By George M. Docherty
But none of them was there, except Barabbas, the prisoner who was freed; the murderer whose chains were unshackled, the bandit given another chance, the condemned man who was given back life because Jesus stood "in his stead."
A medieval saint perhaps best of all records what Barabbas might have felt:
"What thou, O Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners gain,
Mine, mine the transgression, but thine the deadly pain;
Lo! here I fall, my Saviour, 'Tis I deserve thy place;
Look on me with thy favour, vouchsafe to me Thy grace."
As to no one else, the grace of forgiveness was offered if Barabbas had only realized what was taking place before his eyes.
"Father, forgive them for they know not what they do" spoken to the multitude, nevertheless had for Barabbas a unique significance.
Of all the people involved in the death of Jesus each one could perhaps justify himself before the Law. The high priests were simply carrying out the law upon anyone who would blasphemously claim to be Messiah. Pilate -- the foreign pagan judge -- had to keep the peace: so this man must die. The disciples were hardly expected to understand the terror of these events. If they fled, they would hope to return. The mob is the same that walks across crucifixion and burnings and hangings in every age: a kind of perverted entertainment, where one might even knit, counting the stitches as each French head falls before the guillotine.
But Barabbas had no argument in his favor. He could not have cared less. His business was to keep alive. Yet, even to him, was this grace given.
Unfair? Of course it is. Bonhoeffer talks of "cheap grace" wherein we take lightly and for granted the death of Jesus. And the dying Heine, asked if he has any sins to confess, declared "It is God's business to forgive."
Blasphemous? Of course! Nevertheless, true. God pity us if we are to be counted worthy of His grace, for none of us is worthy. No indulgence is precious enough to pay for this Event.
And Barabbas? If only he had known!
"What language shall I borrow, to thank thee dearest friend?
For this thy dying sorrow, thy pity without end.
O make me thine forever and I should fainting be
Lord! let me never, never, outlive my love to Thee."
There is a revealing footnote. According to the Gospel of
Matthew we read (27:17) "When they were assembled, Pilate said to them which would you like me to release to you -- Barabbas or Jesus called the Christ?" But in the great manuscripts -- Vaticanus, Sinaiticus, Alexandrinus, Bezae, et al -- the question appears as: "Whom do you want me to release for you? Jesus Barabbas or Jesus who is called Christ?"
Adoring scribes of ancient days perhaps can be forgiven for not daring to suggest that Barabbas, the bandit, the murderer, had the same name 'Jesus.' They put their pens through 'Jesus,' that name which is above every other name, and left only Barabbas. Yet it seems he was called "Jesus Barabbas" -- Jesus, a common name of those days akin to Joshua.
What an extraordinary coincidence! This son of a Rabbi is now named with the Savior of the world, though there is no reason to believe that it ever meant anything to this hero of the Jewish resistance.
Yet for us it does. Our name is declared in baptism. Luther in dark moments clung to this, "Remember," he would mutter, "you have been baptized."
And the blessed in the heavenly places have the name of Jesus "written on their foreheads." As indeed every follower is so known. We are "Jesus" people! Whatever Barabbas thought, the people would in years to come remind him what his name stood for. And if Barabbas indeed had known he too might have echoed the words of Paul Gerhardt:
"These eyes, new faith receiving, from thee shall never move.
For he who dies believing, dies safely through thy love."
