NOTES for Joh 18:15-27

Peter's denial looks like completely reasonable and sensible behavior in a critical situation. He needs to stay close and wants to learn something, and to do that he must not be recognized. At such a moment, one person runs away and hides while another tries to pass unnoticed into the place where the main events are unfolding. It is foolish to risk one's life by admitting acquaintance with the prisoner. You might be seized too, and whom would that help? We do not know, however, what drove the Apostle Peter. It is entirely possible that these first, superficial reasons, understandable to anyone, were not at all the main thing at that moment. What matters is that a moment sometimes comes when openly acknowledging that you follow Jesus is the only possible choice. On the other side, one hears the terrible word “denial.”

Peter's denial has always been one of the favorite themes for preaching about sin and repentance. Usually in this case parallels are drawn with the denial of Judas, who perished not because he sinned, but because he proved unable to repent. Meanwhile, if one looks carefully at the situation, it is not hard to see that, in essence, everyone left Jesus except two, one of whom was Peter, and the other, if one follows early Christian tradition, John, the author of the fourth Gospel and the Book of Revelation.

And one of them, Peter, in response to accusing testimonies, says about Jesus: I do not know Him. What preceded this? Why did the disciples scatter? They were by no means cowards, and when they promised to die for their Teacher, they were hardly speaking in the heat of the moment. But in practice everything turned out quite differently from what they expected. They thought the time for a messianic uprising had come.

They were ready to die in battle, and Peter, if it had come to war, would have been one of the first; it is no accident that he is the one who snatches out a sword at the critical moment. But it turned out that there would be no uprising, that their Teacher simply gives Himself into the hands of the representatives of authority, that everything is lost: the uprising failed without even beginning. After all, the apostles still did not fully understand what the Teacher had told them about His death and His resurrection.

Peter followed Him into the high priest's courtyard not because he was hoping for anything, but simply in order to be closer to the Teacher, to see how the matter would end, simply in order to remain with Him to the end. And here they accuse him of something, of some kind of participation in the preparation of some uprising. What significance does all this have now, when everything is over? Peter no longer has anything to witness to, nothing to hope for; by and large he no longer cares what people will consider him to be, for everything is already behind him.

His reaction is a rather ordinary reaction of a person who is being pestered with nonsense when he is occupied with an important matter. He brushes off the questioners as though they were annoying flies: leave me alone, I know nothing and no one! And only the rooster's crow brings him out of his spiritual stupor. Peter suddenly understands that the matter is not yet over, that everything they had spoken about so recently during the Passover seder remains in force, that everything in general has gone differently from what he expected, but... But he did deny the Teacher, and he denied Him publicly. This is a bitter and sorrowful fact.

Now all that remains for Peter is to weep, reproach himself for a betrayal unexpected even to himself, and repent of what he has done. He does not yet know that very soon the day will come when he will meet the Teacher, and He will understand him, understand him without long explanations.

In the evangelist's account of the Saviour's condemnation, one striking feature is the desire to evade responsibility shown by representatives of both the Temple and the Roman authorities. It is no accident that Jesus refuses to answer the high priest's question about His teaching and His disciples (John 18:19–21). He understands that there can be no question of a fair trial in this case and that the whole interrogation is intended only to catch Him in His words and find grounds for fabricating a case against Him—one, moreover, on which He could be sentenced to death. In fact, everything had already been decided when Caiaphas considered it permissible to sacrifice One for the welfare of the people as he understood it (John 18:14).

Naturally, however, all those involved in Jesus' trial wanted the decision to be made collectively and with due observance of the legal formalities. Then no particular person could be accused of murder. The representatives of the Temple elite might seem to have had no one to fear, but their religious consciences were probably still uneasy: an ordinary murder would have been a direct violation of the Torah. An execution ordered by the Sanhedrin was another matter. A formally impeccable verdict of that kind would have reassured everyone, since an execution carried out under a court sentence would not, of course, have been regarded as a violation of the Torah.

One very serious obstacle, however, stood in the way of these “judges”: death sentences passed by the Sanhedrin had to be confirmed by the Roman authority, represented in Judea by the procurator. It was to him that they went (John 18:28). The leaders of the Sanhedrin apparently expected the procedure to be a mere formality and at first did not even want to go into detail, assuming that Pilate would sign the sentence without reading it (John 18:29–32).

But Pilate took an unexpected interest in the case and decided to question the accused himself (John 18:33). Jesus, who had remained silent before the Sanhedrin, testified to Pilate about what it was already pointless to tell the Sanhedrin: He answered the procurator's question about His Kingdom (John 18:34–37). Yet while the Kingdom to which Jesus testified seemed hostile to the leaders of the Pharisaic movement and the Temple elite, Pilate was simply indifferent to it, like most pragmatically minded agnostics. Like any agnostic, however, he saw no crime in proclaiming ideas of any kind, even strange or mistaken ones, and proposed that the representatives of the Sanhedrin who had come to him should release an innocent man from punishment (John 18:38–40). When he saw that they would accept no compromise, Pilate apparently decided to limit himself to the punishment prescribed by Roman law for non-citizens who broke local laws, and had Jesus scourged (John 19:1–3).

After this, he considered the incident closed (John 19:4–5). The representatives of the Sanhedrin then had to explain the case to the procurator and tell him what they were accusing Jesus of (John 19:6–7). Their explanation made a great impression on Pilate (John 19:8). The calmness and inner strength of the accused apparently made an even greater impression on him (John 19:9–11). He would probably have released Jesus had the crowd gathered in the praetorium courtyard not accused him of disregarding the interests of the empire by letting Jesus go (John 19:12). The provocation succeeded: unwilling to take responsibility or face possible accusations of sympathising with rebels, Pilate sentences an innocent man to death (John 19:13–16). Thus the cowardice and irresponsibility of some, and the hatred of the Kingdom felt by others, bring the Saviour of the world to the cross.

On Good Friday, on a Good Friday that is not distant from us but closer than ever, although we were not yet alive then, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh spoke these words from the pulpit. '<...> The Mother stood by the Cross; Her Son, betrayed, reviled, cast out, beaten, torn, tormented, was dying on the Cross. And She was dying with Him… Many, surely, looked at Christ; many, surely, felt shame and fear and did not look into His Mother's face. And now we turn to Her, saying: Mother, I am guilty—among others, yes—of Your Son's death; I am guilty—intercede for me. Save us through Your prayer, through Your protection, because if You forgive, no one will condemn or destroy us… But if You do not forgive, Your word will be stronger than any word spoken in our defense… <...> Let us stand before the judgment of our conscience, awakened by Her grief, and bring a repentant, contrite heart. Let us bring Christ our prayer that He may give us strength to awaken, come to our senses, come alive, become human, make our life deep and broad, capable of holding the Lord's love and presence. And with this love let us go out into life to create life, to fashion and build a world, deep and spacious, that would be like a garment clothing the Lord's presence, shining with all the light, all the joy of paradise. This is our calling; this is what we must accomplish by breaking ourselves, giving ourselves, dying if need be—and it is needed!—because to love is to die to oneself, to cease valuing oneself and instead value the other, whether God or a human being; to live for another, laying aside concern for oneself. Let us die as much as we can, let us strive with all our strength to die, so that we may live by love and live for God and for others.' So close to us is that Friday on which the Metropolitan spoke these words, as are all the Good Fridays that have been and will be. 'I am guilty.' I was not alive then, but I am guilty. We cannot regard this day as a symbolic commemoration of events that once took place. No. For the Body and Blood of which we partake are not a symbol, but the very Body and the very Blood. Here I am, and I am guilty here and now. It is frightening when people begin to greet one another for Easter in advance—this really happens, and happens often! Today I know nothing of Easter; I know only one thing: whether woman or man, I am guilty, for He died, and I did nothing to prevent it.

In describing Jesus' arrest and the events that preceded it in the Garden of Gethsemane, John is noticeably more laconic and restrained than the other evangelists. In particular, he mentions neither the prayer the Savior offered before His arrest nor how the apostles, unable to withstand a strain too great for them, fell asleep despite their Teacher's requests. He reports only briefly that Judas knew the Garden of Gethsemane well, as did the other apostles, because it was a customary place for Jesus' gatherings and conversations (vv. 1-2). According to the evangelist's testimony, those who came to arrest Jesus were not Roman soldiers but the temple guard, and the arrest was carried out in the presence of representatives of the Pharisaic movement (v. 3).

Jesus, who was expecting the arrest, Himself went out to meet the authorities who had come for Him (vv. 4-5). The effect of the Savior's Person on everyone who found himself near Him was so great that those who came for Him did not immediately dare to do what they had come to do (vv. 5-12). Meanwhile, Jesus did everything possible to spare His disciples from arrest (vv. 7-9).

He evidently understood that the apostles had great difficulty grasping the meaning and significance of what was happening, and He may have feared that they would try to seize the moment by offering armed resistance to the authorities and thus begin an uprising which, according to their plan, was to grow into a full-scale war under religious and messianic slogans. His fears were evidently not unfounded: Peter, the most resolute of the apostles, did indeed try to resist (v. 10), but Jesus stopped him (v. 11).

This response from Jesus obviously left the apostles completely bewildered. Not knowing what to do next, they simply scattered, according to the testimony of the other evangelists, and thereafter they are mentioned again only in the accounts of the Savior's crucifixion. John does not speak directly of the apostles' flight, but his description of subsequent events makes it clear that only two followed Jesus: Peter and another disciple whom the evangelist does not name (vv. 15-16). They too, however, apparently no longer hoped for anything and wished only to see how their Teacher's trial would end.

As for their messianic expectations and hopes for the Kingdom's imminent triumph, most likely nothing remained of them: their Teacher Himself had only just voluntarily renounced all resistance! Now all they could do was wait to see how the judicial proceedings would end. What remained was a personal, human attachment to the Teacher who, as it seemed to the apostles, had lost, but whose Person evidently had not lost its hold on the disciples. It seemed that all the disciples had left was the memory of their Teacher. Yet in their eyes that memory was sacred.