Killing Jesus: A History

spirit. Despite the late hour, news of Jesus’s arrest has made its way around Jerusalem. A small crowd now gathers in the courtyard, warming themselves by the fire pits. A second group stands outside the palace’s gates, waiting for any news. Two of the disciples 3 have had second thoughts about abandoning Jesus and have braved arrest to be here. They stand among a number of men loyal to Caiaphas.
    Jesus watches as, one by one, Caiaphas’s sycophants come in out of the cold to falsely testify against him. They stand before the Sanhedrin and brazenly lie about Jesus, spinning stories about things he has said and done. The members of the Sanhedrin listen closely, waiting for the one accusation that might allow them to pass the death sentence. They tolerate the litany of lies, trusting that an accusation worthy of a death sentence will eventually be revealed in these proceedings—even if it takes all night. Technically, bearing false witness is a crime punishable by death, but the Sanhedrin is willing to conveniently sidestep that legality for tonight.
    Throughout the process, Jesus says nothing.
    Then comes the accusation for which the Sanhedrin is waiting. “This fellow,” swear two men loyal to Caiaphas, “said, ‘I am able to destroy the Temple of God and rebuild it in three days.’”
    Caiaphas has been sitting, but now he suddenly rises and advances toward Jesus. To Caiaphas’s utter fury, Jesus does not contest this allegation. One look at the Nazarene and it is clear that his will should have been broken hours ago—the dried blood, the residue of spittle, the hematomas, and the swelling. Yet Jesus is placid and ever defiant.
    “Are you not going to answer?” Caiaphas demands with indignation. “What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?”
    Jesus remains silent. He can see the question forming on Caiaphas’s lips. It is the query to which everyone in the room wants an answer. Indeed, it is the one question that hundreds of thousands here in Jerusalem also want answered. But even as Jesus anticipates what Caiaphas is about to ask next, he also realizes that there is no proper response. His death is imminent, no matter what he says.
    “I charge you under oath,” fumes Caiaphas, “by the living God: tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God.”
    Silence. Outside, the first birds of morning are stirring. Conversations can be heard from beyond the courtroom. But in this public room where Caiaphas usually socializes and privately conducts official Temple business, no one utters so much as a syllable as they anxiously await Jesus’s decision: Will he finally speak?
    Jesus does answer: “If I tell you, you will not believe me. And if I asked you, you would not answer. But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God.”
    “Are you the Son of God?” the priests demand.
    “Yes,” he tells them. “It is as you say.”
    Then Jesus looks straight at Caiaphas: “ You will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.” 4
    Caiaphas grabs the front of his own tunic and wrenches the expensive fabric, tearing it down from his chest. Under normal circumstances, high priests are forbidden to display anger in such a manner. But these are not normal circumstances, for Jesus is implying nothing less than that Caiaphas is an enemy of God.
    “He has spoken blasphemy,” the high priest tells the Sanhedrin. “Why do we need any more witnesses? Look, now you have heard the blasphemy. What do you think?”
    Religious law says that each member of the Sanhedrin must cast a vote when passing sentence. But now there is no vote. The verdict is passed by simple consensus. The only voices of dissent come from Nicodemus and a wealthy Sadducee named Joseph of Arimathea.
    The sun is rising. Jesus has been convicted of blasphemy and sentenced to death. The next step is as easy, or as difficult, as convincing Pontius Pilate to order his Roman executioners to do the deed.
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    Across Jerusalem, in the Antonia Fortress, the dozen men who comprise the Roman death squads sit down to ientaculum , their big meal of the day. They will most likely not be able to get back to the barracks for the light midday prandium , so they enjoy their large portion of porridge. It is often served with cheese and honey to make it ever more filling and to provide more energy for the hard labor to come. Bread, weak beer, and