dishonest.  He must be made to feel his littleness.  We can imagine how our Lord would fix on him a penetrating gaze before which the shallow nature of the man would become apparent, as He asked whether this cross-examination was genuine, or whether Pilate was prompted to it; whether, as we should say, it was “a put-up affair”—­“Sayest thou this of thyself, or did others say it concerning Me?” Picture the situation—­the great marble palace, the representative of Imperial Rome clad in the purple robe of office, and seated in his chair on the dais, the surrounding officials and bodyguard; and then the peasant from Galilee, alone, unattended, undefended, come straight from insult and mockery in another court, and that after a night of mental agony.  Observe how completely the relative position of judge and Prisoner are reversed, at least, to the eyes of the onlooker.  Jesus calmly questions Pilate, calmly tells him of the limit of his power, and calmly claims the kinship for himself—­there of all places—­in the Roman governor’s residence, speaking to this governor himself, knowing that it must seal His own fate.  The two powers are now face to face—­the world-power of Rome, outwardly so imposing, but at this moment shrinking to insignificance, looking so vulgar, so mean, so sordid, so unreal, so essentially weak, in the person of the paltry governor; and the heavenly power, the power of truth and goodness, the Kingdom of God represented by the provincial Prisoner whose inherent dignity of Presence is seen to be all the more sublime for the contrast.  And Pilate?  How does he view this?  He is manifestly disconcerted, but he tries to hide his awkwardness under a mask of Roman scorn. “Am I a Jew?” he exclaims, in a tone of measureless contempt.  It is like the contempt of Agrippa when, in response to St Paul’s enthusiastic appeal and close home-thrust, he cried, “With but little persuasion thou wouldest fain make me a Christian!” Pilate reminds Jesus that He has been given up by His own people.  Jews might be expected to stand by a fellow-Jew under the Roman tyranny.  How comes it to pass that the Jewish people have brought a man of their own race to the foreign tribunal, prosecuting Him before this alien power, seeking His death from the hated Imperial government?  What can He have done to bring about so unusual a situation?  Pilate is perplexed; and the answer of Jesus does not clarify the magistrate’s ideas.  It seems only more mystifying.  Jesus describes His kingdom, so different from any institution bearing the name that Pilate has ever heard of.  It is not of the order of things in this world.  If it were, of course Christ’s servants would fight, as do the servants of the claimants of earthly thrones.  But they do not resort to violence.  The kingdom and its methods of government are both unearthly.  Pilate is interested, perhaps amused, with what now seem to him the fancies of a fanatical dreamer.  He pursues