The World’s Greatest Moment

Dominion, Volume 29, Issue 256, 25 July 1936, Page 18

The World’s Greatest Moment

I>»s- EYWOOD BROWN, writing in the “Nation” (New York) tells the h story, as he imagines Pontius Pilate would tell it were he to “*“ g write his biography of the condemnation of Jesus Christ. When ■M Christ stood before Pilate it was the greatest moment in the world’s history. The effects of Pilate’s decision are felt to this day, and will be still felt to the end of time.

Of course I remember Jesus Christ. I crucified him. Several have come to me to ask about that strange man whom I met once in Jerusalem. Lately there seems to be a cult in Rome and a new interest in his personality. Although his teachings died with him, it is not altogether strange that his memory should linger a little while even though he and I fought the great battle in an obscure corner of the world. Indeed, as I sit now to write the story of a long and varied life, the figure of Jesus Christ looms so large that everything else is blotted out. We exchanged no more than a dozen words. I was finished with him in less than an hour, but that morning tested everything that I was or had ever hoped to be. Judgment was passed on me as well as on Jesus in that short span.

I knew then as I know now that it was my hour of trial. And I triumphed over great temptation and danger because all my life had been a period of preparation for that crisis. I stood as lonely as a sentry. The man I sent to spy on Jesus had become his apostle. The city was ready to rise in tumult in defence of its hero. One of my trusted soldiers, a centurion, has paid public homage to him. And last of all my wife, who had heard him talk to a multitude, pleaded for his life. It. is easy to say that I represented the might and majesty of the Roman Empire while he was a disinherited fanatic, but he was of the stuff by which kingdoms fall. With words he could destroy that authority which legions protect precariously.* He never called himself the King of the Jews. His mind went far beyond any such goal. He knew and I knew that the Eastern world of mystics and dreamers was about to march on Rome. March, I say and I mean it ,for an idea can cut throng!) shields which a javelin would never pierce.

Civilisation as we know it faced the threat of going down under the feet of tlie mob. The weak were to overthrow the strong through weight of numbers. The meek, of whom He spoke, would go marching through tlie si reels where once the proud held up their heads, and in plain sight there was a world in which tlie meanest slave could pluck a Roman by the sleeve and call him brother I .was a provincial goyernoij but no fiaesar was .ever called

upon to render so momentous a decision. With a wave of my hand I might have swept tlie surface of the known world and left a clean tablet upon which to write a new one. The phrases of Jesus and the soldiers of Pilate were ample to create an empire.

I never liked the High Priest, nor did anybody else in Jerusalem, and for a fleeting second I thought how neat a stroke it would be to send him to crucifixion and turn the market-place loose to the eloquence of Jesus. And let no man think that my decision was in any way affected by the clamor of the High Priest, who was wholly without honeur even in his own community. His servants were a scrubby crew who would have cheered if I had slashed his throat. He served me as a blind.

No more as the issue Jesus or Barabbas, as I suggested for the sake of strategy. My choice lay between Rome and the new kingdom to which Jesus had given the name of Heaven. I had to decide whether to save that tangible civilisation built upon the exploits of our far-flung armies or make out of the mist a new city towering to the sky. I had to choose reality or a dream world. It is true I hesitated. I stood in the presence of a great man. We were alone, for I had drawn him into a room away from the noisy riffraff of the High Priest. Jesus was not afraid. And in the supreme moment of which I have written neither of us spoke. I stared intently into his eyes to catch even a glint of that fear which comes to men who are in the shadow of death. It was not there. He smiled. It was a friendly smile almost as if ho were saying, “Make either choice. I will understand ” And as I looked at him it seemed as if my spirit left my body and I was carried up to a high place from which I could see the kingdoms of the world. But though I looked to the far horizon Rome was not of them. Gone, blotted out was the Eternal City. An old wound in my left shoulder began to throb. I remembered how our thin ranks stood up against a charge in defence of our homes and firesides. It was an old campaign. For a moment I have forgotten in what distint land we fought it. But when we beat them oil we raised our swords high in the air and cried out “Rome! Rome! Rome” Once again our eagles had conquered.

And suddenly I found myself again in a room in Jerusalem staring into the eyes of Jesus Christ, and I knew I bad come to my answer. In a voice so low that wo could hardly hear it I said, “Crucify him.” for 1 was still shaken. But then, lest there be any mistake, 1 threw back my head and I cried loud enough for the guard at the door to hear, “Crucify him.”- The incident was oven. Rome had spoken.