Friday, March 30, 2012

Pilate's Wife

Today's proper entry, I've had to invent a lot for this one, since we only get: "While Pilate was sitting in the judgment hall, his wife sent him a message, 'Have nothing to do with that innocent man, because in a dream last night, I suffered much on account of him.'" Matthew 27.19

PILATE'S WIFE

All my life I wanted some connection to something greater than myself. I was a spoiled rich girl, this I know. I was privileged. People always expected me not to know this, always thought I had no conception of the privilege into which I was born, even simply as a Roman citizen, much less of a highborn family. But my husband was a governor in a hostile province. And my father had been as well. I had seen the world, more than most Roman women, and I knew that there was real suffering.

But I did little, because I was waiting for a singular moment of clarity. I was waiting for a message, a sign, or just some understanding of what was beyond myself, what underlay our petty little lives. I was drifting, waiting, straining my ears and blocking out everything in the world around me.

My husband thought me spacey. He underestimated me at so many turns, in the beginning. It took time for him to grow to respect me, even as I turned to the sky and lost all sight and sound of things around me, fighting to find some kind of peace. Something...something more.

When it came, it was not what I expected. It was all tied up in one man. One man whose name I had heard ringing from the streets not so long ago. I remembered the day, less than a week before the dream, and my annoyance when the chanting and shouting of his name drew me from my reflections. Startled from my search for the wisdom of the silence. I greeted the name that would finally bring me what I sought with frustration.

The dream was a clear warning, so much clarity it frightened me. All my life I had sought it, and when it came it was terrifying. An absolute, a warning about what it would mean to kill this Jesus, who He was. I woke frightened and trembling at the clarity of it. I could not stop shaking. For a moment, the entire world had seemed more real, more immediate. It would not fade again into the comforting dull edges of the world in soft focus. Everything shoot out sharp and crystal clear - every item in my bedchamber radiant in the moonlight from the window. Every shadow still razor-sharp and more present than anything had ever felt before.

I had so much time to plan my message to my husband. A warning, a clear concise warning. And then, perhaps, it would go away. Perhaps everything would fade back into the comforting haze in which I had existed for so long. Maybe it would have, I sometimes think, if Pilate had listened.

I should have gone to him, but at the time I believed he would not see me. I should have thrown myself in front of Jesus or at least at His feet, but I was frightened that if I saw him the sharpness of the world would only increase. I should have many things. I saw that clearly now, oh so painfully clearly. All my life, there were so many things I should have done.

I suffered much from the clarity, but when the moment came I could never escape it again. I could never again escape the cry of the poor.