Irony

John 19

I wasn’t always a follower of Jesus, but I am now. In fact, you could say that for the longest time, I was his enemy. I am sorry to admit that. But God, in his great mercy, has allowed me to, as John the Baptizer would put it, “repent” and turn around from enemy to friend and eventually, to follower. And maybe, just maybe, you might even call me a disciple of Jesus.

Who am I? Well, it’s more revealing to say who I was before. You see, I was a member of the council, one of the elders who plotted the death of Jesus. Yes, unfortunately, that’s true. And all I can offer by way of excuse is my upbringing. You see, I came from a long line of leaders of our faith: priests, scribes, and even a few Pharisees, all prominent men, going back hundreds and hundreds of years.

As a result, the laws and traditions of our faith were sacred to me; perhaps too sacred, because like many others, I lost sight of what Jesus called “the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy and faith.” (Matthew 23). Instead, we obsessed over its many finer points.

The prophets of old had warned us about this obsession. And in our day, John did the same. And then, Jesus arrived on the scene, healing and preaching, but failing to honor the authority of our leaders. Yes, he seemed to flaunt his associations with the poor, the sick and the outcasts. And he neglected to show respect to the leaders, who like me, had made a god of the law.

Jesus called us out for neglecting this passage from the prophet Micah:

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”

And what about irony? Of course, scripture is filled with it. Abraham, after waiting until his old age for God’s promise of a son, is commanded to sacrifice him. As you remember, at the last minute, an angel stayed his hand.

Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, who expected to never see him again, but later, he rescued them from starvation. And David, the least of his family, became the great warrior king.

But I have to say that the ironies surrounding the life of Jesus are the greatest of all.

First of all, his very identity: born to a peasant family from remote Galilee, he failed to even approach our vision of a Messiah. We were the ones who voiced this criticism: “Surely you are not also from Galilee, are you? Search and you will see that no prophet is to arise from Galilee.” (John 7).

Our image of a Messiah was a warrior king, like David, who would restore the Kingdom of Israel and drive out the hated Romans. On the other hand, God’s vision was Jesus, a peasant carpenter from Nazareth. How ironic!

The ironies of Jesus came to a head in the final weeks of his life.

Our religious leaders, who were increasingly concerned over the popularity of Jesus, had begun to plot his death. You see, Jesus was perceived to be a threat to our authority. And I suppose in his own way, he was. You surely remember how he called us out (see Matthew 23) in the most direct and critical way.

Our high priest, Caiaphas, had convened a meeting of the council to discuss plans to eliminate Jesus. I was there. And I have to say that even though I disapproved of Jesus, I was shocked at the open discussion of what could only be termed an assassination.

This meeting happened just after Jesus had raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. It was a miracle, to be sure, one witnessed by a large crowd, including residents of Jerusalem. No time was lost in spreading the word throughout our capital city.

This is what John’s Gospel reported (chapter 11):

Many of the Jews, therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did believed in him. But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. So the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the council and said, “What are we to do? This man is performing many signs.  If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.”  But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing at all! You do not understand that it is better for you to have one man die for the people than to have the whole nation destroyed.” He did not say this on his own, but being high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus was about to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the dispersed children of God. So from that day on they planned to put him to death.

"Christ before Caiaphas". The High Priest is depicted tearing his robe in grief at Jesus' perceived blasphemy (Giotto, Life of Christ, Scrovegni Chapel, Padua)

And the irony? Jesus, did, in fact, “die for the people.” As I have come to understand and believe, that is exactly why Jesus, the Son of God, came to earth. So, the plot to kill Jesus actually fell into what had been God’s plan all along. And in his death, Jesus gave new life to those who would believe in him. How ironic that a death could bring life! And how ironic that our thought to eliminate the threat of Jesus actually served his very purpose.

In his own words (John 12):  And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” 

More ironies quickly followed. Our plan of assassination swiftly evolved into a plot to get the Romans to kill Jesus. This twist had the advantage of a public execution. Jesus would be considered a criminal by the state, and he would be visibly killed by crucifixion, in the manner reserved for the lowest of our society. We thought our plan was brilliant!

Of course, in reality, this approach fell right into God’s hands, another irony. It was necessary, you see, for Jesus to be killed publicly, so that there would be no question about his death, once he’d been raised to life again. And the cruelty inflicted on the innocent Jesus demonstrated the extent of God’s love for us, his children. How could we not believe in him when we saw how much he suffered for us?

Ironies abound in the crucifixion of Jesus. The soldiers dressed him in a regal robe and mocked him as a king. Of course, Jesus actually was (and is) such a king! Then, Pilate placed a sign above him on his cross, naming Jesus as “King of the Jews.” Again, the irony was that Jesus actually was and is the King of the Jews.  Pilate had famously asked “What is truth?” and then inadvertently expressed it in his sign on the cross.

And Peter? Wasn’t it ironic that he would be so bold as to tell Jesus that he’d die with him, then cut off the ear of the slave of the high priest, and when it really mattered, show so much cowardice in his three denials of Jesus?

Of course, irony of all ironies was the fact that Jesus was raised from the dead and that he lives. Our feeble attempts to eradicate him and his followers backfired in spectacular fashion. We were sure that after the death of Jesus, he would soon be forgotten and his followers dispersed. Was that ever wrong!

It all shows, as the scripture tells us, that “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.” – Isaiah 55

You may be wondering about me. How did I turn from enemy of Jesus to friend and finally, to follower?

I take no credit for that. Only the grace of God can perform such a miracle and I was fortunate enough to be blessed in that way. You see, I was in the crowd at Pentecost. And I witnessed the flames of fire and the fierce wind. Peter’s words that day struck me to the heart:

“Fellow Israelites, listen to what I have to say: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with deeds of power, wonders, and signs that God did through him among you, as you yourselves know— this man, handed over to you according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of those outside the law. But God raised him up, having released him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for him to be held in its power.”

I understood that Peter’s cowardice must have been forgiven. How else could he, filled with the spirit, have preached as he did? It struck me that such an irony, such undeserved grace, might also fall to me. And to God’s glory, it did!  Praise God!

You see, Peter’s story inspired me. Here he was, an uneducated Galilean fisherman, preaching to a crowd in our capital city, Jerusalem. He had failed miserably, just when he might have shown great leadership. And he had clearly descended into a very dark place, one which most of us would never escape.

But Jesus, the one who was raised from the dead, raised Peter from that dark place into a life full of the Spirit of God (John 21). And so, it was Peter who spoke the words that I heard that day of Pentecost.

On the surface, my story was so different. I was, you see, not only highly educated, but also with a pedigree of generations of leaders that Peter could never attain. I was respected, part of a power structure that was elite.

And yet inside, I was in a place just as dark as Peter’s after his denials of Jesus. I had been complicit in a scheme to murder an innocent man. I had gone along with the cruel intentions of others, when I knew in my heart that they were wrong.

And so, when Peter preached to the crowd that day, something had already been stirring in my heart. Like him, I needed forgiveness and mercy. And I knew that if Peter had been forgiven, perhaps so could I.

So, what did I do? I listened to Peter’s words and after, I went to him and told him my story. I asked for forgiveness. He laid his hands on me and he prayed for me, asking if wanted to be baptized.

I said yes, and felt so much weight removed from my heart. And now? Well, now I am no longer a member of the council, but instead, an enthusiastic follower of Jesus.

What an irony!