Give us Barabbas

“Give us Barabbas.”

Those words echo like thunder through time…haunting, hollow, and horrifying.

Because it wasn’t just a crowd in ancient Jerusalem.

It’s us.

It’s now.

We don’t know everything Barabbas did.

But we know enough to know he was guilty. A thief. A murderer. A rebel.

And they chose him.

Not by accident.

On purpose.

They hated the Light so much,

They would rather have blood on their streets than conviction in their hearts.

They would rather keep their idols than bow to the only One who could save them.

They would rather protect the lie than embrace the truth. They screamed for a killer… and nailed the Healer.

That is how much they despised the truth.

And I wonder—how often do we still do the same?

“Give us Barabbas.”

We shout it with every compromise that protects our comfort. We whisper it every time silence is safer than courage.

We breathe it when we want to belong more than we want to obey.

When the gospel costs too much.

When being “set apart” feels too much like “set aside.” When we crave unity in darkness over division by light.

But make no mistake—truth does divide.

It always has.

Jesus said it would.

And in that crowd, when the mob chanted and fists flew and hate was louder than hope—

I know not every heart agreed.

I know Mary was there.

Tears soaked into her veil.

A sword piercing her soul, just as Simeon had said. She didn’t scream—but you know she wept.

I know John stood near the cross.

He didn’t argue the crowd, but he didn’t leave Him either.

I know Joseph of Arimathea was watching.

Nicodemus, too…once silent, now slowly stirred awake.

Their voices weren’t the loudest.

But they were faithful.

And maybe that’s the truth I needed today:

The loudest voices aren’t always the right ones.

“Crucify Him!”

That wasn’t truth, it was pressure.

It was fear.

It was flesh.

And it was a lie wrapped in religious language.

But Truth stood there, silent, bleeding, loving them anyway.

They shouted for Barabbas.

And He took Barabbas’s place.

He took my place.

So today, I have to ask myself:

When truth offends the culture…

When righteousness costs me relationships…

When my silence would be more accepted than my surrender…

Will I still stand?

Will I weep like Mary, love like John, and risk like Joseph? Or will I blend into the crowd and shout for Barabbas?

Because the truth still divides.

And Jesus still saves.

Even the Barabbases.

Even me.