Pontius Pilate’s official title was Prefect of Judea. There were about forty different prefects that made up the Roman Empire during the first century. However, I think it’s safe to say that if you were to rank those jurisdictions in order of importance—or better yet, in terms of prestige—Judea would have landed somewhere near the bottom of the list. It was the kind of job where, if you did well, you could look forward to the promise of being promoted to bigger and better things. But if you did not do well, then you could pretty much kiss your political career good-bye.

The fact that Pilate winds up there in 26 A.D. is a sign that Rome was not terribly impressed with his leadership skills to begin with; and when he manages to stir up a hornet’s nest, shortly after arriving, those suspicious were confirmed. His first mistake is to hang gold-coated shields, glorifying the Roman Empire, throughout Herod’s palace in Jerusalem. Needless to say, the Jewish leaders found such images offensive—if not downright blasphemous—and immediately file a formal complaint with Emperor Tiberius, who sends a message to Pilate ordering him to take down the shields and watch his step from here on out. Strike one!

His second mistake, a few years later, is even more egregious. He raids the Temple treasury—money dedicated to God, mind you—and uses it to fund a pet project of his—the Pontius Pilate Aqueduct, of all things. Once again, the leaders throw a fit and report him to Rome. This time Tiberius summons Pilate to appear in person, and basically tells him, “I’m going to give you exactly one more shot at this. But if I hear so much as a peep out of Palestine, then feel free to notify your next-of-kin.” Strike two!

With two strikes against him, Pilate knows he must keep the peace, no matter what the cost, and on Good Friday morning, at about 6:00 a.m., he learns just how steep a price that will be. The chief priests show up, unannounced and uninvited, with a convicted criminal—someone they claim deserves the death penalty. But as Pilate repeatedly points out, in order to be a criminal, there first needs to be a crime. Sure, this man may have committed a religious faux pas, and stepped on a few Pharisaic toes along the way, but that meant nothing to him, and frankly, he couldn't have cared less. “See to it yourselves,” he tells them.

However, when the chief priests remind Pilate that he’s down to his final strike, and they’d be only too happy to inform Tiberius that he’s “no friend of Caesar’s,” Pilate caves and orders the man crucified. Still, just to make it perfectly clear that he wants no part in this dirty business, he has a basin filled with water and ceremonially washes his hands of the whole affair.

The historical record gets a little sketchy after that. Some reports have Pilate finally being driven into exile by Caligula, Tiberius’ successor; and eventually committing suicide somewhere around 37 A.D. But there’s no hard evidence of that. The one thing we know for sure is that the chief reason Pilate’s name is remembered today—in fact, it’s the only reason—is that he sent an innocent man to the cross for no good reason, and against his better judgment. It’s highly unlikely, of course, that Pilate went out to witness the execution firsthand. But if he had, he might have heard words that were directed as much to him as to the rest of us—“Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing!”