He was tired to the bone, but rose to go trim the wicks and boost the light again. How many times had he been to these lamps tonight? How many times had he wanted just to give it up and go to bed? How many times had he hoped that some magic answer would swoop in his open window and land on his writing-table? How many times had he wished for relief from all his responsibilities?
How good it would be to have a break! A week at the seaside; that sounded good! Refreshing breezes, cooling and soothing. Or maybe a few days in the mountains to the east, where a man could get away from the pressures of the city and breathe clean air for a while. A vacation! That was what he needed. A vacation! Fresh air, time away from the desk, a few days with nothing to do but relax. He began to daydream about it.
But no. No. Can’t afford to do that. There are too many things to be done. Too many people depending on him. His work is important. There are decisions to be made and payrolls to be met, problems to be solved and programs to undertake. No, no, got to be responsible. Cannot shirk, cannot let up, cannot get away; got to be responsible.
He went back to work. The budget. Oh, the budget. Where would the money come from to do everything that everyone wanted done? The roof is leaking again … again, after all that had been done, and the building isn’t even old. But that has to be fixed. It will cost.
And then there are the personnel costs. Why in the world do we have to have so many workers here, and what do they all do anyway? For pity’s sake, more security? More guards, just to do nothing but hang around and make sure the place is secure? Do we absolutely have to have that? And musicians. Oh, the musicians. No matter how many you get, they always want more. More singers in the choirs, new instruments to play on, an improved rehearsal room. They want it all! How was he going to feed that voracious appetite!?
The budget, the money, the institution. If it isn’t the roof, it’s the musicians; and if it isn’t the roof or the musicians, it’s new robes for the priests, it’s cushions for the seats in the Court of the Women, it’s a new animal stall for the Court of the Gentiles. It’s always something. Why, some of these people even wanted him to send scarce funds overseas. How in the world was he going to meet all these demands?
Caiaphas the high priest felt stuck. He felt stuck, trapped in his responsibilities. He felt as though the very weight of the world was on his shoulders, that he couldn’t move, he couldn’t enjoy life, he couldn’t do anything, because he was stuck in responsibility.
I
For one thing, Caiaphas felt stuck in responsibility just for maintaining the institution. He had a job to do, and knew that he must do it. Nobody else would do it. No question about it. He had to maintain the Temple institution. There really wasn’t any time to ask questions about why the Temple was to be maintained. Nor could he worry much about what the Temple’s mission was or what its priorities were. The job was: just keep it going. He could have spent all day every day seeing that the building was clean and the bills paid and the program carried out. Caiaphas, this night, felt stuck, captured, in the sheer drudgery of keeping it going. Day after day after dull, drab day.
The job was not made any easier, by the way, by that Jesus fellow who had swept through the Temple precincts the other day with his whips and his rhetoric about a den of thieves. Business had not been back to par since. Just how was anybody supposed to maintain the Temple if the revenues were cut off? Just how would the bills get paid if the system were disturbed like that?
Caiaphas blinked his eyes and moved the lamp a little closer to his parchment page. The figures just wouldn’t add up. Too much going out, too little coming in. And you know what they say: that if your outgo exceeds your income, then your upkeep will be your downfall. Caiaphas was upset about Jesus and his challenge to the institution.
II
Jesus. What a problem this Nazarene had become! Who would have thought, three years ago, when reports began to filter in from up in Galilee, that one little preacher should become an issue? The man was strange, sure, but it should not have made ripples for him to wander around those little ne’er-do-well villages talking about loving God and neighbor. There should have been no worry about a footsore rabbi, mouthing sweet nothings like "blessed are the poor in spirit." Nothing revolutionary about that!
In fact, when the reports first came to Caiaphas that there was yet another claimant to be the Messiah, he had just smiled. He’d heard that before. He had leaned back in his priestly throne, and barely managed to stifle a yawn. Another Messiah? So what!? There had been many men claiming to be the Messiah. Most of them fizzled out within a few weeks. A few had been so foolish as to gather some followers and take up arms against a Roman outpost. But Rome knew how to quash these movements: do it quickly and decisively. These stupid little Messiah movements had always been crushed, thanks to that quick, decisive show of force from the Romans.
Caiaphas was not in love with the Roman occupation any more than any other Jew was, but he did admire their clarity. He did go for this thing of knowing where you stand and putting down opposition, right away. Caiaphas liked that. If you look like a leader, people will respect you and will be afraid to challenge you.
But the Jesus movement hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had gotten bigger and bigger. There had been stories, not only of teachings, but also of miracles. Supposedly Jesus had cured diseases and had straightened crippled limbs. Allegedly he had taken a man born blind and had given him sight. And the fellow at the pool of Bethesda … why, he had been a legend all through the land. Everyone had known about this guy who, for thirty-eight incredible years, had bothered the others who came to Bethesda for healing. And they say that Jesus cured even him!
Caiaphas didn’t believe it. No special reason why not. He just didn’t believe it, that’s all. No, he hadn’t bothered to investigate. No, he hadn’t tried to find the man and interview him. No, he hadn’t allowed himself to think that just maybe, this time there was something to the Messiah stuff. No, that’s not where Caiaphas’ mind went.
Caiaphas’ mind went to his own leadership role. Insofar as he thought about Jesus at all, Caiaphas thought only about how Jesus might make him look as a leader.
To tell the truth, he felt a little uneasy with leadership. He was never too sure whether people looked up to him or not. He was always listening for the nuances of what they said, trying to feel out whether they thought he was a good leader. Two Sabbaths ago, when his father-in-law Annas, who had been high priest before him, had said, "Caiaphas, my boy, that was a great message for the Festival of Purim. And you really sang the Psalm well tonight ... " ... two Sabbaths ago, when he got these compliments from Annas, he had been higher than the proverbial kite. It felt so good, so very, very good, to get a compliment. Never mind that it came from within his own family; being told that he was a good leader was just what he wanted to hear, and it took care of his feelings of insecurity, at least for a moment.
But, on the other hand, there was this past Sabbath. On this past Sabbath, after Temple service, a man whom he did not even know had asked him whether he had been out to visit Lazarus in Bethany. Lazarus? Who is Lazarus? And Bethany!? Why would he, the high priest, want or need to go out to the little village of Bethany, a couple of miles outside the city walls? If someone named Lazarus had business with the high priest, let him make an appointment and come to the office, like everybody else!
But the visitor claimed that God’s anointed priest really should make it a point to go out to Bethany and interview Lazarus, because, so the story went, this Lazarus had been dead and was now alive, all because of Jesus. In the tomb four days, all bound up, but now very much alive, because of Jesus.
Caiaphas trembled with rage, remembering what he had felt that day. There was something in the visitor’s tone, something about the way he said, "Jesus brought life to Lazarus" that threatened the high priest. It was as if the visitor were saying, "Jesus can bring life, but you can’t bring anything. Jesus can help people, but you can’t. Jesus is a leader, and you’re not." Caiaphas felt threatened. He just could not bear the thought of losing his leadership role. He could not stomach the notion that he, chosen to be the chief priest, the leader of the leaders, might be seen as less than adequate. The more he worried about it, the worse it got. What did they think of him, anyway? Did they know, did they suspect, how uncomfortable he really was with leadership? Did they have any idea that Caiaphas felt stuck with the responsibility of keeping up his leadership image?
Occasionally the high priest allowed himself to covet being your ordinary, average guy, with no responsibility but to go home after work and eat his wife’s cooking and tuck his children in bed. But he was the high priest, and he had to look the part. Yes, he was stuck with the responsibility of maintaining his leadership image.
Wait minute, what is there to worry about? Wait a minute, it’s all taken
care of! Caiaphas and the other priests and the leading men of Jerusalem had had a meeting right after the Lazarus thing, and they had arrived at a decision. In fact, Caiaphas had bowled them over with his leadership at that meeting. He had shown them what leadership was all about!
The man raised his head from his bookkeeping tasks and unleashed a slow, knowing smile. Ah yes, there wouldn’t be any problem. No problem at all, because he had learned this much from the Romans: look like a leader and others will follow you. Intimidate them, call them names, put down their ideas, and they will fall in like so many timid sheep. His smile broadened as he remembered that meeting.
The others had been wailing about Jesus, "What are we going to do? What will happen if we don’t stop him?" Such ninnies! Such wimps! It was not that Caiaphas really knew what to do; it was that he knew he needed to look like he knew. It was not that Caiaphas had thought it out carefully; it was that he knew he must say something, or else they would think he had nothing to say. And so the others accepted his harsh advice, when he said: "You know nothing at all! You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed."
One man to die for the people! As the first fingers of the dawn began to filter through the tiny east-facing window in his chamber, Caiaphas permitted himself to ponder for just a little while. That he was urging the death of another human being bothered him, just for an instant. That he was writing off Jesus as just another troublemaker whose death would buy peace with Rome … it made his stomach churn, but only for a moment.
No, it was better this way. It really was. It was better because he, the high priest, would be respected and feared. If he were to ignore this Jesus; if he were to permit this Jesus to get away with what he was doing, well, the people might get the idea that even high priests have weak moments and can be pushed around. Caiaphas didn’t like threatening Jesus; but he liked even less being threatened by Jesus. So one man can die; what is that, in the long haul?
Caiaphas sighed heavily. For a moment there he felt it again: stuck with the responsibility of leadership, a responsibility he wanted and yet did not want.
III
Back to the bookwork he went, with his shoulders squared and his heart invigorated. It was going to be all right. Things would work out. He had taken a stand, and others would get the Jesus business taken care of. Now if only he could find a little more money ... maybe we could raise the price on turtledoves. Maybe we can cut out two cymbal players from the Temple choir.
The heavy knock on his door had the sound of urgency about it, and there were the muffled voices of men in his waiting room. Who in the world would be coming at this hour? Was he always to have to deal with people, at any hour of any day, just because they wanted to see him? Stuck in responsibility again!
When Caiaphas opened the door, his eyes met squarely the deep, dark gaze of a man dressed in a simple peasant tunic. The man’s long hair was matted, and his cheek carried a huge bruise, as though someone had been hitting him. The fellow’s arms and legs were bound, and he looked so out of place, so miserable, that for a moment Caiaphas wanted to tell him to get out of there. But the presence of several of his own guards cut short his words.
One of the guards spoke. "Here he is. This is the one. This is the man Jesus, of Nazareth in Galilee."
Caiaphas tried to speak. His tongue felt dry and numb. He wanted to ask why his privacy was being disturbed. But the words would not come.
The guard did not wait. Taking off his helmet, as if in a gesture of respect, the soldier explained. "Sir, you remember; you let the order go out for Jesus’ arrest. We found him out yonder in the Kidron valley. Cost us thirty pieces of silver, don’t you know, but it was worth it to find out where he was. We took him to your father-in-law, to Annas, as we were instructed. But Annas told us to bring Jesus over to you."
Thirty pieces of silver! Caiaphas’ first instinct was to wonder what else would have to be cut from the Temple budget to pay that bill! But, stammering a bit, he got a grip on the situation. Annas had sent Jesus to his chamber?! Why had his father-in-law not just dealt with it and kept him out of it? Why did he have to get involved? Why should he waste his time, why should he expose himself to this problem? Why didn’t the old man just take care of it?
Caiaphas realized that he was standing there, his mouth gaping, staring at the Temple guard, who had said all he was going to say. They expected him to make some move, now. They expected him to decide what would be done with Jesus. They were trying to stick him with the responsibility of deciding, and he didn’t want to decide! He had left all of that up to Annas. The last thing he wanted to do was to make a decision that he thought had already been made! Why me? Why now? Why Jesus?
It was a long five minutes. A very long five minutes. Caiaphas’ mind was racing, fumbling. He had to do something. The guards were watching and waiting for orders. Who knows what they were thinking? Why, they might even be able to see how frightened he was. He had to do something!
And, as for Jesus …he could not longer look at Jesus. One look in those blazing eyes had been enough. Why, in the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, had not Annas just handled the matter? Why was it demanded of one lonely, overworked high priest to decide about Jesus?
An idea struck. A solution. A way to look strong and yet to do nothing. A way to get unstuck from this responsibility. A way to deal with being stuck with this decision, bequeathed him by his own family. To Pilate! To the Roman governor! Yes, that’s it. We cannot impose the death penalty ourselves, so take this bag of bones to the Antonia fortress and wake up Pontius Pilate. Yes, guards, hurry. Go on. Get away.
When they turned to go, and the door shut behind them, Caiaphas breathed again. Without planning to, he had been holding his breath. It’s such a burden, being stuck with the things your own family sends you and you don’t even know whether you want them. Like this job, high priest. Caiaphas had inherited it. It was his, whether he wanted it or not. And nights like tonight, he didn’t want it. Not at this moment, not really. Nobody ever even asked him whether he wanted this responsibility. He felt so stuck with the responsibility of carrying on, just because somebody else expects you to.
In a few hours it would all be over. A few minutes for the Roman governor to pronounce sentence; a few hours for the soldiers to carry out their grisly duty; a few hours more for the blasted beggar to hang there and die. And it would all be over. No more decisions about Jesus. No more painful choices. No more being stuck with responsibility.
Caiaphas turned back to his bookkeeping. His eyes drew heavy with sleep, but his mind lumbered on. Who will pay the price? Who will pay the price? So much responsibility. Who will bear this burden; I cannot carry these burdens alone. I cannot. I cannot. Who will pay the price?
Conclusion
This morning, there are those of you who, like the ancient high priest Caiaphas, feel stuck in responsibility.
You think you have to keep your life running the way it’s running. You think you have to keep doing the job you’re doing, you think you have to keep up appearances. You think you have to look respectable. You have to do it; you are stuck. Would you like to be free? Free! Not irresponsible, but nonetheless free?
You think you have to keep your image up. You feel you have to look like a together person, when in truth you know you are coming apart. You feel you have to look strong, because if you look weak, somebody will take advantage of you. You’re stuck with maintaining this together image, whether you feel it or not. Wouldn’t you like to be free? Wouldn’t you like to be real? Free!
You are doing what you were brought up to do. You’re in church because mom and dad took you to church. You’re plodding along, doing the right thing because it seems to be the right thing. You feel stuck with doing what somebody else said you ought to do.
But you never decided for yourself about Jesus. You never looked at your own life and said yes to Jesus. Did you realize that if you have not said yes, then you have said no? Let me repeat that: If you have not said yes to Jesus, then you have said no! You will not be saved because your parents were saved; you will not be made whole just because you come to church! You will not be free until you make your decision, your own decision, about Jesus Christ?
Won’t you be free? You can be free! "If the Son make you free, you shall be free indeed!" You don’t have to be stuck in responsibility. You can decide for Jesus Christ as Lord.
