“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death”
The photographer, Fr. Lawrence Lew, offers these thoughts:
This Station in marble bas relief is by Fr Aelred Whitacre OP, from Blackfriars in Oxford, the Dominican priory in that great university town.
It is striking that Fr Aelred, reflecting Thomistic teaching, depicts the dehumanizing effect of sin, hence this striking depiction of Pilate. The serpent shows that Pilate, in choosing to condemn an innocent man, has colluded with the Evil One. Incidentally, it is thought that Tolkien’s visual conception of orcs might have been inspired by seeing this depiction of Pilate.
START WITH SCRIPTURE:
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OBSERVE:
The shock of the events recorded here in Matthew’s Gospel is lost on most modern Christians simply because they have become so familiar. Ask a child who has been raised in Sunday School what Jesus has done for us and the child will likely rattle off the words “he died for our sins.” These words would likely be delivered somewhat mechanically, as if by rote.
Looking at this account as if reading the Gospel for the first time would be truly shocking. The first-time reader, starting at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel, would have first encountered the account of Jesus’ miraculous birth, with its declaration that this child would be called Immanuel, God with us. The God-head of this child would have been confirmed as he grew into a man and was baptized, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and the voice of God the Father that attested that he was the Son of God. His miraculous works of healing and feeding the multitudes and commanding the forces of nature would have further illustrated the divine nature of Jesus. His Transfiguration would certainly have confirmed it. And his teaching, as though providing a New Law, was with the authority of God. His triumphant entry into the city of Jerusalem, welcomed by the throngs, would have authenticated his credentials as the Son of David and the Messiah.
So, the events of Matthew 26:14-27:66 would certainly be shocking to someone coming to this account for the first time. Certainly the reader might have picked up hints from the murmuring of the Pharisees and the Saduccees and the Priests. And Jesus himself offered foreshadowings of the fate that awaited him in Jerusalem.
But still, the events in this passage reveal the violence of those who plotted against Jesus. They also reveal his own human vulnerability. The Son of God is also the Son of Man, who can be beaten and tormented and nailed to a cross.
With such a long passage, it is necessary to summarize some of the events — that Jesus is betrayed by one of his own disciples, predicts his own death, is denied by one of his closest disciples, stands trial in a hastily convened court, and is condemned to die by a foreign ruler.
We will view these shocking events through the characters that appear, and the dramatic action that follows. First, there is the shock of betrayal by Judas Iscariot, who approaches the chief priests to offer them Jesus — for a price.
In Matthew’s Gospel, we receive only one hint that Judas will betray Jesus (Matthew 10:4). But this foreshadowing comes with no explanation of Judas’s motives. Still, when the disciples are gathered to celebrate the Passover feast, Jesus knows what Judas will do. Jesus announces that one of them will betray him. The disciples search their own hearts and ask with deep sorrow:
“It isn’t me, is it, Lord?”
Jesus’ answer is cryptic — that whoever dips his unleavened bread into the charoset dish typical of Passover, would betray him. Eating in a communal manner like this was an intimate experience. Jesus was suggesting that the one who betrayed him was a close friend.
Judas is disingenuous, as though to deflect suspicion from himself. He parrots the other disciples, and says:
It isn’t me, is it, Rabbi?
Unlike the other disciples, though, he calls Jesus Rabbi instead of Lord. Though subtle, this may suggest he is disavowing any faith in Jesus as the Messiah.
Jesus has warned him, along with the others:
The Son of Man goes, even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born.
Following the trajectory of Judas’s fateful decision (sometime between the adjournment of the Passover meal and Jesus’ climb to the Mount of Olives), Judas has gathered a multitude with swords and clubs under the authority of the chief priests and elders of the people. He knows Jesus’ plans for the evening, and leads this armed rabble to the Mount of Olives. Again, there is the sign of hypocritical intimacy:
Now he who betrayed him gave them a sign, saying, “Whoever I kiss, he is the one. Seize him.” Immediately he came to Jesus, and said, “Hail, Rabbi!” and kissed him.
Despite this betrayal, Jesus seems almost tender toward Judas. Jesus says to him, Friend, why are you here? — although Jesus knows precisely why Judas has come.
We follow the next phase in Judas’s part of this drama. It is only after Jesus is hailed before the council of the high priest and the elders late that night, and then turned over to Pontius Pilate for Roman justice the next morning, that Judas seems to experience remorse. He attempts to return the thirty pieces of silver, and confesses his sin in betraying innocent blood. His reparations of the money are refused, and he throws it at the feet of the priests and leaves — and hangs himself.
Was this a sign of repentance? Was he forever condemned? Literally, God alone knows.
Let us return to the other characters who reclined with Jesus at the Passover feast. All of the disciples were searching their own hearts about Jesus’ prediction that one of them would betray him. But when Jesus again warns them that they would all stumble because of the events that night, Peter can’t stand it. He protests that he alone would remain faithful, even if all of them fell away. Jesus singles out Peter specifically with the painful prediction that Peter himself would deny him three times before morning, when the rooster crowed.
To his credit, Peter was one of the three closest friends whom Jesus asked to stay near when Jesus went to Gethsemane to pray. But Peter’s first stumble came even before he denied Jesus — three times Peter, along with James and John, fell asleep, even after Jesus asked them directly to stay awake and watch with him in prayer.
Matthew doesn’t tell us that Peter is the one who strikes off the ear of the high priest’s servant with a sword. John’s Gospel supplies that detail (John 18:10). But the Gospel of Matthew does show that Peter had just enough courage to follow Jesus and the armed band to the courtyard of the house of Caiphas — where Peter withers in fear. When asked if he is one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter denies it, with a curse.
So, let us turn to Jesus and his words and actions in these events. Jesus is very clearly aware of his role in this drama. Jesus knows the script. He predicts that he will be delivered up to death as it is written in the Scriptures. The Passover meal becomes, in his hands, a new sign of remembrance for his followers. The meal that celebrated the deliverance of his people from slavery some 1200 years earlier would now be transformed in order to celebrate his sacrificial death, which liberates from slavery to sin.
Jesus also very consciously refers to Scripture as he begins the death march to the cross — quoting Zechariah 13:7 to predict the scattering of his followers when he is arrested. When the armed rabble come, and one of his followers offers resistance, Jesus reproves him — Jesus knows his own power to call down heavenly reinforcements, but he cites the Scriptures that prophesy that his death must happen. And of course he quotes Psalm 22:1 in the so-called Cry of Dereliction from the cross:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Jesus does know what awaits him. And yet we see the tension between his divine nature and his human nature, even if only briefly. When he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane, he asks:
My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from me.
Facing death, and the full brunt of evil on the cross, Jesus is honest. If possible, he would prefer not to suffer the physical and spiritual suffering that is to come. However, the tension is resolved when he prays:
nevertheless, not what I desire, but what you desire.
If we subscribe to the classical Christology of the church, as I do, we see the two natures of Jesus here in this moment — he is fully human and fully divine. Both natures are in harmony, and he is completely surrendered to the saving work for which he was destined.
Jesus is fully aware of his latent power as Son of God, and his authority over all things. His response to Peter’s feeble attempt to defend his Lord is telling:
do you think that I couldn’t ask my Father, and he would even now send me more than twelve legions of angels?
But there are two reasons that such supernatural militance isn’t called for at this time — first, violent reprisal will only escalate violence (all those who take the sword will die by the sword), and that is not his purpose in coming. And second, all that is happening is in order to fulfill the Scriptures.
Jesus does chide the crowd for an excessive show of force — coming at night, armed to the teeth, as if they are seeking a dangerous criminal. After all, he’s been teaching publicly in the temple all week.
Jesus continues to exert his quiet, peaceful authority when he is hailed before a hastily summoned council of the priests and elders. This court isn’t even held in a public venue, but in the home of Caiaphas the high priest. None of the false testimony against him holds water — until he is asked the one question that really matters:
The high priest answered him, “I adjure you by the living God, that you tell us whether you are the Christ, the Son of God.”
The response of Jesus suggests that by bringing this very charge, the high priest has acknowledged that Jesus is either the Son of God, or he is a fraud. And the life and ministry of Jesus leaves no room for the charge that he is a phony. Moreover, Jesus confirms his identity with a prophecy:
Jesus said to him, “You have said it. Nevertheless, I tell you, after this you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of the sky.”
This is apocalyptic language that is unmistakeably Biblical. Jesus may well be referring to Daniel:
I saw in the night visions, and behold, there came with the clouds of the sky one like a son of man, and he came even to the ancient of days, and they brought him near before him. There was given him dominion, and glory, and a kingdom, that all the peoples, nations, and languages should serve him: his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom that which shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:13-14).
Now the high priest has his “smoking gun” — all the evidence he thinks he needs to convict Jesus. The high priest tears his robe, which is a sign of grief and lamentation. But the Levitical law forbade the high priest from these customary signs of mourning (Leviticus 21:10). The high priest is conveying a serious source of grief by doing this — he is accusing Jesus of blasphemy.
The penalty for blasphemy in Jewish law is death. Jesus is physically abused and abased by these council members. But they are an occupied nation, with Rome as their overlord. They have no authority to execute a prisoner.
So the next morning Jesus must stand before Governor Pontius Pilate. The Roman official’s concern is not with religious charges against Jesus, but with political sedition and revolution. Messiah, or anointed one, is also the title of a king. This is the only charge that concerns Pilate. But Jesus leaves Pilate to make up his own mind:
Now Jesus stood before the governor: and the governor asked him, saying, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus said to him, “So you say.”
This is essentially the same answer Jesus gives to the high priest, which suggests that Jesus is tacitly confirming the charge.
Pilate’s role in this trial and execution are critical. Pilate had already incurred the displeasure of the priests and elders with some of his previous public policies. According to the Jewish historians of that time (e.g. Philo and Josephus), Pilate had offended the priests by introducing Roman standards and shields on temple grounds — this had been a violation of the second commandment forbidding graven images. And he had appropriated money designated for the temple and used it to build aqueducts. When the Jews protested these acts, Pilate ordered his troops to respond with violence. It might be said he had two strikes against him already. More complaints to the Emperor might be devastating to Pilate’s career.
Not even the intercession of Pilate’s wife could avert the inevitable.
Pilate’s contrivance, to force the crowd into a decision, backfires. He offers a choice of Barabbas or Jesus. They cry for Barabbas to be released, and Jesus to be crucified. Pilate now finds himself in a corner that he himself created. He is convinced of Jesus’ innocence. When the crowd demands that Jesus be crucified, Pilate pleads for him:
But the governor said, “Why? What evil has he done?”
His efforts to avert violence are about to backfire. Normally the Roman Procurator didn’t come to Jerusalem except in times of unrest, as a show of force to prevent uprisings. Now, this trial was threatening to become the source of a riot.
Pilate’s highly symbolic act, washing his hands of Jesus’ blood, is a sham. A crucifixion was a penalty exacted by Rome for political crimes (sedition, treason, revolution), not civil crimes. By permitting it, Pilate was responsible for it. And it was Roman soldiers who carried out the execution.
The Roman soldiers continue the abuse of Jesus. Normally a flogging was considered a possible death sentence. They mock him and humiliate him with the threadbare trappings of royalty — a scarlet robe, a crown of thorns, and a reed for a scepter — because by dehumanizing him they make an example of Jesus. And it is easier to kill someone whose humanity has been devalued and objectified.
It should be noted that Golgotha, the hill where Jesus was crucified, was not far from one of the city gates, along a well-travelled road. This was quite intentional. The cross was a political statement that Rome wished to make very public — this is what happens to enemies of Rome!
Thus begin the hours of supreme agony, coupled with paradox. The Roman soldiers mock him by slapping and spitting on Jesus, and call him The King of the Jews. The sign placed over his head on the cross proclaims the same charge. The irony is that this helpless, humiliated and dying Jew is in fact the rightful heir of King David — and he is also the King of the Universe.
The paradox of this dying God is manifested further by the mockery of the passersby and the priests. They taunt him:
If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!
He saved others, but he can’t save himself. If he is the King of Israel, let him come down from the cross now, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God deliver him now, if he wants him; for he said, ‘I am the Son of God’.
This is the supreme paradox. Because Jesus is the Son of God, he chooses not to come down from the cross. He saves others because he refuses to save himself. And it is his trust in God that was revealed in the Garden of Gethsemane when he said:
not what I desire, but what you desire.
Matthew’s descriptions of the scene on Golgotha (appropriately named: the place of the skull) grow surreal. Darkness strangely falls over the land at noon. There is silence, watching, and suffering until 3:00 p.m., when Jesus makes his famous cry:
“Eli, Eli, lima sabachthani?” That is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
The phrase that Jesus quotes is one of the rare transliterations of Hebrew and Aramaic in the otherwise Greek text of Matthew’s Gospels. This is a clue to us that Matthew is using Jesus’ exact words from the cross, and that Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1. Psalm 22, written hundreds of years earlier, appears to be an eerily accurate description of the physical and psychological effects of this crucifixion:
All those who see me mock me.
They insult me with their lips. They shake their heads, saying,
“He trusts in Yahweh;
let him deliver him.
Let him rescue him, since he delights in him” (Psalm 22:7-8)I am poured out like water.
All my bones are out of joint.
My heart is like wax;
it is melted within me.
My strength is dried up like a potsherd.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
You have brought me into the dust of death.
For dogs have surrounded me.
A company of evildoers have enclosed me.
They have pierced my hands and feet.
I can count all of my bones.
They look and stare at me.
They divide my garments among them.
They cast lots for my clothing (Psalm 22:14-18).
At the same time it shouldn’t escape notice that despair is transformed into powerful hope in Psalm 22:
I will declare your name to my brothers.
Among the assembly, I will praise you.
You who fear Yahweh, praise him!
All you descendants of Jacob, glorify him!
Stand in awe of him, all you descendants of Israel!
For he has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted,
Neither has he hidden his face from him;
but when he cried to him, he heard (Psalm 22:22-24).
A crucified man who is slowly dying of asphyxiation hasn’t the breath to recite an entire Psalm, but it may be that Jesus’ cry was not that of dereliction at all. Perhaps he was remembering the Psalms learned in his childhood, and particularly this vivid poem, and in its despair he paradoxically finds hope.
This cry has been interpreted in many ways throughout the centuries by Christian expositors. In any event, this cry is misinterpreted by some who stand at the cross. They think he is calling on Elijah, when he is actually calling on God (Eli = My God).
Even the kind effort of a soldier to offer Jesus sour wine soaked into a sponge is turned into a taunt by the others:
The rest said, “Let him be. Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.”
As mentioned above, the breath of a man dying of crucifixion becomes shallow — speaking becomes nearly impossible. But Jesus dies with what seems a cry of victory:
Jesus cried again with a loud voice, and yielded up his spirit.
The effects of this climactic moment are multiple. The thick curtain in the temple was torn from top to bottom. This is the veil that separated the Holy Place in the temple from the innermost room known as the Holy of Holies.
The Holy Place was the location of solemn worship where only the priests were permitted to go . This is where the table for the shewbread, the altar of incense which represented the prayers of Israel, and the seven-branched lampstand that offered light for the room were located. These were all articles carefully prescribed by Yahweh to Moses in Exodus.
However, the Holy of Holies was the most holy place, where the high priest entered only once a year on the Day of Atonement to offer sacrifices for the sins of Israel.
The significance of the tearing of the veil is clear — Jesus, the true high priest, has opened the way into the presence of God.
Not only are the religious symbols of Israel affected, nature itself is affected — there is a violent earthquake, and tombs are disturbed. There is even a foretaste of the resurrection of Jesus, and the general resurrection expected at the end of the age:
The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection, they entered into the holy city and appeared to many.
And of course, there are the reactions of the living. A battle-hardened centurion sees all of these phenomena and declares what amounts to a confession of faith:
Truly this was the Son of God.
This is the first sign of the harvest among the Gentiles that is to come because of the death of Jesus — but not the last.
And there are the women who have been keeping vigil at the cross. They will not stray far from the corpse of Jesus, even after he is entombed:
Many women were there watching from afar, who had followed Jesus from Galilee, serving him. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.
Mary Magdalene we recognize from other Gospels as the woman from whom Jesus had cast seven demons (Mark 16:9; Luke 8:2). The other Mary mentioned here is the mother of James the younger, one of the twelve disciples listed — but Joses is somewhat mysterious. Although the name Joses appears in the Gospels, he does not appear as one of the twelve. Curiously, James and Joses are mentioned as brothers — of Jesus himself! (Matthew 13:55).
And finally the mother of James and John, the sons of Zebedee, is mentioned. These two sons were among the first of the fishermen to follow Jesus from the beginning, and two of Jesus’ closest friends (Matthew 4:21). This is the same woman who asked Jesus to find a position of honor for her sons when Jesus came into his Kingdom (Matthew 20:20-21). This wife of Zebedee must have also left her home on the shores of the Sea of Galilee to follow Jesus!
Then there is Joseph, a rich man from Arimathaea. We also know from the other Gospels that Joseph was a prominent member of the Jewish council of elders — the same council that had condemned Jesus for blasphemy (Mark 15:43). We know that Joseph was hoping for the consummation of the Kingdom of God (Luke 23:51). And most significantly, we know that Joseph was a secret disciple, who hid his faith out of fear of his colleagues on the council of elders (John 19:38).
And here we see the courage of Joseph in risking the disapproval and censure of his colleagues:
This man went to Pilate, and asked for Jesus’ body. Then Pilate commanded the body to be given up. Joseph took the body, and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut out in the rock, and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed.
Nevertheless, even after all of this, on the Sabbath day following the day of Preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees violate their own prescriptions for the Sabbath observance in order to petition Pilate. This suggests their anxiety and urgency even now about the influence of Jesus:
Sir, we remember what that deceiver said while he was still alive: ‘After three days I will rise again.’ Command therefore that the tomb be made secure until the third day, lest perhaps his disciples come at night and steal him away, and tell the people, ‘He is risen from the dead;’ and the last deception will be worse than the first.
Clearly, they are aware that Jesus has predicted his own resurrection. They may doubt that Jesus is the Messiah, but they don’t trust his disciples.
Guarding a tomb is hardly routine Roman military practice, but Pilate continues to placate the chief priests and the Pharisees:
You have a guard. Go, make it as secure as you can.
Not only is there are guard set at the tomb where Jesus has been laid, they seal the stone. The stone itself would have been large enough to block the entry way, and therefore quite large and heavy. The caves in which these tombs were dug were likely limestone. The seal was probably a soft, moldable clay that would harden — or it may well have indicated an Imperial Roman seal. This would have been a deterrent to grave robbers who sought to break in. Few would wish to risk the wrath of Roman justice.
APPLY:
If we wish to read a theological or doctrinal interpretation of the passion and crucifixion of Jesus, we might turn to the epistles of Paul, Peter, John and the book of Hebrews. There we learn that Jesus is the perfect sacrifice for sins, and that as the true high priest he is the one who both offers himself and is offered for our atonement. By our faith in him, we are healed and forgiven. In the account from Matthew there is some interpretation, but mostly we are presented with the narrative of these horrific events.
When we read this account as if for the first time, it is difficult not to experience shock, and even horror, as the drama unfolds. Jesus is betrayed by a trusted follower. He is arrested while at prayer. He is tried by a court looking for a pretext to condemn him. He is violently abused, and becomes the pawn in a political game of chess between powerful men. He dies a horrible death on the cross, casually taunted by most who pass by.
But what is also shocking — in a positive and hopeful sense — is that despite the horror, there are those in this narrative who respond even to this crucifixion with faith and hope. The centurion (a foreigner) is moved to a declaration of faith that Jesus is the Son of God. The women who have followed Jesus and served him from the beginning in Galilee to this present moment remain with him to the bitter end, even holding vigil at his tomb. Joseph of Arimathaea overcomes his fear of his colleagues and openly cares for the body of Jesus after his death.
However, if we take the time to review the Gospel of Matthew and note what Jesus said during his life and ministry about what awaited him in Jerusalem, the shock would be mitigated. Jesus told his disciples at least three times that he would be killed in Jerusalem (Matthew 16:21-28; Matthew 17:22-23; Matthew 20:17-19). And there is the suggestion in Matthew 16 that he went on advising them that he would be killed.
It must be noted that each time Jesus spoke of his death he also spoke of his resurrection. Perhaps that is partly what motivates Joseph of Arimathaea. After all, Joseph’s tomb was only borrowed for a few days by Jesus! And perhaps this is why the women linger at the tomb. As it turns out this was not merely emotional denial or unassuaged grief — they were among the first to encounter the risen Jesus!
As shocking as this long and painful passage from Matthew’s Gospel may be, the ultimate shock is still to come — on the third day!
RESPOND:
I once had a colleague in the ministry who insisted on reading the entire account of the Passion (the suffering) and death of Jesus on Palm/Passion Sunday. His reasoning was interesting. People in his church loved to hear the entire Nativity accounts of Jesus’ birth from Matthew and Luke at Christmas. They needed to know why he was born, and where his life would take him.
I have spent much more time on this account from the Gospel of Matthew this week for much the same reason. The birth of Jesus anticipates his death. And his death makes sense of his birth as the Son of God and the Son of Man for our sake.
T.S. Eliot, in one of my favorite poems, describes the coming of the Magi to Bethlehem. He describes the arduous journey as they leave the luxury and comforts of their summer palaces and silken girls bringing sherbet.
And after the ordeal of this journey, with all of its hardships and frustrations, they arrive in the temperate valley and find the place they were looking for. And Eliot closes with these lines, from the perspective of the Magi:
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(The Journey of the Magi)
May we all find in Jesus’ death our own birth.
Lord, the events of your Passion and Crucifixion are hard to look at. If not for the Resurrection, and promise of pardon and new birth that accompany these events, it would be unbearable. Thank you for suffering on our behalf — on my behalf — as unworthy as I am. Amen.
PHOTO:
“The First Station- Jesus is Condemned to Death” by Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license.
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