Bible reading: John 18:28-40.

Message.

Last July, Britain was horrified by the murder of three girls – Bebe King, Elsie Stancombe and Alice Aguiar – at a Taylor Swift dance workshop in Southport. A few hours after the attack, a local man posted this message on social media: “My two youngest children went to holiday club this morning in Southport for a day of fun only for a migrant to enter and fatally wound multiple children … If there’s any time to close the borders completely it’s right now! Enough is enough”. Although the message was soon deleted, it had been picked up by a number of far-right influencers and was rapidly spreading the belief that the murderer was an illegal immigrant. Within hours it had been shared over two million times, stating that the killer was from Africa and under surveillance by MI6. You all know what followed: organised violence and large-scale riots in several parts of the country. Yet that initial message – from a man whose children hadn’t actually attended the dance class because it was full – was untrue. As we now know, the murderer was Axel Rudakubana, who was born in Cardiff.

A few weeks later, another rumour started circulating on social media, this time in America. A resident of Springfield whose cat had gone missing had been “reliably informed” that Haitian immigrants in the city were stealing pets and killing them for food. The claim was taken up by the Vice-Presidential candidate J D Vance and then by Donald Trump. The city authorities refuted the rumours – which had been passed on many millions of times – as “baseless”, while even Vance said, “It’s possible, of course, that all of these rumours will turn out to be false” – but then encouraged them to keep coming. It seems that, as far as Trump and Vance were concerned, any story which boosted their chances of winning the Presidential election was permissible, whether it was factually true or not.

These stories, and many others about “conspiracy theories”, “woke media” and “fake news”, make Pontius Pilate’s words to Jesus during his trial especially relevant today. “I came into the world for this one purpose, to speak about the truth”, says Jesus. “Whoever belongs to the truth listens to me”. Pilate retorts, “So what is truth?” – or, in one translation, “Truth: what is that?”. Without waiting for an answer (perhaps he wasn’t very good at philosophical thinking) Pilate goes back out to the crowd and says, “I find no reason to condemn Jesus; what do you want me to do?”. We all know how the crowd replies; truth – and Jesus himself – have been sacrificed to political expediency.

Jesus’ question doesn’t come out of thin air, for John’s Gospel makes many links between him and truth. For instance (and I’m not going to bore you by giving you chapter and verse), Jesus exhorts people who had believed in him to continue in his teaching as, if they do so, they will know the truth which will set them free. In a very well-known verse, Jesus identifies himself as “the way, the truth, and the life”; later he calls the Holy Spirit “the Spirit of truth” who will guide believers in all truth. We might say that these references set the stage for Jesus’ conversation with Pilate, which includes the final mentions of truth in this Gospel. We can sum up by saying that Jesus’ mission is about “bearing witness to the truth”: everyone who values truth will listen to him. That’s something which Pilate seems unwilling to do.

There is, I think, a reason for this exchange to have been recorded by John rather than by the other three Gospel writers. It’s because John seems to have been writing for Greek, rather than Jewish, readers: that’s why his Gospel begins with the famous passage about “the Word” or “Logos” who came to live among us, “Word” being a very Greek concept. “Truth” was also important in Greek philosophy; in fact the search for truth was absolutely central to it. Although I can’t agree with some writers who suggest that John made up the question, “What is truth?” and placed it in Jesus’ mouth, it’s certainly true that it’s one which would have “clicked” with the first readers of this Gospel, as it was one that they themselves were already asking.

And truth is something which, in the torrent of news, information, intrigue and deliberate deceit, we struggle with today. We know that the mainstream media, constantly accused of being in the pay of secret world masters or governments, work hard to check their facts, while many believe fanciful theories which have no basis in reality. The rise of social media and now AI make it harder and harder for us to distinguish fact from fiction, truth from lies. Allied to all this is the belief that, in matters such as religion, absolute truth simply doesn’t exist: while Jesus might be the truth for Christians, who’s to say that belief systems may be equally valid for others? If those work for them, then surely they must be true, whether they are based on real history or not. Perhaps Pilate’s question doesn’t have a simple answer.

Or does it? For Jesus isn’t saying, “My teachings are true”; he goes much further than that and says, “I myself am the truth”; that, in himself, God is present, unveiled and undistorted, for all to see. Jesus isn’t the truth because his teachings are true; after all, many people can teach true things. No, it’s the other way round: Jesus’ teachings are true because they come from him who is the truth.

This, I think, gives us a new perspective on the Good Friday story, for the people who rejected and crucified Jesus were actually rejecting God’s truth and pinning it to the Cross. Those folk, whether they be Pilate, the priests or the citizens of Jerusalem, weren’t rejecting a set of beliefs, throwing aside a prayer book or even the Bible. No; they were rejecting a person, Jesus – and, hence, the living Truth about God himself. It’s been said that truth will always be called to suffer; if that’s true, then the Cross is a perennial reminder that, in this world, the only truth is a crucified truth. Jesus died both for the truth and as the truth itself. His followers may be called to do the same – ouch!

I’ve said that Pilate asked Jesus, “What is truth?” but didn’t wait for an answer. I wonder, though, if that question haunted him for the rest of that momentous day? I ask that because of the sign he had made to fix to Jesus’ Cross: “This is the King of the Jews”. The Jewish priests protested against this, urging Pilate to alter the sign to, “He claimed to be the King of the Jews”, but Pilate refused to give in to their demand. Was he merely asserting his authority? Perhaps. Or was he quietly saying, “Actually, there is something about this Jesus that I believe in”? Had Jesus’ words penetrated his hardened soul? 

Back in the 1970s, and after the brutal “Prague Spring” reestablished Communism in Czechoslovakia, Václav Havel wrote a story about a greengrocer. Alongside his fruit and vegetables, this man displayed a sign saying, “Workers of the world, unite!” in his shop window. Of course, he had little choice if he wanted his business to stay open; he was living under a regime which forced people to make statements which they didn’t actually agree with. In other words, people like this greengrocer were compelled to live a lie if they were to survive.

What would happen, Havel wondered, if this greengrocer were to try living in the truth? If he stopped voting in elections which, he knew, were a sham, if he spoke his mind rather than parrot the beliefs of those in power, if he no longer bowed to the pressure to conform, if he removed the slogan from his shop window? Havel knew first-hand what would happen, as his little tale sent him to prison; that’s almost inevitable for anyone who speaks up for truth in a kingdom of lies.

But listen to what Havel said about a person who suffers for what they know to be true: that there is no greater power than standing up for the truth, than speaking the truth about what one sees, than doing only what one believes one should do, than living according to one’s faith, hope, and love. Living in the truth, said Havel, has tremendous personal and political consequences which, once unleashed, can bring about the collapse of an entire system of lies. His words were prophetic; in 1989 the Iron Curtain fell, and the man who had served time in prison for speaking up for truth became President of his country.

We see this same power of truth in Jesus and his followers. Pilate’s rule collapsed about three years after Jesus’ crucifixion, when he too violently suppressed a revolt by some Samaritans and was recalled to Rome. The Jewish hierarchy lasted a bit longer but it, too, collapsed when Rome laid waste to Israel in AD 70. Jesus’ rule, on the other hand, quickly took root and, as the book of Acts tells us, it spread like wildfire and, although it has had its ups and downs, its failures and faults, it survives to this day and has proved especially strong when earthly powers have made strenuous efforts to eliminate it.

Pilate had the unique opportunity to personally ask Jesus, “What is truth?”. He didn’t give Jesus the time to reply, “You are looking at him: I am the truth”. If Pilate had given time to Jesus and listened to his answer, what might have been the consequences? We can only guess. But what we can say is this: God’s truth suffered on the Cross, so we can be made free.