Tag: passion

“What do you wish me to do?” Interrogating the unlikely portrayal of Pilate (Mark 14–15; for Holy Week)

“What do you wish me to do?”, Pilate asks—according to the earliest account of his interaction with Jesus of Nazareth, recounted in the Gospel we attribute to Mark (although the narrative itself refrains from offering any identification of the author). Pilate, the Governor, representative of the mighty Roman Empire, asking a rag-tag crowd of Jews for advice on what he should do? Is there any historical plausibility in this scene which the unknown first century writer constructs?

I have had a number of discussions of this issue with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, whose knowledge of ancient authors and ancient Roman practices has been illuminating for the way we might understand the Gospel accounts. Much of what follows reflects those discussions.

“What do you wish me to do?” (Mark 15:12). It is not only this question that should cause us to question the narrative. Earlier, Pilate had seemed at a loss: “do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” (15:9). The narrative offers an explanation: “he realized that it was out of jealousy that the chief priests had handed him over” (15:10). And then it presses the point: “the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release Barabbas for them instead” (15:11), and so he asks the crowd, “what do you want me to do?” (15:12). For us, the question is: what do we make of this dithering, indecisive Pilate?

The narrative plays out the conflict by making sure that we understand Pilate has been cowed by the crowd, reporting that the crowd shouted at the Governor, “Crucify him!” (15:13). Instead of portraying the Governor as responding with all his imperial might, the narrative continues with Pilate asking a naïve question, “Why, what evil has he done?” (15:14a). To this, the crowd pressed still louder, “Crucify him!” (15:14b). And so, the denouement plays out: “Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released Barabbas for them; and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified” (15:15).

We know that the Gospels were not written as “eye-witness accounts”. It would especially have been unlikely that one of the followers of Jesus was there, taking notes, as Pilate dealt with Jesus Barabbas and Jesus of Nazareth. The unlikelihood of this slim possibility is intensified by the comment in Mark’s Gospel, about the followers of Jesus, that “all of them deserted him and fled” (14:50). Clearly, the author envisages that none of those followers were there at this scene. (The reference to a group of women “who used to follow him and provided for him when he was in Galilee” refers, not to this moment in the sequence of events, but only to the later scene when Jesus is dying on the cross; see 15:40–41.)

We can’t treat the Gospels as actual “history-as-it-took-place”. We can’t treat the Markan account of Jesus before Pilate as historical. That is especially the case regarding the way that Pilate is portrayed. Most of our knowledge of Pilate outside the New Testament comes from the writings of the Romano-Jewish historian Flavius Josephus, who details many incidents during the governorship of Pilate, and Philo Judaeus, a learned Jewish philosopher living in diaspora in his Alexandria. The Pilate they describe is quite different.

Their Pilate is said to have displayed a serious lack of empathy for Jewish sensibilities, for example by displaying Roman battle standards in Jerusalem. Josephus writes, “On one occasion, when the soldiers under his command came to Jerusalem, he caused them to bring with them their ensigns, upon which were the usual images of the emperor. The ensigns were brought in privily by night, but their presence was soon discovered. Immediately multitudes of excited Jews hastened to Caesarea to petition him for the removal of the obnoxious ensigns. For five days he refused to hear them, but on the sixth he took his place on the judgment seat, and when the Jews were admitted he had them surrounded with soldiers and threatened them with instant death unless they ceased to trouble him with the matter.”

The story does end with Pilate backing down; but this is in the face of a large uprising, and not just in relation to one individual. Josephus continues, “The Jews thereupon flung themselves on the ground and bared their necks, declaring that they preferred death to the violation of their laws. Pilate, unwilling to slay so many, yielded the point and removed the ensigns.” (Josephus, Jewish War 2.169–174; Antiquities of the Jews 18.55–59)

Philo of Alexandria tells us that on other occasion Pilate dedicated some gilt shields in the palace of Herod in honour of the emperor. On these shields there was no representation of any forbidden thing, but simply an inscription of the name of the donor and of him in whose honour they were set up. The Jews petitioned him to have them removed; when he refused, they appealed to Tiberius, who overrode the governor, ordering that they should be removed to Caesarea. (Philo, Legatio ad Gaium, 38)

Josephus also reports how Pilate appropriated Temple funds for the construction of an aqueduct: “At another time he used the sacred treasure of the temple, called corban (qorban), to pay for bringing water into Jerusalem by an aqueduct. A crowd came together and clamoured against him; but he had caused soldiers dressed as civilians to mingle with the multitude, and at a given signal they fell upon the rioters and beat them so severely with staves that the riot was quelled.” (Josephus, Jewish War 2.175–177; Antiquities of the Jews 18.60–62)

Pilate may possibly have responded harshly to the unrest in Jerusalem during the Passover in 33 CE, because, due to other political machinations at that time, the powerful neighbouring Roman province of Syria was unable to provide him military support, as usual. (This the hypothesis that Elizabeth has developed; I think it makes sense.) Pilate wanted to suppress the potential uprising before it got momentum.

We do know that in approximately 36 CE, Pilate used arrests and executions to quash a Samaritan religious uprising. After complaints were then made to the Roman legate of Syria, Pilate was recalled to Rome; he is believed to have later committed suicide.

So, we can see that the character of Pilate in other ancient texts beyond the earliest Christian texts is far more ferocious and determined than how he is depicted in the Gospels; and, indeed, he is antagonistic towards Jews in particular. His vascillation, and his bowing to the shouted demands of the crowd, do not correlate with the character of the figure to which these two Jewish writers attest.

Thus, there is a clear political improbability to the account found in Mark’s Gospel—indeed, in all four Gospels, whose authors each strengthen the Markan portrayal. Matthew has Pilate wash his hands of his decision, saying, “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves” (Matt 27:24). Luke has Pilate declare that Jesus was innocent not once, but three times (Luke 23:4, 14, 22). And John’s Pilate engages in a philosophical discussion with Jesus (John 18:33–38) and questions him further, seeking to find a way to excuse him (John 19:8–12), before bowing to the pressure of the crowd (John 19:13–16).

So Pilate as we know him from other accounts was a ferocious and fearless leader whose strength of character is made clear by the numerous times that, according to Josephus, he sent in his troops to quell an uprising, to scatter a crowd, to squash a rebellion.

American scholar Bart Ehrman concludes that Pilate “was a brutal, ruthless ruler with no concerns at all for what the people he governed thought about him or his policies. He was violent, mean-spirited, and hardheaded. He used his soldiers as thugs to beat the people into submission, and he ruled Judea with an iron fist.” (See https://www.patheos.com/blogs/rationaldoubt/2019/05/pilate-released-barabbas-really/)

Surely Pilate would not have been cowed by the crowd in Jerusalem for Passover? Had he wanted to act, he would simply have ordered his troops to attack, scatter the crowd, and disperse the built-up tension. The Gospel accounts of Pilate, across all four narratives, are improbable; the apologetic purpose (to show the Romans in a better light, to avoid being seen as an agitator or rebel, and to place the blame on the Jewish authorities) becomes clear, when we read in this way. We need to bear all of this in mind, as we read and listen to the familiar narrative this Easter, and each Easter.

Would a Roman Governor ask a Jewish crowd for advice? That would be an untenable act, completely undermining his authority. Would a Roman Governor release a known insurrectionist from his sentence? There is no known precedent for this—indeed, no evidence at all, apart from the Gospels, of this practice. It is historically implausible (particularly in the light of the fact that Barnabas means “son of God”).

On the (mythological) story of Barabbas:

Jesus Barabbas, son of the father: freedom fighter, or fable? (for Holy Week)

Would a Roman Governor be so under the control of the Jewish Sanhedrin to act in this way? Especially since it was Rome which appointed the High Priest; it was the Jewish hierarchy which needed to do as Rome commanded. In the earliest account, Pilate questions the crowd as to whether he should sentence Jesus (Mark 15:5, 14). The same question is noted in Matt 27:23. By the time of Luke’s Gospel, he speaks a clear threefold affirmation of the innocence of Jesus (Luke 23:4, 13–16, 22).

By the fourth Gospel, the scene where Jesus is brought to Pilate is changed from a trial to a philosophical discussion (John 18:29–31, 38). Pilate (quite uncharacteristically) backs down in the face of a baying crowd (Mark 15:6-15, and parallels). In Matthew’s account, Pilate enacts the potent symbol of washing his hands of the whole affair (Matt 27:24).

The Jewish Sanhedrin, by contrast, is placed firmly in the firing line. All four Gospels tell the story in the same way: the central factor that leads to Jesus being condemned to death is the decision of the Jewish Sanhedrin (Mark 14:63-64, and parallels), and their agitation amongst the crowd (Mark 15:11; Matt 27:20; Luke 23:13-16; John 18:38b-40). Mind you, the Gospel accounts are also on shaky historical ground in the way they describe the actions of the Sanhedrin. See

“All of them condemned him as deserving death.” Interrogating the unlikely narrative of the Council (Mark 14; for Holy Week)

So another relevant question is: Would a follower of a man put to death under Roman rule for treason write a narrative which placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Roman Governor? I can see exactly why the Gospel writers sought to move the blame away from Pilate, onto the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem. Yes, Jesus was crucified by order of the Roman Governor (Mark 15:15 and parallels); but his hand was forced, they say.

So, with supreme irony, the inscription set over Jesus identifies him as King of the Jews (Mark 5:26). Ironic, because the inscription was ordered by Pilate, the Roman Governor over Judea—and Romans did not honour kingship, did not value kingship. Their rulers were Caesars, not Kings, elected by the Senate, not inherited by birth. The irony of the way that this story is told is that the Roman Governor apparently recognises the kingship of Jesus. The reality of the moment was that the Governor recognised a threat to the power of Rome, and acted to quell that.

In Luke, the Roman soldiers at the cross taunt Jesus, saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” (23:37)—a taunt provoked by the sign that was affixed to the top of the cross, bearing an inscription that read, “This is the King of the Jews” (23:36). That inscription; although it is intended to identify Jesus, is actually a statement of power and authority, made by Governor Pilate on behalf of the Roman Empire which he served. In the end, he asserts his authority. The Roman Governor has a pretender King put to death for treason. That much, I believe, can be retrieved as bedrock history, nestled within this rather fanciful narrative.

And so, in the end, even the Gospel accounts attest to the reality of Roman power. Their constant presence, their marching legions, their brutal commanders, intervening to execute their bloodthirsty justice … and their governor, Pilate, as fierce and rough and unbending as any governor ever known, ensured that Jesus went to his death.

“All of them condemned him as deserving death.” Interrogating the unlikely narrative of the Council (Mark 14; for Holy Week)

“They took Jesus to the high priest; and all the chief priests, the elders, and the scribes were assembled” (Mark 14:53). That’s how the author of the good news of Jesus the chosen one reports the scene when the fate of Jesus is sealed (Mark 14:53–65). Accused of predicting that the Temple would be destroyed (14:58), Jesus is interrogated by the high priest (14:60–63) before the declaration is made: “you have heard his blasphemy!” (14:64).

After further consultation by the chief priests “with the elders and scribes and the whole council”, Jesus is led away to Pilate, the Roman Governor (15:1). And so the fateful course of events is set in motion—questioned by Pilate, sentenced to be crucified, nailed to a cross where he dies, and the the lifeless body of Jesus is handed over to some of his followers (15:2–47).

The other evangelists follow suit. One notes that “the assembly of the elders of the people, both chief priests and scribes, gathered together, and they brought him to their council” (Luke 22:66), another specifies that “they took him to Caiaphas the high priest, in whose house the scribes and the elders had gathered” (Matt 26:57). The fourth gospel reports that “first they took him to Annas, who was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year” (John 18:13), and subsequently “Annas sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest” (John 18:28).

The account of the time that Jesus spent being interrogated by them Jewish leadership appears, on the surface, to be an objective account of what transpired in that meeting. The council was the Great Sanhedrin, the supreme religious body in Israel during the Second Temple period—from the time when the exiles returned to the land under Nehemiah, until the destruction of the Temple in the year 70 CE. See more at https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-sanhedrin

The source of the narrative in Mark 14 is unclear; indeed, the narrator has emphasised just before reporting on this meeting that when Jesus was seized in the garden by “a crowd with swords and clubs [who had come] from the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders” (14:43), after a token display of resistance (14:47), “all [of his followers] deserted him and fled” (14:50).

The narrator underscores this with a tantalising glimpse of the figure whom I (anachronistically) call “the first Christian streaker”— “a certain young man [who] was following him” who escaped the grasp of those in the crowd, shedding his linen cloth, “and “ran off naked” (14:51–52). And Peter, most pointedly, was outside the chamber, warming himself by the fire (14:54), and denying that he even knew Jesus—not once, but three times (14:68,70,71). There was nobody—absolutely nobody—from amongst the followers of Jesus who was present to witness what transpired as Jesus was brought before “the chief priests and the whole council” (14:55).

So how do we know what happened in that council meeting?

Further exploration of the scene is warranted. Such further examination might well consider some key factors. When did the council meet? Where did they meet? How did they conduct their business? And how did they come to a decision about Jesus?

To guide any exploration of these matters, scholars have turned—with due caution—to a Jewish text which sets out the designated procedures for a meeting of the Jewish council at which serious matters such as blasphemy were considered. The due caution is warranted, because the text is found in the Mishnah, a document written early in the third century CE—thus, almost 200 years after the time when Jesus was said to have been brought before the council. Did the provisions of this 3rd century text apply in the 1st century?

The opening page of the Kaufmann manuscript of the Mishnah, the most complete early manuscript of the Mishnah,
dated to the 10th or 11th centuries CE.

And such caution is intensified by the fact that the Mishnah is written at a time long after most Jews had been expelled from Jerusalem. This expulsion was finalised during the abortive uprising by Bar Kochba in 132–135 CE. Indeed, the book was written well after the time when the Sanhedrin had ceased to function as the peak legislative and judicial body in Jerusalem. After the failed war against the Romans of 66—74 CE, there was no longer any such body operating in Jerusalem. Yet 150 years later, a text was written that set out specific details of how the council was to function.

So some interpreters claim that this account is simply to be seen as an idealistic, romanticised recreation of “how things used to be”, expressed in such a way that is oblivious to the reality of the time—that there was no longer a functioning Sanhedrin in Jerusalem.

Alongside these notes of caution, we must hear also the claim that is made, not just about this text, but about many texts within the body of rabbinic literature that survives, from first through to sixth centuries. That claim is that, in an oral culture such as Second Temple Judaism and Rabbinic Judaism, where stories and laws and prescriptions and debates were passed on by word of mouth, from teacher to student, from that student to their student, and so on—the reliability and historical validity of what is written can be assessed positively.

For a more detailed discussion of the oral Torah, see https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-oral-law-talmud-and-mishna

For myself, given what I have learnt in recent years about the importance and validity of stories and laws passed on over time in the oral cultures of First Nations peoples in Australia, I am inclined to accept this positive assessment of the ancient Jewish oral traditions in general, although specific texts are always open to informed critical exploration of their details.

I’m aware also, from discussions that have happened in the Uniting Church Dialogue with Jewish People that Elizabeth and I were members of for some years, that many rabbis today, who know their sacred texts well, consider that the Gospel narratives about this scene cannot be historical—for reasons that will be explored in what follows.

So, what does this text from the Mishnah say about a council meeting called to interrogate a possible criminal, such as we find in the Gospel narratives about Jesus? The relevant passages are in chapters 4 and 5 of tractate Sanhedrin, a part of the fourth order, Nezikin, which deals with Jewish criminal and civil law and the Jewish court system. And a comparison between the Gospel narratives and the Mishnah provisions raises a number of problems.

At night

The first matter is that the meeting with Jesus took place at night. Earlier, the narrator of Mark’s account has reported that the disciples “prepared the Passover meal; when it was evening, he came with the twelve” (14:16–17). Some hours later, after Jesus is apprehended in the Garden, he is taken to “the high priest … the chief priests, the elders, and the scribes” (Mark 14:53). It is still night when that meeting takes place. After coming to their decision that Jesus was “deserving death”, (14:64), the narrator notes that “as soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council” (15:1a).

So this meeting took place at night. But Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:1 states, “in cases of capital law, the court judges during the daytime, and concludes the deliberations and issues the ruling only in the daytime.” A court meeting at night, to determine a matter in which a person is determined to be “ deserving death”, is contrary to this provision.

The same section of the Mishnah also states that “in cases of capital law, the court may conclude the deliberations and issue the ruling even on that same day to acquit the accused, but must wait until the following day to find him liable” (Sanhedrin 4:1). Coming to a decision of guilty in the same session as the evidence is heard, without an overnight pause for the members of the council to consider, was also contrary to what was required. In the case of Jesus, this provision has been breached.

On a feast day

A second matter is that the meeting with Jesus took place during a festival. The whole sequence of events begins “on the first day of Unleavened Bread, when the Passover lamb is sacrificed” (14:12). At the end of their interrogation of Jesus, the narrator notes that “they bound Jesus, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate” (15:1b), and then observes that “at the festival he used to release a prisoner for them, anyone for whom they asked” (15:6).

Again, the provisions in Sanhedrin 4:1 state that “since capital cases might continue for two days, the court does not judge cases of capital law on certain days, neither on the eve of Shabbat [Sabbath] nor the eve of a Festival.” So the Markan narrative is in breach of this provision as well, by reporting that this meeting took place during Passover.

In the lack of evidence for this custom of releasing a prisoner at Passover, see more at

Jesus Barabbas, son of the father: freedom fighter, or fable? (for Holy Week)

In the house of Caiaphas

Where exactly did this interrogation of Jesus take place? The implication in Mark is that the council was meeting in the house of Caiaphas. “Peter had followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the high priest; and he was sitting with the guards, warming himself at the fire” (14:54). This implication is made explicit at Matt 26:57 (“they took him to Caiaphas the high priest, in whose house the scribes and the elders had gathered”) and Luke 22:54 (“bringing him into the high priest’s house”).

Once more, this flies in the face of the prescriptions of tractate. Later in the tractate Sanhedrin, there is a reference to “the Sanhedrin of seventy-one judges that is in the Chamber of Hewn Stone” (Sanhedrin 11:2). This means the meeting should have taken place in this part of the Temple; in the Babylonian Talmud, it is stated to have been in the north wall (b.Yoma 25a). The Gospel narratives locate the meeting with Jesus in the house of the high priest; this is a third breach of the Mishnaic provisions.

The witnesses did not agree

A fourth issue is the observation that Mark makes and then repeats, that “many gave false testimony against him, and their testimony did not agree. Some stood up and gave false testimony against him … even on this point their testimony did not agree” (14:56–59).

Tractate Sanhedrin requires a verdict to be made only if the witnesses are in agreement, declaring, “At a time when the witnesses contradict one another, their testimony is void” (Sanhedrin 5:2). In a later rabbinic text, the Talmud, this requirement is expanded: “afterward they bring in the second witness and examine him in the same manner. If their statements are found to be congruent the judges then discuss the matter” (b.Sanhedrin 29a). This clearly did not occur in the case of Jesus.

A page of the Babylonian Talmud, showing how
the central text of Mishnah (in large print)
is then commented upon in Gemara (in medium print)
and later medieval notes (in small print)
surround these in the margins.

These various matters would seem, on the surface, to indicate that the members of the council were so panicked by Jesus that they acted to condemn him with flagrant disregard for their own provisions—assuming that the later text of the Mishnah does, in fact, describe the requirements in place in the first century.

An alternative explanation is that the narrative was compiled by someone who was ignorant of these provisions, and they simply “made up” a narrative which demonstrated the desperation of the Jewish authorities to deal with Jesus and have him out of the way.

We should place this view alongside the observation that the narratives in the Gospels take a number of steps to minimise the blame that Pilate must bear for sentencing Jesus to he crucified.

On the flawed picture of Pilate in the Gospels and the implausibility of the role assigned to him in these accounts, see

“What do you wish me to do?” Interrogating the unlikely portrayal of Pilate (Mark 14–15; for Holy Week)

Minimising the culpability of the governor of the imperial power in these events, and strengthening the role of the Jewish authorities, go hand-in-hand. A clear apologetic purpose is at work in this narrative. It made sense for the narrator to avoid further condemnation by Rome, which held continuing power during the time he was writing, and to magnify the blame of the Jewish authorities, with whom the fledgling movement of followers of Jesus had been in increasing tension and conflict.

In other words, the narrative of this trial before the Sanhedrin is both historically implausible, and apologetically purposeful, as it shifts the blame for sentencing Jesus more onto the Jewish authorities than on Pilate. And in a later scene, it is the Jewish crowd which calls for Pilate to hand down the sentence of death (“crucify him! crucify him!”, 15:13–14). That is a most unlikely occurrence, indeed.

And so another element grew in the developing Christian ideology which placed the blame for the death of Jesus on the Jewish authorities (and sadly, in later centuries, on “the Jews” themselves). It is a view that we would do well to reject.

See also

Sensitivity to “the Jews” as we celebrate Easter (for Holy Week)

I did not hide my face from insult and spitting (Isa 50 and the Passion Narrative; Lent 6B)

The passage of Hebrew Scripture we hear this coming Sunday (Isa 50:4–9a) is a significant passage. It comes from the second section of this long book (Isa 40—55), which opens with the familiar song, “comfort, comfort all my people” (Isa 40:1). Widely considered to be written in a period later than the earlier section (Isa 1—39), this section of Isaiah is called Second Isaiah. (The third main section, chapters 56—66, is called Third Isaiah.)

The comfort sung about by the prophet speaks to the situation of the people: their forebears had been taken into exile by the Babylonians in 587 BCE, and now a new generation (perhaps four to five decades later) yearns to return to the land of Israel, given to the people in ancient times, as recounted in the foundational myth—story of the Exodus. Other parts of the Hebrew Bible reflect the anguish of the people during their time of Exile (Ps 137 is the most famous instance). Deutero-Isaiah, however, focuses consistently on the hope of return to the land of Israel.

Looking to the new power of Persia to permit this return, the prophet of this later period speaks with hope and joy, to the people living in exile, using vivid imagery and dramatic scenes of promise and confidence. A joyous, positive tone runs right through the oracles in this section of Isaiah. “I am about to do a new thing”, says the Lord; “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (43:19). “I will pour water on the thirsty land and streams on the dry ground”, the Lord continues; “I will pour my spirit upon your descendants, and my blessing on your offspring” (44:3).

Deutero-Isaiah is fundamental for the theological developments that we find in the New Testament. Scattered through this section, we find four Songs of the Servant—three relatively brief (42:1–9; 49:1–7; 50:4–11); and the fourth, best-known within Christian circles, a longer description of the servant who “was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity” (Isa 52:13–53:12).

The resonances that this longer song has with the passion narrative of Jesus are crystal clear. The song is explicitly linked with Jesus six times in the New Testament (Matt 8:14–17; Luke 22:35–38; John 12:37–41; Acts 8:26–35; Romans 10:11–21; 1 Pet 2:19–25); furthermore, so many of the details of the passion narrative are shaped in the light of this song, along with a number of psalms of the righteous sufferer. (See

3 Mark: placing suffering and death at the heart of the Gospel

The third of these songs, which we hear this coming Passion Sunday, portrays the speaker as a Teacher. The resonances of this song with the story of Jesus are also clear. The punishment experienced by the Teacher—his back is struck, his beard is pulled, he is insulted, people spit on his face (Isa 50:6)—is echoed in the punishments inflicted on Jesus by Roman soldiers and Jewish passers-by. He is struck with a reed by Roman soldiers and spat upon (Mark 15:19). He is insulted by passers-by and the Jewish authorities (Mark 15:29–32).

The lectionary offers us this passage for Passion Sunday, a time when we reflect at some length on the passion of Jesus, which we recall also each Good Friday. The lectionary also offers the full story of the fate of Jesus after he entered Jerusalem at Passover. This part of the Gospel story (chapters 14–15 in Mark) is known as the passion narrative, because it tells about what Jesus suffered in his final days. (“Passion” comes from the Latin word passio, meaning suffering.)

The author of the beginning of the good news, which we know as Mark’s Gospel, seems to have been the first person (as far as we know from the evidence) who drew together a number of expressions about the way of Jesus, and worked them into a single, cohesive whole, in a continuous narrative style.

This narrative recounts the death of Jesus by relating it to the figure of righteous person who suffers injustice, who appears in various Hebrew Scripture passages. The author of this Gospel takes great pains to show that Jesus remains faithful to his calling despite the pressures he faces, just as the righteous sufferer of old also held to their faith.

The Gethsemane scene (Mark 14:32–42) draws on imagery from Hebrew Scripture to underline this. The narrative evokes the suffering of the faithful righteous person, referring especially to some phrases found in the Psalms. The Golgotha scene (Mark 15:21–41) also contains this orientation. What takes place is interpreted with reference to scripture; here, the allusions are both subtle, and more direct. The cry which Jesus utters at the ninth hour, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani (15:34), is a clear reference to Psalm 22, by quoting its first verse. See more at

3 Mark: placing suffering and death at the heart of the Gospel

The offering of Isa 50:4–9a thus “fits” with the way that the author of the Markan passion narrative presents to story of the final hours of Jesus. His intense feeling of the agony inflicted on him, and yet his steadfast grappling with the faith he holds, is to the fore. The story invites us into sombre meditation as we approach the annual return of Easter.