Barabbas
Categories : Christianity, books |
Just finished reading the brief novel Barabbas by Nobel Prize winning Swedish writer Par Lagerkvist. It’s a very powerful, albeit sparingly written, tale of the man who was freed in the place of Jesus. Although the movie which was based on it has several significant plot differences, most to increase the amount of action scenes, the overall gist is the same. I found it quite thought provoking in a number of ways, not only for the glimpse in gives us into Barabbas’ unique experience and psyche, but also for the seemingly accurate picture it paints of what it must have been like to be one of the early Christians in the Roman world under Nero. The following is one of the key passages in the story, and it shows just how politically and personally risky the gospel was. Christianity wasn’t just a ‘personal decision’ of one religion among many. Being a Christian meant you were radically different from everyone else. And proclaiming the gospel was no small matter. If you said, as Paul did many times in his letters, that “Jesus is Lord” then the obvious (though unspoken) corollary to that was “…and Caesar isn’t.” Dangerous talk in those times – this was “anything but a harmless doctrine.”
Going up to Sahak, he took hold of his slave’s disk, looked at the stamp on it and asked if he knew what it meant. Sahak replied that it was the stamp of the Roman State. The governor said with a nod that that was quite right, and that it therefore showed that Sahak belonged to the State. Then turning the metal disk over, he looked with evident interest, but with no sign of surprise, at the secret inscription on the back. “Christos lesus” . . . he read, and both Sahak and Barabbas were filled with wonder that he could read the signs, decipher God’s holy name.
— Who is that? he asked.
— It is my god, Sahak answered with a slight tremor in his voice.
— Aha. It is a name I cannot remember having heard before. But then there are so many gods, one can’t keep track of them all. Is it the god of your native province?
— No, Sahak answered. It is everybody’s god.
— Everybody’s? You don’t say so? That’s not at all bad. And I have never even heard of him. He keeps his renown somewhat secret, if I may say so.
— Yes, said Sahak.
— Everybody’s god. In that case he must have more than a little power. What does he base it on?
— On love.
— Love? . . . Well, why not. Anyway, it’s no concern of mine, you may believe as you like about it. But tell me, why do you bear his name on your slave’s disk?
— Because I belong to him, Sahak said, again with a slight tremor.
— Indeed? Belong to him? How can you do that? Do you not belong to the State, just as this stamp signifies? Are you not a State slave?
Sahak made no reply. He merely stood looking down at the floor. At last the Roman said, but not at all unkindly:
— You must answer this. We must be quite clear on this point, don’t you see? Do you belong to the State? Tell me now.
— I belong to the Lord my God, said Sahak, without looking up.
The governor stood regarding him. Then he lifted Sahak’s head and looked into his burnt-up face, the face that had been at the smelting-furnaces. He said nothing, and after a time, when he had seen what he wanted, he let go the other man’s chin. Then he went and stood in front of Barabbas, and as he turned over his slave’s disk in the same way he asked:
— And you? Do you also believe in this loving god? Barabbas made no reply.
— Tell me. Do you?
Barabbas shook his head.
— You don’t? Why do you bear his name on your disk then?
Barabbas was silent as before.
— Is he not your god? Isn’t that what the inscription means?
— I have no god, Barabbas answered at last, so softly that it could hardly be heard. But Sahak and the Roman both heard it. And Sahak gave him a look so full of despair, pain and amazement at his incredible words
that Barabbas felt it pass right through him, right into his inmost being, even though he did not meet the other’s eyes.The Roman too seemed surprised.
— But I don’t understand, he said. Why then do you bear this “Christos lesus” carved on your disk?
— Because I want to believe, Barabbas said, without looking up at either of them.
The Roman looked at him, at his ravaged face and the gash under the eye; at the hard, coarse mouth, which still retained much of its strength. There was no expression in the face and he was not sure that he would find any there even if he lifted up the head as he had done with the other. Besides, it would never have occurred to him to do so with this man. Why? He didn’t know. He turned again to Sahak.
— Do you grasp fully the implication of what you have said? That it means you are setting yourself up against Caesar? Do you not know that he too is a god and that it is to him you belong, his stamp you bear on your disk? And you say that you belong to another, unknown god, whose name you have carved on your disk to show that you are not Caesar’s but his. Is that not so?
— Yes, Sahak answered in a shaking voice, but it did not tremble as much as before.
— And you stick to this?
— Yes.
— But don’t you understand what you are letting yourself in for by doing so?
— Yes. I understand.
The Roman paused, thinking of this slave’s god, whom as a matter of fact he had heard spoken of quite a lot recently, this madman in Jerusalem who had himself died a slave’s death. “Loose all chains” . . . “God’s own slave, whom …he will set free” Anything but a harmless doctrine, in fact. . . And faces such as that slave’s had no appeal for a slave-owner. . . .
— If you renounce your faith no harm shall come to you, he said. Will you do it?
— I cannot, Sahak replied.
— Why not!
— I cannot deny my God.
— Extraordinary man . . . Surely you must be aware of the punishment you force me to sentence you to. Are you really so brave that you can die for your faith?
— That is not for me to decide, said Sahak quietly.
— That doesn’t sound so very brave. Is life not dear to you?
— Yes, answered Sahak. It is.
— But if you do not forswear this god of yours, nothing can save you. You will lose your life.
— I cannot lose the Lord my God.
The Roman shrugged his shoulders.
