Bible voices - Barabbas

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Bible voices – Barabbas

 I was a man with a reputation. They said I was ‘well-known’ or ‘notorious’ (Matt 27:16) as  one who committed murder during ‘the’ uprising’ (Mark 15:7). Another of their writers got closer to the mark when he described me as a 'robber' (Jn 18:49). I was not a political hero, just a scumbag who robbed and then killed anyone who got in my way.

Truth is, I was a low life. I’d pick up what I could here or there, not caring from whom I took it and what I had to do to get it. As my mum might have said, I had many lucky breaks and got away with more than I should have for longer than I should have.

But that all ended. My usual tricks failed and here I was set for execution by the Romans for one of the murders. I don’t think it was the killing or robbery that troubled them, but the fact that I got caught up in a local rebellion. The Romans were no more civilised than us, but they did like ruling the joint with an iron fist.

So there I was in the cells near the Roman Governor’s Palace. I’d heard he was a wimp and under his wife’s thumb, but he sure had me in chains. The death sentence was on me and I was resigned to my fate. ‘Not a bad run’ and ‘such is life’ ran though my mind. Ah well!

I could hear this racket going on. The religious Jews were like a Friday football crowd going on about some guy called Jesus. I’d heard about him, but he was not my type. He gave stuff away, where I took. And there were the weird stories about him feeding people, healing them and even bringing back the dead. ‘Huh, I could do with some of that now’ I thought.

And then it happened. I was yanked to my feet, taken to the door, unshackled and pushed out before the crowd – a free man. Well, my chains fell off, but my heart was not quite free if you get my meaning.

I’m old now, but there are things you don’t forget. You never forget the look in a man’s eyes just before he dies – that terrified realisation that this is it as I swipe the blade over his throat. I can't forget Jesus, but its for different reasons. I didn’t get much of a look at him – just a passing moment as I was sent to freedom and he went back to the cells. He was different from the rest. His eyes were deep, with a kind of sadness but looking as though his saw somewhere else. And then he looked at me, with some strange mix of pity and love. It was weird.

I wandered by the hill later that day. There was the usual crowd of weeping women, soldiers doing as soldiers do and a few relatives waiting on the dead. The guy Jesus was all but gone – just a few last heaves of his body on that cross as he grabbed an agonised breath. As I scurried off like a rat looking to live another day it hit me – he died so that I could live.