Condemned by Cowards

Dragged Through the Night being Judged by Men He had a hand in Creating.

The Night Didn’t End. It Just Got Darker.

There was no pause.

I’m pausing… as I realize that from the moment Judas kissed Him in the garden,
Jesus never stopped moving.

No jail cell.
No holding room.
No reprieve.

Just footsteps. Chains. Torches. Spit.

“Then they came up and laid hands on Jesus and seized Him.”
—Matthew 26:50

My last article felt deep and touching, with the last supper.

Now things get ugly. But I must honor his sacrifice
by spending time in the brutal details.

I want to love my Savior more.

And it comes from understanding the depth of his love.

It feels like Jesus was passed like a prisoner on auction.
From Annas to Caiaphas.
From Caiaphas to the council.
From the council to Pilate.

And every step was soaked in injustice.

And as we walk through this together,
I’m going to try and do it justice, as best as I humanly can.

---

This is Article 4 in a 7-part series on the last week of Jesus’ life.
If you missed the lead-in article that is the background to this reflection, you can read it here:

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection: Wrestling with Jesus' Humanity

Here are the links to the other articles in the series:

1 - Welcomed With Palms, Left with Silence
2 - Righteous Fire in a Holy Place
3 - The Table, The Garden and The Kiss
5 - The Sky Went Dark When He Bowed His Head
6 - The Veil Was Torn, The Earth Trembled, and the Grave Was Silent
7 - Before the Stone Was Rolled Away

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This Was Their Moment

The spirit in that garden was thick.
Not with grief.
Not with burdened duty.
But with gleeful self-righteousness.

The kind of sneering disdain that makes you feel queasy.

Finally.

They had been waiting for this moment.
Waiting for their chance to shut Him up,
to strip Him of dignity,
and to prove to the world—and to themselves—
that they were still in control.

It wasn’t about truth.
It wasn’t about holiness.
It was about dominance.

They weren’t trembling with justice.
They were giddy.

They dragged the Son of God through the night like a prize.
A man to be humiliated.
A threat to be paraded.
A light to be snuffed out.

---

He Still Had the Power… But He Said Nothing

He could have stopped it.

With a word, He could have silenced every voice.
With a thought, He could have brought legions of angels.
With a breath, He could have dropped every man to his knees.

But He didn’t.

He let them seize Him.
He let them mock Him.
He let them believe they were in control.

And He said nothing.

“Like a sheep that is silent before its shearers,
So He did not open His mouth.”
—Isaiah 53:7 (NASB95)

---

I Feel Like Peter

I want to swing the sword.

I want to defend my Savior from this ugliness.
From the smug faces.
The smug prayers.
The holy words covering unholy hearts.

I want to scream, “Don’t you know who He is?”

But Jesus would tell me to put the sword down.

Because He must press on.
Because He chooses to press on.

He’s not weak.
He’s not trapped.
He’s surrendered.
Willingly. Silently. Steadily.

For them.
For me.

---

He Was Bound—but Only Because He Let Them

They tied His hands.
But they didn’t need to.
And truthfully… they couldn’t have restrained Him if He hadn’t let them.

The irony of it strikes me.

No chains were necessary.
And no chains could hold Him if He didn’t volunteer.

The One who silenced storms, expelled demons, and raised the dead—
now bound by ropes or chains, led like a criminal.
And yet… He never fought it.

Once again, I’m left in awe of the strength it takes
to have all the power of heaven…
and refuse to use it.

---

And maybe it was mercy, too, that His disciples fled.
As heartbreaking as their abandonment must have been…
And he needed to feel that…

Maybe their presence would have only distracted Him from the road ahead.
He didn’t need their protection.
He didn’t need their bravery.

He needed them to let Him go.

Because He was choosing this.
And nothing—not chains, not swords, not fear—could stop Him now.

---

From Gethsemane to Annas

The walk wasn’t long.
Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes across uneven ground.

But they had their prize.

And they would have felt so powerful.
Drunk on their own authority.
Puffed up by their torches and chains.
Pleased with themselves for catching the so-called “teacher.”

And there walked Jesus.
Step by step.
Not pulled. Not dragged.

Walking.

I imagine his 40 days in the desert in some way prepared Him for this.
The silence.
The accusation.
The restraint.

There, too, He was alone.
There, too, He was tested—not just by Satan’s words, but by hunger, isolation, and the offer of power without pain.

Maybe it wasn’t just about temptation—it was preparation.
He would already know how to walk when physically exhausted.
So that on this night, when the crowd closed in and the slaps began…
He would already know how to be still.

Because He had already said no to shortcuts.
And yes to the will of His Father.

---

Presented to Annas

It was now the middle of the night.
Probably between 1 and 2 AM.

“So the Roman cohort and the commander and the officers of the Jews
arrested Jesus and bound Him, and brought Him to Annas first;
for he was father-in-law of Caiaphas, who was high priest that year.”
—John 18:12–13

Annas was a political heavyweight.
The kind of man who pulled the strings behind the scenes.

In the eyes of the Jews, he was still religious royalty.

Why bring Jesus to Annas?

This wasn’t a legal requirement under Jewish law.

This was a power play to show Jesus who (they believed) was in charge.

The room, lit by flickering lamps. Roman soldiers and Temple Guards.

A show of force and authority against a single man.
A single man they thought they could intimidate.

And yet—He had all the power of heaven, and He yielded it by choice.

Every step of the way, I want to keep remembering this.

So here Jesus stood, interrogated without cause.
No defense.
No witnesses.

“The high priest then questioned Jesus about His disciples and about His teaching.”
—John 18:19

This strikes to the heart of the matter.

This wasn’t about him being the Messiah. This wasn’t even about his guilt, yet.

This was about Jesus’ following and influence.

Perhaps intended to show that all that he had built up until now was meaningless.
As if they were trying to say,

“Look at you now.
Where are your crowds?
Where is your kingdom?”

But Jesus didn’t flinch.
And He didn’t take the bait.

Instead, Jesus’ reply called out the illegality of this under Jewish law.

“I have spoken openly to the world;
I always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews come together;
and I said nothing in secret. Why are you questioning Me?
Question those who have heard what I spoke to them; they know what I said.”
—John 18:20–21

This wasn’t defiance.
It was clarity.

Jewish law required charges to be brought by witnesses.
An open, public trial.
The accused was not to testify against himself.

Jesus lived under that law.
He honored it.
He came not to abolish it, but to fulfill it.

But now—those entrusted with guarding the law were twisting it to protect their power and justify their hatred.

The law was still holy.
But their application of it was corrupt.
Their courtroom was a mockery of justice—
and their hypocrisy now stood fully exposed.

---

The First Slap

“When He said this, one of the officers standing nearby struck Jesus, saying,
‘Is that the way You answer the high priest?’” —John 18:22

This was a room claiming the height of religious authority—
and yet, they were breaking the very laws God had handed down.

And when their hypocrisy was exposed,
the response wasn’t repentance.
It was a blow to the face.

A slap.

Across the mouth of the One who had only spoken truth.

Because truth has a way of revealing what we’d rather not see.
And when we can’t bear it, we silence it.

Silence the truth… because the truth angers us.

These men knew their hypocrisy.
And still—they silenced the voice of God
to protect the lies they told themselves.

And Jesus?

“If I have spoken wrongly, testify to the wrong;
but if rightly—why do you strike Me?” —John 18:23

Still calm.
Still rational.
Still in control.

---

Jesus is Sent to Caiaphas

“Annas then sent Him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.” —John 18:24

This was no gentle handoff.
This was a shuffle through darkness, bruised and unprotected—from one corrupt leader to another.

This wasn’t a public trial.
It was still the middle of the night.
Probably sometime between 2am and 4am.

But Caiaphas gathered the others anyway—scribes, elders, chief priests.

They had plotted this, and now their time had come.

“Those who had seized Jesus led Him away to Caiaphas, the high priest,
where the scribes and the elders were gathered.” —Matthew 26:57

They wanted to catch Jesus in something they could use.
They needed a reason—any reason—to accuse Him before Pilate.

The compound they gathered in was probably a large chamber.

Once again, torches crackling. But now the crowd has grown.

Religious leaders in their pious robes. Surrounding him like a pack of wolves.

They needed 2 witnesses with matching stories.

“Now the chief priests and the whole Council
kept trying to obtain false testimony against Jesus,
so that they might put Him to death.
They did not find any,
even though many false witnesses came forward.” —Matthew 26:59–60

This would be infuriating to watch.

The contrast would be almost unbearable.
The pure Lamb of God, silent in His holiness,
surrounded by the stench of lies and religious performance.

I know it’s His choice.
I know He’s not resisting.

But it still hurts.
And yes—it still angers me.

Because this wasn’t just injustice.
This was deliberate deception,
willful blindness,
hypocrisy parading as holiness.

Their hearts were so hard. So cold.

They chose dishonesty.
They chose slander.
They chose to protect their own power,
rather than kneel before the Son of God.

Not even a flicker of fear before God.
Not in that moment.

And I think about something I shared recently in fellowship,
how the Pharisees plotted to kill Lazarus
because he was a threat to their first love:

Power.
Place.
And prestige.

Jesus had raised the dead—and they wanted to bury the evidence.

He healed in the temple after cleansing it—and they were outraged, not because it was wrong… but because the cry of “Hosanna!” continued.

---

Caiaphas Compels Jesus by Law

The lies weren’t working.
The witnesses couldn’t agree.
The accusations were falling apart.

And still—Jesus remained silent.

Until now.

Caiaphas, furious and exposed, resorts to the one thing Jesus could not ignore:
the law.

“The high priest said to Him,
‘I place You under oath by the living God,
to tell us whether You are the Christ, the Son of God.’”
—Matthew 26:63

This wasn’t just pressure.
It was legal obligation.

Under Jewish law, to be put under oath before God meant you must speak.
To remain silent under oath before God would have been sin.

And Jesus, who came to fulfill the law, does not stay silent.

“You have said it yourself;
nevertheless I tell you,
from now on you will see the Son of Man
sitting at the right hand of power,
and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
—Matthew 26:64

That answer was everything they needed and more.

He didn’t just affirm His identity.
He placed Himself in Daniel 7, the exalted, heavenly figure
who receives eternal dominion from the Ancient of Days.

He didn’t just say, “I am the Christ.”
He said: “I am the One you will answer to.”

He declared, to the face of Israel’s highest priest:

“You will see Me there.” At the right hand of God.
Returning in glory.
Judging the very court that now condemns Me.

It wasn’t blasphemy.
It was truth, but truth too holy for hardened hearts to handle.

“Then the high priest tore his robes and said,
‘He has blasphemed!
What further need do we have of witnesses?
Behold, you have now heard the blasphemy!’” —Matthew 26:65

They didn’t want the truth.
They wanted a trigger.
And now they had it.

When Caiaphas tore his robes, it might have looked like grief.

But it was religious performance.

In fact, it was likely Caiaphas losing control.

Furious because he couldn’t contain the truth that Jesus just spoke in front of all of his minions.

So in his outrage, he impulsively tore his robes.

The garments of the high priest weren’t just symbolic.
They were sacred.
God had designed them—layer by layer, stitch by stitch—to cover the one who stood between heaven and earth.

And the law was clear: a high priest must never tear his robes. (Leviticus 21:10)

But Caiaphas did.

In his rage… he broke the very law he claimed to uphold.
And in doing so—he tore more than fabric.

He tore the veil of a priesthood that was passing away.

Because the True High Priest was now standing in front of him.
Bound. Silent.
Unshaken.

---

The Verdict of Death

“They answered, ‘He is deserving of death!’”
—Matthew 26:66

And just like that… the verdict was in.

No deliberation.
No pause.
No question.

The same men who couldn’t agree on witnesses,
who violated their own law to interrogate Him in secret,
who twisted His words out of context—

Now shouted for death.

It wasn’t justice.
It was a formality.
They had already decided.

This was just the final step in their long-held desire:
To silence Him forever.

The Sanhedrin had been waiting for this moment.
And now that they had twisted His words into a charge of blasphemy,
they no longer needed a trial.

They wanted blood.

---

And Then… They Mocked Him

“Then they spit in His face and beat Him with their fists;
and others slapped Him, and said,
‘Prophesy to us, You Christ; who is the one who hit You?’”
—Matthew 26:67–68

I can barely read those words without feeling sick.

These were religious men.
Men who studied the Scriptures.
Men who wore robes and recited prayers.

And now—they spit.

Not just at a man.
Not just at a prophet.
But at the very face of God’s Son.

They blindfolded Him.
Struck Him in the dark.
And laughed while they mocked Him.

“Prophesy, Messiah… who hit You?”

They weren’t just mocking His identity.
They were mocking the very gift of revelation.

The Word made flesh… being beaten by men who had long since stopped listening to God.

This wasn’t judgment. It was cruelty.
It was hatred dressed in holiness.

Men, possessed by the spirit of the Devil.

And still…
He endured it all, without resistance.

---

The Morning Verdict

The abuse lasted for hours.
Mocking. Beating. Spitting.
All under cover of darkness.

Jesus, surrounded by hardened hearts,
bloodied fists, and robes soaked in injustice.

From the time of his arrest to daybreak was probably somewhere around 6 hours.

No sleep. Only brutality, hypocrisy and injustice.

But now—the sun was beginning to rise.

“When it was day, the Council of elders of the people assembled,
both chief priests and scribes,
and they led Him away to their council chamber…”
—Luke 22:66

They needed to make it official.

Their nighttime trial had been illegitimate under their own laws.
So at daybreak, they gathered again—not to seek truth—
but to ratify the decision they had already made.

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Tell Us: Are You the Christ?

“If You are the Christ, tell us.” —Luke 22:67

They wanted Him to incriminate Himself.
Not because they were unsure,
but because they wanted something to hand to Rome.

And Jesus?

He doesn’t play their game.
But He doesn’t deny it either.

“If I tell you, you will not believe;
and if I ask a question, you will not answer.
But from now on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.” —Luke 22:67–69

They understood exactly what He meant.

“So You are the Son of God?”
And He said to them,
“You say correctly that I am.” —Luke 22:70

They questioned Him, not to discover the truth,
but to deliver the sentence they had already decided.

And He answered… not with fear,
but with truth they couldn’t bear to hear.

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The Sentence Confirmed

“What further need do we have of testimony?
For we have heard it ourselves from His own mouth!” —Luke 22:71

They didn’t weep.
They didn’t pause.

They just turned… and handed over the only truly innocent man to be executed.

Handed to Pilate

“Now when morning came,
all the chief priests and the elders of the people
conferred together against Jesus to put Him to death;
and they bound Him and led Him away
and handed Him over to Pilate, the governor.” —Matthew 27:1–2

The trial is over.
The verdict is sealed.

And now, the Lamb is being led to the world’s courtroom.

He will stand before the empire.
He will stand before politics and power.
Before crowds and soldiers.
Before the very world He came to save.

Bound. Bloodied.
But still… willing.

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My Closing Thought

This was not justice.
This was cowardice in holy clothing.

The ones who were meant to prepare the way for the Messiah
condemned Him instead.

They tore their robes,
but it was their hearts that should have broken.

They handed Him over to Pilate,
but first… they handed Him over to cruelty.
To mockery. To hatred. To death.

And He went.
Still willing.
Still loving.
Still choosing.

And I can hardly contain or bear the thought.

Love beyond my comprehension.

---

Coming Next

In the next article, I want to walk with Him to the cross.

But this time, there’s no more counsel.
No more questions.
Only silence.
Only suffering.

He will be stripped.
Mocked.
Crowned with thorns.

And He will carry a beam of wood—
and that’s still not the heaviest thing He’ll carry.

He will carry our guilt.
Our shame.
Our sin.

From the Lamb condemned,
to the Lamb lifted up,
we will follow Him outside the city.

Where love is poured out, and the sky goes dark.

What does it mean, when the only truly innocent man
is crucified for all the rest of us?