| The cold chamber is dimly lit. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Jesus is shoved, stumbling, up the rich, red carpet to stand in front of Pontius Pilate, who has been rudely awakened to hear the case of this King of the Jews. But Pilate hadn’t been sleeping anyway. The night before, he had drunk too much, partied too long, and smoked too many cigarettes. (When I think of Pilate, I can’t help but picture him with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, even though I know cigarettes didn’t exist back then.)
I imagine Pilate rubbing his chin and asking a few questions, to the first of which Jesus replies, “Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”
Jesus’ answer is thought-provoking. What does this uneducated peasant know about truth? I can imagine Pilate thinking. So he reaches for a pack of cigarettes, lights up, and squints through the haze of smoke. “Tell me,” he sneers as he takes a drag, “what is truth?”
A long moment passes as the smoke clears. Jesus is silent. He says…nothing. The suspense mounts. Finally, in disgust, Pilate flicks an ash on the floor. The suspense drains.
Why was the Lord silent? He could have defended himself. Maybe that’s the key. How can you say in twenty-five words or less that you are the Lord of the universe? Maybe Jesus’ lack of words was the best way to answer. Perhaps more meaning was crammed into that moment of silence than we can imagine. Heaven may have been whispering, “Be still and know that the Lord is God.” (The idea for this story came from Robert Farrar Capon.)
How do you respond when God is silent? With fear? Doubt? Impatience? Maybe the Lord is being silent so you might know in a new way that he is the Lord of the universe.
Teach me, Jesus, to sit and wait for word from you, as long as it might take. And give me the ability to hear your answer in the stillness. |
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