First published in the Baptist Times 22 July 2011
I was thinking about Pontius Pilate and Joe at the homeless centre.
Pilate was the known bad guy - the representative of ruthless Imperial oppression. But he wasn't a thug with no conscience, not by his own standards and certainly not by Rome's. He had nothing against killing criminals, but he didn't want the blood of an innocent man on his hands.
Let the locals handle their own trial, was his view, or - if they wanted to bend the rules - hire a hitman for a discreet little backstreet murder. The trouble was that these bloodthirsty barbarians he was meant to be governing wanted to use him - Pilate - as their hitman.
But the Jews were the holy people, they said. They didn't do dirty work. What was one more murder, to bloodthirsty barbarians like Pilate and his bosses in the Roman Empire?
Which brings me to Joe.
Joe did the washing up at the homeless centre. He arrived on time, stationed himself at the sink and stayed there, steadily working, till the last client left and the doors closed.
He was a good worker, with only two black marks against him. One: he insisted on taking a ten minute break, however busy the lunchtime, for a smoke and a chat in the queue outside with the mates he knew from when he was on the streets himself.
And two: he had once taken home a bag of sugar. He had been firmly told that he could drink his tea and eat his dinner at the centre, but not take anything home with him. Joe agreed.
As a precaution, the sugar had been kept locked away ever since, with only a small bowl left out. The 'reliable volunteers' (solid churchgoers) were warned to be aware that these 'client-volunteers' (former homeless) could take anything not nailed down.
A neighbour of ours, a kind-hearted pensioner, bought two of those mega-bars of Toblerone. 'Give those poor homeless fellows a treat,' she said. The bars would have cost her, literally, the widow's mite. She never bought treats for herself.
They would go down well. The food at the centre was worthy but dull; everyone loved chocolate, and on a rainy grey Thursday a chunk of Toblerone with their mug of tea after lunch would lift the mood of the men. There was easily enough for a piece for everyone.
But somehow, between the bars being cut up and being carried out of the kitchen, a sizeable number of chunks had been swiped. There were not enough to go round; some of the men went without.
A few weeks before, some jackets had disappeared from the clothing store, before the doors even opened.
When the governors received complaints about missing donations, the 'respectable' volunteers said well, what could you expect, if you chose to employ these client-volunteers only one step away from the streets? They had always said it was foolish to trust them. It must have been light-fingered Joe, or Paddy or Henry.
Or Pontius. The one with so many offences on his record sheet that surely one more wouldn't make much difference. And it would let the respectable folk off the hook. They could go home with clean hands and silenced consciences.
Jesus told Pilate, 'The one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.' The High Priest who claimed to be living by the law of Moses, yet threatened Pilate with Caesar's justice if he didn't do the dirty work for the holy folk, was more criminal than Pilate, living by the law of Rome.
Investigation revealed that Joe and the other client-volunteers were not on shift the day that the clothes went missing. And when the chocolate bars were unwrapped, Joe had been taking his smoke-break. The real light-fingered offenders turned out to be those who had pointed the finger at the 'bad guys.'
Joe might take a bag of sugar but he had his standards. Like Pilate.
