In the House of Caiaphas

“‘Why, what evil has He done?’ Yet they kept shouting all the more, saying, ‘Crucify Him!’” (Matthew 27:23)

Last week was exhausting. Holy Week usually is. If you immerse yourself in the liturgy of the week, so much happens between Jesus’ ride into Jerusalem and the empty tomb. But this year I felt too immersed as the Tennessee state legislature pantomimed the seasonal staging of a rigged-up charge and rushed trial in order to silence a man preaching peace.

The week before, six people—three of them children—were killed in a school shooting at a Christian school in Nashville. As usual, leaders offered thoughts and prayers and promises to not address gun violence—money for arming school teachers and fortifying buildings, sure, but nothing to prevent access to weapons. Students marched to the state capitol building, chanting for gun reform. 

“But when the chief priests and the scribes saw the wonderful things that He had done, and the children who were shouting in the temple area, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David,’ they became indignant, and they said to Him, ‘Do You hear what these children are saying?’” (Matthew 21:15-16)

The legislature mostly ignored the crowds, going about their routine business.

Three representatives tried to bring attention to the protesters, acknowledge their presence and pleas, but the speaker refused to give them time. Finally, they walked to the well anyway. Their mics were cut, but they remained there for a few minutes as the session was in recess, calling for an acknowledgement of the hundreds of students just outside, in the halls, in the galley, begging for their leaders to keep them safe.

“He was teaching daily in the temple; but the chief priests and the scribes and the leading men among the people were trying to put Him to death, and yet they could not find anything that they might do, for all the people were hanging on to every word He said” (Luke 19 47-48).

By walking to the well without permission, the three Tennessee representatives broke house procedure rules. Far worse are broken regularly with no punishment or merely a reminder to keep to the rules. At most, they should have faced a censure or a call to the ethics committee. Instead, on the Monday of Holy Week, they were stripped of their committee positions, and their entry cards were deactivated. Resolutions were brought forward to expel them from the state legislature, leaving more than 200,000 without elected representation. As Tennessee is run by a supermajority, one that has grown only more radical in the past few years, it was clear this was an overreach brought on by political motivations. Those in power wanted these three representatives (representing diverse districts in the three major cities) out and replaced with appointed—not elected—representatives who would be more amenable. The fact that two of them were young black men who didn’t conform to the expected status quo and were already greatly disliked was the motivation more than a breach of house decorum.

“The scribes and the Pharisees have seated themselves in the chair of Moses. Therefore, whatever they tell you, do and comply with it all, but do not do as they do; for they say things and do not do them. And they tie up heavy burdens and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are unwilling to move them with so much as their finger. And they do all their deeds to be noticed by other people; for they broaden their phylacteries and lengthen the tassels of their garments. And they love the place of honor at banquets, and the seats of honor in the synagogues, and personal greetings in the marketplaces, and being called Rabbi by the people” (Matthew 23:2-7). 

Immediately, the majority in the house began to change the narrative of what happened. By speaking up and siding with protestors, the three representatives were apparently staging an insurrection. No matter that the protests were completely peaceful, that it was mostly students and parents, that everyone in the building had properly gone through security, that the highway patrol noted there were no arrests, no violence, no damage. Merely being there, chanting, criticizing, was a threat to those in power.

“Therefore the chief priests and the Pharisees convened a council meeting, and they were saying, ‘What are we doing in regard to the fact that this man is performing many signs? If we let Him go on like this, all the people will believe in Him, and the Romans will come and take over both our place and our nation’” (John 11:47-48)

“Then the entire assembly of them set out and brought Him before Pilate. And they began to bring charges against Him, saying, ‘We found this man misleading our nation and forbidding us to pay taxes to Caesar, and saying that He Himself is Christ, a King.’ …They kept on insisting, saying, ‘He is stirring up the people, teaching all over Judea, starting from Galilee, as far as this place!’”(Luke 23: 1-2,5)

With a supermajority, it was clear they had the votes and decisions had been made before the hearings even begun. Lawyers weren’t allowed to speak from the well. Evidence was produced without letting the defendants see it beforehand. It was just minimally-required procedure and grandiose theatre, not even pretense of actual accountability. The hearings were pushed to the end of the day (probably in hope that the thousands protesting outside since the early morning would grow tired and leave). One representative proposed adjourning until Monday, but no—they insisted on spending the evening of Maundy Thursday in their circus trial, oblivious to their own liturgical irony, even as the defendants and their supporters quoted scripture.

“Now the chief priests and the entire Council were trying to obtain testimony against Jesus to put Him to death, and they were not finding any. For many people were giving false testimony against Him, and so their testimonies were not consistent… And they all condemned Him as deserving of death. And some began to spit on Him, and to blindfold Him, and to beat Him with their fists and say to Him, ‘Prophesy!’ Then the officers took custody of Him and slapped Him in the face” (Mark 14:55-56.64-65).

Two men were expelled that night. A third representative (older, white, woman) was spared by a single vote. But they put up a good fight, stated the truth and called out hypocrisy. They knew the odds were against them but that the nation was watching. In the video below, just before being expelled, Justin Pearson reminds those listening on that Maundy Thursday that Sunday always comes.

I had watched the whole debacle all week as one of the representatives was my own. It was infuriating—the clear injustice of it all, the disproportionate reaction, the political maneuvering, the libelous reframing of an insurrection, the smug confidence of having the power to get away with it. And there was nothing I could do, really, other than watch it play out. Constituents flooded the legislators with phone calls and emails, and protestors remained at the Capitol daily like a vigil. It picked up national attention, and light finally shown on a corrupt group. The hope of change was faint, but at least the people were seen, were heard. Which is what the three representatives had tried to do in the first place.

And I'm sure those who voted to expel those members sat in church on Easter Sunday without a hint of irony or remorse. They justified their actions and believed their own stories. They hold all the power and think of themselves as oppressed. They can preach about decency and contrition and justice but can't practice what they preach. What change can come when the ones with all the power—the high priests and governors and judges—show no change of heart?

Then, this week, both men who had been expelled were appointed by their city commissions right back into the legislature. Technically, they are now interim reps for their own seats and still have to hold a special election this summer. But they are back. Was it all a waste? The entire circus changed nothing. And yet it changed so much. These unknown state representatives are now national figures. Attention has been paid to how the state supermajority operates when no one is looking. And the governor even came out in support of red-flag gun reform laws—something unfathomable just a week ago, even in the wake of an elementary school shooting. It may seem to be quieter than last week. Things may look like it’s just back to normal, another week in Roman-occupied Jerusalem. Radical ramifications may only be brewing in upper rooms and among disciples. The message may be growing, spreading. Change may be coming. A lot can happen in a week.