Barabbas the Terrorist
Barabbas was running through the narrow streets of Jerusalem like his life depended on it and as far as he knew, it did. He was surprised and dismayed at his lack of endurance. Not that he didn’t have a good excuse. Not many would be able to run like trained competitor in “the games” if they had just spent the last few months in the dungeon of the Roman Praetorium. Somehow he had survived on an occasional piece of moldy bread and a dose of beatings from his captors. As he gasped for air he worked up enough courage to glance over his shoulder at the expected pursuing mob. He was astonished to see that the street behind him was practically empty and no one seemed to be paying any notice to him. Could this be? Could he really be free? Trying not to attract any attention, Barabbas moved cautiously through the streets in his torn, smelly rags. He fully expected for his name to be called out and for the flight to begin again.
As he headed towards his widowed moms hovel on the edge of the city, he no expectations of a warm welcome. In fact he would have to make sure none of his neighbors caught him sneaking in or they may finish what the Romans didn’t. As he made his way along, his mind wandered on how he had come to be in this position.
It all started with his upbringing. As a boy he had been told the stories of the great Jewish hero, Judas Maccabeus. Judas had begun a rebellion against the Seleucids who were left over from the time when Alexander the Greek had conquered his county. Using hit and run techniques, Judas had successfully defeated several armies even killing a famous general. He rallied the people by promising to restore the temple to worshiping Jehovah instead of the many Greek gods. He even executed the Jewish High Priest, a collaborator, who was leading the Greek worship in the Holy of Holies. Each year everyone was reminded of this victory by the Celebration of Lights, the eight day feast of Hanukkah. Barabbas and his boyhood friends rehashed these events as they played with their wooden swords. But as he grew older the enemy changed from the long-gone Greeks to the new conquerors, the Romans.
The often heard comments from the adults against their occupiers kindled a rage that would eventually consume him. . He was taught that the prophets fore told of a messiah who would be the great liberator and would set up Israel as leader of all nations. This leader would come from the house of David, and it so happened that he was too. Certainly a new Judas was needed and who knows, maybe he was destined to be that Messiah.
It took time, but he slowly gathered a small group of like-minded young men and began to carry out small acts designed to strike terror into the hearts of the Romans. Of course it was hard to intimidate the Romans and they struck back hard with brutal reprisals. Barabbas took this as the cost of war, but some of his countrymen began to tire of brutal retaliation and turned against the band. Barabbas even had to eliminate a few of his own countrymen who he judged to be the new collaborators. He made known that he thought the High Priest of the temple was one the worst of the traitors and should get the same treatment that Judas had handed out during his rebellion. And so he became a wanted man of not only the Romans, but of the Jewish authorities.
Early one morning as he and his gang slept they were pounced on by a Roman detachment supplemented by the Jewish Temple guard. Everyone in his band was killed but Barabbas, who was wounded. The Captain of soldiers instructed his men not to finish him off so that Roman justice could make an example of him.
And so began his stay in the dark musty cell. His cellmates were a couple of inept highway men named Menna and his whining friend Diodorus. He almost welcomed his impending crucifixion then to spend the long dark days with that pair. The worst part of the imprisonment was never knowing when his final moments would arrive. Each time the cell door opened he cringed a bit, (but not enough for his cell mates to see) expecting to be forced outside with the tip of spear. The other two would just whimper in the far corner. Until today their only interruption had been when the guards got bored and decided to have some fun by abusing the prisoners, or when they threw in some garbage that they laughingly called “pig food,” one more dig at their Jewish ness.
This morning that dreaded moment came. The door was violently opened and the three of them were shoved outside by the guards, into the courtyard. As their eyes tried to adjust to bright sunlight, they found themselves standing next to Pilate facing an angry horde chanting, “Crucify, crucify, crucify.” Pilate said something to the crowd that he didn’t understand and the rabble immediately screamed “Barabbas, Barabbas, give us Barabbas.” His heart sank at the realization that this rabble was here to kill him. In his wildest dreams in his dark cell, he had visualized a similar scene except the mob was there to break him out in a total rebellion against the Roman oppressors.
Barabbas was shoved out to the front, with a line of soldiers with weapons drawn and Pilate sitting high on a throne behind him. Of to side he could make out a poor soul who had obviously been severely beaten. The swarm in front of him was worked up to a frenzy. Dust was being thrown in the air, some of them were ripping their clothes and most were shouting angry words toward him and the Romans. He was sure that they were going to surge forward, overwhelm the guards and tear his limbs off.
Then the throng quieted down as Pilate raised his arms motioning them to be quiet. He addressed them saying, “One more time, who should I release to you, this well known murderer, or this Jesus of Nazareth, who has done nothing wrong?” Barabbas was stunned as his mind tried to comprehend the question. He was even more amazed at the crowds’ response. “Give us Barabbas, Give us Barabbas! Crucify Jesus, Crucify Jesus!” He was now looking at Pilate who was obviously upset at the response. Pilate addressed the mass again, “Then let the blood of this innocent man be on your heads, I’m washing my hands of this whole matter.” And with that he nodded to the guards who grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him into the angry crowd. He braced himself for the expected blows but none came. If fact they slightly parted as he made my way through them. When he got to the outside edge of the throng he began running with everything he had. It’s got to be a trick, was all that he could think. They’re going to give me a little head start for the sport of it, and then run me down like a jackal in the desert.
As he approached his family’s compound he tried to put all of the last hour’s events in some kind of order. He was the one who supposed to have been killed. And that bloody mass of flesh who name was evidently Jesus was going to take his place.
Well he didn’t know who this Jesus was but he sure must have been someone really bad to get that mob all worked up into such a frenzy. Finally he made it to his mother’s home, slid in the back door and saw an astonished look on her face. After all the screaming, hugs and pinches of the face, things calmed down enough for him to answer her “how” questions. She stood in disbelief as he told her how he got his freedom. When he mentioned that a man named Jesus of Nazareth was taking his place on the cross, her hand went to her mouth to stifle a gasp and then she let out a “Oh no, not Jesus!” “Why, he asked, do you know him?” “Oh yes,” she exclaimed. I’ve been to several of his teaching and healing meetings. I’ve never heard anyone like him, he teaches like it’s coming from God himself. He such a wonderful man and the word around the city is that he even raised a man from Bethany from the dead last week. Some even say that he might be the Messiah. And you say that Jesus is going die in your place?”
The way she said that made Barabbas uncomfortable. From the tone of her voice it sounded like she would rather have her own son be killed than this mystical teacher, some homecoming. But then her mother instincts took over as she checked out his sores and bone body. She also began to scurry around coming up with a variety of food, including bread baked just this morning. He didn’t know when he had tasted anything that was so good.
As he sat there at the small table, his mother filled him on the family news. After his belly was full and he was caught up on the family, his mom asked him what was he going to do now? The question startled him because it had been so long that he had even though about the future. Recently his future was death by the way of the Roman cross. It quickly dawned on him that one thing for sure was he wasn’t going to be able stay around here. In fact the quicker he got out of Jerusalem the better. In fact it would be best if he left the country all together. And so in a few minutes a plan took shape on how he would head west to a seaport, try to get work on a ship that would take him away from this land.
His mother was reluctant to let her “escaped from death” son leave but realized that it was the only option if Barabbas was going to survive. She packed him all the food he could carry and gave him the few copper coins that she had managed to save. She came up with some clothes that had been his fathers, including a long hooded robe that might keep him from being recognized.
After a hug from his mother, Barabbas went on his way. With his hood up and eyes never looking at anyone directly, he kept to the narrow side streets as he made his way out of the city. When he passed through a gate in the wall he couldn’t believe his eyes. There directly on a hill in front of him, was a crowd gathered around three crosses. His first impulse was to turn and go the opposite direction but something drove him on. As he climbed the hill his inner voice kept telling him that this was crazy to put himself at risk. Soon he found himself at the edge of the onlookers. Making sure that his hood covered everything but the front of his face he gazed up at the crosses. He saw that his ex-cellmates were in excruciating agony, he actually found himself feeling sorry for the duo. Then he looked up at Jesus. “By all rights that’s where I should be,” he thought. This man, who he had never met, had taken his place. From the description given by his mother, this man hadn’t done anything to deserve this. None of this made any sense. He couldn’t take his eyes off this man called Jesus. And then Jesus lifted his head and looked in his direction. Their eyes met, and in that split second that seemed to last for an eternity, Barabbas mind seem to hear, “I’m choosing to die for you, the Romans have little to do with it. Your many sins can be forgiven, find me.” And then Jesus dropped his head back down, contorting in agony.
Barabbas just stood there with tears running down his face trying to get control of his emotions. “Who is this man,” he kept asking himself, “and why was he dieing for me on that awful cross.”
He finally gave himself a shake and headed down the hill. His future depended on him getting out of this city and land. What had happened on this grisly hill would soon be forgotten.
