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To
my dear friend and ally, Gaius,
I
write you for the last time, my good friend, to leave you with a
complete understanding of the events that have brought me here to
Rome.
You know that all I have done – everything I
have done – was done to faithfully serve Rome. There was
never a time when my own interests came before the interests of
our beloved Rome. And now – now my fate will be decided by
that fool – that madman – Caligula, who has made a
mockery of all we believe.
Called back to Rome –
brought back like no more than a common criminal – treated
exactly like the Sanhedrin in Judea treated that Jew, Jesus - all
those years ago.
Caligula
the egomaniac– the whimpering, self-proclaimed God –
will condemn me – like he's condemned so many others before
me.
I
do not wish to be murdered. I do not wish to be stoned or
crucified. He wants more than my death. He wants to humiliate me.
He wants to disgrace me – to leave my family reputation in
ruins. No! I will not give him that satisfaction! I will die
soon, my friend, but it will be a dignified death – not the
death of a traitor to Rome – for I have always served Rome
faithfully.
I
am Pilate! I was Governor of Judea. I will not be humiliated!
Still – I know the lying Agrippa has won. He has convinced
Caligula that my disagreement with Tiberius all those years ago
was entirely my doing. His claims that I was a troublesome tyrant
are foolish lies but now the madman believes them.
Still,
I was right all along. The day is coming when Rome will find
it necessary to destroy Jerusalem. Destroy her for her rebellious
nature. The day will come when Jerusalem will grovel and wish
Pontius Pilate was still its Procurator – still protecting
them. They'll know, far too late, that my only crime was allowing
them the luxury of complaining at all. I should have destroyed
them all years ago. Had I ruled as they truly deserved I would not
be here in Rome awaiting my fate.
I
have been constantly haunted by that day long ago – that day
the Jews brought the Rabbi, Jesus, to me, claiming he was an enemy
of Rome. I knew what they were doing. They were manipulating me.
They brought him to me? Why would they do that? A fool would know
they had already decided his fate. They merely needed my blessing
so they could kill him. They were prepared to do anything –
to say anything - to force me to condemn him. They actually
screamed, “Let it be on our heads and the heads of our
children”? They actually said that! What kind of fools
would place a curse on the heads of their own children?
But
still - the man would say nothing in his own defense. He offered
me nothing – he left me nothing with which to release him –
to save his life. I asked if he considered himself the King of the
Jews. He said he was. He repeatedly said, “I tell you the
truth” and I believe he was telling me the truth but only as
he understood it. I couldn't help asking, “Truth? What is
truth?” Truth to him, truth to that mob, and truth to me are
very different things. I don't believe he understood the concept.
He could have gone free but he seemed determined to die!
They
beat him before bringing him to me. His robes were torn and dirty.
He was bruised and bloodied but even then there was an aura of
dignity about him. I found myself grudgingly respecting the man -
in spite of his poor appearance – in spite of his station.
He seemed a man worth saving but I could not save him.
I
took him back to them. I told them I'd found no fault in him. When
they said he was from Galilee they gave me a wonderful reason to
rid myself of the problem – to send them away – away
to that disgusting fool, Herod. They took him to Herod and,
playing the fool as usual, he merely asked Jesus to show him and
his strutting courtiers miracles – tricks! Rather than
deciding the fate of the man he made a joke of him. Jesus, to his
credit, would not perform and Herod quickly grew bored with him.
Damn Herod! He was too cunning! He sent Jesus back to me and it
started all over again!
The Jews accused the rabbi of
treason! They hailed Caesar, a ridiculous ploy, given their
penchant for fighting Roman law. They even declared, “If you
release this man you are no friend of Caesar!” Me? No friend
of Caesar? How dare they! There wasn't a man in that filthy rabble
that cared about Caesar. They hated him! They hated us all! No,
they were merely reminding me that Caesar wanted peace and
tranquility in my region and I would suffer if he didn't get it.
They knew I'd acquiesce.
And I did acquiesce, in spite of
my wife warnings. She dreamed about Jesus. She told me not to get
involved – to stay away from him. She said he was innocent
of the charges. She said he might truly be a God. She was
terrified of him and I believed her. I wanted nothing to do with
his execution but it was out of my control.
I had him
scourged but no – they didn't want that. They wanted him
dead. He stood there, the lash marks covering his body, surrounded
by his enemies - and said nothing. When they forced me to free
Barabas rather than Jesus there was nothing left for me. I told
them I washed my hands of the situation. I saw no fault in the
man. Still - I allowed them to crucify him. I tell you, my friend,
they and I have paid a heavy price for that execution.
My
wife's dreams were nothing compared to my own nightmares since
Jesus went to the cross. I've not had a decent night's rest since
my Centurions told me he was finally dead. I heard about the
destruction at their temple and I heard about his disappearance
from his tomb. My own soldiers guarded him and still his body was
gone. I heard what they were saying all over Jerusalem. They were
saying he was risen. Of course that was nonsense! It had to be
nonsense! His followers were behind locked doors, fearing for
their lives. They didn't believe. Of course they didn't believe.
But I did!
My life has never been the same since that day.
It was as though I and the Jews were doomed to suffer eternally –
all because of that one crucifixion. Jesus might have been a God
after all. I can understand why the Jews are paying for their
devious act - but why me? It was they who insisted on his death –
not me! Since that day I faced one rebellion after another until I
could take it no more. Yes! I crushed them, like any good Governor
would have crushed them! I would do it again! How dare they
challenge Rome's authority! How dare they consider themselves
equal to their occupiers!
It was time for the Jews to be
taught a lesson! It was long overdue and they paid dearly –
they paid with their lives. And once again Caesar didn't
understand. He called me back to Rome to answer to him. I barely
managed to convince him that the action was necessary. I was more
than happy to scurry back to Judea with my life, given his foul
mood. He openly threatened me. “If any more blood flowed in
the streets of Jerusalem mine would flow with it.” I
admit to you, Gaius, I was afraid! I thanked the gods the day
Tiberius died. His threats against me died with him – or so
I thought.
Now I sit here awaiting word from Caligula. My
fate is as certain as the fate of the Jews who killed Jesus. They
have suffered constantly for their act and I, a completely
innocent man, have suffered equally. As I write this letter the
unrest in Jerusalem is at a fever pitch. The time is coming –
and soon – when Jerusalem will be left in ruins and, by the
gods, I pray I can return from the after-life to witness it. Rumor
has it I will be sent to an obscure outpost in Germania if I'm
lucky, rather than returning to Judea. That I cannot accept.
Instead, I have chosen to end my life here and now, by my own
hand, rather than by the hand of Caesar.
I ask a last
request of you, my faithful friend. Please do not allow my good
name to be ill-treated by my enemies. Please see that Pontius
Pilate lives on in our glorious history as an honorable and
respected man - a man who cared only about Rome.
When you
read this I will have passed on to the beautiful fields of
Elysium. I will once again be with my wife and my family and I
will be with the gods. Then, at long last, I will finally have the
answer to a question I have lived with for so many years.
I
will know if the God Jesus will be there among
us?
Your loyal
friend,
Pontius Pilate
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