“Crucify the King of the Jews!” Pilate looked toward the High Priest as he said it, as though he were jesting, but he could not effectively conceal the scorn in his voice and on his face. “I must let him go free!”
His words provoked another storm of shouted entreaties and demands. “Bar Abbas! Bar Abbas! Give us Bar Abbas!”
“When I have disposed of this Jesus of Galilee, you shall get to see that revolutionary”—he smiled glumly—“as Bar Abbas goes to the cross.”
“The Passover release! It’s the long-established custom, O Procurator. Give us the Passover release!”
Pilate stared in surprise at the crowd shouting below him. Could it be, then, as he had first suspected, that this throng hated the Temple priests and especially Caiaphas and wanted the release of the Galilean? But he had found Jesus not guilty and technically had already released him. If, however, he should find him guilty of some minor crime, such as causing a great disturbance and commotion among the people, for example, and punish him for that, then he might logically release him as the Passover recipient of the Procurator’s pardon. At the same time he would dull considerably any report concerning this case that might find its way to Rome.
“I find no serious fault in this Galilean,” he declared, as he held up his hand to signal for silence, “but because of his indiscretions and his provocation of tumults and unrest and much bickering among the people, I shall have him scourged before I release him.”
He returned to the tribunal and gave the formal order for the scourging of Jesus. Then once again he climbed the stone stairway to his apartment and called for his breakfast. His food was placed on a small table by the window, for already the morning sun was warm and out beyond the smoldering Vale of Hinnom dark, thickening clouds had begun to form. But the Procurator was not permitted to relax calmly over his morning meal. The din below not only continued, but the shoutings grew increasingly loud. After awhile, Pilate pushed back his plate and stood up.
“I’ll abide this no longer!” he shouted to his orderly standing near the doorway. “The obstinate, cantankerous provincials! They’ll end this disgraceful tumult, or I’ll have the Antonia garrison on them with their swords!” He caught up his toga and started once more for the Praetorium.
“Bring out to the pavement the robber Bar Abbas and the Galilean miracle worker,” he commanded, when he arrived in his tribunal chamber.
“Bar Abbas! Bar Abbas! Bring forth Bar Abbas, O Procurator!” the multitude began to shout, as Pilate appeared on the mosaic in front of the Praetorium. “The Passover release! Give us Bar Abbas!” The Procurator, studying the vociferous throng, saw that the cries for the release of the robber chieftain seemed to be coming from a group of wild-eyed, fanatical-looking rough fellows bunched behind the High Priest and his clique. The thought came to him that they might be Zealots, even some of the escaped members of the Bar Abbas band broken up a week before by the Centurion Cornelius. But the supporters of the Galilean mystic, he reasoned, would outnumber these men screaming for the release of Bar Abbas.