gentle irony, with sublime pity and magnanimity, Christ conveys this truth to Pilate by replying, "Thou couldest have no power at all against Me except it were given thee from above: therefore, he that delivered Me unto thee hath the greater sin." Pilate himself thrills with the magnanimity of that reply. The Man crowned with thorns, whom he has permitted not only to be scourged, but to be basely mocked, can pity him, can even seek to find extenuation for his crime. More than ever Pilate desires His release, for he has not alone a wrong to his own conscience which cries for reparation, but a wrong done to Christ. But it is now too late. The ominous cry begins to rise, "If thou let this Man go thou art not Cæsar's friend. Whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Cæsar." And before that threat Pilate's courage finally collapses. He dare not risk accusation to Cæsar for the sake of Christ. He is once more the man of the world, with whom self-interest is supreme. Jesus must die that Pilate's reputation may be saved. He hastily, and with words of mockery which cover his own shame, gives the brief order that Jesus shall be crucified. Jesus submits in perfect silence; had He spoken, surely His last word to Pilate would have been, "What shall profit a man, if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" It was from first Thus ended the trial of Jesus Christ. to last a travesty of justice. Not one of the charges urged against Him was proved. He had been thrice declared absolutely innocent by the man who finally condemns Him. In the course of the trial we see Him brought into close contact with the entire priestly hierarchy, with a King, and with a military Governor who represents all the might of Rome. He is superior to all. They each in turn serve as foils to throw into relief His dignity and purity. His fortitude and courage, His self-restraint and magnanimity, are conspicuous throughout. No one can mistake the fact that He goes to His death in perfect innocence. As little can we fail to see that He goes triumphantly; the victim indeed, but to the last the Victor-Victim. CHAPTER XXIX THE DEATH OF JESUS THE priests and the Jewish mob had themselves demanded the crucifixion of Jesus. Had they been capable of the least reflection they would have understood the insult which they affixed upon the whole Jewish nation by the demand; for crucifixion was a form of death reserved only for the most servile. It was not strictly a Roman form of punishment at all, and in her purer and prouder days Rome would have disdained to employ a means of death so gratuitously brutal. Rome had borrowed it from the East, probably from the Phoenicians, the most corrupt and cruel of all the races who have raised themselves to empire. She reserved it for the East, as if to affirm her undying contempt for peoples whom she regarded as unworthy of any reverence. The Cross was thus the symbol of national shame and degradation. No Roman, however vile, was crucified. It was a death so cruel in itself, so dishonouring and shameful, that Rome reserved it for those whom she regarded as the vermin of the human race, who were too obnoxious to claim the privilege of partnership in her social order. But on this disastrous day it seemed as if the whole Jewish race were bent on national suicide. In order to compass the death of Jesus the priests had openly avowed that they had no king but Cæsar. Patriotism itself had |