Crucify!: Why the Crowd Killed Jesus

By Timothy J. Stoner

An Ancient Murder Mystery
 
On Sunday they jammed the streets celebrating his arrival. But on Friday they were screaming for his blood.

What prompted this stunning reversal? Why did this man’s followers and friends demand his death?

Crucify! reveals the motive behind the most heinous murder of all time. Timothy J. Stoner mines the Gospels to expose Jesus’s secret agenda and uncovers his dangerous and provocative mission. Is there something about this young Rabbi that we have failed to understand or appreciate?

Answering these questions raises another—one that is more troubling: If we’d been there, would we have joined with the scandalized crowd crying Crucify?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David C Cook
• Release date: Apr 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9780781411745

Book preview

Lewis

Prologue

I caught an unexpected expression (or I thought I did) on the face of one of the observers in the crowd. It was glee—and, I will admit, it stunned me. I could understand it from His enemies, those who feared and loathed Him. But His admirers? That was incomprehensible. Not if the man whose back was being shredded with a metal-tipped whip is grace and mercy incarnate.

Great people are hated. That is no surprise. But generally not those who are icons of charity, compassion, and tolerance. And never, ever, do their fans collaborate in their public shaming, torture, and cold-blooded murder.

But this is what happened to Jesus, if the Gospels are to be believed.

I grew up hearing the story. As a child of missionary parents, I listened to it on four continents. And I read it for myself hundreds of times. But never once did it occur to me to ask the question that now seems to be the most interesting, most obvious, and what is more, the most important. It took the scourging scene in the movie The Passion of the Christ to confront me with something I had taken for granted, but which in retrospect I recognize is incredible.

On Sunday morning Jesus rides into Jerusalem on the crest of tens of thousands of voices lifted in exuberant praise. The city shakes with the thunder of multitudes celebrating His arrival. Jesus is the most popular man of His day, and the manner of His entrance has awakened nationalistic expectations that for centuries have been throbbing in the veins of Jews desperate to be rid of their heathen oppressors.

The ancient City of David, with its 600,000 inhabitants, overflows with approximately 150,000 to 250,000 Passover visitors.¹ Passover is an obligatory feast in the Jewish calendar (Deut. 16:1–8) and requires the attendance of both men and women. Very few are neutral about this rabbi. There are those who want to see Jesus dead, but these are vastly outnumbered by the hordes clogging the narrow, winding, streets shouting, screaming, giddy with joy.

Then something unbelievable occurs. Five days later, when the pilgrims and townspeople ought to be crowding the temple for the first day of Passover week, they are instead jammed in front of Herod’s palace, demanding that a despised, pagan ruler put their hero to death.

Is there something wrong with this picture?

Could you imagine hearing that the crowd jamming the Washington Mall to hang on the words of Martin Luther King Jr. less than a week later had become accomplices to his murder? Would you begin to wonder if there was something you did not know about the victim? After all, one does not scream for the blood of an idol without some pretty good reasons.

So I began to wrestle with these questions: What was it? What was the motive behind this improbable reversal that led to the most heinous murder of all time?

Early on I realized I would need to unravel an ancient murder mystery. It would require me to do what I had done as an attorney for the Michigan Court of Appeals: take box loads of documents and make chronological and narrative sense out of the mass of paper.

And so I began, meticulously listening for the unspoken words between the lines, the hints of conflict, the sparks of tension, the action that foreshadowed confrontation—anything that would point a finger to motive. I began to study what I would later refer to as the stage directions—descriptions of the physical movements of the protagonist and the crowds. Most importantly, I kept my attention focused on the interaction between Jesus and the host of admirers who dogged His every step and who would eventually scream for His blood.

And as I sifted the narratives for clues, what came to light was someone I was not prepared for. Jesus offended and troubled me. And still does, for out of the dark, foggy night emerged someone I did not recognize, someone much different from the popular image I’d grown comfortable with. The personality who began to take shape bore little resemblance to the culture-current mystical guru, hipster, the revolutionary bestseller Jesus, or the safe, pulpit-friendly, religious-icon Jesus. The differences were so stark it almost scared me.

By shattering my preconceptions and cultural stereotypes, what materialized was a massive personality who was astonishingly winsome yet gravely terrifying. A man whose breathtaking compassion would draw you in, but whose ferocious honesty could cut and slice like a razor. Someone who was the most controversial, confrontational, divisive, yet compellingly beautiful man who has ever lived.

Which is precisely what we would expect if the Creator of the universe happened to invade our world.

As I was organizing the clues into some cohesive order, a book was published that related directly to the mystery I was working on. It was Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth by Reza Aslan. It offers an old solution to the motive behind Jesus’s death, an idea that was first proposed 250 years ago by Hermann Samuel Reimarus. Reimarus, a German philosopher, denied the deity of Christ and the historicity of the Gospels. Aslan, a literature professor, is a much better writer and dusts off the provocative argument, making it fresh and interesting.

Aslan proposes that Jesus was a Jewish revolutionary who was a political threat to the Roman occupation. He was also hated by the temple power brokers who feared loss of power and wealth if Jesus’s subversive movement succeeded. When the revolution fell apart, His disciples invented the resurrection story—and with it, a religion—to make sense of the tragic failure. For Aslan, the motive for the murder is simple: fear and resentment of the political and religious system.

While some argue the details, this is the commonly accepted explanation for the motive behind Jesus’s murder. Yet it raises more questions than it answers.

For example:

If Jesus posed such a threat to Rome, why did Pilate ignore Him for years until the Jewish leaders handed Him over?

If the teaching of Jesus was so subversive, why was Pilate so insistent on seeking to prevent His death? (Luke 23:4, 14–15, 22; John 19:12).

If His death was the work of those in control of the religious system, why was the first attempt on His life carried out by His friends and acquaintances? (Luke 4:28–29).

If the power brokers were the ones responsible for the murder, why were two of the three attempts to arrest Him instigated by crowds of admirers, not His enemies? (John 7:30, 44).

If those who believed and followed Jesus were so devoted to Him, why did they pick up stones in the temple to kill Him? (John 8:31, 59).

If Jesus was killed because He was a threat to the religious elites, why did tens of thousands of common people join in demanding His death? (Luke 23:4, 13; Mark 15:11).

If the people were innocent of the murder, why did Peter hold them personally responsible, and why did thousands accept his rebuke and admit their guilt? (Acts 2:37).

These questions reveal that Aslan’s answer is defective. Its basic flaw is that it dismisses all the inconvenient elements in the Gospels that contradict his position. In addition, it fundamentally misunderstands the nature of the victim and His scandalous mission.

Every denial of Jesus’s claims is based on a rejection of the trustworthiness of the Gospels. Aslan is no exception and goes so far as to assert that none of the authors intended his writings to be treated as historical documents. Unexpectedly, the more I studied and organized the material, the more obvious it became that nothing could be further from the truth. These narratives consistently run against the stream of ancient myths and legends. Nothing in their stories is what one would expect or could possibly anticipate. They are full of shocking turns and surprises that leave the reader either amazed or confused and, at other times, deeply disappointed.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, far from being unreliable historians or merely clever inventors of myth and legend, reveal themselves to be the type of witnesses a lawyer dreams of. They provide the most convincing impression—at least—of authenticity, and accentuate their veracity by repeatedly testifying against interest. What they often report makes themselves or their leader look bad. So, regardless of the factualness of their writings, what becomes inescapable to the honest and careful reader is that these men were convinced they were telling the truth. And just as importantly, they intended everything they wrote to be taken as truth.

In the face of the current assault on the reliability of the four Gospels, both from inside and outside the church, it was heartening to discover that from a purely literary perspective these seminal documents demonstrate the highest level of credibility. If anything can be said of them, it is that they are not only meant to be trusted, they actually can be. However, while it may be comforting to know that the Gospels are dependable historical documents, the question why was Jesus murdered? may appear of limited relevance.

What difference does the answer make?

If Jesus was put to death by powerful elites protecting their turf, then the murder is only a historical or academic puzzle. But if those who knew Him best—His longtime admirers—were involved, everything changes. It suddenly becomes personal, for we are then forced to confront the more troubling questions: Would I have sided with the majority and cried out for His blood? Would you?

So, it’s a question well worth asking. What is it about this man that not only infuriated His enemies but drove His friends and acquaintances to murder?

Could this young rabbi—the head of a worldwide religious movement—be harboring a dangerous secret?

Is there something about Jesus that we have overlooked or misunderstood?

In finding the answer to these questions we may uncover the answer to others that are more personal and more troubling—heartbreaking mysteries that (though we may not admit it) likewise tempt us to fall away and turn against Him. It might even make sense of those times when we ourselves have felt misled, betrayed, and abandoned. And we may gain some sympathy for the one who, while dying on a tree for sins He did not commit, cried out:

"My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" (Matt. 27:46; Mark 15:34)

CHAPTER 1

Silencing the Messenger

The day that will shatter a long and heartbreaking quiet is deceptively mild. It is an early autumn morning in Jerusalem in October, 6 BC.

Nearly four hundred years have passed since the last recognized prophet received a message from God. For many generations Yahweh has been mute—no longer communicating verbally with His headstrong people. As dawn approaches, nothing indicates that this day will be different. No one knows that this is the morning God will break the interminable silence.

The location is perfect: the City of David, inside Israel’s holiest structure.

The temple proper, fifteen stories high, was finished in only eighteen months, but the entire compound is so immense that after twenty years it has still not been completed. The exterior of the sanctuary is covered in gold plates so that when the sun shines on it, the sumptuous building dazzles the eyes.¹ It is a huge square measuring nearly nine and a half football fields on each side and will require another twenty-six years to complete. Within its imposing walls there is ample room for more than two hundred thousand persons. Its lavish architecture is so impressive that it prompts many Jews to brag: He that has not seen the temple of Herod, has never known what beauty is.²

In the Hall of Hewn Polished Stones where the Sanhedrin, Israel’s ruling body, used to meet, the president separates the priests into two groups to inspect the temple court by torchlight. The priesthood is segregated into twenty-four divisions—courses (each numbering four or five dozen men) that are on a rotating weekly schedule. This is the week set for the eighth division, the course of Abijah. Zechariah, a priest who is well into his sixties, is one of its oldest members.

The priests gather in a circle to determine who will officiate at the crucial ceremonial activities throughout the day. This is accomplished by casting lots. The president arbitrarily selects a number, then each priest holds up one, two, or three fingers. The count begins with the president adding the upraised fingers. He stops when he has reached the chosen number. The first lot decides who will cleanse the altar, the second who will offer the sacrifice and cleanse the candlestick and the altar of incense. The third lot cannot be cast until after the sacrifice has been made.

During these deliberations a priest who is standing on the eastern tower announces the dawn’s first light. The massive temple gates are then opened, followed by a threefold trumpet blast announcing the morning sacrifice.

The worshippers file into the sacred enclosure and congregate on two levels, the women in the large Court of the Women and the men in the Court of Israel, the colonnaded porches that border the Court of the Priests.

The liturgy requires the lighting of the incense by the officiating priest inside the Holy Place. Once he emerges, he is to pray the traditional blessing over the people, at which point the sacrifice is daubed with oil and laid on the altar along with the high priest’s daily offering. As the fire consumes the offerings, the Levites chant the psalm of the day.³ After they are finished, the people are allowed to bring their own animals to offer as sacrifice.

This is the expected ritual. But on this day there will be a shocking interruption and a scandalous breach of tradition.

After the animal’s preparation, the priests gather for the third and all-important lot. It will designate the one who will perform the highest mediatorial act in the daily liturgy: offering incense inside the Holy Place. It is such an extraordinary honor that ever after that priest will be referred to as rich.

In preparation, the priests pray and make confession of their faith. They recite the unabridged version of the Shema, which consists of several passages from the Torah: Deuteronomy 6:4–9 and 11:13–21 and Numbers 15:37–41.

On this early fall morning, the worshippers wait patiently while the lot is drawn. As priests hold their breath, no one is aware that God is preparing to set in motion the final stages of a long-delayed drama that will change the history of the world.

The president concludes the count and the coveted lot falls on Zechariah (Luke 1:8–10). He is from an insignificant town in the hill country of Judea and lacks the status that comes from being born in the great priest centers of Jerusalem or Jericho. The priests trained in the elite academies have a derogatory term for rustics like him. They refer to them as am ha’aretz, literally people of the land, but what they intend is ignorant commoner. They occasionally use a harsher word: idiot.⁴

Despite his social and academic deficits, for the first and last time in his life, this unassuming, unimportant, elderly priest is granted the honor of setting foot inside the Holy Place and spreading the ceremonial incense on the glowing embers of the golden altar. His first task is to select two friends to assist him. One enters the Holy Place ahead of him and removes the ashes left over from the prior evening’s service. After he has left, the second assistant spreads live coals from the altar of the burnt offering, then leaves by walking backward out of the room. Zechariah now begins the task he has been looking forward to for more than forty years.

He walks up the twelve steps to the temple porch holding a golden censer containing incense made from thirteen ingredients. One of them, ambra, is an herb that emits a dense cloud of smoke. Savoring the moment, he slows as he walks through the Beautiful Gate into the sanctuary. Its double doors made of dazzling Corinthian brass are so huge it takes twenty men to open and close them. Above him hangs the symbol of Israel, a gigantic grapevine crafted out of pure gold, each cluster as tall as a man.

Inside the Holy Place, Zechariah stands in the deep quiet of the cavernous room, its distant ceiling lost in shadow. A dim light emanates from the golden candlestick to his left. By it he can see the stack of twelve loaves on the table of showbread to his right and, directly in front of him, the golden altar with its live coals. It is the item of furniture nearest the twin hanging tapestries that block access to the Holy of Holies. They are woven from fine linen out of blue, scarlet, and purple thread and are the thickness of the palm of the hand.

These veils were sixty feet long and thirty feet wide and made of seventy-two squares of thick cloth stitched together. Taking into account the tendency to exaggerate such matters, it was said that they were so heavy they needed three hundred priests to pull them back.⁵

During the time of Jesus the sacred chamber behind these veils no longer houses the ark of the covenant. It is empty except for a large rock (the one on which Abraham offered Isaac). Only once per year, on the Day of Atonement, is the high priest allowed to approach and sprinkle blood on it.

At a prearranged signal Zachariah approaches and spreads the contents of his bowl over the hot coals. He is now standing as close to Israel’s holiest sanctuary as a mortal, other than the high priest, is ever allowed to be. Having completed his task, he steps back, but does not leave as he must ensure that the incense has kindled. It catches fire, the ambra burns, and the smoke ascends. The old man is about to offer the parting prayer when his head jerks up in surprise.

What he sees terrifies him.

An imposing figure stands to the right of the altar, between it and the candlestick. By the light from the seven flames he can tell that it is an angel. The unexpected visitor repeats the standard angelic words of reassurance: Do not be afraid (Luke 1:13).

He then tells the trembling priest that the prayers he and his wife have prayed for decades are going to be answered. The old couple is going to have a son who is to be called John—Yahweh is gracious.

The old man’s heart feels as if it is about to burst. He is going to have the boy he has longed for since the first days of his marriage to Elizabeth more than four decades ago. The relief and gratitude welling up inside him are almost too great to bear. But the news gets better: He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord (Luke 1:14–15).

Zechariah knows that he cannot father the Messiah since he is not of the lineage of David, so what is this boy’s unique destiny? What will make him great? The answer to his unspoken question comes immediately. The angel declares that John will be filled with the Holy Spirit from birth and will bring many Israelites back to God.

And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, the angel reveals (Luke 1:17).

The old man’s knees nearly buckle at these words. Now he knows precisely what will distinguish this promised child. He has been honored to set the incense before the Lord—but now this? He would have fallen had a power outside himself not held him up.

The phrase go on before the Lord is the key. The angel is quoting from a well-known messianic prophecy in which the Lord’s messenger will be sent to prepare the way before me. And then the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire, will come (Mal. 3:1).

These words send Zechariah’s heart into his throat. For centuries they have been understood by the rabbis as prefiguring the advent of the Messiah. He can barely believe what he has heard. This child will be that promised messenger who will pave the way for the coming of the long-awaited Messiah. On the surface it appears that the angel has arrived with good news.

All is well—or is it?

In giving additional details about John’s role, the angel has quoted from Malachi 4:6. It prophesies that this messenger will turn the hearts of the parents to their children, and the hearts of the children to their parents. But the angel elaborates then, suggesting that this is about much more than a delightful healing of parental and filial relationships. This restoration encompasses the turning of the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord (Luke 1:17).

The angel is reminding Zechariah of the full context of Malachi’s prophecy, which is a prediction of the day of the Lord in which He will make a ruthless distinction between the righteous and the wicked (Mal. 3:17–18). At that time God will spare some but all the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble and will burn like a furnace (Mal. 3:17; 4:1). This prophecy, most likely the last recorded words of Yahweh to His people, ends with this forbidding caveat: if this turning does not occur, I will come and strike the land with total destruction (Mal. 4:6).

Zechariah begins to wonder if perhaps the honor may indeed be altogether too great for him. Lighting the incense before the Lord is sufficient for any one man. Does he really want to sire a child who will trigger an apocalyptic, fiery conflagration that portends the slaughter of all the unrighteous within Israel? That may unleash a curse on the land? The anxiety he feels takes the form of a foolish question: How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years (Luke 1:18).

All Israelites know the answer to this question, for they have been raised on the story of Isaac’s miraculous birth to Abraham and Sarah, a couple much further along in years than Zechariah and his wife. This inquiry reveals that Zechariah’s excitement has been replaced with dread. The old priest begins shrinking back from the momentous events this angel is foretelling.

In response to Zechariah’s weak: I am an old man, the

Reviews for Crucify!

[sheiladeeth_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fascinating and well researched details in this intriguing book not only invite readers into Biblical time and place, but also verify the legitimacy of Luke as a great historian, and of the other gospel writers as honest recorders of what they knew. Why don’t we hear of Jesus childhood – surely important to the mythology of such a great figure, if he were myth? Why don’t we hear of him living in Bethlehem as prophesied – wouldn’t this have been hugely important to the writers? Why does he tell people to keep his miracles secret if he wants to be famous? Why does he teach in parables if he wants to be understood? And why did the crowd who followed him around suddenly turn and cry “Crucify”?Biblical references, familiar and unfamiliar, abound in this book, together with background detail that deepens their meanings. By the end, it all ties together into a convincing image of a man who, contrary perhaps to revisionist modern expectations, knew exactly who he was and did nothing by accident.The author answers the arguments of Zealot author, Reza Asla, with clear example and explanation. At the same time, he combines the gospel timelines convincingly into a whole that constantly surprises the reader, even with familiar events. The book is beautifully written, thoroughly enthralling and intriguing, and an enjoyably satisfying read, especially as Easter approaches.Disclosure: It was free and I couldn’t resist. It’s just my sort of thing.