Killing Jesus: A History

by Bill O'Reilly

  Normally, the garrison comprises little more than five hundred soldiers and an equivalent number of support staff. But with Tiberius Caesar’s troops having arrived from Caesarea for Passover, the number of legionaries has swollen into the thousands—and accompanying them is a full complement of support units and personal servants to shoe horses, tend to baggage, and carry water. Thus the dining hall is loud and boisterous as the men sit down to a first course of vegetables flavored with garum, the fermented sauce made of fish intestines that is a staple of Roman meals. The second course is porridge, made more flavorful with spices and herbs. Sometimes there is meat, but it’s been hard to procure this week. Bread is the staple of the soldiers’ diet, as is the sour wine made by combining vinegar, sugar, table wine, and grape juice. Like everything else set before these famished men, these are consumed quickly, and in large quantities.

  Twelve soldiers hunch over their meals with the knowledge that they will witness the slaughter of much more than sheep tomorrow. For these are the men of the crucifixion death squads, soldiers of impressive strength and utter brutality assigned to the backbreaking task of hanging men on the cross, Roman-style.

  Each crucifixion death squad consists of four men known as a quaternio. A fifth man, a centurion known as the exactor mortis, oversees their actions. Tomorrow three teams of killers will be needed, for three men have been condemned to die. The initial floggings will take place within the Jerusalem city walls, but the hard work of hoisting the men up onto the cross will take place outside, on a hill known as Calvaria or, as the Jews say in Aramaic, Gulgalta—or, as it will go down in history, Golgotha. Each word means the same thing: “skull,” the shape of the low rise that is a place of execution. Even as the quaternio gulp down their dinner, the vertical pole onto which each man will be nailed already rests in the ground. These staticula remain in position at all times, awaiting the arrival of the patibulum, the crossbar that is carried by the condemned.

  In truth, a crucifixion can be accomplished with fewer than five men. But Roman standards are high, and it is part of each executioner’s job to keep an eye on his fellow members of the quaternio, ensuring that there is no sign of lenience toward the prisoner. A smaller death squad might not be as diligent. So it is that these well-trained soldiers approach tomorrow’s crucifixions with total commitment. Anything less might result in their own punishment.

  One of the men they will crucify is a common murderer named Barabbas. The other two are suspected of being his accomplices. In the morning, the death squads will begin the ritual crucifixion process. It is intensely physical work, and by day’s end their uniforms and bodies will be drenched in blood.

  East view of the Temple showing the Antonia Fortress

  But the soldiers of the death squads don’t mind. In fact, many of them enjoy this work. They are thugs, tough men from Samaria and Caesarea whose job it is to send a message: Rome is all-powerful. Violate its law and you will die a grisly death.

  * * *

  It is evening as Jesus leads the disciples back to Jerusalem for their final meal together. A benefactor has kindly rented a room for Jesus in the Lower City. It is on the second floor of a building near the Pool of Siloam. A long rectangular table just eighteen inches tall is the centerpiece of the room. It is surrounded by pillows on which Jesus and his disciples can lounge in the traditional fashion as they eat. The room is large enough for all to recline comfortably but small enough so that their overlapping conversations will soon fill the room with high-volume festive sounds.

  Jesus sends John and Peter ahead to find the room and assemble the meal.1

  This is most likely a tense time for Judas Iscariot, for he finally knows that Jesus plans to return to Jerusalem, but he does not know the hour or the exact location—and even when he obtains this information, he must still find a way to sneak off and alert Caiaphas.

  The Last Supper in the Upper Room

  Once in the room, Jesus begins the evening by humbling himself and washing each man’s feet with water. This is a task normally reserved for slaves and servants, and certainly not for a venerated teacher of the faith. The disciples are touched by this show of servility and the humility it implies. Jesus knows them and their personalities so well and accepts them without judgment: Simon the zealot, with his passion for politics; the impulsive Peter; James and John, the boisterous “sons of thunder,” as Jesus describes them;2 the intense and often gloomy Thomas; the upbeat Andrew; the downtrodden Philip; and the rest. Their time together has changed the lives of every man in this room. And as Jesus carefully and lovingly rinses the road dust from their feet, the depth of his affection is clear.

  During dinner, Jesus turns all that good feeling into despair. “I tell you the truth,” he says, “one of you will betray me.”

  The disciples haven’t been paying close attention to their leader. The meal has been served and they are reclined, chatting with one another as they pick food from the small plates. But now shock and sadness fill the room. The disciples each take mental inventory, search for some sign of doubt or weakness that would cause any of them to hand over Jesus. “Surely, not I, Lord,” they say, one by one. The comment goes around the table.

  “It is one of the twelve,” Jesus assures them. “One who dips bread into the bowl with me. The Son of Man will go, just as it is written. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born.”

  As the conversation roars back into life, with each man wondering to his neighbor about the identity of the betrayer, Peter, in particular, is agitated. He signals to John, who rests on the pillow next to Jesus.

  “Ask him which one he means,” Peter says.

  “Lord, who is it?” John asks, leaning closer to the Nazarene. He sits to Jesus’s right, while Judas sits on Jesus’s immediate left.

  “Surely not I, Rabbi?” Judas blurts out.

  “Yes, it is you,” Jesus quietly answers. “What you are about to do, do quickly.”

  The room is noisy as the men talk among themselves, and most miss the final exchange between Judas and Jesus because the two men are sitting so close together. As Judas hastily stands and leaves, some assume that he is off to get more food or drink.

  The traitor steps out into the night. Both he and the Nazarene know exactly where he’s going. Jesus once trusted Judas, appointing him treasurer of the disciples, and openly called him friend. But as so often happens when money is involved, years of friendship can quickly evaporate.

  Clutching his money bag, Judas walks through the streets and narrow alleys of the Lower City and up the steep hill to give Caiaphas the good news.

  * * *

  The hour is late, and Jesus is on the move. He and his disciples walk across the Kidron Valley to an olive garden at the base of the Mount of Olives. Even though he knows they must be weary from the wine and food, he asks the disciples to stand guard while he climbs the hillside to find a private place to be alone.

  “Sit here while I pray,” he orders the men before ascending the steep slope. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he tells the disciples. “Stay here and keep watch.”

  The moon is nearly full and provides ample light. Jesus finds a place in the darkness and prays. “Father, everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.”

  It is a moment of anguish and despair. Jesus is convinced that he will die. It will be a bloody death, on a Roman cross, with all the pain and public ridicule that implies. The people who have heard his marvelous words in the Temple courts will see him humiliated, and they will not understand how a man who claims to be the Son of God can allow himself to be crucified.

  It would be so much easier if Jesus could just escape. He could keep on climbing the hill and walk straight back to Bethany. In the morning, he might journey home to Galilee, there to grow old quietly and raise a family. His words have accomplished just enough to give the people hope, but he never planned
to lead them in rebellion. Jesus does not believe that is his earthly purpose. So he accepts his coming fate and makes no effort to flee.

  After about an hour of prayer, Jesus returns to the garden at Gethsemane. But the disciples are sound asleep. “Could you not keep watch for one hour?” the Nazarene demands to know.

  The disciples don’t have an answer. But Jesus once again asks that they stay awake while he returns to his private spot for more prayer.

  In the solitude of the night, Jesus asks God for relief. He is a man for whom faith comes easily, and making this request should be simple. But it is not. So now he prays a different prayer—one that asks for the strength to endure all that is to come. “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done,”3 Jesus pleads.

  The Nazarene walks back down the slope to check on the disciples. All are again asleep, seemingly untroubled by worry or anguish. They seem to have ignored every single word Jesus has spoken to them about his suffering and impending death. It is as if they are willing to believe parts of his teaching and to wonder at his accomplishments, but they cannot accept the dark side of his message.

  Jesus walks back up the hill to pray one last time. In his chronicling of the Nazarene’s final days, the physician Luke put forth that Jesus began literally sweating blood. This condition is known as hematidrosis, and it is brought on by intense anxiety. Though rare, it is most often seen in condemned men as they begin walking toward their execution site.

  His prayers finished, Jesus returns to his disciples, exhausted. The hour is past midnight, the air growing colder. Jesus wears just his cloak and sheer tunic, which allow his lean body little defense against the elements. The panic he experienced has not subsided—Jesus knows the end could come at any moment—but now, as he once again enters the garden at Gethsemane, he knows it is time to accept his fate.

  “Rise,” he tells his disciples. His voice is steady, and he can clearly see the torches and line of men approaching from across the Kidron Valley. Instead of fleeing, Jesus of Nazareth waits.

  * * *

  The traitor Judas leads a pack of Temple guards into the garden. Each man carries either a club or a sword, and some also wield the torches and lanterns that cut through the darkness. Yet the flames are not bright enough to ensure that the guards can see which of the bearded men before them is Jesus. Judas has anticipated this and walks innocently to the Nazarene.

  “Greetings, Rabbi,” he says coldly, kissing Jesus on the cheek. This is the agreed-upon signal between Judas and the Temple guards.

  “Friend,” Jesus replies, “do what you came for.”

  He then turns and looks at the guards. “Who is it you want?”

  “Jesus of Nazareth,” comes the reply.

  “I am he,” Jesus answers.

  The Temple guards are not Gentile Roman soldiers but Jewish employees of the Temple courts. Nonetheless, they are physical men, well acquainted with the force needed to make an arrest. Before Jesus’s wrists can be tied, however, Peter draws his new sword and cuts off the ear of Malchus, the servant of Caiaphas.4

  “Put your sword away,” Jesus commands the ever-impulsive Peter. “For those who draw the sword must also die by the sword.”

  Then Jesus submits to being bound and led away. For Judas, all has gone according to plan. At this late hour, few have seen the commotion.

  So it is that Jesus, his captors, and Judas march to the home of the high priest on the eve of Passover. The disciples lag behind, frightened for their lives. Since it is the middle of the night, a trial is not possible. If religious law is to be obeyed, Jesus must wait until morning to face his accusers. And based on those same laws, if a death sentence is passed the next morning, the mandatory full day of reprieve before execution would mean that Jesus has at least one or two days to live.

  Jesus is not counting on the disciples to come to his rescue. Indeed, if he were, that hope would now be proven futile, for his terrified followers have turned and are now in full flight.

  The night air is crisp and cool. Most of Jerusalem is asleep as the prisoner is led to the house of the high priest. The route takes them past the room where, just a few hours ago, Jesus and his disciples celebrated their last supper.

  The Nazarene knows he will die alone. Though he is surrounded by men, Jesus has no allies right now. His disciples have disappeared into the night. And those who arrested him would happily beat him into unconsciousness if he tried to flee.

  Yet, despite his hopeless situation, Jesus of Nazareth keeps his composure. He will be questioned extensively, and what he says will be written for the ages. His interrogators will be the same men whom he verbally humiliated two days ago in the Temple courts. He saw the hatred in their eyes then.

  They pass the houses of the Upper City, which are larger and more regal than dwellings anywhere else in Jerusalem. Jesus is soon led into the palace of the high priest. Only he is not greeted by Joseph Caiaphas but by the true religious power in Jerusalem. Jesus now stands before the aging and regal leader of a priestly dynasty dating back a thousand years. The man before him has great wealth and is so skilled a politician that his sons and the husbands of his daughters are continuing the family lineage of priesthood and power. The man’s name is Ananus, son of Sethi—or, as this elderly religious titan is known throughout Jerusalem, Annas.

  The courtyard is still. Inside, the interrogation of Jesus commences. Moments later, he is surprised by a sudden and hard blow to the face.

  The end has begun.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JERUSALEM

  FRIDAY, APRIL 7, A.D. 30

  EARLY MORNING/DAY

  The assault comes out of nowhere, a hard punch to the head delivered by a short-fused Temple guard. “Is this the way you answer the high priest?”

  Jesus staggers, unable to answer. The opulent palace room reels. His hands are still bound, and he can neither protect himself nor fight back. But even as the Nazarene absorbs the blow, he speaks without fear. “If I said something wrong, testify as to what is wrong,” he finally tells the guard. “But if I spoke the truth, why did you strike me?”

  A bleary-eyed Annas stands before Jesus. It is closer to dawn than midnight. The high priest is in his midfifties, a man whose entire life has revolved around procuring wealth and power. Normally, men such as Jesus bow to him, pleading for mercy rather than trying to bend his mind with logic at this awful hour. “I have spoken openly to the world,” Jesus said just moments ago. “I always taught in synagogues or at the Temple, where all the Jews come together. I said nothing in secret. Why question me? Ask those who heard me. Surely they know what I said.”

  Those were the fearless and articulate words that spurred the guard to strike Jesus. They now echo in Annas’s skull as he tries to figure out his next move.

  The patriarch is a Zadokite, descended from a line of priests dating back to King David. Like his sons and son-in-law Caiaphas, he is also a Sadducee, a member of a wealthy Jewish sect that believes only in the Pentateuch, as the five books of Moses are known. Annas has made many compromises with Rome in order to maneuver his way into power. The job of high priest was passed down through the Zadokite lineage for centuries, but Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Jewish homeland three centuries ago led to an attempt to Hellenize the region. This is why Annas is fluent in Greek as well as Hebrew, for his family long ago learned the importance of pleasing its conquerors. A group of Jews known as the Hasmoneans put an end to overt Hellenization in 142 B.C. but also stripped the Zadokites of the high priesthood. This became a blessing of sorts when the Romans conquered Jerusalem eighty years later. Non-Zadokite priests were singled out for massacre when Pompey and his troops looted the city after a three-month siege. It was Herod the Great who finally restored the Zadokites to the high priesthood.

  But with that power came compromise, for Herod made sure that these new priests served at his favor—and that meant bowing down to Rome. No longer are the h
igh priests autonomous. It is a lesson Annas learned when he was removed from his position by Pontius Pilate’s predecessor, Gratus, for imposing and executing capital sentences, which had been forbidden by the imperial government. Making the same mistake twice—or allowing Caiaphas to make this mistake—could be catastrophic. As patriarch, Annas sees that the future of the family dynasty might just rest on how he handles the Jesus situation.

  But the title of high priest is one that a man carries for life. Rome likes it that way because it ensures that the money pipeline flows uninterrupted. Annas; his son Eleazar; his son-in-law Caiaphas; and his other sons, Jonathan, Theophilus, Matthias, and Ananus, will all take turns serving as high priest. They will control the sale of Temple lambs at Passover and receive a cut of every exchange made by the money changers. Outside Jerusalem, the high priests own vast farms and estates. The profits from these ventures, in addition to the taxes extorted from the people of Judea, are all shared with Pilate and eventually with the debauched Roman emperor Tiberius, who gets a substantial amount of money in the form of “tribute.”

  So it is that the lineage of Jesus and Annas has been intertwined for centuries and will be for decades to come. Annas’s forefathers served as high priests under Jesus’s forebears David and Solomon. And just as Annas now stands in judgment of Jesus, so the younger Ananus will sentence another devout man to death three decades from now.

  That man’s name is James. He is a sibling of Jesus, and he will be publicly stoned to death.

  Indeed, so fierce is Annas and his descendants’ loyalty to Rome that the final link in their claim to the priesthood will come to an end thirty years from now, when the younger Ananus is killed in a Jewish uprising for advocating a continuation of Roman rule.1

  * * *

  Everything about Jesus’s interrogation is illegal: it takes place at night, Jesus is asked to incriminate himself without a lawyer, and Annas has no authority to pass sentence. It is also highly unusual for a prisoner to be brought to the high priest’s personal residence, rather than to the prison cells at the Roman barracks.