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Updated: May 18, 2025
Let him atone for his crimes. The God of your fathers commands that you condemn. Demand Barabba; uphold your nation. To the cross with the Nazarene!” “Whom do you choose?” shouted Pilate. And the pleb of Jerusalem shouted back as one man, “Barabba!” At the moment Pilate fancied himself in an amphitheatre, the arena filled with beasts.
Pilate had fronted a rabble before, and in two minutes had turned that rabble into so many dead flies, the legs in the air. He shook his head, and told himself he was not there to be coerced. “Release Barabba,” he ordered. “And as for the prisoner, take him to the barracks and have him scourged.”
A wind seemed to raise the elders; they scattered through the court like leaves. “Have done with the Nazarene,” cried one. “He would lead you astray,” insinuated another. “He has violated the Law,” exclaimed a third. And, filtering through the soldiery into the mob without, they exhorted and prayed and coerced. “Ask for Barabba; denounce the blasphemer. Trust to the Sanhedrim. We are your guides.
“On this day,” he said at last, “it is customary that in commemoration of your nation’s delivery out of Egypt I should release a prisoner to you. There are three others here, among them Jesus Barabba.” Then, for support perhaps, he looked over at the clamoring mob. “I will leave the choice to the people.”
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