Barabbas Speaks
Sermon
The Glory Of Our Weakness
Sermons With Children's Lessons For Lent And Easter
Have you ever watched someone else die in your place? Have you ever stood by and watched another man die a slow, agonizing death, knowing all the while that you were supposed to be the one suffering and dying, not him?
I have. It happened many years ago when I was a prisoner of the Romans in Jerusalem. I was scheduled to die by crucifixion, but at the last minute, they set me free and executed another man in my place. That man ïs name was Jesus, the One you call Christ.
I have to be specific about what this other man is called because my name is also Jesus -- Jesus Barabbas.1 Of course, this coincidence became supremely ironic on that first Good Friday in Jerusalem, because there was that bloodthirsty snake, Pontius Pilate, presenting two men to the crowd, saying one would live and one would die â and what was he doing but presenting two Jesuses who were as different as night and day! 'Which Jesus do you want,' Pilate asked, 'Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Christ?' The crowd had to choose between us and decide which Jesus they would follow. Needless to say, they chose me.
I do intend to tell you what happened that day, but first, I must explain myself to you, because I really feel you Christians have judged me too harshly over the years. You read the gospels, where I am called a 'notorious prisoner' (Matthew), a 'murderer' (Mark and Luke) and a 'robber' or 'thief' (John), and you think I was some street criminal like the ones you see on the evening news. Well, did you know that the same Biblical word for 'robber' can also be translated 'revolutionary'? Indeed, that is what I was! Perhaps now you will dig beneath the stereotypes and get to know the truth about me, because there is more to the story of Jesus Barabbas than what you have previously heard!
My name, Barabbas, means 'son of the teacher' (or rabbi).2 Yes, my father was a rabbi, a very learned man, which means I was raised in a fairly well-to-do, comfortable home where education was both a privilege and a duty. My father taught me the stories of our faith and the glories of our nation ïs past, the stories of great heroes like Daniel and Deborah, Joshua and Jael. I heard them so often that they finally became a part of me.
Of course, my favorite heroes were King David and Solomon, because they ruled when Israel was a mighty empire. Our cities were magnificent, our borders stretched from Mount Hermon to the Negeb, and foreign leaders like the Queen of Sheba came to us for trade and diplomatic relations. Our temple in Jerusalem rivaled any in the world. It was Israel ïs Golden Age, and my father ïs chest swelled with pride when he told me about it. He taught me to love God and my country. Is that really so bad, and do you not teach your own children to do the same today?
Needless to say, Israel ïs Golden Age was but a distant memory by the time I was born. Our nation was occupied and governed by the Romans, who gloried in their empire and their so-called 'civilization' but were really butchers and barbarians at heart. They elevated cruelty and exploitation to an art form, controlling our lives, robbing us blind with punitive taxes and crushing even the mildest rebellions with prison terms, torture and execution. I tell you: it is hard to describe the humiliation, the hatred, and the anger we felt for these Romans dogs! Anyone who loved God and Israel -- indeed, anyone who possessed even half a conscience -- had a decision to make, and I made mine.
I suppose I could have tried to ignore the pain my country was suffering; I could have settled down, married a nice Jewish girl, and carried on with the safe, comfortable life of a rabbi ïs son. But as the Scripture says, 'The fear of the Lord is hatred of evil' (Proverbs 8:13), and I hated Roman evil as much as I feared God. My sense of outrage against injustice, my yearning for the day of the Lord, and my patriotic fervor burned too hot in my breast, and I knew I had to resist the Romans. I knew I had to go to war.
I joined a group of religious revolutionaries called the Zealots. We didn ït have the resources to fight in the open, so we used the weapons of sabotage and terror, much as those whom you call 'terrorists' fight today. For this, of course, the Romans condemned us, but it was all so hypocritical. Isn ït it funny how the world ïs superpowers can profit from injustice and terrorize other nations with weapons of unimaginable destruction, but when weaker parties like us fight back with the only weapons we have, we are called 'immoral' and 'criminal'! The robbery of the strong is 'law and order' while ours is 'terrorism.' Oppressors never understand moral hypocrisy as clearly as those whom they are oppressing.
Our mission as Zealots was to kill Romans when they weren ït looking and then disappear before they could catch us. We wanted them to live every day in fear, never feeling safe and never knowing where we would strike next. And, of course, we took an oath to kill every Jewish tax collector in Israel, since they were collaborating with the Romans and getting rich in the process.
The first Roman I killed was a centurion standing guard at the temple. I snuck up behind him and ran a long knife through his back and out the other side, and quite frankly, I never thought twice about it. These Romans were butchers, and the mere thought of them filled me with more than enough hatred to kill. Why, I no more regretted taking a Roman life than I would regret killing an insect or doing away with a bothersome rodent.
Besides, we were soldiers of Almighty God. Our cause was just, our struggle was sacred, and we prayed for the day when God ïs Messiah would come to drive the Romans out of Israel and into the Mediterranean Sea. My comrades and I became closer than brothers as we risked our lives together and depended on each other to stay alive. We were freedom fighters and heroes to the people, since we were brave enough to do what they only wished they could do.
You need to know all this to understand what happened on that momentous day in Jerusalem when the fate of two men named Jesus was decided. Pilate offered to release one of us and asked the crowd to choose.
Of course, my comrades were in the crowd, telling people to call for Jesus Barabbas. But I dare say that even without my friends there, the crowd would have chosen me anyway. In fact, I dare say that were the same choice offered to a crowd of your fellow citizens today, they would still choose me!
You condemn me for being murderous and violent -- for being Barabbas -- but in the end, I am not so very different from you. When you buy toy guns and swords for your children to play with, what are you giving them but the tools of my trade? When you go to the movies and watch Hollywood 'heroes' spew rivers of blood across the screen, what are they doing but playing the part of Barabbas! In a way, it ïs too bad I was born so long ago, because I could have made a fortune in a culture like yours!
Your leaders speak eloquently of justice and peace, but do you not depend on threats and violence to get your way in the world? You go to war often -- more often than most nations, in fact -- and when you do, do you know or even care how many of the 'enemy' you kill? Do their lives matter as much to you, and how is this different from my own casual conscience about killing Romans? At least Barabbas can say he killed his enemies in the cause of freedom; can you say that all of your wars are fought for such high and noble purposes today?
Yes, don ït condemn me too quickly, and don ït condemn the crowd in Jerusalem for choosing me over the other Jesus, because the truth is: you know Barabbas all too well. You subscribe to my methods and values all too easily, and you are more like me than you care to admit. The world may admire people of faith, but it pledges its allegiance to people of force, and I was counting on that as Pilate stood between your Jesus and me with our lives hanging in the balance. I knew all along that He would be crucified and I would be set free, because that is the way the world has always wanted it to be.
People have often asked me how I felt as I watched Christ ïs life being ransomed for my own. To be honest about it: I looked over at your Jesus and thought to myself, 'What a fool He is! How is His philosophy of charity and peace helping Him now? The people He talks about forgiving are screaming for His blood! The Romans whose evil we are supposed to resist with love are preparing His crucifixion! Why, if it were up to Christ to decide between us, He would volunteer to die in order that I -- a violent Zealot who repudiates everything He stands for -- might live! How could anyone be so foolish as to think they will actually get ahead in this world by putting the needs of others above their own?'
I can ït say I felt sorry for your Jesus as they led Him away, although I did shudder at the torture I knew He would endure. You who are so far removed from my era may not realize how cruel and agonizing a Roman crucifixion really was; people often hung on their crosses for many hours and even days, racked with pain and wishing that death would come. It was just one more reason to hate those barbaric Romans and give them what they deserve.
When the Romans released me, my friends wanted to celebrate, but I had to go to Calvary first. Not to see Jesus, mind you, but to be with the other two men who were crucified that day, the two men I was supposed to die with. They were Zealots like me -- my friends, my brothers in arms -- and comrades like us do not desert one another even in the worst of times. It was the least I could do, and it was more than the followers of your Jesus did for Him, I might add! 'Were you there when they crucified our Lord?' It is hard to describe the contempt I felt that day for the disciples of your Jesus who saved their own skins by running away.
Those were my feelings many years ago when I was a young, hard-bitten revolutionary who gave no pity and asked for none in return. I was convinced beyond a doubt that my language of brute force, and not Christ ïs language of love, is the only language this world respects, the only vocabulary this world can understand.
Now I am not so sure. First, I began to question the effectiveness of the tactics I once
espoused. Not too long after Christ ïs death, my fellow Zealots launched an all-out war against Rome, which resulted in the total destruction of our country and the scattering of our people to the winds. It was a national disaster, and all our violence did was precipitate more violence.
By contrast, Christ ïs church flourished despite Roman persecution which was as fierce and relentless as anything we Zealots faced. Their only weapons were steadfast faith and suffering love, but see how they succeeded! Today, the vaunted, invincible, 'eternal' Roman Empire is nothing but broken stones and crumbling ruins while the Christian church lives on in every corner of the earth. Maybe it ïs true that things like worldly power, prestige, status and wealth must wither and die while spiritual things abide. Maybe it ïs true that violence begets violence, and real peace can only be won by peaceful means.
I also began questioning myself when I saw how people I knew were changed by this Jesus of yours. One of His disciples was a tax collector named Matthew, a collaborator with Rome, and another disciple was a Zealot named Simon, who had sworn an oath to kill all tax collectors. Imagine a tax collector and a Zealot becoming spiritually bonded under one Lord! Imagine the former laying down his ill-gotten riches and the latter laying down his sword! Maybe it really is true that hatred defeats us by making us become the enemy we despise, and only love can save us.
I know I am not sounding much like Barabbas any more, and it bothers me to say things like this. But in the end, my doubts about my former life came down to a very personal struggle. I could not shake from my mind the sight of that other Jesus as they led Him away to be crucified. Most men who are innocent and about to die for a guilty man would be screaming out in helpless rage. This Jesus merely looked at me with kindness and generosity in his eyes, as if to say, 'You have your life back, Jesus Barabbas; now decide what you will do with it.'
He died in my place and gave me a second chance to live. That fact has haunted me ever since, but I am here to say that it should haunt you as well. You should wrestle with the implications as intensely as I have done because, you see, Jesus Christ didn ït just die in my place on Calvary ïs hill; He died in your place, too.
Can you see yourself as Barabbas, ready to die in your sin as I was ready to die in mine? Each one of us would be crucified on the cross of our own unrighteousness if He had not been willing to take our place; can you understand that Christ died as much for you as for me? If you can, then you are ready to take a hard look at the priorities in your life and the values in your heart. Like all people who have a close brush with death, you are ready to see everything differently now that you have a second chance at living.
Suddenly I am not so sure about the ways, the means, and the ends to which I devoted myself in the past. Suddenly I wonder if I haven ït been wasting my life whoring after worldly visions of might and right which deceive and finally destroy. A Man took my place on the cross and gave me a new life to live. My friends may be surprised to hear me say this, but I, Jesus Barabbas, intend to do the best I can with the second chance I have been given. What will you do with yours? Amen.
1.
Some ancient versions of the Gospel of Matthew, including the Syriac and Armenian versions, give Barabbas ï first name as Jesus.
2.
Bar-Abba means literally, 'son of the father,' while variations of the name as recorded in certain ancient manuscripts include 'Bar-rabban,' which means 'son of the teacher' (or rabbi).
Pastoral Prayer
God of the heavens and Creator of all worlds, we are trying to be like Barabbas today, reflecting on the infinite meaning of Your Son ïs sacrifice upon the cross. We examine our lives and assess our consciences, asking ourselves how much of them are worthy of our Christian faith and pleasing to our Lord. We question the extent to which worldly goals and values matter more to us than faithful service and heavenly rewards. We confess that in more ways than we would like to admit, there is a Barabbas within each of us who can only be grateful that Christ has come to die in our place, that we may no longer be condemned by our sin.
Make that sense of gratitude rise up within us like a mighty flood of righteousness, O God, that we may take full advantage of our second chance in life. Where we have been petty and spiteful, make us generous and serene. Where we have been quick to withdraw and condemn, make us eager to embrace and communicate. Where we have been silent in the face of wrong, make us vocal in the cause of right. Where we have passively accepted the savagery of war and violence, make us militant in the sacred struggle for peace.
O God, as Christ takes our place on the crosses of our sin and sorrow, grant to us a new vision of life as You intend it to be lived: in faith which leads to joy, in courage which leads to hope, and in grace which leads to love. Amen.
I have. It happened many years ago when I was a prisoner of the Romans in Jerusalem. I was scheduled to die by crucifixion, but at the last minute, they set me free and executed another man in my place. That man ïs name was Jesus, the One you call Christ.
I have to be specific about what this other man is called because my name is also Jesus -- Jesus Barabbas.1 Of course, this coincidence became supremely ironic on that first Good Friday in Jerusalem, because there was that bloodthirsty snake, Pontius Pilate, presenting two men to the crowd, saying one would live and one would die â and what was he doing but presenting two Jesuses who were as different as night and day! 'Which Jesus do you want,' Pilate asked, 'Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Christ?' The crowd had to choose between us and decide which Jesus they would follow. Needless to say, they chose me.
I do intend to tell you what happened that day, but first, I must explain myself to you, because I really feel you Christians have judged me too harshly over the years. You read the gospels, where I am called a 'notorious prisoner' (Matthew), a 'murderer' (Mark and Luke) and a 'robber' or 'thief' (John), and you think I was some street criminal like the ones you see on the evening news. Well, did you know that the same Biblical word for 'robber' can also be translated 'revolutionary'? Indeed, that is what I was! Perhaps now you will dig beneath the stereotypes and get to know the truth about me, because there is more to the story of Jesus Barabbas than what you have previously heard!
My name, Barabbas, means 'son of the teacher' (or rabbi).2 Yes, my father was a rabbi, a very learned man, which means I was raised in a fairly well-to-do, comfortable home where education was both a privilege and a duty. My father taught me the stories of our faith and the glories of our nation ïs past, the stories of great heroes like Daniel and Deborah, Joshua and Jael. I heard them so often that they finally became a part of me.
Of course, my favorite heroes were King David and Solomon, because they ruled when Israel was a mighty empire. Our cities were magnificent, our borders stretched from Mount Hermon to the Negeb, and foreign leaders like the Queen of Sheba came to us for trade and diplomatic relations. Our temple in Jerusalem rivaled any in the world. It was Israel ïs Golden Age, and my father ïs chest swelled with pride when he told me about it. He taught me to love God and my country. Is that really so bad, and do you not teach your own children to do the same today?
Needless to say, Israel ïs Golden Age was but a distant memory by the time I was born. Our nation was occupied and governed by the Romans, who gloried in their empire and their so-called 'civilization' but were really butchers and barbarians at heart. They elevated cruelty and exploitation to an art form, controlling our lives, robbing us blind with punitive taxes and crushing even the mildest rebellions with prison terms, torture and execution. I tell you: it is hard to describe the humiliation, the hatred, and the anger we felt for these Romans dogs! Anyone who loved God and Israel -- indeed, anyone who possessed even half a conscience -- had a decision to make, and I made mine.
I suppose I could have tried to ignore the pain my country was suffering; I could have settled down, married a nice Jewish girl, and carried on with the safe, comfortable life of a rabbi ïs son. But as the Scripture says, 'The fear of the Lord is hatred of evil' (Proverbs 8:13), and I hated Roman evil as much as I feared God. My sense of outrage against injustice, my yearning for the day of the Lord, and my patriotic fervor burned too hot in my breast, and I knew I had to resist the Romans. I knew I had to go to war.
I joined a group of religious revolutionaries called the Zealots. We didn ït have the resources to fight in the open, so we used the weapons of sabotage and terror, much as those whom you call 'terrorists' fight today. For this, of course, the Romans condemned us, but it was all so hypocritical. Isn ït it funny how the world ïs superpowers can profit from injustice and terrorize other nations with weapons of unimaginable destruction, but when weaker parties like us fight back with the only weapons we have, we are called 'immoral' and 'criminal'! The robbery of the strong is 'law and order' while ours is 'terrorism.' Oppressors never understand moral hypocrisy as clearly as those whom they are oppressing.
Our mission as Zealots was to kill Romans when they weren ït looking and then disappear before they could catch us. We wanted them to live every day in fear, never feeling safe and never knowing where we would strike next. And, of course, we took an oath to kill every Jewish tax collector in Israel, since they were collaborating with the Romans and getting rich in the process.
The first Roman I killed was a centurion standing guard at the temple. I snuck up behind him and ran a long knife through his back and out the other side, and quite frankly, I never thought twice about it. These Romans were butchers, and the mere thought of them filled me with more than enough hatred to kill. Why, I no more regretted taking a Roman life than I would regret killing an insect or doing away with a bothersome rodent.
Besides, we were soldiers of Almighty God. Our cause was just, our struggle was sacred, and we prayed for the day when God ïs Messiah would come to drive the Romans out of Israel and into the Mediterranean Sea. My comrades and I became closer than brothers as we risked our lives together and depended on each other to stay alive. We were freedom fighters and heroes to the people, since we were brave enough to do what they only wished they could do.
You need to know all this to understand what happened on that momentous day in Jerusalem when the fate of two men named Jesus was decided. Pilate offered to release one of us and asked the crowd to choose.
Of course, my comrades were in the crowd, telling people to call for Jesus Barabbas. But I dare say that even without my friends there, the crowd would have chosen me anyway. In fact, I dare say that were the same choice offered to a crowd of your fellow citizens today, they would still choose me!
You condemn me for being murderous and violent -- for being Barabbas -- but in the end, I am not so very different from you. When you buy toy guns and swords for your children to play with, what are you giving them but the tools of my trade? When you go to the movies and watch Hollywood 'heroes' spew rivers of blood across the screen, what are they doing but playing the part of Barabbas! In a way, it ïs too bad I was born so long ago, because I could have made a fortune in a culture like yours!
Your leaders speak eloquently of justice and peace, but do you not depend on threats and violence to get your way in the world? You go to war often -- more often than most nations, in fact -- and when you do, do you know or even care how many of the 'enemy' you kill? Do their lives matter as much to you, and how is this different from my own casual conscience about killing Romans? At least Barabbas can say he killed his enemies in the cause of freedom; can you say that all of your wars are fought for such high and noble purposes today?
Yes, don ït condemn me too quickly, and don ït condemn the crowd in Jerusalem for choosing me over the other Jesus, because the truth is: you know Barabbas all too well. You subscribe to my methods and values all too easily, and you are more like me than you care to admit. The world may admire people of faith, but it pledges its allegiance to people of force, and I was counting on that as Pilate stood between your Jesus and me with our lives hanging in the balance. I knew all along that He would be crucified and I would be set free, because that is the way the world has always wanted it to be.
People have often asked me how I felt as I watched Christ ïs life being ransomed for my own. To be honest about it: I looked over at your Jesus and thought to myself, 'What a fool He is! How is His philosophy of charity and peace helping Him now? The people He talks about forgiving are screaming for His blood! The Romans whose evil we are supposed to resist with love are preparing His crucifixion! Why, if it were up to Christ to decide between us, He would volunteer to die in order that I -- a violent Zealot who repudiates everything He stands for -- might live! How could anyone be so foolish as to think they will actually get ahead in this world by putting the needs of others above their own?'
I can ït say I felt sorry for your Jesus as they led Him away, although I did shudder at the torture I knew He would endure. You who are so far removed from my era may not realize how cruel and agonizing a Roman crucifixion really was; people often hung on their crosses for many hours and even days, racked with pain and wishing that death would come. It was just one more reason to hate those barbaric Romans and give them what they deserve.
When the Romans released me, my friends wanted to celebrate, but I had to go to Calvary first. Not to see Jesus, mind you, but to be with the other two men who were crucified that day, the two men I was supposed to die with. They were Zealots like me -- my friends, my brothers in arms -- and comrades like us do not desert one another even in the worst of times. It was the least I could do, and it was more than the followers of your Jesus did for Him, I might add! 'Were you there when they crucified our Lord?' It is hard to describe the contempt I felt that day for the disciples of your Jesus who saved their own skins by running away.
Those were my feelings many years ago when I was a young, hard-bitten revolutionary who gave no pity and asked for none in return. I was convinced beyond a doubt that my language of brute force, and not Christ ïs language of love, is the only language this world respects, the only vocabulary this world can understand.
Now I am not so sure. First, I began to question the effectiveness of the tactics I once
espoused. Not too long after Christ ïs death, my fellow Zealots launched an all-out war against Rome, which resulted in the total destruction of our country and the scattering of our people to the winds. It was a national disaster, and all our violence did was precipitate more violence.
By contrast, Christ ïs church flourished despite Roman persecution which was as fierce and relentless as anything we Zealots faced. Their only weapons were steadfast faith and suffering love, but see how they succeeded! Today, the vaunted, invincible, 'eternal' Roman Empire is nothing but broken stones and crumbling ruins while the Christian church lives on in every corner of the earth. Maybe it ïs true that things like worldly power, prestige, status and wealth must wither and die while spiritual things abide. Maybe it ïs true that violence begets violence, and real peace can only be won by peaceful means.
I also began questioning myself when I saw how people I knew were changed by this Jesus of yours. One of His disciples was a tax collector named Matthew, a collaborator with Rome, and another disciple was a Zealot named Simon, who had sworn an oath to kill all tax collectors. Imagine a tax collector and a Zealot becoming spiritually bonded under one Lord! Imagine the former laying down his ill-gotten riches and the latter laying down his sword! Maybe it really is true that hatred defeats us by making us become the enemy we despise, and only love can save us.
I know I am not sounding much like Barabbas any more, and it bothers me to say things like this. But in the end, my doubts about my former life came down to a very personal struggle. I could not shake from my mind the sight of that other Jesus as they led Him away to be crucified. Most men who are innocent and about to die for a guilty man would be screaming out in helpless rage. This Jesus merely looked at me with kindness and generosity in his eyes, as if to say, 'You have your life back, Jesus Barabbas; now decide what you will do with it.'
He died in my place and gave me a second chance to live. That fact has haunted me ever since, but I am here to say that it should haunt you as well. You should wrestle with the implications as intensely as I have done because, you see, Jesus Christ didn ït just die in my place on Calvary ïs hill; He died in your place, too.
Can you see yourself as Barabbas, ready to die in your sin as I was ready to die in mine? Each one of us would be crucified on the cross of our own unrighteousness if He had not been willing to take our place; can you understand that Christ died as much for you as for me? If you can, then you are ready to take a hard look at the priorities in your life and the values in your heart. Like all people who have a close brush with death, you are ready to see everything differently now that you have a second chance at living.
Suddenly I am not so sure about the ways, the means, and the ends to which I devoted myself in the past. Suddenly I wonder if I haven ït been wasting my life whoring after worldly visions of might and right which deceive and finally destroy. A Man took my place on the cross and gave me a new life to live. My friends may be surprised to hear me say this, but I, Jesus Barabbas, intend to do the best I can with the second chance I have been given. What will you do with yours? Amen.
1.
Some ancient versions of the Gospel of Matthew, including the Syriac and Armenian versions, give Barabbas ï first name as Jesus.
2.
Bar-Abba means literally, 'son of the father,' while variations of the name as recorded in certain ancient manuscripts include 'Bar-rabban,' which means 'son of the teacher' (or rabbi).
Pastoral Prayer
God of the heavens and Creator of all worlds, we are trying to be like Barabbas today, reflecting on the infinite meaning of Your Son ïs sacrifice upon the cross. We examine our lives and assess our consciences, asking ourselves how much of them are worthy of our Christian faith and pleasing to our Lord. We question the extent to which worldly goals and values matter more to us than faithful service and heavenly rewards. We confess that in more ways than we would like to admit, there is a Barabbas within each of us who can only be grateful that Christ has come to die in our place, that we may no longer be condemned by our sin.
Make that sense of gratitude rise up within us like a mighty flood of righteousness, O God, that we may take full advantage of our second chance in life. Where we have been petty and spiteful, make us generous and serene. Where we have been quick to withdraw and condemn, make us eager to embrace and communicate. Where we have been silent in the face of wrong, make us vocal in the cause of right. Where we have passively accepted the savagery of war and violence, make us militant in the sacred struggle for peace.
O God, as Christ takes our place on the crosses of our sin and sorrow, grant to us a new vision of life as You intend it to be lived: in faith which leads to joy, in courage which leads to hope, and in grace which leads to love. Amen.
