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him. He reminds the prisoner of his power over him; -a power which, though subordinate to that of the emperor, was practically, in such cases and in that distant province, absolute and arbitrary. "Speakest thou not unto me? knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and have power to release thee?" (John xix. 10). It is an unworthy taunt against one in whom he himself acknowledges that he can find no fault. It marks a secret misgiving in regard to the equity of his procedure. Conscious of having no other ground to stand upon, he takes refuge in the last and worst argument of cowardly tyranny-the argument of mere power.

Alas! this too is but a refuge of lies. There is no escaping from the searching glance of one who seems to pierce his very soul. Infatuated man! This power of which thou makest a boast, however practically irresponsible in so far as thy master on earth, the emperor, is concerned, is not so in reality. It is given thee from above it is of God. And wilt thou use it after thine own pleasure, when it is the Son of God, as thou hast reason to fear, who stands before thee? The sin of those who delivered me to thee is aggravated tenfold by their seeking thus to turn against the cause of God and his Son the very power that is ordained of God. Thy sin will not be the less if thou yieldest to their importunity. "Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin" (John xix. 11).*

But yield, after all, he did; although to the last

* See Appendix A.

all the more after this closing interview he would fain have delivered his prisoner. "From henceforth," more than ever, "Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, If thou let him go, thou art not Cæsar's friend" (John xix. 12). The struggle becomes more desperate as it draws near its close. The claim of Jesus-his claim of sovereignty, of truth, and now even of divinity-is pressing closer and closer on the conscience. But, alas! alas! the loud cry prevails, "If thou let this man go, thou art not Cæsar's friend."

Ah! it had been well for Pilate if, at this eleventh hour, in this final crisis of his mental struggle, he had been moved by the Lord's appeal to his tremendous responsibility, as having no power but from above, to feel that he had no discretion-that he was shut up to the necessity of deciding for Jesus, and owning him as the King, the true Witness, the Son of God. It had been still better if, at the very first, when the idea of sovereignty and of truth, as not fictions but realities, took hold of his mind, he had learned to stand in awe that he might not sin,-to believe that he might be saved. If there be ground for the vague rumours of history, he had but little ease or peace in his future life, which he himself, it is said, in disgrace and in exile, terminated by a voluntary death. It is a solemn reflection to think how near the vacillating judge, the despairing suicide, may once have been to a believer. It is a most emphatic warning to all, to trifle with no convictions of their own, to yield to no solicitations of others, to let the Word of God have free course in their hearts, and to give no resistance to the strivings of his good Spirit.

V.

THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET.

PONTIUS PILATE DEALING WITH THE JEWS.

JOHN xix. 13-37.

THE fatal tragedy in which Pilate bears so sad a part, has what we might almost call an after-piece, in his subsequent intercourse with those to whom at last he has made up his mind to give way. Altogether, it is a strange game throughout that we see carried on between Pilate and the Jews-between the halfawakened conscientiousness of the governor, and the unscrupulous ferocity of the Pharisees. They are well matched in this trial of strength or skill. They are nearly balanced, mutually seeking to overbear or to overreach one another; and were it not that the subject of contention is so solemn, and the issue so serious, a discerning by-stander might almost smile as he looks on. At first the Pharisees have greatly the best of it. Their remorseless and unrelenting bigotry gives them an advantage over the vacillating Roman, who,

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however irreligious, has still some sense of honour and some feelings of compassion. Accordingly they press hard upon him. They drive him from one point of defence to another. They carry in succession the several outposts at which he would gladly rally and make a stanđ. They beat up his refuges and lurkingplaces, where he vainly tries to evade them, till at last they shut him up in a corner, and he is fain to capitulate, or rather surrender at discretion. But now it is his turn to make reprisals upon them. He has his revenge; he has the satisfaction of a certain kind of retaliation. And if they insolently exult in having made a tool of him, he may at least enjoy, if he can, the triumph of seeing them also sufficiently degraded; for at a certain stage the parts are reversed. These Jews, however hardened and hackneyed in their trade of hypocrisy, have yet, as well as Pilate, their tender point, at which they may feel sore. They, too, have their scruples— not quite so honest or generous as those of Pilate, but as sensitive when touched or trenched upon; and Pilate, their new ally and confederate, having as little sympathy with their scruples as they had with his, has now the upper hand, and may, if he pleases, gratify himself by tantalizing and tormenting them.

It may not be unprofitable to mark an instance or two of this strange and sad cross-fire-illustrating the vulgar proverb of the biter bit; or, to use the more becoming scriptural phrase, the wicked taken in their own snare, and falling into the pit they have themselves digged.

I. There is much meaning in the last appeal of Pilate to the Jews, evidently after he has made up his own

mind, and apparently for the purpose of drawing them on to commit themselves more deeply than they might intend or wish. "And it was the preparation of the passover, and about the sixth hour: and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your King! But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your king? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Cæsar" (John xix. 14, 15.)

It is the day before the Sabbath, and it is getting far on towards noon. Much time has already been lost through Pilate's long hesitation; and even now, when the hours are slipping by, he seems to be still trifling with them. Else why this new solemnity of bringing Jesus out, and presenting him to them as their king? and why this idle repetition of the appeal to them, Shall I crucify your king? Why waste words and put off the business of the day? As it is, the day is already too far spent. The Sabbath will be upon them before the work is done, and Jesus may escape somehow after all.

For though they have no scruples about ridding themselves of a preacher of righteousness, and of the righteousness which he preaches-nay, though they think that in this way they are doing God service-by no means will they, for all the world, have it done on the Sabbath. They had thought that they were safe from any such risk. They set about their task betimes in the morning. They summoned their own council at the high priest's house while it was yet dark; and they came early enough thereafter to the governor's palace. And if it had not been for the most unexpected obstacle which they met with there, the whole

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