Killing Jesus: A History

by Bill O'Reilly

  But Jesus has committed a grave offense: he interrupted the flow of funds from the Temple to Rome when he flipped over the money changers’ tables. The pipeline is the personal responsibility of Annas. Anyone interfering with the profit taking must be punished. That, of course, includes Jesus and every single one of his disciples. Annas is determined that this will be a cautionary tale for anyone who considers challenging the authority of the Temple courts.

  A man like Annas is used to people bowing and scraping in his presence, but it is clear that Jesus will not genuflect to any man. And despite Jesus’s weakened condition, he is still capable of great feats of intellect.

  Perhaps some time alone with the Temple guards will change Jesus’s attitude.

  As a former high priest, Annas has no jurisdictional powers. He cannot pass sentence, particularly in matters concerning sedition or insurrection, for that power belongs solely to Rome. Thus Annas secretly orders a gang of Temple guards to escort Jesus to a quiet place on the palace grounds where they might spend some time together.2

  Jesus, still bound, is led away. An urgent call goes out through Jerusalem. The high religious court of the Sanhedrin must assemble immediately.

  * * *

  Jesus cannot see. The night is dark, and the blindfold covering his eyes shuts out even the minimal light of the small fires.

  But he can hear extremely well, and the words directed at him are clearly meant to break his spirit. “Prophesy,” a Temple guard calls out scornfully. Jesus is staggered by another hard punch. “Who hit you?” the guard mocks.

  Fists and kicks come from all sides. There is no escape and no respite.

  “Who hit you?” the guards call out again and again, landing more blows. “Who hit you?”

  The beating goes on for hours, until the Temple guards become too tired to continue their savage game.

  By the time Jesus is led back into Annas’s home to confront the Sanhedrin in yet another illegal trial, he is bloodied and bruised. His face is swollen. Exhaustion and weakness caused by a loss of plasma make it difficult for him to stand, let alone form the coherent arguments that might save him.

  Yet once again, the bound and beaten Jesus must rise before his accusers and argue for his life.

  * * *

  Jesus appears before the Sanhedrin, no longer blindfolded. It is impossible to tell whether all seventy-one members of the religious court are crowded into the room, but he has not been taken to the Temple courts, as law requires. Instead, the clerics surround him in the residential warmth of Annas’s palace home, where Jesus can clearly see the mosaic floors and the fashionable paintings hanging from the walls.

  Bruises cover Jesus’s body and face, and he has not eaten since the Last Supper. Yet the beating and the mocking have not broken his spirit. Despite the late hour, news of Jesus’s arrest has made its way around Jerusalem. A small crowd now gathers in the courtyard, warming themselves by the fire pits. A second group stands outside the palace’s gates, waiting for any news. Two of the disciples3 have had second thoughts about abandoning Jesus and have braved arrest to be here. They stand among a number of men loyal to Caiaphas.

  Jesus watches as, one by one, Caiaphas’s sycophants come in out of the cold to falsely testify against him. They stand before the Sanhedrin and brazenly lie about Jesus, spinning stories about things he has said and done. The members of the Sanhedrin listen closely, waiting for the one accusation that might allow them to pass the death sentence. They tolerate the litany of lies, trusting that an accusation worthy of a death sentence will eventually be revealed in these proceedings—even if it takes all night. Technically, bearing false witness is a crime punishable by death, but the Sanhedrin is willing to conveniently sidestep that legality for tonight.

  Throughout the process, Jesus says nothing.

  Then comes the accusation for which the Sanhedrin is waiting. “This fellow,” swear two men loyal to Caiaphas, “said, ‘I am able to destroy the Temple of God and rebuild it in three days.’”

  Caiaphas has been sitting, but now he suddenly rises and advances toward Jesus. To Caiaphas’s utter fury, Jesus does not contest this allegation. One look at the Nazarene and it is clear that his will should have been broken hours ago—the dried blood, the residue of spittle, the hematomas, and the swelling. Yet Jesus is placid and ever defiant.

  “Are you not going to answer?” Caiaphas demands with indignation. “What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?”

  Jesus remains silent. He can see the question forming on Caiaphas’s lips. It is the query to which everyone in the room wants an answer. Indeed, it is the one question that hundreds of thousands here in Jerusalem also want answered. But even as Jesus anticipates what Caiaphas is about to ask next, he also realizes that there is no proper response. His death is imminent, no matter what he says.

  “I charge you under oath,” fumes Caiaphas, “by the living God: tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

  Silence. Outside, the first birds of morning are stirring. Conversations can be heard from beyond the courtroom. But in this public room where Caiaphas usually socializes and privately conducts official Temple business, no one utters so much as a syllable as they anxiously await Jesus’s decision: Will he finally speak?

  Jesus does answer: “If I tell you, you will not believe me. And if I asked you, you would not answer. But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God.”

  “Are you the Son of God?” the priests demand.

  “Yes,” he tells them. “It is as you say.”

  Then Jesus looks straight at Caiaphas: “You will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.”4

  Caiaphas grabs the front of his own tunic and wrenches the expensive fabric, tearing it down from his chest. Under normal circumstances, high priests are forbidden to display anger in such a manner. But these are not normal circumstances, for Jesus is implying nothing less than that Caiaphas is an enemy of God.

  “He has spoken blasphemy,” the high priest tells the Sanhedrin. “Why do we need any more witnesses? Look, now you have heard the blasphemy. What do you think?”

  Religious law says that each member of the Sanhedrin must cast a vote when passing sentence. But now there is no vote. The verdict is passed by simple consensus. The only voices of dissent come from Nicodemus and a wealthy Sadducee named Joseph of Arimathea.

  The sun is rising. Jesus has been convicted of blasphemy and sentenced to death. The next step is as easy, or as difficult, as convincing Pontius Pilate to order his Roman executioners to do the deed.

  * * *

  Across Jerusalem, in the Antonia Fortress, the dozen men who comprise the Roman death squads sit down to ientaculum, their big meal of the day. They will most likely not be able to get back to the barracks for the light midday prandium, so they enjoy their large portion of porridge. It is often served with cheese and honey to make it ever more filling and to provide more energy for the hard labor to come. Bread, weak beer, and red wine are spread out on the long communal table.

  Barabbas and his cohorts, already condemned to death, are being held not far away, in the fortress’s stone dungeons. In time, they will be taken into the courtyard for a scourging—or verberatio, as it is known by the Romans. Low scourging posts are permanently positioned there for this task. Affixed to the top of each post is a metal ring. Each condemned man will be brought forth with his hands tied. The executioners will strip him of his clothing and then force him to his knees, before binding his hands over his head to the metal ring. The wrists will then also be shackled to the ring. This locks the body in position, preventing any squirming or other attempts to dodge the blows of the flagellum. Even before the first lash is laid against a man’s back, it is common for the victim to tense every muscle in his body and grit his teeth against the horrible pain that will soon be inflicted.

  The key to the executioners’ art is not how hard they w
hip a man but the effort with which they yank the whip’s metal- and bone-flecked tendrils away from the flesh after each blow. For this is when the primary damage to the body is done.

  To prove themselves superior, the professional killers—now casually eating their morning meal—strive to grip the wooden handle of the flagellum a little harder than their peers and lean into a lash with just a bit more strength. If they do their jobs exceptionally well, they might expose the victim’s internal organs. As the historian Eusebius will write of the spectacle, “Bystanders were struck with amazement when they saw them lacerated with scourges even to the innermost veins and arteries, so that the hidden inward parts of the body, both their bowels and their members, were exposed to view.”

  Yet as horrific as the process of lashing might be, it is just the start of the agony. For verberatio is a mere prelude to crucifixion.

  The soldiers finish their porridge and push back from the table. Time to go to work.

  * * *

  The condemned Jesus is marched to the palace of Pontius Pilate. The sound of his sandals, and those of the high priests and Temple guards who surround him on all sides, echo off the cobblestones. It is not yet 7:00 A.M. and Jerusalem is just waking up. The path takes Jesus past the small stratopedon (“barracks”), where a garrison of palace soldiers grimly watches the procession, and then winds past the lavish formal garden Herod the Great constructed so long ago, with its ponds, groves of trees, and quiet walkways from which doves can be seen alongside small streams. Palace walls form the northern boundary of the garden, and now Jesus is marched along those walls to the front gate, where soldiers take their four-hour guard shift.

  Caiaphas demands an immediate audience with Pilate. He stands outside the gates with Jesus, the Temple guard, and the entire Sanhedrin. But since the high priest cannot enter a Gentile residence so close to Passover, or risk becoming unclean and unable to eat the sacred meal, he requests that Pilate come down to the gate. It is a gross violation of their formal relationship, but surely Pilate will understand.

  The palace is enormous, a fortified square measuring 140 meters from south to north. It consists of two lavish wings, one named the Caesareum and the other Agrippium. Towers rise at intervals along its walls, and columned courtyards provide open space. At the south end, just on the other side of the palace walls, is a special courtyard known as the praetorium, where pronouncements, trials, and other public gatherings can take place. So it takes a while to get word to Pilate and for the prefect to dress and make his way down to the gate. He could not have been pleased to be faced with the sight of Temple guards, lavishly dressed priests, and a prisoner who was clearly in an advanced state of physical suffering.

  “What charges are you bringing against this man?” Pilate asks gruffly.

  Caiaphas has been dreading this moment. For, while he wants the Romans to kill Jesus, the charge of blasphemy is a Jewish offense. Rome could not care less about it. And Pilate, with his intolerance for the Jews, is not the sort to risk his career by allowing Jewish law to dictate whom he executes.

  “If he were not a criminal, would we have handed him over to you?” Caiaphas replies, avoiding the question.

  Pilate is not easily swayed. “Take him yourselves, and judge him by your own law.”

  “But we have no right to execute anyone,” Caiaphas responds.

  “I find no basis for a charge against this man,” Pilate replies.

  Another of the priests speaks up. “He stirs up people all over Judea by his teaching. He started in Galilee and has come all the way here.”

  “He’s a Galilean?” Pilate demands. In this simple question, he sees a way out of this mess. The Sanhedrin is clearly luring him into a political trap. But if Jesus is a Galilean, this matter is better suited for Herod Antipas. Galilee is the tetrarch’s jurisdiction, and Antipas is staying in a palace just a few blocks away.

  Pilate refuses to accept custody of Jesus. He dismisses the entire gathering and orders Jesus to be bound over to Antipas. Once again, Jesus is marched through the early dawn streets of upper Jerusalem. There is no sign of the peasant pilgrims from Galilee or of any of the other poorer class of Jews, for they have no reason to be wandering through this wealthy neighborhood at such an early hour. Slaves can be seen sweeping the porches of their masters’ homes while, inside, the wealthy take their morning meal.

  But if Pilate thinks he has escaped from Caiaphas’s snare, he is wrong. For soon the entire Temple group, including Jesus, returns. Herod Antipas was most delighted to finally meet the Nazarene and spent a short time taking the measure of him. The tetrarch even requested a miracle for his personal amusement.

  Antipas has no fear of Caiaphas or the high priests, for they have no power over him. So even as they launched volley after volley of accusation about Jesus, hoping to swing the tetrarch over to their side, Antipas refused to listen. Getting pulled into a power struggle between the Temple and Rome is most unwise. Besides, he is still haunted by the death of John the Baptist and the predictions by many that it will bring down his kingdom. The last thing Antipas needs is the blood of another holy man on his hands.

  Even though Jesus refused to perform a miracle, Antipas saw no reason to condemn him to death. He let his soldiers have their fun, allowing them to taunt the Nazarene and ridicule him by questioning his royalty before placing an old military mantle on the prisoner’s shoulders. It was purple, the color of kings.

  * * *

  Now, once again, Pilate stands at his palace gates debating what to do about Jesus. He has underestimated Antipas, forgetting that the tetrarch was raised in a household where treachery and guile were as routine as breathing. Strangely, Pilate sees Antipas’s decision as a quiet show of solidarity with him, for Antipas, a Jew, has clearly chosen to back Rome instead of the Temple priests. Pilate and Antipas were enemies until now, but they will count each other as friends from this day forward.

  But Pilate must still deal with the wily Caiaphas, who has been coached in palace intrigue by Annas and again stands before him.

  Pilate is running out of options. Clearly he cannot order the Jews to release Jesus, for that would be interfering in their religious law—and Emperor Tiberius has made it quite clear that Roman governors cannot do this.

  Still, he doesn’t have to accept the prisoner. He could order that Caiaphas send Jesus over to the Antonia Fortress, there to be held until after Passover—perhaps long after Passover, when Pilate has already left town. Above all, Pontius Pilate does not want trouble. So he finally sends Caiaphas on his way and reluctantly accepts custody of the Nazarene.

  The fate of Jesus is now in the hands of Rome.

  * * *

  Pontius Pilate is curious. “Are you the king of the Jews?” he asks Jesus. The governor is seated on a throne of judgment, looking down upon an open-air courtyard paved with flagstones. A small audience watches.

  Pilate has chosen this location for many reasons. It is far removed from the center of the palace, near where his small personal garrison is housed. The courtyard is not actually in the palace but adjacent to it. Its unique architecture allows Pilate to address his subjects from an elevated position while also providing him a private entrance where he can come and go and where prisoners such as Jesus can be led out and tried, then quietly walked back to the prison cells.

  Another advantage to the location, at the outer edge of the palace grounds, is that it’s not actually inside the residence, and so Jews are permitted to enter on the eve of Passover. Hence the presence of Temple priests and Caiaphas’s disciples, who are carefully monitoring the proceedings for their leader. They are there to ensure that the sentence passed by Caiaphas and the Pharisees is carried out.

  “Is that your own idea, or did others talk to you about me?” Jesus asks in return.

  “Am I a Jew?” Pilate asks. “It was your people and your chief priests who handed you over to me. What is it you have done?”

  “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my
servants would fight to prevent my arrest. But now my kingdom is from another place.”

  “You are a king, then!” says an amused Pilate. This is good news for the governor, for by declaring himself to be sovereign, Jesus has now committed a crime against Rome and the emperor. He is now a serious threat to public order. Whatever happens next can now be justified.

  “You are right in saying I am a king. In fact, for this reason I am born, and for this reason I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of the truth listens to me,” Jesus responds.

  “What is truth?” Pilate asks, now fascinated by Jesus.

  But if the Roman was expecting an answer to that question, he is disappointed, as Jesus stands mute.

  Pilate knows that preaching is not a crime—unless rebellion against Rome is a theme of that preaching. But any dissension from the powerful Sanhedrin will not help Pilate with Tiberius. So he turns his attention from Jesus to the disciples of the Jewish Temple who fill the courtyard. From his lofty perch, he can look down upon the group, measuring their reaction.

  It is customary for the Roman prefect to release a prisoner at the time of Passover.5 Now Pilate finds a simple solution to ease out of this politically volatile situation: he will give the crowd a choice between releasing the peaceful Jesus or the horrific Barabbas, a terrorist and murderer whose crimes truly deserve punishment.

  “Do you want me to release the king of the Jews?” Pilate asks the crowd.

  The response surprises him. For Pilate is not aware that the people he is speaking to have been ordered by the high priests and religious elders to make sure that Jesus is executed. It is not the Jewish pilgrims who want Jesus dead, nor most of the residents of Jerusalem. No, it is a small handful of men who enrich themselves through the Temple. To them, a man who speaks the truth is far more dangerous than a mass murderer.