WHY BARABBAS?

Kenneth L. Gibble

Barabbas. What is known about him? Very little. We know of him in connection with only one event in the Gospels: the appearance of Jesus before Pontius Pilate. The name Barabbas is on the lips of Pilate himself and on the lips of the crowd shouting for his release. Barabbas is released, and with that he disappears from the gospel accounts.

Yet despite this bare mention of his name, I have always been intrigued by his appearance in the gospel story. Maybe my interest in Barabbas is nothing more than the curiosity people generally have about notorious people. Newspaper headlines feature crimes, not acts of kindness. The public thirst for stories of wrongdoing seems all but unquenchable.

So perhaps I’ve been fascinated by Barabbas simply because he was one of the "bad guys" in the Bible, designated by John’s Gospel as a "robber," by Matthew as "a notorious prisoner," by Mark as one "who had committed murder." Yet Barabbas was not simply one more bad guy. He was the man who would have been crucified had not Pilate offered the crowd a choice between him and Jesus. Barabbas was the first person for whom Jesus died.

In my imagination I look back on that scene of Pilate as he stands before the crowd and asks, "Which one do you want me to set free for you? Barabbas or Jesus called the messiah?" (Matt. 27:17 TEV). It makes no sense to me when I hear the crowd roar: "Barabbas!" How could they choose a criminal over the Jesus I know: Jesus the innocent one, Jesus the healer of unlimited compassion, Jesus who went about doing good? What possessed the crowd to make such a foolish and terrible choice? Even when Mark’s Gospel says the chief priests incited the crowd to demand the release of Barabbas, it still doesn’t add up. Why not ask for Jesus to be set free? Why Barabbas?

Actually the Gospels do provide an answer. But it’s one you and I may not like to hear. Mark identifies Barabbas as "a rebel who had committed murder in the insurrection," taking for granted that the reader will know what insurrection it was. Luke describes Barabbas as a man "who had been put in prison for insurrection and murder" (Luke 23:25 NRSV). This means Barabbas was no common criminal; he was a political activist seeking to overthrow the hated Romans.

Jerusalem, in Jesus’ day, was an occupied city. Like all occupying armies, the Romans were constantly on the alert for acts of violence by those who hoped to incite a rebellion that would overthrow the oppressor.

Think, in United States history, of the Boston Tea Party, of Patrick Henry’s "Give me liberty, or give me death!" of the farmers ambush of British soldiers at Lexington and Concord. To many Americans, these deeds were acts of heroism; to the British, they were acts of terrorism.

To the Romans, Barabbas was a terrorist murderer; to the Jews, a hero. The crowd chose Barabbas because he represented what they longed for: freedom from oppression, an overthrow—violent if need be—of hated Roman rule.

Jesus, by contrast, was a big disappointment. True, the people had hoped he might be the messiah they were seeking. When he entered Jerusalem, they hailed him as the "son of David." David had been the warrior king. The people desperately wanted another warrior king. But the way of Jesus was not the way of the warrior. In John’s Gospel Jesus says to Pilate: "My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews" (John 18:36 NRSV).

The temptation of worldly kingship was a real one for Jesus. But when shown all of the world’s kingdoms "in a moment of time," as Luke tells us, which implies that Jesus could see even the powerful nations of our day, even our own, our Lord rejected each one. He would not succumb to the temptation to be what others wanted him to be. He knew what his mission was, and he was true to it.

And Barabbas? Perhaps now I can understand why the crowd chose him. Like the people of every age, they wanted a political hero. Like you and me, they wanted the kind of messiah who would give them what they wanted. Call him Barabbas or Yasser Arafat or Nelson Mandela or Fidel Castro or George Washington or, yes, Osama bin Laden—political heroes to some people, terrorists to others.

So the choice is made—Jesus will go to the cross, Barabbas will go free.

I have often wondered what happened to Barabbas. Was his life changed forever? After his release, did he join the crowd that watched Jesus make the lonely trek up Calvary’s hill? Did he stand there at the foot of the cross, his heart torn by the sight of the one dying in his place? Did that day turn his life around, make him a man of peace instead of a man of violence, a man committed to life rather than death? I’d like to think so.

But I believe it is more likely Barabbas went back to terrorism, that he never gave more than a passing thought to the innocent man crucified on the cross intended for him. Like the crowds who had shouted for his release, Barabbas had to choose. What road did he choose to follow?

We can’t know. But we do know this: If Jesus had been able to choose to spare either his own life or the life of Barabbas, Jesus would have made the same choice the crowd made—to spare the terrorist’s life. We know that because he chose to go to the cross for the worst of people . . . and the best.

Where do I—and perhaps you—fit into all this? I am little different from those who cast their vote for Barabbas. Like them, I so often find myself supporting any person or cause that promises to deliver whatever will serve my own interests. I prefer not to let my mind dwell on the "collateral damage" to others that may result.

If my car’s gas consumption hurts the atmosphere . . . that’s just the way it is. If a school board candidate opposes raising taxes, why should I care if the education of children is shortchanged? If my nation’s international policies are grounded in the willingness to unleash devastating destruction, why should I protest as long as the economy keeps rolling and I remain personally untouched?

Such examples are not as dramatic as the Jesus-or-Barabbas choice. But they bear more than a negligible similarity to that decision. How often I make my decision for a person or a policy that promises to get me what I want at as little cost to me as possible, regardless of the cost to others.

What I must force myself to remember is something that, though it seems incredible, is undeniably true: Even though you and I time and again foolishly choose Barabbas, it is Jesus the Christ who chooses us. It is Jesus, not Pilate, who sets Barabbas free. As Paul Wilks has pointed out (The Other Side, March/April, 1991), it is Jesus, not Pilate, who sets us free.

—Kenneth L. Gibble, Greencastle, Pennsylvania, is interim pastor of the Greencastle Church of the Brethren, has been pastor in Pennsylvania and Virginia congregations, and is author of many books and articles, most recently Journey to Jerusalem (Brethren Press, 2004).