Killing Jesus: A History

hard across the head, which pushes the thorns even deeper into that tight network of nerves. The result is an instant fiery sensation radiating up and down his face.
    Much to the jailers’ delight, they have contrived one of the most gruesome methods of torture conceivable.
    But just when it seems that Jesus can’t take anymore, the soldiers receive word that Pilate would like to see the prisoner. Once again, Jesus is led out into the public square, where the Sanhedrin and its loyal followers stand waiting.
    Jesus’s vision has blurred. Fluid is slowly building around his lungs. He is having a hard time breathing. He has predicted his death all along, but the details of his demise are shocking.
    The high priests and religious leaders watch as Jesus steps forth, the crown of thorns still on his head. In him, they see the memory of a man who publicly humiliated them in the Temple courts just three days ago. They can see his suffering now, yet they have no sympathy whatsoever. Jesus must die—the more painfully, the better.
    It is 9:00 A.M. as Pilate takes his seat again on the judgment throne. He tries one last time to release Jesus. “Here is your king,” he snarls at the assembly of religious leaders and their disciples. These men should be in the Temple courts, for the slaughter of the lambs is soon to begin.
    “Take him away,” the religious leaders chant. “Take him away. Crucify him.”
    Pilate is tired of arguing. The Roman governor is not known for his compassion and believes he has done all that he can do. The fate of Jesus is simply not worth the effort.
    “Shall I crucify your king?” he asks, seeking a final confirmation.
    “We have no king but Caesar,” a chief priest replies. If taken at face value, those words are an act of heresy, for in saying them the priest is rejecting his own Jewish God in favor of the god of the Roman pagans. Yet the followers of the Sanhedrin see no irony in the situation.
    “What crime has he committed?” Pilate yells back.
    “Crucify him!” comes the response.
    Pilate orders that a small bowl of water be brought to Jesus. He dips his hands into the chalice and theatrically makes a show of a ritual cleansing. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he tells the religious leaders. “It is your responsibility.”
    But in fact the responsibility belongs to Pilate. Only the Roman governor possesses the ius gladii —“the right of the sword.” Or, as it is also known, the right to execute.
    So it is that Pilate orders his executioners to take control of Jesus. As they lead the Nazarene away to be crucified, Pontius Pilate prepares for an early lunch.
    *   *   *
    The purple cloak is ripped away, but the crown of thorns remains. The death squad places a plank of unfinished wood on Jesus’s shoulders. It weighs between fifty and seventy pounds, it is just a little less than six feet long, and its splinters quickly find their way into the open wounds on the Nazarene’s body. The humiliation at Pilate’s palace now complete, the procession toward the place of execution begins.
    At the front of the line is the officer known as the exactor mortis . By tradition, this centurion holds up a sign written in Greek, Aramaic, and Latin. Normally, a man’s crimes are listed on the sign, which will be nailed onto the cross above him. This way, any passerby will know why the man was crucified. So if treason is the charge, then that is what the sign should state.
    But Pontius Pilate is changing tradition. In a last attempt to get the better of Caiaphas, the governor writes the inscription himself, in charcoal: JESUS THE NAZARENE: KING OF THE JEWS .
    “Change it,” Caiaphas demands before the crucifixion procession gets under way.
    “It stays exactly as it is,” Pilate replies, his condescension apparent.
    So the sign leads the way as Jesus and his four executioners make the painfully slow journey to Golgotha, the hill used as the Roman execution ground. The trip is slightly less than half a mile, taking Jesus through the cobbled streets of Jerusalem’s Upper City, then out the Gennath Gate, to the low hill on which a vertical pole awaits him. It is getting close to noon. A substantial crowd has gathered to watch, despite a blazing sun overhead.
    As a former builder and carpenter, the Nazarene knows the proper way to carry a length of lumber, but now he lacks the strength to do so. The exactor mortis becomes concerned as Jesus repeatedly stumbles. Should Jesus die