Mercy Of God In The Miscarriage Of Justice

My wife, Meifung, is an excellent nurse—dedicated, compassionate, understanding, and eager to help. But during her first job, she was sometimes met with hostility—harsh insults and racist comments—from the patients she worked tirelessly to serve. When she’d come home after a long, difficult day and share these stories with me, I’d boil.

We cry out against injustice. When we witness the powerful taking advantage of the weak or see someone we care about mistreated, the sense of scandal stirs deep within.

In Jesus’s trial, we witness the world’s greatest injustice. Though declared innocent time and again (Luke 23:4, 14–15, 22), Jesus is mocked and delivered to death while a guilty man walks free (v. 25). When we hear this story, we ought to feel that same outrage at the injustice. But we also must look inward and recognize how, like the crowd, we’re complicit, crying out for Jesus’s crucifixion in our own way.

Innocent but Not Set Free

Jesus’s trial before Pilate begins with the Jewish council accusing Jesus of “misleading [the] nation” (v. 2). They paint him as a revolutionary, a threat to Rome’s peace. So Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” (v. 3). In his only words recorded in this passage, Jesus replies, “You have said so.” Yet even with Jesus claiming to be King, Pilate’s verdict is “I find no guilt in this man” (v. 4).

That should have ended it. Pilate rendered his verdict. Justice demanded that Jesus be set free. “But they were urgent, saying, ‘He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee even to this place’” (v. 5).

Like the crowd, we’re complicit, crying out for Jesus’s crucifixion in our own way.

Pilate’s ears perk up when he hears Jesus is from Galilee. This meant Jesus didn’t fall under Pilate’s jurisdiction but Herod’s. So Pilate sends Jesus to Herod, who “was very glad, for he had long desired to see [Jesus]” (v. 8).

Yet when the King of kings is before him, Herod doesn’t want to hear God’s wisdom; he only wants to be entertained by a sign. The One before whom he should have fallen down in worship, he trivializes as if Jesus were a magician performing tricks.

Herod questions Jesus “at some length,” but even with the crowds “vehemently accusing him,” Jesus “made no answer” (vv. 9–10). Trusting in his Father’s will and out of love for his own, Jesus accepts the injustice.

Finding Jesus guilty of no charge, Herod returns him to Pilate. Both Rome and Jerusalem are now complicit in the injustice. They’ve declared Jesus innocent yet failed to release him.

Sinless but Sent to Suffer

Next, Pilate calls the people together and three more times declares Jesus innocent. Each time, the crowd insists on his guilt. In an attempt to appease them, Pilate offers to have Jesus flogged—a grave injustice for someone who should have been released without harm. But this doesn’t satisfy the crowd. Just days ago, they welcomed Jesus and even hailed him as King (19:38). Now, they shout with one voice, “Away with this man” (23:18).

Instead of calling for Jesus’s release, the crowd asks for the release of Barabbas, a notorious insurrectionist, one truly guilty of the charges of which Jesus was accused. More striking, Barabbas’s name means “son of the Father.” In a cosmic reversal of justice, the people demand the innocent and true Son of the Father take the place of this guilty, false son.

“Pilate [then] addressed them once more, desiring to release Jesus, but they kept shouting, ‘Crucify, crucify him!’” (vv. 20–21). It’s almost too painful to read. A third time, Pilate tries to release Jesus, saying, “What evil has he done?” “But they were urgent, demanding with loud cries that he should be crucified. And their voices prevailed” (v. 23).

Offering Mercy for the Truly Guilty

Pilate released the man guilty of insurrection and murder, and he handed over the innocent Jesus. For this reason, he goes down in history as the one responsible for the most egregious miscarriage of justice the world has known. We ought to be outraged by what we see. Yet we also ought to mourn, acknowledging that Jesus’s blood is on our hands too.

We’re not guilty of insurrection against Rome but instead of rebellion against a holy God. Though we may not shout “Crucify, crucify him!” aloud like the crowd, our hearts echo that same cry. We act as if Jesus is unworthy of our obedience, respect, and love. We choose ourselves, our wants, and our comfort over him. Rather than honoring him as King, we place our desires above his authority. Every time we choose our will over his, we demand his crucifixion. Like the crowd, we praise his name on Sunday, but too often our fickle hearts push him aside, insisting on our own way and rejecting his rule during the week.

Yet because of our sin, he was nailed to the cross. Though history’s greatest injustice is on our hands, Jesus willingly took it on himself for our sake. When falsely accused and mocked, he didn’t defend himself but quietly and without wavering—out of love—went to the cross for you.

Jesus endured injustice so he might free us from the punishment we justly deserve. Barabbas walked free while Jesus suffered and died so that you, though guilty, may be declared as innocent sons and daughters of the Father and walk in his freedom and love. This is God’s mercy in the miscarriage of justice.

Jesus endured injustice so he might free us from the justice we deserve.

Will you receive his mercy? Thankfully, Jesus’s story doesn’t end with his death. On the third day, he was vindicated by the Father when he rose from the dead. Our mourning over sin and over Jesus’s suffering should turn to joy as we celebrate Jesus’s vindication and our salvation.

Beholding the cross also transforms how we face injustice in our lives and in the lives of those we love. We remember the mercy we’ve received, and hope stirs within us that, one day, God’s perfect justice and mercy will make everything right.

Let’s not cry out “Crucify” but, with one voice, praise Jesus—the innocent one condemned for the guilty. Let’s receive the mercy of God in the miscarriage of justice.