We are Barabbas

After he had said this, he went out to the Jews again and told them, "I find no case against him. But you have a custom that I release someone for you at the Passover. Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?" They shouted in reply, "Not this man, but Barabbas!" Now Barabbas was a bandit.

“Survey says….” How many of us know which television show those two simple words immediately brings to mind?  Family Feud of course. In the classic format of the show two opposing families tough it out trying to identify answers given to a random survey of audience members to such questions as: “What holiday besides Christmas makes the Post Office busy?” (Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day), or Name a US state where cows outnumber people. (Oklahoma, Wyoming, TX, Iowa, Wisconsin, Montana) and “We surveyed 100 men and asked them what kinds of things do women change? (their minds, lipstick, clothes and hair, shoes, nail polish) …of course that one makes me want to ask 100 women what things they think men change. ( I think they change their socks) Americans love to take surveys.  We are hearing now about how some of those silly surveys we see on social media such as “Can you pass the US citizen’s test” or” Which state should you live in?” or “What is your personality type?” might have been used to glean information about our tastes and opinions by some not so nice folks so they could target us for certain news outlets or advertisements among other things.

One of the newest forms of surveying is known as “crowd sourcing” which originally started as a marketing tool. Crowd sourcing is defined by Merriam-Webster as “the process of obtaining needed services, ideas, or content by soliciting contributions from a large group of people, and especially from an online community, rather than from traditional sources.” And its use has spread to my own online community. People who are members of the social media site that includes the North Shore of Staten Island has had a variety of local folks seeking opinions on subjects from the mundane to the questionably relevant. “Where should I get my hair cut?”, “Anyone know the best vet in St George?”, “How would you rate your child’s elementary school?”, these are some of the question asked by my neighbors over the past year or so. Sometimes I chime in, other times I do not. Teachers with whom I worked list requests for funds on “Donor’s Choose” to get extra equipment and resources for their students.  I have actually donated to everyone from my old school (IS 27) who asked for funding.  I remember how difficult it was to get needed supplies, not to mention enrichment materials when I was in the classroom and can only think it is now more difficult than ever..  And then of course, there is “Go Fund Me” a platform that allows people in need…or in perceived need, to make a direct pitch to donors for individual causes.

In today’s Gospel reading we are witnesses to Pilate using the Biblical equivalent of the modern “crowd sourcing” when he asked the people which prisoner they wanted released, and then reluctantly acted on it.  He seems to be dumbfounded that the crowd before him preferred the release of Barabbas over the release of Jesus.  For Pilate, a governor from Rome in charge of a third rate piece of the empire; letting the Roman powers that be back home know that he was ready, willing and able to squelch any and all hints of insurrection or rebellion was important. He knew what side his bread was buttered on, and it was definitely not on the side of the Israelites. He needed to keep the peace at all costs, and keep his superiors in Rome happy by keeping any hint of rebellion at bay in a very visible and concrete way by executing those involved in such behavior. And Barabbas fit the bill.

Who was “Barabbas”? From reading the Scriptures we learn several possibilities. We know he was the prisoner mentioned in all four  Gospels who was chosen by the crowd, over Jesus Christ, to be released by Pilate in a pardon before the Passover. In Matthew, Barabbas is called a “notorious prisoner.” In Mark and Luke, he was “in prison with the rebels who had committed murder during the insurrection” against the occupying Roman forces. John, in today’s Gospel, describes him as a bandit. Yet it appears he was more than that. The name Barabbas appears nowhere else in the New Testament, nor do any of the Gospels give any information about his previous or subsequent life. The name may be a Aramaic combination of nouns meaning “son of the father” (bar abba) or “son of the teacher” (bar rabban), indicating perhaps that his father was a Jewish leader. But there is one thing we do know about Barabbas: His release makes him the definitive person for whom Jesus’ death directly allowed him to live. Jesus really did die for him in a very real and concrete way.  A way, perhaps the rest of humanity would come to realize after the Resurrection, but not on the dark Friday of Golgotha.

I actually think we are more like Barabbas than we would like to admit. And although he was someone who wanted to see his occupied homeland free from oppression, he advocated some violent means to do this; he rallied his own troops to engage in acts against what they perceived as an illegal state. He felt rage and anger at how he and his “tribe” were treated. We may or may not agree with his tactics, but we as humans can understand his feelings of frustration, anger and rage at being oppressed. But one thing for sure we know:  Jesus died in his place.  Jesus died for him. For him with his flaws and anger; for him despite his murderous actions; for him a stranger; for him a sinner like the rest of us.

So, what is the answer to the question “who is Barabbas”: We are Barabbas; the unworthy and unknowing person who Jesus died for.…and Thank God he did.

The Quiteness of Snow...

It seems surreal. This is the time of year when we should be tucking the new spring annuals into the garden edges and planting sugar snap peas for the children to pick as soon as we begin to smell the sweet smell of the summer wind.  But, alas, today we are digging out from the fourth No'easter this month! Normally being located on the Atlantic Ocean, albeit sheltered a bit by the juxtaposition of three islands and a confluence of the ocean, a river and a sound which is near to the Gulf Stream, allows us to "dodge the bullet" that most heavy snow storms present, and we usually get less snow and more rain.  That did not happen yesterday!

I woke at 6am Wednesday to a gentle misty shower.  "No snow!", I thought; I was so wrong! Not an hour later at 7:00am the first flakes started and soon the snow was pelting and swirling and being knocked around by the wind that blows off the harbor onto my roof deck. The patio tables I had so carefully covered in the fall quickly began to accumulate layer upon layer of freshly fallen snow. The patio chairs that I have covered and bungee-corded were now on their sides sliding across the slippery snow-slicked deck stopping only when they hit the roof wall or the planter that was itself wrapped in burlap to protect the hydrangea plant. ( Dear Lord, keep my beloved hydrangea safe from the destruction of the storm!)

My decoy plastic owl, my hard-working Ollie, sat stoically on the ledge overlooking Bay Street as more and more snow accumulated on his head! An occasional sea gull would fly by giving him a rather wide berth.  No starlings, sparrows or the obiqueous pigeons made appearances that day! Not one was in sight. They had hunkered down somewhere out of the cold and windy falling flakes. And I did the same.

This turned out to be the perfect day to get all those things done which I have left undone. Correspondence via snail mail and email to friends, kith and kin...and other matters that needed to get done like a month ago. And then, there was silence!

And silence is not a bad thing.  It gives us time to slow down and relax in ourselves. It was time to turn off the T.V. and spend time with myself doing stuff I have not done in a while, but enjoy.  So, I knitted; I read and I meditated.  I actually took some time and watched the snow fall from three different locations in my apartment: from the deck doors from which I normally see ships coming in and out of the harbor, I could only see faint red lights coming from the taillights of the brave drivers of cars and trucks as they slowly crossed into Brooklyn for reasons unknown to me.  From my bedroom window that usually provides me with an expansive view of Breezy Point, Coney Island, Bay Ridge, and Red Hook, all I could see was globs of snowflakes hitting against my windows.  And from the sliding doors to my living room balcony, all I could see was the outline of trains as they plowed passed my building either into or out of the ferry terminal.

The only noises I could hear were an occasional fog horn and the whistle of the trains as they chugged and stopped at the local station.  I could not even see if anyone was walking to or from the stairs to the station itself.  Everything halted, as if everything was frozen in time and space. And so it was...for a day.

And now, a new day is here. Things are slowly getting back to "normal". The kids are back at school; driveways are shoveled; streets are plowed; the sea of snow is gradually receding and I am hearing a slow and steady drip-drip-drip of melting all around me. Tomorrow this snow will be but a memory for all of us, but the gift of enforced slow-down; a snow day, a slow day is something that we can all look back on and, hopefully, smile...at least a bit.