Luke 23:18Meaning & Commentary from the Church Fathers

This caused Pilate to feel even more inclined to grant Jesus freedom, as the thought of sentencing a divine figure to death weighed heavily on him. However, the chief priests intensified their accusations, directly blaming Jesus for instigating unrest among the people, claiming He discouraged them from paying taxes to Caesar. They sought to reinforce their initial allegation, asserting that Jesus had come with this teaching from Galilee.

They did not shy away from slandering him, labeling him a godless sinner in collusion with the devil, claiming it was by his influence that miracles occurred. The gathering consisted primarily of locals from Jerusalem, supportive of the Pharisees and having a disdain for Galileans, which ensured the Sanhedrin's schemes would likely succeed. This led them to stir the crowd to call for Barabbas and seek Jesus’ demise. The Evangelist's phrasing, “and destroy Jesus,” indicates that the chief priests not only urged the people to seek Barabbas’ release but also pushed for Jesus’ death. After successfully inciting the crowd against Jesus, the chief priests and members of the Sanhedrin approached Lethostroton with their heads held high. Pilate then posed the question once more, “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” In unison, the crowd cried out: Barabbas.

As a Zealot, he held a fervent dedication to the temple and the law, while the Galilean was accused of undermining these very foundations, violating sacred traditions, and disrespecting the ardent defenders of ancestral customs, namely the Pharisees and scribes. In essence, he was seen as a threat to the faith of their forebears and worthy of severe punishment. With the groundwork laid, the elders began to shout for Barabbas, their cries escalating in intensity and urgency, adopted by the surrounding mob, who also demanded the release of Barabbas instead of Christ. The voice of the people, when it resonates with their true conscience, mirrors the voice of God (vox populi vox Dei). Yet, when that same voice is fueled by false enthusiasm and chaotic emotions, it can echo the voice of Satan, who skillfully manipulates public sentiment, often masquerading as so-called public opinion to further his own aims. Such was the case here, as Pilate recognized that his proposed plan was in jeopardy amidst the clamor of the enraged crowd. The shouts, typically accompanied by desperate gestures and movements, swelled louder, indicating a potential uprising. Pilate had witnessed similar tumult before; a few years earlier, when he considered introducing Roman standards with pagan emblems into Jerusalem, the public outcry, bolstered by the crowd’s fervor, had been uncontainable, forcing him to concede. Now, the situation mirrored that past turmoil. Doubt began to creep into Pilate’s mind, as his Roman sense of justice regarding innocence and his own dignity in defending a previous judgment began to wane, succumbing to an urge to swiftly resolve this troubling matter—especially regarding his own position of authority. Yielding to these contemptible Jews, whom the esteemed Roman philosopher Seneca had labeled ‘the most wicked and cursed people,’ was becoming an appealing option. However, Pilate could not overlook the notable principle from the Twelve Tables, which states, “one must not heed the empty shouts of the people when they call for the acquittal of the guilty or the condemnation of the innocent.” The procurator found himself in a precarious position.

At this moment, another complication arose, deepening his uncertainty. Just as he prepared to retake his seat and render the final judgment in light of the people's demands, a servant emerged from the palace, bearing a message from his wife, Claudia Procuda. In Roman custom, it was unusual for a wife to accompany her husband during provincial duties, as such tradition was abolished under Augustus. However, despite opposition from strict traditionalists, it became generally accepted that wives should be allowed involvement. This was particularly evident in the case of Pilate, whose wife clearly cared about his affairs and desired to assist him during critical moments. Tradition holds that she was a convert to Judaism and, as a pious Roman woman unconstrained by trivial Pharisaic rules, she was receptive to profound religious influences. It is reasonable to presume she followed the teachings and miracles of the Galilean Prophet closely and, upon learning of the grave danger he faced, felt deep compassion for him. She suffered through a troubling dream that caused her great distress and urged her husband, “Do not harm that Righteous One, for I have suffered much for Him in a dream.” As the ruler-judge grappled with his increasingly complicated situation, he recognized that while dreams can often mislead, some appear to be divinely inspired, and even the most skeptical Romans held a superstitious reverence for dream insights. Pilate found himself in a quandary, uncertain of the right course of action. Nonetheless, he felt he must maintain his Roman dignity. To bend to the outcry of the mob would mean releasing a rebellious Zealot, a potential threat to public peace and Roman authority, while allowing this innocent ‘dreamer’ to go free would represent a victory for truth and compassion over the jealousy and bloodlust of the Jewish leaders, who despised him deeply. As he listened to the fervent uproar of the crowd, amidst which he heard the shouts of “Not him, but Barabbas!” he resolved to make another attempt at appealing to the crowd's sanity. “Which of the two do you wish me to release to you?” he asked. Yet his efforts were in vain. “Barabbas, Barabbas!” the throng continued their frenzied cries, incited by the chief priests and elders who seized every opportunity to rally the momentum in their favor. “Let Him be crucified, and free Barabbas!” the voices of the crowd erupted.