“You say this man’s a blasphemer. Don’t you know that the Procurator is not concerned with violations of your religious code? What is it to Rome if your Yahweh is blasphemed? We will not enter into the religious quarrels of the Jews. I presume you have come here to ask me to try the man and find him guilty. I say, O High Priest, try the man yourself.”
Caiaphas smiled indulgently, but then his brow furrowed again and he scowled darkly. “That is true, Excellency. Rome has no concern with Israel’s worship of our God. But is not Rome concerned when a man, under the guise of teaching a new religion, declares openly that he will establish a new government in Israel? Would not Sejanus and the Emperor consider then that Rome was concerned ... and deeply concerned?”
The High Priest’s clever thrust had made its mark; Pilate’s face flushed; his tone, when he replied, was petulant. “Of course, the Prefect and the Emperor would be concerned; so would the Legate Vitellius, and so would the Procurator; so, in fact, would any loyal Roman.” Now the Procurator extended his own finger to point. “But how do you know that this Galilean advocates the overthrow of Rome? Has he come to trial? Has he faced witnesses against him? What would the High Priest have me to do, send a man to his death without trial? Certainly the High Priest must know that Rome is ruled by law, that no man under the rule of Rome may suffer death until he has been adjudged guilty, and that any such judgment can come only after a fair trial in which the man has been confronted by witnesses against him.”
“Indeed, O Procurator”—Joseph Caiaphas held up a soothing palm—“we well know that and approve. We, too, would never consent to sending this revolutionary to his death without trial, even though his crimes against Israel and against Rome have already been conclusively established. But he is being brought to fair trial, Excellency, before the great Sanhedrin of Israel. Perhaps he has already been apprehended in the Garden of Gethsemane, where he had planned to conceal himself with certain of his followers, as we learned from the traitor who came to us. He will be examined, no doubt before my beloved father-in-law Annas, known for his piety and his wisdom, learned in the laws of Israel”—he smiled warmly—“and strong in his devotion to the Prefect and the Emperor. And then, Excellency, as soon as the dawn of the new day makes it legal under our laws to conduct such a trial, the Galilean will be brought before the Sanhedrin, confronted by witnesses against him, and given proper trial.”
“Then why has the High Priest,” Pilate asked in exasperation, “come to me?”
“O Excellency, the Procurator must know that the ancient laws of Israel, now that Rome has become master, no longer apply in every detail. Should our Sanhedrin find this revolutionary Galilean guilty of base crimes and sentence him to death, it would still be powerless to carry out its sentence without the approval of Rome. I am here, O Excellency, to petition the Procurator to approve our verdict and sentence. And I urge you to do this quickly, in order that the man may be executed while it is yet early and before all Jerusalem, and the Galileans in particular, are astir. Then much commotion and bloodshed would be prevented and,” he added with a suggestive smile, “there would be no necessity of any report’s going to Rome.”
“But you wish me to condemn a man to death before he has been tried?” Pilate’s anger showed plainly in his frown.
“Indeed, no, Excellency,” the High Priest replied calmly. “We only wish you to approve and order into execution the sentence of the Sanhedrin in the event that after he has been tried, he is judged guilty.”
Pilate shook his head. “No, I shall send no man to the cross or to death by stoning until I have tried him. To do so would be an unspeakable breach of Rome’s system of justice.”
“But, Excellency, would you show your scorn of Israel’s highest court?”