I told my husband that man would ruin us.

I first heard of this man when one of my husband’s guards brought news that a Jewish mob had captured a man and sent him to stand trial before their high priest. It was fear of a thing like this that had brought Pilate and me to Jerusalem. Rome feared rebellion, and so my husband had been sent from his governor’s seat in Caesarea to this place.

Fear would keep people in line. They needed no reminder of the last time there had been an uprising. My husband had responded with the might of Rome. He had them slaughtered in their own Temple, on their own sacrificial altars.

Better the blood of the few in spectacle than the blood of many in an uprising.

The news held no fear for Pilate. The man they had arrested was some sort of rogue rabbi. Surely the Jews could handle it. The guard was dismissed. We fell asleep.

And I dreamed.

I saw a sky thick with cloud, pierced by lightning, shaken by thunder, as the voice of a god.

Jupiter.

I saw a throne and a man crowned in glory. Lightning struck behind the throne, illuminating the image of Caesar Augustus. The king of earth within the king of heaven.

The winds stilled. Caesar stood, pointing his scepter.

The gods of heaven and earth spoke with one voice.

You must die!

I looked where Caesar pointed and saw a man, Galilean by his looks, bloodied, battered, a crown of thorns on his head.

The man was on his knees, lips moving silently as if in prayer.

As Jupiter’s storm swirled, Caesar rose from the throne and attacked the man, raining blow after blow, cursing him in the name of all the gods.

Jupiter’s lightning struck the man again and again. The full fury of the gods was set upon him.

Now the man lay on his back, arms stretched out, face bloodied from Caesar’s blows, body blackened by Jupiter’s strikes.

His lips moved again. I heard his words not with my ears but from within my heart.

Father, take this cup from me! But if I must have it, let me drink to its fullest.

His prayer was not to Jupiter or Caesar.

The earth shook. The clouds of Jupiter enveloped Caesar. Lightning flashed with blinding force.

Yet I could still see the man. He radiated a different, purer light.

I awakened, drenched in sweat. I turned to my husband, but he was gone. I called for a guard, who said Jewish leaders had called him to adjudicate an execution. The man they had captured called himself King of the Jews.

I knew this was the man from my dream. He would die. The gods decreed it. My husband would condemn him.

He must not!

Not after what I had seen.

My husband had shed the blood of thousands, but this felt different.

Quickly I sent a note.

Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream.

If the gods want him, let the gods do their own work.

My husband received my note. He, too, felt unnerved. But the crowd would not relent. They demanded crucifixion. My husband washed his hands in front of the crowd.

I am innocent of this man’s blood!

Soon after we returned to Caesarea, Pilate received word that the followers of Jesus had stolen his body, proclaiming that he yet lived.

Pilate scoffed.

If the Jews can catch him, I’ll kill him again.

He had not seen what I had seen.

We did not hold on to power much longer. Pilate’s violence grew as quickly as did the cult of this Galilean. After two years, Rome took notice. Rome does not always kill by swords. My husband was removed from power.

He traced his downfall to the Galilean. Pilate thought one execution could buy peace. One death could keep a province calm. He had been willing to offer thousands.

But the Galilean’s blood did not bring stability. The rumors would not stop. The followers would not scatter. The name would not die.

Pilate could not bear to be stripped of favor by Caesar, the only god he had ever worshiped. Disgraced, he took his own life. It was a final confession: He had built his life on power and could not live without it.

It was in this losing of everything that I began to understand.

The gods had not demanded the righteous man’s death.

Men did.

Empire did.

Fear did.

This Jesus did not sit in thunder demanding sacrifice. He came close in flesh. He let himself be slaughtered to shatter the systems of gods and empire.

The collapse of my life — the loss of my title, my palace, my husband’s power — was also a mercy, a door, a severing from gods who demanded blood.

I told my husband that man would ruin us.

I did not know that in ruin I would find life.

Josh Olds of Armstrong Creek, Australia, is a public theologian and pastor for those disillusioned with institutional church. He is the creator of the small group series “Year on the Mountaintop” and a regular contributor for Baptist News Global and Red Letter Christians. Follow his work on Facebook or at JoshOlds.com.