Brent Pollard
The Man Who Couldn’t Afford Truth
Pontius Pilate governed Judea the way most of us manage our lives—by compromise. A mid-level Roman official ruling a resentful province, he had learned that survival meant bending to political winds. Truth, in his world, was whatever kept Caesar pleased and mobs quiet.
Then Truth walked into his courtroom.
“Are You the King of the Jews?” Pilate asked. Jesus answered, “For this I was born—to bear witness to the truth.”
Pilate’s response exposes every human heart: “What is truth?”
It wasn’t a philosophical question. It was the exhausted sigh of a man who had compromised so often that truth had become meaningless. He had traded integrity for security so many times that he no longer recognized the currency.
The Coward Who Saw Clearly
Here’s what haunts Pilate’s story: he knew.
Three times he declared Jesus innocent. His wife warned him in a dream. His conscience screamed. Yet when the priests threatened—”If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar”—Pilate’s courage evaporated. He chose career over conscience, comfort over conviction.
Then came his famous gesture: washing his hands before the crowd, announcing, “I am innocent of this man’s blood.”
One cannot wash away guilt if one will not confess. Water cleanses skin, not souls. Pilate’s basin was as empty as his heart.
The Sovereignty in the Surrender
But here’s where God’s purposes shine through human failure: Pilate couldn’t escape his role in redemption. When he ordered the sign above Jesus’ cross—”Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”—the priests demanded he change it. Pilate refused: “What I have written, I have written.”
It was petty revenge, yes—one last jab at those who had cornered him. But beyond Pilate’s passive-aggressive defiance, God was writing truth in permanent ink. The placard that Pilate meant as mockery became prophecy. The “criminal” was indeed the King—not just of Jews, but of Pilate, Rome, and all creation.
God doesn’t need our righteousness to accomplish His purposes. Even our failures serve His sovereign plan.
The Mirror We’d Rather Not See
Pilate is us.
We know what’s right but fear what it costs. We recognize truth but won’t stand for it when the crowd turns hostile. We wash our hands of responsibility while blood stains our souls.
You and I don’t drift into heaven. Neutrality before Christ is impossible—by doing nothing, Pilate crucified Him. Every day we face the same choice: Will we crown Christ as Lord, or dismiss Him when it’s inconvenient?
What Must We Do?
Stop washing your hands. Moral evasion solves nothing. Confession begins where excuses end.
Count the cost, then pay it. Following Christ may cost you approval, comfort, or even advancement. But what profit is there in gaining the world while losing your soul?
Remember who stands before you. Jesus didn’t stand before Pilate—Pilate stood before Jesus. We don’t judge truth; truth judges us.
Act while conscience speaks. Every ignored conviction hardens the heart. Pilate’s tragedy began long before that Friday morning—it started the first time he silenced what he knew was right.
The Final Word
History remembers Pilate not for his power but for his weakness. His name endures not as a hero, but as the coward who asked, “What is truth?” while Truth stood before him.
You and I won’t face Jesus in a Roman court. But we face Him daily in every choice between comfort and courage, between what people think and what God commands.
Pilate’s question remains: What is truth?
Jesus answers: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
The question isn’t whether truth exists. The question is whether we’ll bow to it—or spend our lives washing our hands.


