THE DREAM OF PILATE’S WIFE – Charles Spurgeon
The Dream of Pilate’s Wife
“When he was set down on the judgment seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have you nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of Him.” Matthew 27:19.
Introduction: The Impact of the Savior’s Trials
I earnestly wished to pursue the story of our Savior’s trials prior to His crucifixion, but when I sat down to study the subject I found myself altogether incapable of the exercise. “When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me.” My emotions grew so strong, and my sense of our Lord’s grief became so vivid, that I felt I must waive the subject for a time. I could not watch with Him another hour, and yet I could not leave the hallowed scene. It was, therefore, a relief to meet with the episode of Pilate’s wife and her dream. It enables me to continue the thread of my narrative while relaxing the extreme tension of the feelings caused by a near view of the Master’s grief and shame. My spirit failed before the terrible sight. I thought I saw Him brought back from Herod where the men of war had set Him at naught. I followed Him through the streets again as the cruel priests pushed through the crowd and hastened Him back to Pilate’s hall. I thought I heard them in the streets electing Barabbas, the robber, to be set free, instead of Jesus, the Savior, and I detected the first rising of that awful cry, “Crucify, crucify,” which they shrieked out from their bloodthirsty throats, and there He stood who loved me and gave Himself for me, like a lamb in the midst of wolves, with none to pity and none to help Him. The vision overwhelmed me, especially when I knew that the next stage would be that Pilate, who had cleared Him by declaring, “I find no fault in Him,” would give Him over to the tormentors that He might be scourged, that the mercenary soldiery would crown Him with thorns and mercilessly insult Him, and that He would be brought forth to the people and announced to them with those heart-rending words, “Behold the man!” Was there ever sorrow like His sorrow? Rather than speak about it this day, I feel inclined to act like Job’s friends, of whom it is written, that at the sight of him “they lifted up their voices and wept; and sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spoke a word unto him: for they saw that his grief was very great.” We leave the Master awhile to look at this dream of Pilate’s wife, which is only spoken of once in the Scriptures, and then by Matthew. I know not why only that evangelist should have been commissioned to record it; perhaps he alone heard of it, but the one record is sufficient for our faith, and long enough to furnish food for meditation. We receive the story as certified by the Holy Spirit.
Pilate’s Character and Context
Pilate, throughout his term of office, had grossly misbehaved himself. He had been an unjust and unscrupulous ruler of the Jews. The Galileans and the Samaritans both felt the terror of his arms, for he did not hesitate to massacre them at the slightest sign of revolt. And among the Jews themselves, he had sent men with daggers into the midst of the crowds at the great gatherings, and so had cut off those who were obnoxious to him. Gain was his objective, and pride ruled his spirit. At the time when Jesus of Nazareth was brought before him, a complaint against him was on the way to Tiberius the Emperor, and he feared lest he should be called to account for his oppressions, extortions, and murders. His sins at this moment were beginning to punish him, as Job would word it, “The iniquities of his heels compassed him about.” One terrible portion of the penalty of sin is its power to force a man to commit yet further iniquity. Pilate’s transgressions were now howling around him like a pack of wolves; he could not face them, and he had not grace to flee to the one great refuge. But his fears drove him to flee before them, and there was no way apparently open for him but that which led him into yet deeper abominations. He knew that Jesus was without a single fault, and yet since the Jews clamored for His death, he felt that he must yield to their demands, or else they would raise another accusation against him, namely, that he was not loyal to the sovereignty of Caesar, for he had allowed one to escape who had called Himself a king. If he had behaved justly, he would not have been afraid of the chief priests and scribes. Innocence is brave, but guilt is cowardly. Pilate’s old sins found him out and made him weak in the presence of the despicable crew, whom otherwise he would have driven from the judgment seat. He had power enough to have silenced them, but he had not sufficient decision of character to end the contention. The power was gone from his mind because he knew that his conduct would not bear investigation, and he dreaded the loss of his office, which he held only for his own ends. See there with pity that scornful but vacillating creature wavering in the presence of men more wicked than himself and more determined in their purpose. The fell determination of the wicked priests caused hesitating policy to tremble in their presence, and Pilate was driven to do what he would gladly have avoided.
The Manner of Jesus and Pilate’s Reaction
The manner and the words of Jesus had impressed Pilate. I say the manner of Jesus, for His matchless meekness must have struck the governor as being a very unusual thing in a prisoner. He had seen in captured Jews the fierce courage of fanaticism, but there was no fanaticism in Christ. He had also seen in many prisoners the meanness which will do or say anything to escape from death, but he saw nothing of that about our Lord. He saw in Him unusual gentleness and humility combined with majestic dignity. He beheld submission blended with innocence. This made Pilate feel how awful goodness is. He was impressed—he could not help being impressed—with this unique sufferer. Besides, our Lord had before him witnessed a good confession—you remember how we considered it the other day—and though Pilate had huffed it off with the pert question, “What is truth?” and had gone back into the judgment hall, yet there was an arrow fixed within him which he could not shake off. It may have been mainly superstition, but he felt an awe of one whom he half suspected to be an extraordinary person. He felt that he himself was placed in a very extraordinary position, being asked to condemn one whom he knew to be perfectly innocent. His duty was clear enough; he could never have had a question about that, but duty was nothing to Pilate in comparison with his own interests.
The Warning from Pilate’s Wife
He would spare the Just One if he could do so without endangering himself, but his cowardly fears lashed him on to the shedding of innocent blood. At the very moment when he was vacillating, when he had proffered to the Jews the choice of Barabbas or Jesus of Nazareth—at that very moment, I say, when he had taken his seat upon the bench, and was waiting for their choice, there came from the hand of God a warning to him, a warning which would forever make it clear that, if he condemned Jesus, it would be done voluntarily by his own guilty hands. Jesus must die by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God, and yet it must be by wicked hands that He is crucified and slain, and therefore Pilate must not sin in ignorance. A warning to Pilate came from his own wife concerning her morning’s dream, a vision of mystery and terror, warning him not to touch that just person, “For,” she said, “I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of Him.” There are times in most men’s lives when, though they have been wrong, yet they have not quite been set on mischief, but have come to a pause and have deliberated as to their way, and then God in great mercy has sent them a caution, and has set up a danger signal bidding them stop in their mad career before they plunged themselves finally into irretrievable ruin. Somewhere in that direction lies the subject of our present discourse. O that the Spirit of God may make it useful to many.
I. The Cooperation of Providence with the Work of God
I call your attention to the cooperation of Providence with the work of God. I call it the work of God to warn men against sin, and I call your attention to Providence working with it to bring the preventives and cautions of divine mercy home to men’s minds. For, first, observe the providence of God in sending this dream. If anything beneath the moon may be thought to be exempt from law, and to be the creature of pure chance, surely it is a dream. True, there were in old times, dreams in which God spoke to men prophetically, but ordinarily they are the carnival of thought, a maze of mental states, a dance of disorder. The dreams which would naturally come to the wife of a Roman governor would not be likely to have much of tenderness or conscience in them, and would not, in all probability, of themselves run in the line of mercy. Dreams ordinarily are the most disorderly of phenomena, and yet it seems that they are ordered of the Lord. I can well understand that every drop of spray which flashes from the wave when it dashes against the cliff has its appointed orbit as truly as the stars of heaven, but the thoughts of men appear to be utterly lawless, especially the thoughts of men when deep sleep falls upon them. One might as well foretell the flight of a bird as the course of a dream. Such wild fantasies seem to be ungoverned and ungovernable. Many things operate naturally to fashion a dream. Dreams frequently depend upon the condition of the stomach, upon the meat and drink taken by the sleeper before going to rest. They often owe their shape to the state of the body or the agitation of the mind. Dreams may, no doubt, be caused by that which transpires in the chamber of the house; a little movement of the bed caused by passing wheels, or the tramp of a band of men, or the passing of a domestic across the floor, or even the running of a mouse behind the wall, may suggest and shape a dream. Any slight matter affecting the senses at such a time may raise within the slumbering mind a mob of strange ideas. Yet whatever may have operated in this lady’s case, the hand of providence was in it all, and her mind, though fancy free, wandered nowhere but just according to the will of God to accomplish the divine purpose. She must dream just so and no way else, and that dream must be of such and such an order, and none other. Even dreamland knows no god but God, and even phantoms and shadows come and go at His bidding, neither can the images of a night vision escape from the supreme authority of the Most High.
II. The Accessibility of Conscience to God
Next, observe the providence of God in arranging that with this dream there should be great mental suffering. “I have suffered many things in a dream concerning Him!” I cannot tell what vision passed before her mind’s eye, but it was one which caused her terrible agony. A modern artist has painted a picture of what he imagined the dream to be, but I shall not attempt to follow that great man in the exercise of fancy. Pilate’s wife may have realized in her sleep the dreadful spectacle of the crown of thorns and the scourge, or even of the crucifixion and the death agony. And truly, I know of nothing more calculated to make the heart suffer many things concerning the Lord Jesus than a glance at His death. Around the cross there gathers grief enough to cause many a sleepless night, if the soul has any tenderness left in it. Or her dream may have been of quite another kind. She may have seen in vision the Just One coming in the clouds of heaven. Her mind may have pictured Him upon the great white throne, even the man whom her husband was about to condemn to die. She may have seen her husband brought forth to judgment, himself a prisoner to be tried by the Just One, who had before been accused before him. She may have awaked, startled at the shriek of her husband, as he fell back into the pit that knows no bottom. Whatever it was, she had suffered repeated painful emotions in the dream, and she awoke startled and amazed. The terror of the night was upon her, and it threatened to become a terror to her for all her days, and she therefore hastens to stay her husband’s hand.
III. The Frequent Failure Even of the Best Means
Thirdly, we have now the lamentable task of observing the frequent failure even of the best means. I have ventured to say that, humanly speaking, it was the best means of reaching Pilate’s conscience for his wife to be led to expostulate with him. He would hear but few, but he would hear her, and yet even her warning was in vain. What was the reason? First, self-interest was involved in the matter, and that is a powerful factor. Pilate was afraid of losing his governorship. The Jews would be angry if he did not obey their cruel bidding. They might complain to Tiberius and he would lose his lucrative position. Alas, such things as these are holding some of you captives to sin at this moment. You cannot afford to be true and right, for it would cost too much. You know the will of the Lord, you know what is right, but you renounce Christ by putting Him off, and by abiding in the ways of sin that you may gain the wages thereof. You are afraid that to be a true Christian would involve the loss of a friend’s goodwill, or the patronage of an ungodly person, or the smile of an influential worldling, and this you cannot afford. You count the cost, and reckon that it is too high. You resolve to gain the world, even though you lose your soul! What then? You will go to hell rich! A sorry result this! Do you see anything desirable in such an attainment? Oh that you would consider your ways and listen to the voice of wisdom! The next reason why his wife’s appeal was ineffectual was the fact that Pilate was a coward. A man with legions at his back, and yet afraid of a Jewish mob—afraid to let one poor prisoner go whom he knew to be innocent, afraid because he knew his conduct would not bear inspection! He was, morally, a coward! Multitudes of people go to hell because they have not the courage to fight their way to heaven. “The fearful and unbelieving shall have their portion in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.” So says the Word of God. They are afraid of encountering a fool’s laugh, and so rush upon everlasting contempt. They could not bear to tear themselves away from old companions, and excite remarks and sarcasm among ungodly wits, and so they keep their companions and perish with them. They have not the pluck to say, “No,” and swim against the stream. They are such cowardly creatures that they will sooner be forever lost than face a little scorn. Yet while there was cowardice in Pilate, there was presumption too. He who was afraid of man and afraid to do right, yet dared to incur the guilt of innocent blood. Oh, the cowardice of Pilate to take water and wash his hands, as if he could wash blood off with water, and then to say, “I am innocent of His blood”—which was a lie—“see you to it.” By those last words he brought the blood upon himself, for he consigned his prisoner to their tender mercies, and they could not have laid a hand upon Him unless he had given them leave.
IV. The Overwhelming Condemnation of Those Who Transgress
Lastly, we have a point which is yet more terrible, the overwhelming condemnation of those who thus transgress. This Pilate was guilty beyond all excuse. He deliberately and of his own free will condemned the just Son of God to die, being informed that He was the Son of God, and knowing both from his own examination and from his wife that He was a “just person.” Observe that the message which he received was most distinct. It was suggested by a dream, but there is nothing dreamy about it. It is as plain as words can be put—“Have you nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of Him.” Pilate condemned the Lord with his eyes open, and that is an awful way of sinning. Oh, my dear friends, am I addressing any here who are purposing to do some very sinful thing, but have lately received a warning from God? I would add one more caution. I pray you by the blessed God, and by the bleeding Savior, and as you love yourself, and as you love her from whom the warning may have come to you, do stop, and hold your hand! Do not do this abominable thing! You know better. The warning is not put to you in some mysterious and obscure way, but it comes point-blank to you in unmistakable terms. God has sent conscience to you, and He has enlightened that conscience, so that it speaks very plain English to you. This morning’s discourse stops you on the highway of sin, puts its pistol to your ear, and demands that you “Stand and deliver.” Stir an inch, and it will be at your own soul’s peril. Do you hear me? Will you regard this heaven-sent expostulation? Oh, that you would stand still awhile and hear what God shall speak while He bids you yield yourself to Christ today. It may be now or never with you, as it was with Pilate that day. He had the evil thing which he was about to do fully described to him, and therefore if he ventured on it, his presumption would be great. His wife had not said, “Have nothing to do with this man,” but “with this just man,” and that word rang in his ears, and again and again repeated itself till he repeated it too. Read the 24th verse. When He was washing his wicked hands, he said, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person”—the very name his wife had given to our Lord. The arrows stuck in him! He could not shake them off! Like a wild beast, he had the javelin sticking in his side, and though he rushed into the forest of his sin, it was evidently rankling in him still—“that just person” haunted him. Sometimes God makes a man see sin as sin, and makes him see the blackness of it, and if he then perseveres in it, he becomes doubly guilty, and pulls down upon himself a doom intolerable beyond that of Sodom of old. Beside that, Pilate was sinning not only after distinct warning, and a warning which set out the blackness of the sin, but he was sinning after his conscience had been touched and moved through his affections. It is a dreadful thing to sin against a mother’s prayer. She stands in your way, she stretches out her arms, and with tears she declares that she will block your road to hell. Will you force your way to ruin over her prostrate form? She kneels! She grasps your knees, she begs you not to be lost. Are you so brutal as to trample on her love? Your little child entreats you, will you disregard her tears? Alas, she was yours, but death has removed her, and before she departed she entreated you to follow her to heaven and she sang her little hymn—“Yes, we’ll gather at the river.” Will you fling your babe aside as though you were another Herod that would slay the innocents and all in order that you may curse yourself forever and be your own destroyer? It is hard for me to talk to you like this. If it is coming home to any of you, it will be very hard for you to hear it. Indeed, I hope it will be so hard that you will end it by saying, “I will yield to love which assails me by such tender entreaties.”
Conclusion: The Warning to Pilate and to Us All
It will not be a piece of mere imagination if I conceive that at the last great day, when Jesus sits upon the judgment seat, and Pilate stands there to be judged for the deeds done in the body, that his wife will be a swift witness against him to condemn him. I can imagine that at the last great day there will be many such scenes as that, wherein those who loved us best will bring the weightiest evidences against us, if we are still in our sins. I know how it affected me as a lad when my mother, after setting before her children the way of salvation, said to us, “If you refuse Christ and perish, I cannot plead in your favor and say that you were ignorant. No, but I must say Amen to your condemnation.” I could not bear that! Would my mother say, “Amen” to my condemnation? And yet, Pilate’s wife, what can you do otherwise? When all must speak the truth, what can you say but that your husband was tenderly and earnestly warned by you and yet consigned the Savior to His enemies? Oh, my ungodly hearers, my soul goes out after you. “Turn you; turn you, why will you die?” Why will you sin against the Savior? God grant you may not reject your own salvation, but may turn to Christ and find eternal redemption in Him. “Whoever believes in Him has everlasting life.”