I hardly dared take a breath as I continued about my work around the house, minding my own business, keeping my head down. I knew that things had been strained in the household, I had felt it.
I worked for the wife of the Governor, Pontius Pilate. I had been in post for many years when it happened and the mistress had shared many things with me. And that night, I remember, she shared her dreams and fears with me, as I share them with you now.
It was a few nights before that that the nightmares began – the same one every night. She would wake up in a sweat and could hardly draw breath; her dreams were turning her into a nervous wreck.
The dreams were of Him, this Jesus character that had transformed the whole of Jerusalem, Jews and Romans alike. Some had changed for the better, some for the worse. And now my mistress’s dreams saw Him bound and beaten standing in front of her husband, who was to pass judgment on Him.
The man had eyes that bore into her very soul, she said. He was not angry, or full of hatred, in fact He stared at her and her husband with compassion and even love, not that she was very good at recognising that emotion.
The dream had warned her to stay away from this man, to leave him to the Jews, to do with him as they willed, but Pilate just had to get involved. He said that he had no choice, that the crowd were threatening him with going to Rome, to the Emperor. It could have meant losing everything.
The position, the power, and all that comes with that, the honour, the glory, the praise of Rome. But instead they lost even more than that, they lost their very selves.
Jesus came, just as the dream predicted, Pilate got involved, again as predicted. He tried to walk away, to wash his hands of the whole sordid affair, but it was too late by then, the die had already been cast.
Jesus was led away, stripped, whipped, and crucified, and for Pilate and my mistress, the real nightmare began.
With many peaceful blessings