NOTES for Joh 19:15-16

The mood of the crowd is changeable: only a few days pass from "hosanna!" to "crucify!" But a crowd is a crowd precisely so that a person disappears in it. Dissolves into a large and irresponsible collective "we." Under certain circumstances it can be physically destroyed, but it is utterly useless to try to enter into communion with it. Simply because there is no one there to communicate with: in a crowd there is not a single person.

But a crowd can be manipulated. Sometimes. With certain precautions and usually up to a certain limit. And the high priest, like the whole temple elite, had mastered this art perfectly. His power rested on it in many respects. And, of course, on the political games that he, as the head of Judea, played with Roman authority. He played them by frightening Rome with religious extremists, zealots, with whom he also had his own secret game, one Rome did not know about. Or knew about but turned a blind eye, hoping in the high priest and his circle as the lesser evil. He played them by hinting at the possibility of a great religious war, toward which he himself silently pushed those who were ready to unleash it. And so, on fear that was partly real and partly phantom, he built his politics.

And Jesus was not only not a Person in his eyes; He was not even a person with a lowercase letter. Just a bargaining chip. A chance to prove his loyalty: we have no king but the emperor! And to hand over to execution a troublesome preacher who was completely impossible to control. Barabbas was another matter: a zealot, of course, an extremist, but one of their own, a patriot, a hater of the Romans, and above all someone understandable. The Temple had long been in contact with such people; with them it was clear how to behave and clear what to expect from them. But here there was one continuous surprise, unnecessary and uncontrollable, and therefore dangerous. Better to get rid of this preacher, but not with his own hands. Better with Roman hands: for the high priest, this was an almost no-lose option. And if the procurator became stubborn, the roar of the crowd could hint to him that reports might reach Rome about his indulgence toward dangerous rebels, against whom the high priest was fighting and whom he, the procurator, the emperor's hand and eye, was pardoning.

Everyone plays his own game. Except Jesus alone; He does not play any games with anyone. Such a one is needed by no one. And only one thing remains for Him: the cross. There is no other path for Him.

On Good Friday, on a Good Friday that is not distant from us but closer than ever, although we were not yet alive then, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh spoke these words from the pulpit. '<...> The Mother stood by the Cross; Her Son, betrayed, reviled, cast out, beaten, torn, tormented, was dying on the Cross. And She was dying with Him… Many, surely, looked at Christ; many, surely, felt shame and fear and did not look into His Mother's face. And now we turn to Her, saying: Mother, I am guilty—among others, yes—of Your Son's death; I am guilty—intercede for me. Save us through Your prayer, through Your protection, because if You forgive, no one will condemn or destroy us… But if You do not forgive, Your word will be stronger than any word spoken in our defense… <...> Let us stand before the judgment of our conscience, awakened by Her grief, and bring a repentant, contrite heart. Let us bring Christ our prayer that He may give us strength to awaken, come to our senses, come alive, become human, make our life deep and broad, capable of holding the Lord's love and presence. And with this love let us go out into life to create life, to fashion and build a world, deep and spacious, that would be like a garment clothing the Lord's presence, shining with all the light, all the joy of paradise. This is our calling; this is what we must accomplish by breaking ourselves, giving ourselves, dying if need be—and it is needed!—because to love is to die to oneself, to cease valuing oneself and instead value the other, whether God or a human being; to live for another, laying aside concern for oneself. Let us die as much as we can, let us strive with all our strength to die, so that we may live by love and live for God and for others.' So close to us is that Friday on which the Metropolitan spoke these words, as are all the Good Fridays that have been and will be. 'I am guilty.' I was not alive then, but I am guilty. We cannot regard this day as a symbolic commemoration of events that once took place. No. For the Body and Blood of which we partake are not a symbol, but the very Body and the very Blood. Here I am, and I am guilty here and now. It is frightening when people begin to greet one another for Easter in advance—this really happens, and happens often! Today I know nothing of Easter; I know only one thing: whether woman or man, I am guilty, for He died, and I did nothing to prevent it.

In the evangelist's account of the Saviour's condemnation, one striking feature is the desire to evade responsibility shown by representatives of both the Temple and the Roman authorities. It is no accident that Jesus refuses to answer the high priest's question about His teaching and His disciples (John 18:19–21). He understands that there can be no question of a fair trial in this case and that the whole interrogation is intended only to catch Him in His words and find grounds for fabricating a case against Him—one, moreover, on which He could be sentenced to death. In fact, everything had already been decided when Caiaphas considered it permissible to sacrifice One for the welfare of the people as he understood it (John 18:14).

Naturally, however, all those involved in Jesus' trial wanted the decision to be made collectively and with due observance of the legal formalities. Then no particular person could be accused of murder. The representatives of the Temple elite might seem to have had no one to fear, but their religious consciences were probably still uneasy: an ordinary murder would have been a direct violation of the Torah. An execution ordered by the Sanhedrin was another matter. A formally impeccable verdict of that kind would have reassured everyone, since an execution carried out under a court sentence would not, of course, have been regarded as a violation of the Torah.

One very serious obstacle, however, stood in the way of these “judges”: death sentences passed by the Sanhedrin had to be confirmed by the Roman authority, represented in Judea by the procurator. It was to him that they went (John 18:28). The leaders of the Sanhedrin apparently expected the procedure to be a mere formality and at first did not even want to go into detail, assuming that Pilate would sign the sentence without reading it (John 18:29–32).

But Pilate took an unexpected interest in the case and decided to question the accused himself (John 18:33). Jesus, who had remained silent before the Sanhedrin, testified to Pilate about what it was already pointless to tell the Sanhedrin: He answered the procurator's question about His Kingdom (John 18:34–37). Yet while the Kingdom to which Jesus testified seemed hostile to the leaders of the Pharisaic movement and the Temple elite, Pilate was simply indifferent to it, like most pragmatically minded agnostics. Like any agnostic, however, he saw no crime in proclaiming ideas of any kind, even strange or mistaken ones, and proposed that the representatives of the Sanhedrin who had come to him should release an innocent man from punishment (John 18:38–40). When he saw that they would accept no compromise, Pilate apparently decided to limit himself to the punishment prescribed by Roman law for non-citizens who broke local laws, and had Jesus scourged (John 19:1–3).

After this, he considered the incident closed (John 19:4–5). The representatives of the Sanhedrin then had to explain the case to the procurator and tell him what they were accusing Jesus of (John 19:6–7). Their explanation made a great impression on Pilate (John 19:8). The calmness and inner strength of the accused apparently made an even greater impression on him (John 19:9–11). He would probably have released Jesus had the crowd gathered in the praetorium courtyard not accused him of disregarding the interests of the empire by letting Jesus go (John 19:12). The provocation succeeded: unwilling to take responsibility or face possible accusations of sympathising with rebels, Pilate sentences an innocent man to death (John 19:13–16). Thus the cowardice and irresponsibility of some, and the hatred of the Kingdom felt by others, bring the Saviour of the world to the cross.

Today’s reading is dedicated to the feast of the Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross of the Lord. At its center is the veneration of the Cross, by which we have been saved “from the bondage of the enemy,” as the magnification for the feast sings.

The Evangelist John bears witness to the Crucifixion and to those standing by the Cross. The foot of the Cross is the only “right” place for each of us, because it is precisely in the Savior’s Death on the Cross that the salvation of the world is accomplished and life is granted to us all, even if it never enters our minds. The world is full of suffering, sometimes explicable but more often inexplicable, and this mystery cannot fail to concern a person. This is hard for us, so our desire to hide from suffering and turn away from it when it does not touch us personally is quite understandable. But the Gospel tells us that every genuine human suffering, not one that is contrived, is a place of Christ’s special presence. It is He who suffers in every person, and it is precisely here that we meet Him.

"We venerate Your Cross, O Christ..." What do these words mean for us? Boundless compassion for the innocent, beaten, naked righteous one hanging on this wood. Love for Him, limitless gratitude. And also the understanding of how infinitely lighter our own cross is. All the problems that seem impossible to carry are nothing compared with the measure of suffering He took upon Himself for our sake. "You, who so loved Your world..."

And there are other words: "Then He says to the disciple, 'Behold your mother.'" On these words the Church is built, the strongest of strongholds. We have all been made sons and daughters, and therefore we can never be orphans. Orphanhood is a word from some other life. We often enter prayerfully into the Passion of Christ, but it is much harder to enter into the passion of Mary. His inconceivable physical pain and her inconceivable pain of soul. The whole world is embraced by this pain.

Pilate's order to beat Christ was not an act of senseless cruelty; the order can even be seen as an attempt to save Him: the sentence had been pronounced and carried out, so under the law the case should have been closed, and no one had any further right to demand either a new trial on the old charges or, still less, the death penalty. After this, even Pilate's words to the raging accusers, ‘Take Him yourselves and crucify Him’, sound essentially mocking, since everyone knows that they have no right to crucify anyone.

But then the question arises of who Jesus is, and something stirs in the skeptic Pilate. If only Pilate had trusted more in the stirrings of his own soul, which bore witness, however dimly, to the existence of the truth he rejected! But the accusers know which of Pilate's weak points to press, and now the threat of being denounced on political grounds looms before him; faced with the emperor's arbitrary power, everyone is equally without rights. Practical considerations mixed with fear have once again prevailed. How familiar this is to us all…

In seeking a death sentence, the chief priests acknowledge Caesar as their only king. If only they had confined themselves to acknowledging the reality of imperial power, along the lines of the Gospel's formulation, ‘Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's’ (Matt. 22:21)! But did they not understand at that moment that, by this declaration, they were renouncing the Only King — the Lord? ‘The Lord your God is your king’ (1 Sam. 12:12), ‘The Lord is king forever’ (Ps. 10:16): such is the witness of Scripture. Just as Peter denied the Teacher without understanding what he was doing, so the leaders of the Jewish people, in the grip of unrighteous anger, did what thousands of Christians and Jews steadfastly resisted for centuries: they acknowledged a pagan emperor as equal to God.