What actually happened in Jerusalem during Passover — and why precision still matters today.
From The Craig Bushon Show Media Team
On this show, we don’t just follow the headlines — we read between the lines to get to the bottom line of what’s really going on. That same discipline must be applied to history.
Jesus of Nazareth was executed by Rome.
Crucifixion was not a Jewish punishment. It was a Roman instrument of state terror — used for slaves, rebels, and perceived threats to imperial order. Only Rome possessed the legal authority to impose it.
The Roman prefect governing Judea at the time was Pontius Pilate. Under Roman law, Pilate alone could authorize capital punishment. Roman soldiers carried out the execution. Legally and politically, the crucifixion was a Roman state action.
The Gospel accounts record that Pilate initially declared he found no fault in Jesus. From a Roman administrative perspective, Jesus did not appear to be leading an armed uprising. He had no militia. He was not organizing a rebellion. His answers did not resemble the rhetoric of a revolutionary commander.
But Roman governance was not based solely on legal innocence. It was based on maintaining order.
And the events in Jerusalem were unfolding during Passover — a festival commemorating liberation from foreign rule. Under Roman occupation, that theme carried political weight. Jerusalem’s population surged with pilgrims. Nationalist sentiment simmered. Rome reinforced security because unrest during Passover was always a risk.
Into that volatile environment, Jesus entered Jerusalem publicly.
He rode into the city on a donkey — echoing Zechariah’s imagery of a coming king. Crowds spread cloaks and palm branches and shouted phrases from Psalm 118: “Hosanna” and “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” During Passover under Roman rule, royal language was not neutral. Associating a figure with kingship carried political implications.
The tension escalated inside the Temple.
When Jesus overturned tables and drove out sellers, accusing them of turning a “house of prayer” into a “den of robbers,” He was performing a deliberate prophetic act.
“House of prayer” echoes Isaiah 56:7, where God declares that the Temple is to be a place of worship for all nations — explicitly welcoming foreigners. The Court of the Gentiles was the only designated space for non-Jewish worshippers. If commercial exchange dominated that area, the symbolism becomes significant.
“Den of robbers” comes from Jeremiah 7:11. A den is not where robbery occurs; it is where robbers hide. Jeremiah condemned leaders who oppressed the vulnerable and relied on the Temple as a shield from accountability. That warning preceded Jerusalem’s destruction.
By invoking Isaiah’s inclusive vision and Jeremiah’s institutional indictment, Jesus was issuing a prophetic critique of the Temple system itself.
The Temple was not merely a religious building. It was the center of economic and social authority in Jerusalem. To overturn tables during Passover was to confront institutional leadership at the most politically sensitive moment of the year.
After that moment, de-escalation was unlikely.
It was within this environment that Jesus’ arrest began with a segment of the Jerusalem Temple leadership, including the High Priest Caiaphas and certain members of the ruling council.
Before the high priest, the issue appears framed in theological terms — identity and blasphemy. That is clearly an internal religious dispute.
But it did not remain only that.
The Gospel of John gives us a particularly detailed look at what happened next.
John focuses heavily on the interaction between Pontius Pilate and “the Jews” — a term John frequently uses to refer to specific Jerusalem religious authorities, particularly the chief priests, not the Jewish people as an ethnicity.
John records that Jesus is handed over to Pilate by Temple authorities (John 18:28–32). They explicitly acknowledge Roman jurisdiction: “It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death.”
The framing shifts. In John 19:7, the charge is theological — “He has made himself the Son of God.” But before Pilate, the accusation becomes political: kingship.
Pilate repeatedly states that he finds no fault in Jesus (John 18:38; 19:4; 19:6). John portrays Pilate as reluctant, attempting release, even after scourging and public humiliation.
Then the pressure intensifies.
The chief priests and crowd cry, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” They escalate strategically: “If you release this man, you are not Caesar’s friend” (John 19:12). In a Roman patronage system, loyalty to Caesar was not rhetorical. It was career survival.
When Pilate asks, “Shall I crucify your king?” the chief priests respond, “We have no king but Caesar” (John 19:15). The irony is unmistakable. Temple authorities publicly affirm allegiance to Caesar to secure execution.
Pilate ultimately hands Jesus over “to them to be crucified” (John 19:16), though the execution itself is carried out by Roman soldiers. The method remains Roman.
The inscription placed above the cross reads, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews” (John 19:19). When the chief priests object to the wording, Pilate refuses to change it: “What I have written, I have written” (John 19:22).
The charge is political kingship.
Jesus’ own statement to Pilate adds another layer: “You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above. Therefore he who delivered me over to you has the greater sin” (John 19:11).
That statement differentiates culpability. Pilate possesses real authority and exercises it. But those who handed Jesus over bear greater moral responsibility.
The historically careful conclusion remains consistent:
The conflict began as an internal religious dispute.
Temple leadership pressed the case.
The charge was reframed politically.
Pilate expressed reluctance but chose stability over justice.
Rome executed under a kingship charge.
Rome executed.
Certain Temple authorities advocated.
A disciple betrayed.
A crowd participated.
But the machinery of death was Roman.
Second Temple Judaism was diverse and internally complex. Jesus was Jewish. His disciples were Jewish. The earliest church was Jewish. Assigning collective ethnic blame ignores historical reality and fuels distortion.
History deserves more than slogans.
The cross deserves more than caricature.
Precision is not political correctness. It is moral responsibility.
And clarity strengthens faith — it does not weaken it.
Our conclusion
The cross was not the product of a mob myth or an ethnic indictment. It was the collision of religious tension, institutional preservation, political pressure, and imperial authority.
Rome held the power.
Temple leaders pressed the case.
Pilate chose order over justice.
That is the historically defensible record.
And when history is handled with care, it does not weaken faith — it strengthens it. Because truth does not fear scrutiny.
On this show, we don’t just repeat narratives handed down through centuries. We examine them. We test them. We separate theology from politics, accusation from documentation, and slogans from facts.
The crucifixion deserves that level of seriousness.
We don’t just follow the headlines… we read between the lines to get to the bottom line of what’s really going on.
Disclaimer
This article is intended for historical and theological education. It does not assign collective blame to any ethnic, religious, or national group. The events described reflect first-century political and religious circumstances involving specific individuals and governing authorities within Roman-occupied Judea. Any interpretation extending responsibility beyond those historically identifiable actors is inconsistent with both the historical record and the intent of this publication.
