Category: From the Archives

In 1 Corinthians 13:12, referencing what awaits us in eternity, the apostle Paul wrote that “now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face.” What would it be like to speak face-to-face with Jesus? The Roman governor Pontius Pilate had just such an encounter as Christ stood on trial before him—an encounter that, as Alistair Begg explains in his sermon “‘What Shall I Do with Jesus?,’” revealed the Son of Man’s majesty even as it brought Pilate to a crucial crossroads:

Governor Pilate finds himself face-to-face with the King of Kings. He’s asking, “Are you the King of the Jews?” (John 18:33). He doesn’t say, “Well, I’m the King of the Jews,” because after all, he was the King of the Jews, but he was far more than the King of the Jews. Pilate is brought face-to-face with the Lord of the universe. Pilate could have no concept of a kingdom that would “stretch from shore to shore.”¹ He could have no concept of a kingdom that would transcend the bounds of geography and history and ethnicity and sweep around the world. How could he ever? He’s so fixated on this.

Perhaps we should pause and remind ourselves of Psalm 2:

Why do the nations rage
 and the peoples imagine a vain thing?
The kings of the earth set themselves
 and the rulers take counsel together to set themselves
 against the Lord. (Psalm 2:1–2, paraphrased)

You can go back two thousand years and find Pilate doing what you can find today throughout the world in those who are in positions of authority. You don’t find that men and women are by and large calling upon the nations of the world to bow down before he who is the King of Kings, to bow down before the one who was anticipated when we studied 2 Samuel: “And his kingdom will be an everlasting kingdom” (2 Samuel 7:16, paraphrased). It’s amazing, isn’t it?

“Well,” says Pilate, “so you are a king.” Jesus says, “Yeah, right first time. You’re correct. You’ve said it out of your own mouth.” I think that’s what he’s saying. He said, “Well, you say so.” He’s not denying it. He’s just playing him in some ways. Surely Pilate in this encounter must have been aware of the fact that he was dealing, and he surely knew he was dealing, with someone like no one else he had ever met—that in actual fact, although he was the governor of a province, although he was significant in his own little world, when he came face-to-face with Jesus, this was an encounter such as he had never had. The majesty of Jesus surely must have been pervasive. It could not be swallowed up. It could not be concealed behind bruises and a bloody eye and spittle on his face. There’s no way out for Pilate, as we’re about to see.

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1. Isaac Watts, “Jesus Shall Reign Where’er the Sun” (1719). ↩︎

Scripture calls us to a measure of confidence. But what happens when that confidence is misplaced or misdirected? In the garden of Gethsemane, Peter’s self-assurance led him to foolishly attack one of the men who came to arrest Jesus—but later that night, he thrice denied even knowing his Lord and Master. In his sermon “A Question for Peter,” Alistair Begg helps us see the danger that can come on the heels of overconfidence:

We saw in our earlier study how Peter was prepared to wield the sword. In that darkened alleyway, if you like—in amongst those trees, in amongst those olive groves, under the covers of darkness—he’s a big, brave man with a sword, ready to confess that Jesus is his Lord and his Master. But now we find his retreat as he doesn’t find it in himself to declare such a brave confession of his allegiance to Jesus, not in the face of the amassed crowd with clubs and swords but with a servant girl at the entryway to the high priest’s court.

He’s impulsive. He’s impetuous by nature. And all of that is revealed in what follows. He loves Jesus, and so he follows him, but when push comes to shove, he was actually afraid to display his colors. He must have thought that he knew himself better than Jesus knew him. We do not know ourselves better than Jesus knows us. “You will deny me,” Jesus said. “But he said emphatically, ‘… I will not deny you’” (Mark 14:34–31). That’s Mark’s version: “He said emphatically, ‘… I will not deny you.’”

Surely a developed sense of self-assurance is a dangerous thing—an unrealistic sense of self-assurance. When we read the Gospels, we see its danger. Indeed, when we read the history of the Bible, we can see it. Uzziah was tremendously effective, a genius of a young man, able militarily, able architecturally. In every way, he was a whiz kid. But you remember how he ended. He wasn’t living in the palace at the end. He was living in a little cottage at the gate. He was leprous. He was separated from the entire company that he had presided over in the early part of his life (2 Chron. 26). What happened to him? The Chronicler tells us, “Uzziah was gloriously helped until he became strong. But when he became strong, he grew proud to his own destruction” (2 Chron. 26:15–16; paraphrased). And here we see the elements of this in Peter.

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When a crowd led by Judas came to the garden of Gethsemane to arrest Him, Jesus—unlike His disciples—didn’t lose His composure. Instead, in both word and deed, He revealed Himself to be at peace and in control. What was the basis for Jesus’ startling serenity in the face of betrayal? In his sermon “‘The Hour Has Come,’” Alistair Begg considers the answer:

“Then Jesus said to the chief priests and officers of the temple and elders, who had come out against him”—this is a question by Jesus for the religious opponents—“‘Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs?’” Well, the answer is they have.

Now, the tone in which that question was given we don’t know, because we only have it written down. I wonder if it wasn’t simply Jesus says, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve really come out here tonight, all set up like this, with all your swords and your clubs and everything, to take me under the cover of darkness? Why did you not come for me when I was out in the temple? I was preaching freely. Everybody could see me and so on. How futile it is!”

What were these people thinking? Were they afraid of Jesus, so they came in numbers? Did they think that if they came in numbers, they could intimidate Jesus? Well, clearly, if they thought that, they discovered very quickly that they couldn’t. Because even in the moment, even in this moment, when he would be regarded from a distance as both the victim and the captive, it is clear that he is neither the victim nor the captive—that there is a serenity about Jesus. There is an absolute calmness and peace in the circumstances, a peace that is not enjoyed by Peter and the rest of them. We know that. We’ve seen that.

And what is the basis of the serenity of Christ? It is that he understands that what he’s doing and where he’s going is according to the Father’s will —all that has taken place that the Scriptures of the prophets have said might be fulfilled. Jesus knew that he was going to die. You say, “Well, everybody knows they’re going to die.” No, he knew that he was going to die in a way that no one else knows they’re going to die. Because Jesus knew that absence from his presence in the world was the reason that he had entered into the world. Jesus knew that he would die a violent death. Jesus knew that he would die a purposeful death. Jesus knew that he would die a vicarious death—i.e., that his death was not a display of love that people should admire and say, “Whoa, that’s a dreadful thing to happen to such a nice person.” No! His death on the cross was in place of sinners. He dies purposefully.

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What was Jesus referring to when He asked Peter in the garden of Gethsemane, “Shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?” We might be prone to think that the “cup” He mentioned symbolized the physical suffering Christ would meet on the cross—but, as Alistair Begg points out in his sermon “Shall I Not Drink the Cup?,” He probably had something even more momentous in mind:

In the agony of the garden, you remember, Jesus says, “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me.” Now, the cup to which he refers is a symbol of God’s judgment. It is the cup of his wrath. You would need to just take your concordance and work on this on your own to build up a picture of this from the Old Testament. Let me cross-reference just two places—one, straightforwardly, in Psalm 75. And in the midst of that psalm, in verse 8, the psalmist says,

For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup

 with foaming wine, well mixed

and he pours out from it,

 and all the wicked of the earth

 shall drain it down to [its] dregs

—that God, in exercising his judgment on wickedness, will pour out the cup of his wrath.

You have it elsewhere, but let me just give one other, and that would be in Isaiah and in chapter 51. And the prophet says,

Wake yourself, wake yourself,

 stand up, O Jerusalem,

you who have drunk from the hand of the Lord

 the cup of his wrath,

who have drunk to the dregs

 the bowl, the cup of staggering.

There is none to guide her

 among all the sons she has borne;

there is none to take her by the hand

 among all the sons she has brought up.

These two things have happened to you—

 who will console you?—

devastation and destruction, famine and sword;

 who will comfort you?

Your sons have fainted;

 they lie at the head of every street

 like an antelope in a net;

they are full of the wrath of the Lord,

 the rebuke of your God.¹

So the cup that is being referenced here by Jesus is that cup. It is the cup of God’s wrath. So when we think about Jesus in the garden saying, “Father, if it is possible for this cup to pass from me,” we’ve immediately gone wrong if we think what he is saying is simply “I don’t want to have to face the ignominy of this” or “I don’t like the idea of my friends and myself being separated from me” and so on—“I am afraid of the physicality of it,” if you like. All of that may be true, but that is not the issue. Because the cup that he doesn’t want to drink is the cup poured out by the Father on all the wickedness and ungodliness of humanity. Jesus didn’t want to drink that cup. If you said, “What is Jesus’ will?” Jesus’ will was “I don’t want to drink that cup.” How do we know that? Because he said it. He said it.

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1. Isaiah 51:17–20 (ESV). ↩︎

In the final sentence of His prayer in John 17, Jesus declares that He made known God’s name to His disciples and “will continue to make it known.” Then He explains why: “that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.” In his final sermon in the series The High Priestly Prayer, Alistair Begg considers where this love comes from and how it is expressed:

Remember, in John 13, John tells us that Jesus, “having loved his own who were [with him] in the world, he loved them to the end.”¹ Here he is, loving them all the way to the end. And the love to which he refers here in the twenty-sixth verse is not our love to God. Notice: It is God’s love to us. “That the love with which you have loved me,” he says to the Father, might “be in them, and I in them.” That is dramatic, and it’s vitally important. I’m glad it doesn’t say that “their love for you” might be the key. Because if we’re honest, our love towards God and towards one another, actually, ebbs and flows on all kinds of bases. That is not the ground of our security. That is not the basis of our understanding of things. If that was the case, we could never have sung, “I Am His, and He Is Mine”: “Loved with everlasting love.”² 

What love? The love that the Father had for the Son has been manifested in Jesus so that we might know that love—that God is love and that the greatest assurance of his love has been in sending Jesus. That’s why we read, again, Psalm 118. “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases.”³ God’s love is such that he doesn’t give up on us. Why has he kept us? Because he loves us! Why is he sanctifying us? Because he loves us! Why does he want us to be united? Because he loves us! Why would he want us to share his glory? Because he loves us! It’s so obvious. His love is unchangeable. His love is irreversible. “How deep the Father’s love for us”!⁴

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1. John 13:1 (ESV). ↩︎

2. George Wade Robinson, “I Am His, and He Is Mine” (1876). ↩︎

3. Lamentations 3:22 (ESV). ↩︎

4. Stuart Townend, “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us” (1995). ↩︎

When Jesus prayed in His High Priestly Prayer, “I made known to them your name, and I will continue to make it known,” He was referencing something absolutely foundational: that God jealously guards His name and expects those who are His friends to do the same. In his sermon “What’s in a Name? —  Part One,” Alistair helps us to understand why God places such importance on reverence for His name:

Saying the Lord’s prayer, the first petition takes us exactly there: “Our Father [who] art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.”¹ Now, why is this so important? Because God’s name is more than just a title. God’s name declares His character. God’s name proclaims who God is and what God does.

In fact, realistically, the name of God actually stands for God Himself. We live in a culture where the name of God is routinely profaned—profaned by all ages. Listen to children. Profaned in all places! But we ought not to regard this as new, because when you read your Bible, you discover that God’s concern for His name extends all the way from the creation of the world. For example, here’s the Seventy-Fourth Psalm: “Remember this, O Lord, how the enemy scoffs, and a foolish people reviles your name.”² It’s one of the distinguishing features of what it means to know God, to love God, to serve God.

What’s in a name? The name actually matters. That’s why it’s quite wonderful when we have the privilege of taking the Psalms and making them our own in praise and in prayer. We find ourselves, as those who love God, saying, “O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”³ With the psalmist: “Those who love your name … exult in you.”⁴ With the psalmist, as read this morning and carved in granite at the entryway to our building: “You have exalted above all things your name and your word.”⁵

Now, those of you who’ve been reading in Exodus with M’Cheyne will have had occasion, again, in Exodus chapter 3, to be struck forcibly by the amazing encounter at the burning bush between Moses and God. Because it is there, by means of His name, that God declares Himself to be self-existing, to be self-determining, and to be sovereign—self-existing, self-determining, and sovereign. Wow! Thomas Manton, from an earlier century, remarks, “He were not God if he were not incomprehensible.”⁶ We cannot subject faith to our reason. Faith is the ongoing discovery of the wonders of these things. Moses encounters this, and there it is before him: “Who will I say?” “Who will I say?” He says, “Well, you just tell him that I Am has sent you.”⁷ “I Am has sent you.” In other words, “Just tell him who I am.”

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1. Matthew 6:9 (KJV). ↩︎

2. Psalm 74:18 (ESV). ↩︎

3. Psalm 8:9 (ESV). ↩︎

4. Psalm 5:11 (ESV). ↩︎

5. Psalm 138:2 (ESV). ↩︎

6. Sermons upon the Seventeenth Chapter of St John, in The Complete Works of Thomas Manton (London: James Nisbet, 1873), 11:133. ↩︎

7. Exodus 3:13–14 (paraphrased). ↩︎