is still recognisable wherever the loudest voice decides the verdict.
What matters is not the correct moral judgement of the issue in question, but the opinion and mood of the crowd. ... We do well to respect the old warning: "You shall not fall in with the many to do evil" (Ex. 23:2).
His own actions in the same hour answer his claim.
There was no excuse for Pilate any more than for the leaders of Israel; all were guilty of condemning the innocent One. Pilate knew what he was doing. Three times over he declared Jesus to be guiltless. Yet he had the nerve to wash his hands in front of the mob and say, "I am innocent of this man's blood." How could he be innocent of His blood? He scourged Jesus and handed Him over to the will of those who cried for His blood.
The washing had an effect, but not the one Pilate wanted.
We see Pilate in effect giving up his role as judge in this case and throwing the responsibility on the people. Of course this did not clear him. But it did lead the people to put themselves under full responsibility for the blood of their Messiah. In verse 25 we find the explanation of the sorrows that fell upon the people, and that have followed their children to this day.
One writer turns the scene on his reader.
Poor cowardly Pilate — he could not get clear of the blood of Christ that way. And let me tell you, my reader, if the blood of Christ does not lift you into glory, it will weigh you down into the lake of fire.
- Water. Pilate reached for a basin because hand-washing was a known way of declaring "I had no part in this blood."
- Words. He called himself "innocent." Judas had used that same word of Jesus, and those are its only two appearances in the New Testament.
- Weakness. He had little conscience and less fear of God, so he gave way when righteousness became inconvenient. God let the evil run its full course.
- Wash. The washing settled nothing. He had already scourged Jesus, and then he handed Him over to the cross.
- Weight. Pushing blame away only let the crowd claim it. No one escapes the blood of Christ: it either lifts you into glory or weighs you down.
And all the people answering said, His blood [be] on us and on our children.
Pilate has just washed his hands in front of the crowd and declared himself clear of Jesus' death. The people answer by calling that blood down on themselves and on their children — the same blood, commentators say, that can one day cleanse them.
Pilate tried to push the blame onto the crowd, and the crowd took it. One writer links his gesture with a law about an unsolved killing, then weighs who carried the heavier guilt:
Whatever the Jews thought of Pilate's act, they accepted full responsibility. Perhaps it reminded them of the law about an unsolved killing (Deut. 21:6), and perhaps it did not. Either way, they cried out in reckless boldness, "His blood be on us and on our children." Theirs, then, was the greater guilt. Yet the Gentiles were not excused, as the Lord said to Pilate, "he who delivered me over to you has the greater sin."
The verse says all the people answered. One writer weighs what that shout was willing to risk:
The people were in no way deterred by the thought of civil punishment from their cruel rulers. They answered him with one voice, recklessly defying every consequence: "His blood be on us and on our children."
What the crowd asked for, they received. One writer reads their cry through the Old Testament picture of the avenger of blood. A killer was safe from him only inside a city of refuge:
Even if they cannot lift the load from Pilate, they accept their own responsibility in the fullest way. Ever since, however far they fled into all the countries of the earth, the avenger of blood has been behind them. They have found no effective city of refuge, and they never will — until they look on Him whom they have pierced and, in repentance and faith, find in Him the source of all their blessing.
They named their children in the cry, and another writer traces what followed:
This verse explains the sorrows that fell on the people, and that have followed their children to this day. They have yet to face the great tribulation before the account is settled according to the government of God.
Yet Jesus had already prayed for these same people from the cross. One writer explains why that prayer left them a way out:
Suppose God had counted Israel's national sin, the crucifying of their Messiah, as murder. Then there would have been absolutely no hope. All must have fallen before the avenger of blood. But on the cross Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." It was as if He had said, "Father, count this sin of theirs as manslaughter and not murder." God heard that prayer, so there was hope even for those who brought about His death. So on the Day of Pentecost Peter preached forgiveness to those who would turn in faith to the risen and exalted Jesus. That day the heavenly city of refuge was opened, and three thousand souls fled to it.
In God's hands, the curse the crowd called down becomes the means of their rescue:
This poor people calls a terrible curse down on itself. That curse weighs on it until sovereign grace changes the blood of a curse into the blood of expiation. Grace does this by bringing a small remnant to repentance, in which they will feel the sin that has been committed. And this is on God's part, who will cleanse them from the sin they committed in shedding it. The sovereign grace of God alone can find, in the very wickedness of man, the means of saving the man who was guilty of it.
The scene reaches past that crowd. One writer puts the people's cry into plain words, then tells the reader what the same blood will do to him:
They say, "Let the weight of His murder lie on us. We cannot stand Him, we do not want Him, we will not have Him." And Pilate says, "I wash my hands of it all." Poor spineless Pilate! He could not get clear of the blood of Christ that way. And let me tell you, my reader, if the blood of Christ does not lift you into glory, it will weigh you down into the lake of fire.
- Claimed — the crowd took full responsibility for His death. Their guilt was the greater, and Pilate's hand-washing did not clear the Gentile side.
- Carried — what they asked for came upon them. The avenger of blood has followed the nation, and the account is still open.
- Covered — "Father, forgive them" counted the crime as manslaughter, not murder. That kept a way of escape open.
- Converted — sovereign grace turns the blood of a curse into the blood of expiation for a repentant remnant.
- Chosen — the same blood either lifts you into glory or weighs you down; no one washes their hands of it.
Then he released to them Barabbas; but Jesus, having scourged [him], he delivered up that he might be crucified.
Matthew's account of the trial ends with a swap. A rebel and murderer walks free. An innocent man is whipped and handed over to be crucified. The verse raises two questions. How could a judge who knew better do this? And why did God let the exchange happen this way?
Pilate had already washed his hands and announced that he wanted no part in this death. The sentence he then passed shows what that gesture was worth.
Yet how can Pilate think this frees him from responsibility? Popular opinion had worn him down completely, and he is guilty of passing the sentence of crucifixion. He released Barabbas, but he also added to his guilt by scourging Jesus before His crucifixion. This may have been an attempt to satisfy the Jews without condemning Him to death (compare John 19:1-4), but Matthew only states the fact. Pilate's stalling only involved him in greater guilt.
Pilate did not act as a private man. He spoke for the Roman government.
This man, who stood for a Roman government that took great pride in its justice, was guilty of the worst abuse of justice the world has ever seen.
The verse gives one word to the whipping. Roman writers had a heavier name for it.
His hands were tied and His back bent as the cruel whip of cruel Rome fell on the Son of God. Satan's hatred of the Holy One supplied the strength to inflict that terrible punishment. Roman writers called it "the intermediated death," the one that came before death by crucifixion. At last that holy body was a mass of torn and bleeding flesh.
The last phrase does more than say how He died. The kind of death carries its own meaning.
Of our old man we read that it has been crucified with Christ… Crucifixion and death do not always mean the same thing. Crucifixion speaks of judgment passed by law, and it assumes someone has the right to pass it… So Pilate, having scourged Jesus, delivered Him to be crucified (Matt. 27:26). A person might die in many ways, but crucifying was punishment under law: criminals were crucified. God, we learn, has passed judgment on our old man in the cross of Christ.
Pilate's own terms tie the two men together.
Barabbas stands here as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible 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." … Looking deeper than the wicked wills of men, we can see in the purpose of God that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, by which even a Barabbas may go free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
The freed prisoner had a vantage point no one else in the story had.
Barabbas went free, though he was guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas might have gone out, looked up at Him who hung on the cross, and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a blessed illustration of the atonement.
Many read the words "with His stripes we are healed" straight into Pilate's whip. Commentators warn against that. One writer answers those who made the scourging itself the suffering that saves:
The proof drawn from Calvin and Witsius is that "with His stripes we are healed" refers to His scourging by Pontius Pilate, and that He was judged before a human court to match our being charged as guilty before God. I do not feel this needs an answer with any sober Christian. The word "stripes" does not even mean scourging, but the bruising left by blows.
Note: the older translation these writers used says "stripes" where the ESV says "wounds." A second writer draws the same line. Cruelty from men is real, but it is not what saves.
These cruelties from violent men are terrible for those who worship the Lord to think about. Yet they are not the stripes that healed us. God struck the holy Sufferer, and not men only.
Behind the governor's cowardice stands a purpose that was never at his mercy.
God knew what men would do with His Son, and took the occasion of man's wickedness to work out His plans for the blessing of mankind. When Pilate delivered up Jesus to be crucified, God delivered Him up for our trespasses (Rom. 4:25).
- Delivered by a coward. Pilate refused to take the blame. Then he whipped Jesus and sentenced Him to keep the crowd happy. Disowning the guilt only deepened it.
- Delivered to a penalty. Crucifixion was not just a way of dying. It was a legal sentence, the death of criminals. There God passed judgment on our old man.
- Delivered in place of a murderer. Barabbas could go free only if Jesus was given up. He is the story's clearest picture of a guilty man saved by a substitute.
- Delivered, not healed by the whip. The scourging was real torture. But writers warn that the stripes which heal are not Pilate's whip. God's striking of the Sufferer is another matter.
- Delivered by God. One act was man's worst crime and God's plan. Pilate handed Him over to be crucified. God handed Him over for our trespasses.