Barabbas - Part One

The next couple of posts are written in remembrance of what Jesus did on the cross for our sins and his resurrection from the dead for our life.  What might have happened to  the man who was freed from death and Jesus died in his place...Barabbas?  May we all remember and live out our lives in the very fact that Jesus died in our place.

Part One - The Story of a Robber

(Jerusalem is full of tension the day before Passover)

From the porch of his palace the great Prefect of Judea gazes out over the crowd that is packed into the square below him. He had never seen Jerusalem boiling with such anger during his three years in office. Pilate thinks to himself that his childhood as a wealthy boy, brought up in the city of Rome, had not prepared him for this situation. His appointment to this hot corner of the Empire was a dubious honor today. Pilate desperately wanted to acquit Jesus because of some horrible feeling that was churning inside of his body. But the crowd had worked itself into a frenzy that could not be calmed without conformity to their position.

Meanwhile in the prison occupying three levels below Pilate’s palace is where I have been lowered.  In fact to the lowest level of this great cavity carved into the stone floor is my chamber; eight feet by eight feet, thirty feet deep and very dark. The occupation I had grown into, beginning as a child, was robbery. You know, today I am 33 but this is probably my last birthday. Anyway, my current situation under Pilate’s house is worse than usual because someone has squealed on me after my most profitable robbery. It seems that the rich travelers I cleaned out were coming from Rome to visit Pilate.

My name is Barabbas and crucifixion is the way my life will end. It seems odd but during the last hour I have felt a small tremble in the rock walls around me. The guard on the second level suddenly yells down and says that a huge mob of people out in the square are screaming my name. “Barabbas, Barabbas!” the guard repeats out of amazement. I decide they must be yelling for someone else. There is no crowd that even knows who I am. Earlier today a new guy was brought in and chained to the wall on the top level next to the entrance guard. He never said a word but maybe his name is also Barabbas.

A lantern appears above me and through the darkness of my situation I see two Roman soldiers lowering a rope to me. I am instructed to tie it around me and hold on. Not so gently they drag me up the stone wall and out onto the second level floor. Three men I know are chained to the second level wall and they begin to harass me about how my time has come. Very slowly the two guards force me to ascend the narrow set of steps carved into the wall of the second level. Finally at the top of the steps I am face to face with the man chained in the holding niche. This Man is so quiet and good that I somehow feel the weight of my crimes for the first time in my life.

The new prisoner is not named Barabbas as I had speculated. While this compelling Man silently looks into my eyes, a guard says “meet Jesus, the man who will die in your place today!” My knees almost buckled as I tried to get my mind around this news. This guard must be playing some awful prank on me. But another guard escorts me out onto the steps of the palace and removes my chains. I am unable to say a word as another unbelievable thing happens. The huge crowd suddenly begins to cheer for me. Had I died and gone to some other world?

After attending a party with some of the crowd who were totally unknown to me, I came to understand that they were celebrating the soon coming death of the gentle Man who was to take my place on the cross. This realization turned my stomach. I slipped away and wandered the empty streets on the other side of town. I am supposed to be the bad guy but these high class religious leaders were having an innocent Man killed and it was making me sick. Nothing makes any sense today. I was thrilled to be set free but why is this Man named Jesus dying in my place?

Somehow I found myself climbing the city wall where looking out from the roof over the gate I could see the place of the skull where criminals were crucified. I heard the crowd noise coming from behind me and looking back into the city I saw the cross moving slowly. The convicted Man was trudging under the weight as he made his way through the main street of Jerusalem. What was my replacement thinking as He went through the gate and out to His cruel death? I watched all afternoon as the terrible drama slowly played to its end. As the Man hung on the cross that terrible day the entire sky went black. The darkness gave me the opportunity to leave the wall and slowly approach the crosses.

I waited until everyone was gone and had left the three dead men hanging on the crosses in a distorted silence. “Look now at the notorious thief, Barabbas, sitting on the ground watching a dead Man,” I thought to myself. But I could not leave, something had gripped me and would not let go. I had no idea that millions of people the world over would be gripped by the same power. A man had slipped beside me quietly while I was totally engrossed in the darkness of my thoughts. He introduced himself as a disciple of the dead man and called himself John. He explained that although it was the Sabbath night he could not stay at home where he belonged. Then he asked a question that twisted my insides. John wanted to know who I was!

He must have thought it strange but I just stared at him. Then in a choked voice he repeated that his name was John and that the man he loved so much was the Son of God. When I heard that Jesus was the Son of God my terrible confession just gushed. I was Barabbas, the man Jesus had died for. As I explained the events of my day and how none of it had made any sense to me, John did another unbelievable thing. He put his arm around my shoulders. No one had ever done this to me before. He told me a little about the Man who had died and the things that had been said from the cross. When I heard the words Father, forgive them I went to pieces.

My name is Barabbas but I have never met my actual father. Could my strange name finally have meaning to it? I should explain that Bar means “son of” and abba means “the father.” Is it possible that I could become a son of the Heavenly Father? John stood up and insisted that I come to his home in spite of the fact that I was the man Jesus had died for. As the days passed I learned that the Man on the cross had come back to life and that my friend John had seen Him. I believed everything John was teaching and eventually I became part of his group of believers.

It was exactly 50 days after the death of Jesus when we were all gathered in the upper room. Approximately 120 of us were present when suddenly we heard the sound of a great wind and what looked to be a tongue of fire hovering over each of us. John explained to me that the Spirit of Jesus had just returned to earth in order to live inside of each believer. Instead of having just one person of Jesus on the earth, now it was possible for many people to represent Jesus in this lost world. What a burden was lifted from my back. Now that Jesus was inside of me, I, Barabbas, would do my best to be like the Savior who had died for me and be a good son for my new Father.