He Could Have But He Didn't

Matthew 26:47-56

Maundy Thursday

April 9, 2020

William G. Carter

While Jesus was still speaking, Judas, one of the twelve, arrived; with him was a large crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the elders of the people. Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, “The one I will kiss is the man; arrest him.” At once he came up to Jesus and said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him. Jesus said to him, “Friend, do what you are here to do.” Then they came and laid hands on Jesus and arrested him. Suddenly, one of those with Jesus put his hand on his sword, drew it, and struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear. Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen in this way?” At that hour Jesus said to the crowds, “Have you come out with swords and clubs to arrest me as though I were a bandit? Day after day I sat in the temple teaching, and you did not arrest me. But all this has taken place, so that the scriptures of the prophets may be fulfilled.” Then all the disciples deserted him and fled.

In the middle of his arrest, Jesus responds as the kind of Messiah that he is. “Put your sword away,” he says to one of his own disciples. He is not going to fight. He doesn’t believe in defending himself or living by violence.

This will come as no surprise to anybody who has been listening to him. Early in his ministry, he climbed a mountain and said to the crowd, “You have heard it said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,’ but I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” (5:38-39) The Lord lives by the words of his own Sermon on the Mount.

Some will find this hard to understand. We have been taught to push away the evildoer, to strike back if we have been struck, to exact revenge if someone has hurt us. But Jesus won’t have any of this. Not for himself. Not for those who follow him.

This might be difficult for some of us to understand. Under similar circumstances, we might brandish a weapon or run away from the scene. Those are the two options that the eleven disciples took. Yet Jesus stands in place with the one resource at his disposal: he speaks the truth.

He speaks to those who treat him as if he were a common criminal, coming after dark with an excessive amount of force. “Every day, I taught in open daylight and you never touched me.” It’s a line now permanently inscribed in our scriptures. He calls out the hypocrisy of religious leaders who commit evil while the public is not looking.  

And he also says something about the kind of Messiah he is: “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?” 

He could do that, you know. In the Roman army, a “legion” was six thousand heavily armed soldiers. Jesus has the authority to call on God to send 72,000 angels to defend him and destroy his enemies. He could do that, but he doesn’t. Now this is indeed a mystery.

Oh, the temptation has been there. He has dealt with that before. The devil had taken him to the tip-top of the Temple and said, “The Bible says, God will send his angels to take care of you. Psalm 91, verse 11. Jump and they will catch you.” Jesus wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t use his heavenly authority on earth to benefit himself.

He wouldn’t use heaven’s magic to turn stones into bread and feed his hungry belly when he was fasting. Neither would he take a shortcut and sidestep the cross to be acclaimed as ruler over all. This is the mystery of the Messiah: in a word, it’s his restraint.

Jesus doesn’t strike down those who strike him. He could have done it, but he doesn’t do it. Have you ever thought about this?

The Gospel of Matthew thinks about this. Matthew perceives that Jesus lives by the words of the prophet Isaiah. Speaking of the servant of God, Isaiah said, “By a perversion of justice he was taken away…although he had done no violence and there was no deceit in his mouth.” (53:8-9) For Matthew, this is how Jesus filled out the scripture. No violence, no deceit, even in a moment of great extremity.

But there is greater mystery about Jesus than following an ancient script. The work of salvation happens when the Christ treats people better than they treated them. When he withholds what they have “coming to them” and transforms it into mercy. Jesus could call down an army of angels, but he doesn’t do it. For the work of the Gospel is more than destroying your enemies; it is saving them.

The essential spiritual practice seems to be a holding back, stepping away from the punishment that all enemies justly deserve, so that you can buy back their souls in an act of redemption. In a word: restraint. In the evening of his arrest, as on the afternoon of his crucifixion, Jesus restrains himself. He doesn’t do what he could have done. It is holy mercy to those who do not deserve it.

The mystery of the Gospel is that this is the way God is. According to the teaching of Jesus, God makes the sun to rise on the evil and on the good (Matt. 5:45).” Not only that, he says, “God is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked (Luke 6:35).” Some may be offended by such extravagant mercy; but I tell you this: our lives depend on it.

Restraint is the spiritual practice of heaven. Restraint means that we don’t have to say everything we want to say. Restraint means we don’t have to do all we may feel entitled to do. Restraint means that we limit our own freedom so that others might flourish. Restraint means that we don’t live by waste or extravagance so that others may have access to the necessities of life. Restraint means that we recognize there are others around us, that there are neighbors, and the world does not revolve around us alone.

With a pandemic raging, you and I live these days in a season of restraint. We can learn all over again how love can grow as we step back. It is a sign of the mystery of the Gospel, for restraint is the essential practice of mercy.

In this light we gather around the Table of Jesus once again. A small piece of bread reveals a greater banquet. A sip from the cup awakens us to the presence of abiding grace. It is Christ who gathers us this evening. We hear the story of what he endured for us and for all, we learn from it, and we live forward in his presence and under the guidance of his enduring Word.

For on the night of his arrest, he could have come in judgment with 72,000 angels, but he didn’t. Instead he gave himself for our salvation. Then he returned from the grave to say, “Be merciful, just as God is merciful (Matthew 5:36).”

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.