Week 3 Thursday — That First Easter... I Was There
Day 18: Pontius Pilate
Day 18: Pontius Pilate
Matthew 27:11-26; John 18:33-38
Introduction
He knew.
That’s what separates Pontius Pilate from almost everyone else in the Easter story. The crowds were swept up in the moment. The religious leaders had convinced themselves they were serving God. The soldiers were following orders. Peter was lost in his own fog. Even Judas had talked himself into believing he was doing what needed to be done.
But Pilate had no such cover. He was a Roman governor — a man trained to read situations, to weigh evidence, to make judgments. And everything in him said the same thing: this man is innocent.
His wife sent a message mid-trial: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.” The crowd’s hostility struck him as transparently political. Jesus Himself stood before him answering questions with the quiet authority of someone who had nothing to hide and nothing to fear.
Pilate tried to find a way out. He offered to release a prisoner — surely they’d choose Jesus over Barabbas. He sent Jesus to Herod, hoping to pass the problem along. He came back to the crowd again and again: “I find no basis for a charge against him.”
Three times he declared Jesus innocent. Three times the crowd pushed back harder.
And then Pilate took a basin of water, washed his hands in front of the crowd, and handed an innocent man over to be crucified.
He knew. And he chose anyway. That’s the mirror we have to look into today.
Scripture
¹¹ Meanwhile Jesus stood before the governor, and the governor asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?” “You have said so,” Jesus replied.
¹² When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer. ¹³ Then Pilate asked him, “Don’t you hear the testimony they are bringing against you?” ¹⁴ But Jesus made no reply, not even to a single charge — to the great amazement of the governor.
¹⁵ Now it was the governor’s custom at the festival to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. ¹⁶ At that time they had a well-known prisoner whose name was Jesus Barabbas. ¹⁷ So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, “Which one do you want me to release to you: Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?”
²⁴ When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” ²⁵ All the people answered, “His blood is on us and on our children!” ²⁶ Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.
— Matthew 27:11-14, 15-17, 24-26 (NIV)
³³ Pilate then went back inside the palace, summoned Jesus and asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
³⁶ Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.”
³⁷ “You are a king, then!” said Pilate. Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”
³⁸ “What is truth?” retorted Pilate. With this he went out again to the Jews gathered there and said, “I find no basis for a charge against him.”
— John 18:33, 36-38 (NIV)
Reflection
What Could Not Be Washed Away
Pilate’s question — “What is truth?” — is one of the most haunting in all of the Easter story. Not because it’s a genuine inquiry. Because it isn’t. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He asks the question and walks straight back out to the crowd. It’s the question of a man who has already decided he can’t afford doing what is right.
What Pilate wanted wasn’t truth. He wanted a way to escape — to be technically uninvolved. The hand-washing was theater. A public performance of innocence that he hoped would transfer his guilt to someone else. “It is your responsibility.” As if responsibility worked that way. As if his non-decision wasn’t a decision. As if a basin of water could clean what his choice had made dirty.
It couldn’t. It can’t. The hands that washed themselves in front of the crowd were the same hands that signed the order. No ceremony changes that.
Pilate didn’t lack information. He lacked the courage to choose what was right over his own self-interests. And he dressed the lack of courage up as a lack of options.
He had options. He had authority. He had three declarations of innocence already on the record and a crowd that, however loud, could not actually compel a Roman governor to do anything. The crowd frightened him less than Caesar did. A riot in Jerusalem, a complaint to Rome, a whisper in the emperor’s ear that Pilate couldn’t control his province — that was the real threat. Everything else was negotiable.
What he didn’t have was the willingness to pay what holding the right position would cost him — his standing, his relationship with Caesar, his carefully managed political future. He overruled his own conscience. He dismissed his wife’s prophetic warning. He betrayed his civil duty as governor — Caesar’s appointed instrument of truth and justice — in order to protect his place in Caesar’s world.
So he washed his hands. And handed Jesus over.
We Are Like Him
Pilate is the most uncomfortable mirror in the series because he’s not a monster. He’s a pragmatist. A reasonable man doing what reasonable men do when the cost of conviction exceeds what they’re willing to pay.
We know him well.
We know what it is to see something clearly — the right thing, the true thing, the courageous thing — and then find a reason why this particular moment isn’t the right time to act on it. We know the hand-washing ritual: the disclaimer that distances us from a decision we’re about to make anyway. “I don’t really agree with this, but...” “I know this probably isn’t right, however...” “I want to go on record as saying...” — and then we go along with it.
We stay silent when we should speak because speaking would cost us the room. We go along with what we know is wrong because disagreeing would cost us the relationship. We choose the path that keeps our options open, our reputation intact, our future uncompromised — and we find language that makes the choice sound like something other than what it is.
We ask “What is truth?” not because we want the answer but because the question buys us time and makes us sound thoughtful while we’re deciding what we can afford.
Pilate stood in front of the Truth and chose his career. He walked out of that conversation, washed his hands, and signed the order. And history remembers him for one thing.
But here is where grace enters even the darkest story: Jesus, standing before the most powerful man in Jerusalem, was not a victim of Pilate’s decision. “You would have no power over me,” He told him quietly, “if it were not given to you from above” (John 19:11). The cross was not Pilate’s idea succeeding. It was the Father’s plan unfolding — through Pilate’s failure, despite it, redeeming it.
The one who stood silent before a governor’s questions is the one before whom every knee will bow. The accused became the Judge. And the judgment He renders is not what we deserve — it is mercy, offered to everyone who does what Pilate would not: stops asking what truth will cost, and simply receives it.
We were there in the governor’s hall, finding our own reasons why this moment isn’t the one to take a stand. We are there now. But the basin of water was never going to clean what only the blood of Jesus can.
Grace Note
“For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” — 2 Corinthians 5:10 (NIV)
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” — Romans 8:1 (NIV)
One day we will all stand where Pilate stood — before Jesus, with our choices laid bare. But there is a profound difference: Pilate stood before Jesus as a judge with the power to condemn. We will stand before Jesus as the condemned, recipients of grace He purchased at the very trial Pilate presided over. The one who was handed over is the one who will receive us. And the verdict He renders is not what we deserve. For those who receive what Pilate refused — the Truth standing right in front of him — there is now no condemnation. None. The basin of water couldn’t clean what Pilate’s choice had made dirty. But the blood of Jesus already has.
Prayer Prompt
Jesus,
I confess that I know the basin of water. I know the hand-washing ritual — the disclaimer, the caveat, the careful language I use to distance myself from decisions I’m making anyway. I’ve stood in front of what I knew was right and asked “What will this cost me?” instead of “What does this require of me?” And I’ve chosen my comfort, my reputation, my carefully managed future over the courage You were asking for.
Forgive me for the times I’ve dressed cowardice up as prudence. For the silences that weren’t wisdom but self-protection. For the moments I’ve handed You over to whatever crowd was loudest because holding the right position felt like too high a price.
You stood silent before Pilate’s questions — not because You had nothing to say, but because You had already decided what You were willing to pay. You paid it for me.
Give me that kind of courage. Not the courage that never feels the cost — but the courage that feels it fully and chooses rightly anyway. Help me stop washing my hands and start following Yours. Amen.
Response
1. Name Your Basin: Where are you performing innocence rather than choosing courage? The relationship where you’re using careful language to avoid taking a clear position. The workplace situation where you’ve gone along with something you know is wrong. The moment you’ve been waiting for the right time to speak — which somehow never arrives. Name the specific basin you’ve been reaching for. Pilate’s problem wasn’t that he faced a hard choice. It was that he chose comfort and called it something else.
2. Ask the Right Question: Pilate asked “What is truth?” as a way of avoiding it. Today, ask it genuinely — in one specific area where you’ve been managing ambiguity rather than pursuing clarity. Bring it to Scripture. Bring it to prayer. Bring it to a trusted friend if you need to. Stop asking what the truth will cost you and start asking what it requires. Then take one step in that direction.
3. Stand Before the Right Judge: Pilate tried to manage his verdict by managing his audience — the crowd, Caesar, his own conscience. We do the same. Today, spend 10 minutes in silence simply standing before Jesus — not performing, not explaining, not managing. Just present. Let Him be the only audience that matters. What does He see? What does He say? What does He ask you to do that you’ve been too afraid to do in front of everyone else?
To read all the posts in this devotional series, visit: That First Easter... I Was There
© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way