Two Kingdoms in the Dock
Introduction: The Politics of Ultimate Reality
We have arrived at the central political confrontation in human history. It is not Caesar versus Pompey, or the Allies versus the Axis, or the West versus the Soviets. It is Christ versus Caesar, which is to say, it is the Kingdom of God standing trial before a cheap, tinpot imitation. Here, in the praetorium of a middling Roman governor, ultimate reality is put in the dock. The Creator of the universe stands bound before His creature. The Word who spoke all things into existence stands silent before a man whose next breath depends entirely upon His sustaining grace.
We must not read this account as though it were merely an ancient tragedy or a miscarriage of local justice. This is a universal transaction. This is the collision of two totalizing claims to authority. Pilate, the governor, represents the authority of man, the authority of the sword, the authority of political expediency. He is the man in the middle, trying to navigate the treacherous currents of mob sentiment and imperial favor. He thinks he is the one asking the questions, but in reality, he is the one being examined. His entire worldview, the worldview of secular, pragmatic power, is on trial.
And Jesus, the silent King, represents the authority of God. His kingdom is not from this world, which is why His servants do not take up swords. But make no mistake, His kingdom is for this world. It has come to invade, to conquer, and to claim every square inch of it. The scene is saturated with a divine irony that is so thick you could cut it with a gladius. The Jews, who should have recognized their King, reject Him out of envy. Pilate, the pagan, can see His innocence but lacks the moral spine to act on it. The crowd, that great beast of public opinion, is manipulated into calling for the release of a murderer and the execution of the author of life. Every human institution here, religious and secular, fails catastrophically. And in their failure, the perfect, sovereign plan of God is brought to its bloody and glorious fulfillment.
The Text
Now Jesus stood before the governor, and the governor questioned Him, saying, “Are You the King of the Jews?” And Jesus said to him, “You yourself say it.” And while He was being accused by the chief priests and elders, He did not answer. Then Pilate said to Him, “Do You not hear how many things they testify against You?” And He did not answer him with regard to even a single charge, so the governor marveled greatly. Now at the feast the governor was accustomed to release for the crowd any one prisoner whom they wanted. And at that time they were holding a notorious prisoner, called Barabbas. So when the people gathered together, Pilate said to them, “Whom do you want me to release for you? Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?” For he knew that because of envy they had delivered Him over. Now while he was sitting on the judgment seat, his wife sent him a message, saying, “Have nothing to do with that righteous Man; for last night I suffered greatly in a dream because of Him.” But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to put Jesus to death. But the governor answered and said to them, “Which of the two do you want me to release for you?” And they said, “Barabbas.” Pilate said to them, “Then, what shall I do with Jesus who is called Christ?” They all said, “Let Him be crucified!” And he said, “Why, what evil did He do?” But they were crying out all the more, saying, “Let Him be crucified!” Now when Pilate saw that he was accomplishing nothing, but rather that a riot was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to that yourselves.” And all the people answered and said, “His blood be on us and on our children!” Then he released Barabbas for them; but after having Jesus scourged, he delivered Him over to be crucified.
(Matthew 27:11-26 LSB)
The King's Good Confession (vv. 11-14)
The confrontation begins with the central question, the political question.
"Now Jesus stood before the governor, and the governor questioned Him, saying, 'Are You the King of the Jews?' And Jesus said to him, 'You yourself say it.'" (Matthew 27:11)
Pilate gets right to the point. The Sanhedrin had condemned Jesus for blasphemy, but they knew that charge would not fly with a Roman governor. So they changed the charge to sedition. This man claims to be a king, which is a direct challenge to Caesar. Pilate's question is not one of idle curiosity; it is a legal inquiry into a capital crime.
Jesus' answer is masterful. "You yourself say it." This is not an evasion. It is a qualified affirmation. In modern parlance, it is something like, "Those are your words, but you are speaking the truth." Jesus acknowledges the title but refuses to let Pilate define its terms. John's gospel fills in the details of this conversation, where Jesus explains that His kingdom is not of this world. But even here, in Matthew's spare account, the effect is potent. Jesus makes what Paul later calls the "good confession" before Pontius Pilate (1 Tim. 6:13). He does not deny His kingship. He is a king, and He has a kingdom. This is the central claim, and He will not back down from it.
"And while He was being accused by the chief priests and elders, He did not answer... And He did not answer him with regard to even a single charge, so the governor marveled greatly." (Matthew 27:12-14)
After confessing His kingship, Jesus falls silent. The chief priests and elders are in a frenzy, throwing every accusation they can think of at Him. Pilate is baffled. He is used to defendants who plead, who argue, who try to save their own skin. But Jesus stands in silent majesty. This is the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy: "He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth; Like a lamb that is led to slaughter, And like a sheep that is silent before its shearers, So He did not open His mouth" (Isaiah 53:7).
This silence is not an admission of guilt. It is a demonstration of authority. He has already answered the only question that matters. The rest is just the meaningless noise of guilty men projecting their own wickedness onto the only innocent man in the room. His silence is a judgment upon them. He will not dignify their lies with a response. Pilate marvels because he has never seen power like this before. It is the power of perfect integrity, of a man who is so secure in His identity and mission that He does not need to stoop to the level of His accusers. Pilate is looking at a new kind of man, a new kind of king, and it unnerves him.
The People's Choice (vv. 15-23)
Pilate, seeing Jesus' innocence and wanting a way out, resorts to a political maneuver. He will let the people decide.
"So when the people gathered together, Pilate said to them, 'Whom do you want me to release for you? Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?' For he knew that because of envy they had delivered Him over." (Matthew 27:17-18)
Pilate is no fool. He sees right through the religious leaders. He knows this is not about justice; it is about "envy." Jesus' popularity and authority were a threat to their power. But instead of acting on his judicial insight and releasing a man he knows to be innocent, Pilate abdicates his responsibility. He tries to use a popular custom to solve his political problem. He offers them a choice, and he frames it to make the answer obvious. On the one hand, a notorious prisoner, a murderer and insurrectionist named Barabbas. On the other, Jesus, the one called Christ, the healer and teacher.
The irony here is staggering. The name Barabbas means "son of the father." Pilate is unknowingly asking the crowd to choose between the false "son of the father" and the true, eternal Son of the Father. And in this, we see a grotesque and yet perfect picture of substitutionary atonement. The guilty man, the son of a human father, will be set free, while the innocent Son of the heavenly Father will be condemned in his place.
A brief interruption comes from an unexpected source: Pilate's wife. She warns him based on a dream to "have nothing to do with that righteous Man" (v. 19). Here is a pagan woman, receiving supernatural testimony to Jesus' righteousness, while the covenant people, led by their priests, are baying for His blood. God leaves no one without a witness, not even Pilate. But he ignores the warning.
"But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowds to ask for Barabbas and to put Jesus to death... They all said, 'Let Him be crucified!'" (Matthew 27:20, 22)
The religious leaders get to work on the crowd. They persuade them, they whip them into a frenzy. And the crowd, fickle and easily led, makes its choice. "Barabbas." When Pilate presses them on what to do with Jesus, the cry comes back, "Let Him be crucified!" This is not a simple execution. Crucifixion was a Roman punishment, reserved for the worst criminals and slaves, designed for maximum pain and public humiliation. It was a cursed death. Pilate is shocked. "Why, what evil did He do?" It is a good question, one they cannot answer. So they simply shout louder, drowning out reason with raw, demonic passion. This is what happens when men reject the Logos, the divine reason. All that is left is the scream.
Pilate's Theatrics and a People's Curse (vv. 24-26)
Seeing that he has lost control and a riot is brewing, Pilate engages in a bit of street theater.
"he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd, saying, 'I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to that yourselves.'" (Matthew 27:24)
This is the ultimate act of a cowardly bureaucrat. He knows Jesus is innocent. He has the authority and the armed soldiers to enforce his verdict. But he is more afraid of a riot, more afraid of a bad report getting back to Caesar, than he is of shedding innocent blood. So he performs a Jewish ritual of absolution (Deut. 21:6-9) to declare his innocence. But it is a hollow gesture. You cannot wash away guilt with water. Lady Macbeth could tell you that. Pilate is complicit. He is the one who will give the order. His hands are indelibly stained.
The people's response to this is one of the most chilling verses in all of Scripture.
"And all the people answered and said, 'His blood be on us and on our children!'" (Matthew 27:25)
In their blind rage, they call down a self-maledictory oath. They willingly take responsibility for Jesus' death, not only for themselves but for their descendants. This is a formal, covenantal curse. And God takes them at their word. Within a generation, in A.D. 70, the Roman armies came and destroyed the city and the temple. The blood of hundreds of thousands was shed in that place. The curse came home to roost. This is a terrifying reminder that our words have consequences and that corporate, covenantal sin is a reality.
But here is the glorious, unexpected grace. The very blood they called down as a curse is the only thing that can save them. When Peter preaches at Pentecost, he charges them with this very crime: "you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men" (Acts 2:23). And when they are cut to the heart, what does he offer them? The cleansing power of that very same blood. The curse can be turned into a blessing, but only through repentance and faith in the one they murdered.
The scene ends with the terrible transaction complete. "Then he released Barabbas for them; but after having Jesus scourged, he delivered Him over to be crucified" (v. 26). The substitution is finalized. The murderer walks free. The Prince of Peace is handed over to be tortured and killed. This is the injustice on which our justice is founded. This is the great exchange. He took our place, the place of Barabbas, the place of every guilty sinner, so that we might be set free.