“How so?” asked Pilate.
“We held the ceremony at the synagogue in Cana, since it was between her hometown and mine,” he said. “The wedding party was at a friend’s house. I had spent so much money purchasing our house and the fleet that I could not afford as much wine as I should have. The party had only been going two hours when the steward informed me that the wine was giving out.”
“Wait a minute!” Pilate said. “I heard about this! You mean to say that it was your wedding where Jesus—?”
“Yes,” said John. “Miriam was his sister. He and the others—he had already begun calling some of us as his apostles, even then—were all in attendance. He transformed the water in the big storage pots into the finest, sweetest wine that any of us had ever tasted.”
“So it really was a miracle,” Pilate said.
“Indeed it was,” said John. “I followed Jesus for many reasons after that, but not least among them was the fact that, on my wedding day, he saved my bride and me from embarrassment and shame.”
Pilate processed that information for the rest of their walk. Sometime later, they came to a small, narrow house, sandwiched between several other small dwellings in the merchants’ quarter of Jerusalem. A slender, lovely young woman greeted them at the door, and stared in astonishment at the gray-bearded stranger who had accompanied her husband home. But she bowed courteously and bade Pilate enter their home in peace.
“Have our guests gone to bed already?” John asked.
“About an hour ago,” Miriam replied. “The lady Porcia was very weary, and little Decimus had worn himself out playing with the children of the neighborhood.”
“Your family is upstairs,” said John. “Go and see them, my friend.”
Pilate took the stairs softly and opened the door. Decimus was curled into a tight ball on one side of the bed, while Porcia lay on her back, eyes closed, her countenance calm but still showing the lines of worry and stress from the events of recent years. All Pilate could see when he looked at her, though, was the beautiful seventeen-year-old he had fallen in love with when he returned from Germania all those years before. He crossed the room and leaned forward, kissing her brow.
She opened her eyes and stared at his face for a long moment, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. Decimus, woken by the noise, sat up and saw his mother hugging a bearded stranger. He gave a startled squawk, but then when Pilate looked at him and smiled, his face lit up.
“Tata!!” he cried, and threw his arms around Pilate.
The governor of Judea, with his wife and son in his arms, broke down and wept as if his heart would break. The tears were a flood that swept through his troubled soul and washed away the pain of the last three months, leaving him as clean and untroubled as a child, innocent of the world’s evils. Finally he fell asleep with one arm around his wife and the other around his son, and rested as he had not in many years.
Early the next morning, he woke up and sought out John the Apostle.
“So what do I do now?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?” asked John.
“What must I do to be redeemed, or saved, or whatever it is you call it?” Pilate asked. “Whatever it is that my wife has gained since she became a follower of the Nazarene is what I want for myself.”
John guided him to the small table where some writing materials were set up. He scooted the papyrus aside and sat across from the former governor of Judea.
“What you ask is both simple and difficult,” he said. “Salvation is free to all who seek it, but you must seek it for yourself, not on behalf of another, or because you see it in another.”
Pilate nodded. “I do,” he said. “I once believed in Rome, but the Rome I served is gone. My service has only earned me the status of a fugitive, and the wrath of a madman. All my old life is dust and ashes, and I need something to take its place—a reason to live and go on.”
John looked at him. “Then you must repent of all your sins,” he said. “You must turn your back on anger, lust, hatred, and all the destructive impulses that weigh you down. You must let go of your old self and ask the Lord Jesus to save you from your sins. It means forgiving those who have hurt you, and abandoning all thoughts of vengeance, trusting in the justice of God to take care of those things.”
Pilate swallowed hard. “I do not think I can forgive the Emperor for what he did to my family. I want to be saved—I want this new life that seems to make you people so happy and fulfilled—but your God is asking too much!”
“In our weakness, He is strong,” said John. “Ask forgiveness for your sins, and invite Him to rule your life, and He may give you the strength to do the things which you thought you never could.”
Pilate bowed his head. He had said the formal prayers to Jupiter Optimus Maximus and the other gods of Rome, and even called upon the Divus Julius from time to time, but praying to Jesus was something new and different. He knew no ritual or invocation to gain this man-god’s attention, so he simply spoke the name of the Galilean.
“Jesus of Nazareth,” he said, “Son of God, Messiah of the Jews—I know not how to address you properly. I know that you remember me, and I know you remember that I failed you. I knew you were an innocent man, and I let you be condemned. But I know now that you were more than a man. I believe that you are indeed the one sent to save mankind. You know that I have done great wickedness—that I have shed innocent blood and rejoiced in the deaths of my enemies. I have been cruel and ruthless, and my life has been marred by hubris and vain ambition. I don’t want that life anymore. I don’t want to be that Pontius Pilate anymore. If you can forgive me for all my wickedness, and find it in your heart to redeem a man so unredeemable, I beseech you to save me. I have finally realized that I cannot save myself.”
Pilate felt the same sensation that he had experienced the night before—a seismic shifting of the soul, a rending and tearing as something was rooted out of him and cast aside once and for all. It was so powerful and overwhelming that he cried out and buried his face in his hands. A flood of tears poured down his face, but something shining and new was being unveiled within him. When he looked up again, he was smiling.
“Tell me everything you know about Jesus,” he said. “I want to hear it all. I want to understand Him.”
John smiled. “Then you will need to come with me. Ask the lady Porcia if she would like to go as well. It is time for the daily teaching session to begin.”
The next few months were the happiest days that Pilate had ever known. His thirst for the words of the Christ was insatiable—he asked Peter, James, and John to repeat the stories over and over again, until he committed them to memory. The believers were stunned at first to find the man who had sent Jesus to the cross as one of their number, but Pilate’s transformation was so complete that they came to accept him. All he asked was that not a single word of his presence among them be breathed to anyone. The Praetorians were still making inquiries throughout Judea, trying to find Pilate or his missing family. Through a disciple of Christ named Matthias, Pilate purchased a small home in a back alley of the Merchants’ Quarter, and spent most of his time going from there to the Upper Room to meet with the Apostles.
This new Pilate was a different man in many ways. He was more patient and less proud, more happy and less angry, and quick to ask forgiveness if he felt he had given offense. Porcia was radiant, knowing that her husband now shared the faith she had embraced so passionately. Young Decimus, now ten years old, was still immature in his faith, but he had come to love the God who made his parents so happy together, and frequently came and sat with his father to hear the tales about the man from Nazareth who had come to save the world.
It took Pilate a while to realize the biggest change in himself, but one day he realized what it was. On the way back to their small house from the upper room, a burly Greek sailor bumped into them and swore, then gave Porcia a lascivious glance. Pilate put himself between the offensive stranger and his wife, and the man
moved on. As they walked on home, Pilate realized what was different. The angry beast that had lived inside him for so many years would have been envisioning a dozen different ways to make the sailor scream and beg before ending his life—but all Pilate felt, after the initial flash of anger, was a certain sympathy for a man who was so consumed by his sins that he did not even realize how lost he was. The vicious, cruel side of Pilate’s personality that had urged him to bathe in his enemies’ blood was simply gone, and Pilate found he did not miss it at all.
He and Porcia talked at length about what to do once the Emperor’s search for them faded away. Pilate still had a tidy sum tucked away, and thought that they might yet escape to a faraway land where the Emperor’s arm could not reach them. The idea appealed to both of them, but neither wanted to leave the warm embrace of the Jerusalem church yet. Perhaps, sometime next year, they could take the Gospel to Gaul or Egypt. But for the moment, they were content.
By the Feast of Lights, the Praetorians had left Jerusalem, although the reward for Pilate’s capture was still out there. By all accounts, Caligula, after an initial show of generosity and kindness to the people of Rome, was letting his true nature show. His behavior was becoming more erratic, cruel, and bizarre at every turn. Even in far-off Judea some of the stories about him caused people to shudder. According to one tale, he invited a wealthy Senator to a dinner party at his palace, along with a number of other prominent men and their wives. This Senator had recently married a lovely young girl from an ancient and honorable family, and Caligula took notice of her. Halfway from the meal, he grabbed her by the arm and abruptly hustled her out of the room. The Praetorian guards kept anyone from leaving the table, commanding them to continue eating, even though the young bride’s cries for help were echoing from the room next door. After a half hour, Caligula came back, smug and smiling, and complimented the girl’s husband on his excellent taste in women. The man’s wife crept into the room moments later, her clothes torn and face bloodied. When the Senator tried to leave, the Emperor refused to let him, instead pouring him a cup of rich wine and thanking him for bringing such lovely entertainment to the party.
Pilate was deeply affected by this story, because it so closely echoed his own experience with the wretched man now ruling Rome. How could a just God let such a vile man control the fate of millions? Finally, he went to John, who was teaching at the Temple, and asked if he could speak to him alone. As always, the young apostle was gracious and kind, and walked away in deep conversation with the troubled Pilate.
So intent were they on trying to understand God’s willingness to tolerate evil that neither of them saw a black-robed figure emerge from the Temple and follow them for several blocks. The mysterious observer was stooped with age now, his beard nearly solid white, but he kept the two Nazarenes in sight until he finally got a good look at Pilate’s face. His mouth thinned to a grim line, and he scurried back toward the Temple as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. Once there, he asked to be shown to the High Priest, Jonathan. The Temple guards escorted him in after a brief delay.
The High Priest was hunched over a scroll, attended by two scribes. He looked up from the passage he was reading and smiled.
“Uncle Caiaphas,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was nearly time for Passover again. Five years had passed since Jesus came to Jerusalem to celebrate the feast with his Apostles; five years since the turbulent trial that had seen the Son of God sent to the cross. Now the man who had uttered that death sentence was an accepted member of the Jerusalem church, and a passionate follower of The Way. Pilate preferred to be called Levi now; his old name, like his old life, had been left behind when he chose to follow Christ—partly to protect him and his family from the ongoing search ordered by Gaius Caligula, and partly because many newer believers would not have been comfortable worshipping with the man who had sent Jesus to the cross. But all the Apostles and their inner circle knew who the quiet, taciturn Brother Levi was, and were sometimes saddened that they could not share the story of his remarkable conversion with the world.
Pilgrims from all over the world were coming to Jerusalem for the Passover, as they did every year. But many of them were coming not only for the traditional Seder feast, but also to hear the teachings of the Apostles of Jesus. No one knew exactly how many followers The Way claimed at this time, but all knew that number increased daily. The Apostles baptized every week at the Pool of Siloam, and sometimes it took several hours to immerse all those who had proclaimed faith in the name of Jesus. Pilate had been baptized only a day or two after his prayer for salvation had been answered, and now he came each week to see the new believers welcomed into the fellowship of The Way.
That evening, Pilate and his family had retreated to their small home in the merchants’ quarter, and shared a hot meal of soup, bread, and broiled fish together, after thanking God for providing another day of safety and sustenance. Little Decimus was yawning, and the family was thinking about bedtime when suddenly a loud pounding sounded on the door.
Some of Pilate’s old instincts came flooding back. He told Porcia to take Decimus into the bedroom, next to the window, while he slipped toward the sturdy wooden door. “Who is there so late?” he demanded.
“It is John, Lucius,” came a familiar voice. “Let me in, please!”
Pilate raised the bar and opened the door. John stood there with his wife Miriam by his side. She looked frightened, and the normally serene Apostle was a bit paler than usual.
“What on earth is the matter?” asked Pilate.
“Praetorians are on their way from Caesarea,” said John. “The High Priest found out where you were and sent a letter to the Emperor, reporting your presence in Jerusalem—and that it was my family that had sheltered you and yours. They are coming for us all. We have a day at the most!”
Pilate stiffened. He had feared this day might come, but every week that had gone by without discovery had cause him to relax that fear ever so slightly. He had begun to think that he had avoided the Emperor’s dragnet altogether. As he pondered possibilities, something occurred to him.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“I once delivered fish to the High Priest’s palace every week for nearly a year,” said John. “I knew most of his household, and several of the servants became good friends of mine. One of them, Eleazar ben Simeon, is a follower of The Way—although he has kept his faith a secret from the priests. He told me some time ago that Caiaphas had asked for an audience with the High Priest Jonathan, his nephew. He has been trying for some time to find out what that conversation was about—he said that the expression on Caiaphas’ face right before the two of them shut the doors and ran the servants out was positively frightening! Finally, this afternoon, he overheard the High Priest telling his uncle that the Praetorians should be in the city to arrest Pilate and all those who sheltered him first thing tomorrow morning. My friend, we must escape the city! James and Peter are safe, I think—their names are not associated with yours as mine has become. But for my wife’s sake, and for the sake of the Gospel, we must avoid being apprehended if we can.”
Pilate nodded. “Let us flee towards Ephesus,” he said. “I have a large sum of money on deposit there under a false name. That will give us sufficient funds to flee wherever we wish to go, until the Emperor grows bored with trying to avenge an ancient grudge.”
John looked at his friend curiously. “Why does the new Emperor hate you so?” he asked.
“I broke both his arms and nearly beat him to death,” said Pilate.
John’s mouth opened so wide that Pilate was forced to laugh, despite the urgency of the moment.
“It’s a long story,” he said, “and perhaps on the road I will tell it to you. But now, we need to prepare for our flight.”
Porcia and Decimus had been listening from the bedchamber, and Pilate’s ever-efficient wife was already throwing garments into
a traveling bag. Pilate gathered the few possessions he wanted from his old life, tossing them in the pack. Last of all he picked up his battered, much-used legate’s gladius. He drew it from its scabbard and studied it for a long moment.
“You know that is not our way,” said a soft voice from behind him. He turned and saw John standing in the doorway watching him.
“That may be true, but can a man not defend his family?” Pilate asked.
John thought a long moment. “Jesus did tell us, just before he was crucified, that everyone who did not own a sword should sell his cloak and buy one, because dark and difficult days lay ahead for us all,” he finally said. “Three of us had swords—and yes, I was one of them! When we showed them to him, he told us that would be enough. Yet later that night, when Simon tried to attack those who arrested our Master, Jesus told him to put his blade away—that those who took up the sword should perish by the sword. Is that what you want, Pilate? To die as you lived in your former life?”
Pilate swallowed hard. “What I want is to raise my wife and son in peace, and to share the words of Jesus with enough people to atone for the guilt I still feel for sending Him to the cross,” he said. “But if I can save my family, or yours, by letting a blade take my life—then that is what I will do.” He placed the sword in the bag and stuffed it under some of his clothes.
The city was going to bed, the rattle and clatter of the daily crowds giving way to the more muffled sounds of night. John led them to the Sheep Gate along the city’s north wall. There was a small stable not far from the gates, whose owner was a recent follower of The Way. He had several horses saddled and waiting for them. The owner conferred with John for a few moments, and then Pilate walked over. He reached into his cloak for his bag of coin, but the man shook his head.
The Redemption of Pontius Pilate Page 42