Now NOW the usual residence of the Roman procurator was not Jerusalem. Jerusalem was an intolerable city to the man who had revelled in the gay life of Rome. The usual residence was Cæsarea, a mimic Rome down by the seashore. But whenever Jerusalem was thronged with strangers, as it was on the occasion of all the great feasts, it was the duty of the Roman governor to be there in person, to see that the peace was kept. So Pilate was in Jerusalem at the Passover, and he was living in the magnificent palace of the Herods, when the hour came that flashed on him a light that was to make him visible to all the ages. In the early morning Jesus was brought to Pilate, not into the palace (for to enter that would have been pollution to a Jew), but into the court, with its colonnade, in front of the palace. And the first question which Pilate asked showed how cunningly the charge against Jesus had been coloured. Pilate did not ask, 'Art Thou the Messiah?'—what did he care for Jewish superstitions? But he did ask, 'Art Thou the King of the Jews?' (v. 11). The question indicates how craftily the priests had gone to work. They had given a political and civil turn to the spiritual claims of Jesus, in order to play on the Roman governor's heart. They had hinted that here was a rival to Tiberius, and Pilate would do well to silence him. Jesus did not deny the accusation. There was a glorious sense in which He was a King. And when the accusers began to heap charge on charge, and Jesus neither retorted nor retaliated, I think that Pilate began to feel His kingliness. He marvelled greatly (v. 14). He had never met a Jew at all like this. There was something subduing in this silent Man. Pilate resolved to do all he safely could to get this strange, sad prisoner acquitted.

A POWERFUL influence now appeared to back his

efforts it was the unlooked-for intervention of Pilate's wife. Do you wonder how she had heard of

Jesus? Well, perhaps in the idle days at Cæsarea the tale of His deeds had enlivened the dinner-table. Or perhaps that morning, when Jesus was gone to Herod, Pilate had told his wife about the Man. And then, for it was still early, Pilate's wife had fallen asleep again, and God had visited her in a dream. Did God reveal the glory of Christ to her, so that she became a disciple of the Lord? Every Christian in Russia believes that, and the Eastern Church has made a saint of her. At least, while she slept, God touched her conscience, and she saw the unutterable horror of the deed in hand. She wakened in terror-could nothing be done yet? She despatched a messenger to warn her husband. She bade him have nothing to do with that just Man. And again Pilate resolved to do all in his power to get this haunting prisoner acquitted.

NOW Pilate had formed the shrewd suspicion that

jealousy was at the back of the indictment (v. 18). Who knew but that the prisoner might be a popular hero —had not the provincial crowds been crying Hosanna to Him? It flashed on Pilate (always thinking of self) that there was one way of releasing Jesus that might rebuild his own shattered popularity. It was a Roman custom at the Passover to liberate one prisoner chosen by the people. And it came as an inspiration to Pilate that if he summoned the people they might ask for Jesus. He summoned the people and laid two names before them— the one that of Jesus, the other of Barabbas. And we have a hint that Barabbas-which means 'son of the father'-had another name, and it was Jesus too! Now we never can tell how the mob would have chosen had they been left alone to make their choice, for the Pharisees were busy in the crowd; they whispered that Jesus was favoured by that odious Pilate. And they so played on these poor city-hearts, and so touched the chords of their cherished prides and hates, that there grew and gathered

a hoarse shout, 'Barabbas'; and Jesus?-'Let Him be crucified.' There was no gainsaying a hoarse mob like that. The more they were checked, the wilder grew the clamour. It was infinitely disgusting for a patrician Roman to have any discussion with such shouting beasts. He called for water, and standing on the balcony where all could see him, he washed his hands. It was an act that every Jew would understand. A silence fell on the flushed and eager crowd. What was that they heard from the balcony Pilate protesting his innocence? Another terrible cry rang out in an instant, 'His blood be upon us and on our children.' Then Pilate released Barabbas unto them, and when he had scourged Jesus, delivered Him-to be crucified (v. 26).

THIRTY-EIGHTH SUNDAY

L

Morning

REBUILDING THE TEMPLE

Passage to be read: Ezra iii. 1-13.

EAVING Babylon some time in the spring, when the fresh life in garden and in meadow would be like an outward sign of the fresh hopes of Israel, the great company of the Jews made their way homeward. They would spend a month or two upon the journey, and many a shepherd sitting on the hillside would wonder what strange and unwarlike host this was that was winding serpent-like through the valley below. Every now and then a burst of song would reach him, for there were two hundred singing men and singing women in the company (ii. 65); and when the children were weary and the women were faint, and even the men, footsore and parched, were thinking wistfully of the fountains and groves of Babylon, some rousing melody (of the kind we are still singing in the Psalms) would cheer and stimulate the weakest of them far more effectually than any Marseillaise.' At last they descried the hills of their dear country, they were home again; the exile was concluded. And the great host, with many tender farewells, and much of the sweet sorrow of parting that Shakespeare talks of, scattered itself to north, south, east, and west, among the towns and villages of their land. Now it is remarkable that they had hardly settled down, when the call of religion brought them together again. If the exile had done

nothing else for them, it had taught them to seek first the kingdom of God. There was a vast deal of work to do at home. There were houses to build and there were fields to plough; there were vineyards to dress and businesses to start. Yet in the seventh month the people left all that, to gather in Jerusalem for worship (iii. 1). An altar was built on the spot where the old one stood. The daily sacrifices smoked again. It is wonderful how dear the altar grows, when a man has been long forbidden it in Babylon.

MEANTIME, though the altar was precious, there

was something grander than the altar in their view. There could be no security, and indeed no peace of conscience, for the people whom God had so signally delivered, until the ruined Temple was restored. So preparations were begun at once. Masons and carpenters got their retaining fee (v. 7). Messengers were sent out to Tyre and Sidon, for the most skilful workmen are not always saints. And once again the stately forests of Lebanon, long undisturbed save by the storm and thunder, resounded with the clang of Tyrian axes. When folk are in earnest, work progresses rapidly. These preparations only took half a year. There is nothing in the world like high enthusiasm for helping us through great tasks in little time. So when the cere monies of the Passover were completed, and when in the second month the weather was propitious, the foundation stone of the Temple was laid. It was a great and evermemorable scene. There stood the priests in full pontifical dress, and each with a trumpet in his hand. Behind them were the Levites with their cymbals. All round in an enclosing circle was a dense crowd of eager and grateful people. And when the priests lifted up their voice in song, which was caught up and answered in chorus by the Levites, and when, ere the last notes had died away, the trumpets sounded and the cymbals