We know precious little of the man called Barabbas, a contemporary of Jesus of Nazareth. He is variously described in the historical record as thief, murderer, rebel, and notable Roman prisoner.

His release by the Roman Prefect Pontius Pilate was part of the supernatural plan for the Christ to offer himself as the ultimate blood sacrifice, but it’s doubtful Barabbas understood any of that at the time.

Many have wondered what became of him, or rather, who he became after that fateful day. Someday we will know the answer, but in the meantime, we can imagine that, like all of us, he too sought a path of personal redemption, imperfectly.

In I Was Called Barabbas, Michael House offers his vision of Barabbas’ life by imagining what came after his momentous encounter with Jesus of Nazareth.

Excerpt

“I have indeed honored sound judgment and worthy tradition,” responded Pilate coolly, “and I will continue to do so.” He shifted his attention again to the crowd, his voice rising. “You ask for a noteworthy prisoner to be released at the celebration of your Passover feast, and I give you Jesus of Nazareth that you may show your great mercy and forbearance in sparing his life while you denounce his claims. This will raise your esteem among your people, and lessen his. Is that not fair? Is that not wise? At the same time, I heed the words of your High Priest, Caiaphas, that the blood of a man is required as a sacrifice for your people at this time, and since you cannot shed this blood, I do it for you. I shall execute the murderer Barabbas, also called Jesus, as an example to all those who fight against Rome, betray your people, and sin against your god. This is the true path forward.”

The crowd appeared stunned, flummoxed like a goat hit between the eyes with a stone. Some appeared to be considering Pilate’s words as they conversed in sharp whispers, while others began shaking their heads and stamping their feet like jilted toddlers, their faces going red. I looked to see Amalek’s reaction. His brow was furrowed in frantic thought and apparent anger, which he attempted to keep in check in the presence of the Romans.

Pilate lifted his chin slightly and smiled at Amalek. Beyond them, I noted that Jesus remained as composed as before, his eyes tinged with sadness instead of fear.

Finally, Amalek spoke, again paying obeisance to Pilate. “Your proposal has merit, wise prefect, but our scribes and elders have been out among the people, finding out their minds, weighing their reactions to what we might do today. Many of those scribes and elders are here, and their counsel is much greater than mine, so we should ask them which choice is best ... by your leave, of course.” He said the last with a deep but brief bow, and Pilate stared at him a moment before giving a curt nod.

Amalek turned to address the crowd. “You have heard our wise governor's reasoning, and I ask you now to weigh it against the present mind and mood of the people that many of you have been diligently and privily finding out. Which prisoner should be executed, that goodwill may be maximized across the entire province, this peaceful land of the children of Abraham?”

In ragged but energetic unison the gathered elites yelled, “Jesus of Nazareth!”

“Are you sure?” asked Amalek theatrically.

“Crucify him!” they shouted again, even louder. “Crucify him!” They continued to chant that boisterously for nearly a full minute, until Amalek raised his hands again, quieting them. He turned to Pilate, gesturing at the crowd.

“We believe in the Pax Romana, most honored prefect. And the voice of the people believes that the blood of the false king Jesus of Nazareth is required for that peace to be maintained.” I detected a threat in his tone, which was daring.

I had nearly turned my entire body toward the scene playing out between Pilate and Amalek, and the centurion was so focused on them as well that he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Pilate stared at Amalek for several long moments, then at the crowd, full of men and women of great influence and wealth in what had always been a restless province. Finally, he turned and gestured to someone behind him. A young boy hurried forward carrying a small basin of water which he held in front of Pilate. The prefect thrust in his hands, then removed them and rubbed them together vigorously as if washing them. Then he raised them, palms outward as he faced the crowd.

“Rome will execute your chosen prisoner,” he intoned solemnly, “but his blood is not on Rome, and it is not on me. His blood is your responsibility alone.”

Amalek nodded gravely, though I could tell he was trying not to gloat in front of his audience. “We accept this responsibility, prefect. God requires his blood, so let it be upon us as a gift for our obedience.”

A loud shout of victory arose from the throng amid jumping, waving of fists, and gleefully vicious smiles peppered with laughter. “Let it be upon us! Let it be upon us!” they chanted.

I shivered suddenly, and then it struck me like a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky. Jesus of Nazareth was to be executed in my place. My place. I was a murderer and a thief. I had abandoned my family. Jesus was a teacher, and, if the rumors were true, a healer. He had never harmed anyone. He had never shed blood. And yet his would be spilled while mine would be spared. To what purpose? Why would God countenance such a thing? And why would my people demand it? My weary mind could find no answers, and while I should have felt peace, I was deeply unsettled.

Pilate barely spared me a glance as he turned and left, a disdainful, disgusted look on his face that I doubt was meant for me. As he passed the centurion, he gestured toward Jesus and said, “Take him to the Praetorium and prepare him.”

The centurion saluted, then barked out orders to soldiers who jumped to comply. Then he turned toward me, the repulsed look on his face causing me to instinctively cower.

“You are free, scum ... for now. But I will be watching, and I’m sure we will meet again.”

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About the Author

MICHAEL HOUSE is the author of I Was Called Barabbas and Patriot Star. Before beginning his second career as a writer, he worked for twenty-five years in the world of corporate finance, strategic planning, and business development. Now, Michael lives in Utah with his wife, where he spends his time writing and enjoying his children and grandchildren. Learn more about Michael and his work at www.mdhouselive.com.

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