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It has nothing to do with me...

At present I'm preaching a series on the Apostles' Creed, and today we looked at the clause referring to Jesus suffering under Pontius Pilate. One of the earliest and most effective Bible-based monologues I ever saw was one on Pilate by Riding Lights... But below is one that I wrote myself a good few years back, which I hauled out of retirement for this morning's service.

It has nothing to do with me...
It is a Jewish matter... Nothing to do with Rome. If I had my way I would have left them to it. Another spat between religious fanatics. So what if he claims to be the son of this Jewish god? What difference does that make? Sons of god are two a penny in the lunatic asylum... We’ve even had one or two on the throne of Rome... Sons of god, that is, not lunatics... Though some might say... No!! Don’t quote me on that. I’m in trouble enough as it is. I can’t afford another letter of complaint going to Caesar. That’s why I finally decided to try this man... The priests said that he was claiming to be the rightful King of the Jews... If I hadn’t acted on that I’d have had Herod up in arms as well as these damned religious fanatics.
I tried getting Herod to deal with him... He’s a Galilean so strictly speaking he is Herod’s problem, not mine. And he got rid of that other rabble rouser, the Baptiser a few years ago... I thought he would be glad to get his hands on this one... But he passed the buck straight back to me...
And the people... I thought they would be glad to have me release him. I invented a little tradition... releasing a prisoner in honour of the Jewish holiday... These holidays are always trouble... Passover... I wish I could just pass over it and forget it... But no... every holiday season the pilgrims pour in from all over the Empire, bringing their problems with them.
Well, I offered to release Jesus to them in honour of the holiday... And they threw the offer back in my face. I don’t understand these people... Last week they were praising him to the heavens when he waltzed into the city on the back of a donkey... They were taking the very shirts off their backs and laying them down as a carpet of honour for him. This week they were baying for his blood... They demanded that I crucify him... And then they had the gall to ask for Barabbas, a convicted murderer and rebel to be released in his place...
I don’t know how I’ll ever explain that one to the senate... The guilty goes free and the innocent is executed... There’s justice for you.
But what could Jesus have done in a week to turn the people against him? Mind you... He doesn’t exactly help himself. One minute he was refusing to answer my questions... The next he was admitting that he was a King... Him standing there, bruised and bloodied, covered in what looked like spit, and wearing clothes that weren’t exactly the highest quality before they had been torn to shreds. Him, a King! And then when I tried to explain what a dangerous situation he was in... That I had the power of life and death over him, he reminded me that my power was given to me from above... And that those above me would share responsibility for any of my actions... What was he trying to do? Absolve me of responsibility... When none of it was my responsibility in the first place...
So I just washed my hands of him... Literally... If he wants to die, that’s his choice...
It has nothing to do with me...

Selah




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