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TOPIC: Schilder, Klaas - Vol 2 - Christ on Trial (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 21. Chapter 21: Christ Being Silent Before Herod and Being Mocked in the Vale of Martyrs
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C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - O N E
Christ Being Silent Before Herod and Being Mocked in the Vale of Martyrs
And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him. Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing. And the chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him. And Herod with his men of war set him at naught, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate. And the same day Pilate and Herod were made friends together: for before they were at enmity between themselves.
—Luk_23:8-12.
WE concluded in the preceding chapter that for Christ zeniths are nadirs. When He stands at the very top of the royal and prophetic mountain, He stands at the very zenith of His glory; and that zenith corresponds perfectly to the nadir of His humiliation.
This correspondence manifests itself also in Christ’s meeting with Herod. He stands upon the heights, upon the mountain of Jacob’s blessing of the first-born. That, then, according to the logic of the incarnation of the Word means that Christ is entering into the vale of martyrs, laden as it is with mockery and disdain. Only in this way can He achieve glory for the faith. Consequently we shall not speak in the interests of that faith in terms of parables at this place either.
Yes, when Christ is being conducted before Herod, He is entering the vale of martyrdom. Herod Antipas, the Edomite, feared for a long time—and to this fact we will allude again later—that Jesus was none other than the murdered Baptist, who, he supposed, had arisen from the dead. To his wondering anxiety, therefore, Jesus is a resurrected martyr. In fact, the Baptist is the greatest martyr of the Old Testament: “Among them that are born of women there has not arisen a greater than he.” Those are the words Christ Himself used when, taking full cognizance of the wide circle of great men referred to in the Old Testament, He ascribed that high place to John the Baptist. Hence, when Herod sees the figure of the murdered Baptist who was put to death at the very end of Israel’s wall of mourning, still playing before his eyes—decadent kings very often labor under the burden of such a diseased imagination—he sees Christ approaching Him as one coming from those who have witnessed with their blood. Is it he, or is it not he? Herod cannot be sure, but in any case Jesus is enveloped in the cloud of all martyred witnesses, is enfolded within the reeking vapor of their shed blood. As Jesus enters Herod’s palace, that judge reckons with the possibility that the spirit of the Baptist resides in Him, that this spirit is looking for a new outlet in the world, some very secret channel, perhaps, but in any case bent upon Herod’s destruction.
Now the thing that moves us, and the thing that causes Christ to suffer is this: Herod has assigned to Christ a place in the dark vale of martyrs. Seeing Jesus, Herod saw blood; he detected the vapor of the souls of martyred men in Him. Nevertheless, even in that greatly dreaded vale of martyrs, Christ is being despised by Herod. Christ enters Herod’s palace as an “eventual”, martyr, but He is ushered out of it a little later wearing the garment of mockery.[1] In other words, Christ is entering into mockery and disdain in the company of all His martyrs and blood-witnesses, that is, in the company of the whole of the martyred seed of the woman.
[1] This is the strongest possible evidence thus far for the fact that, even though someone should arise from the dead—and Herod thinks John has so arisen—a person cannot be converted without the Word and the Spirit. Stronger evidence for this follows in Mat_27:53.
My God, what hast Thou done to Him?
There is still one opportunity for Jesus to gain some renown in the eyes of “the world”; He can obtain the martyr’s crown. That crown is as becoming to those who with Pilate ask what truth is, as it is to those who with the Sanhedrin say: He is, speaking theoretically, worthy of death. Obviously, if Jesus is purely a martyr, He still has a reasonably good chance in this world. But if even the crown of the martyrs cannot protect His head from slime and venom, surely then His last chance in this world is taken away from Him.
No, even that cloud of reeking martyrs’ blood will not serve to protect Jesus. Christ may enter any given house in the world which is filled with sin and lying as a Mountain Climber who has scaled peaks higher than any prophets or kings before Him have, or Pie can enter as a Dweller-in-the-valley who, in the company of the martyrs, is laid away in the dust of the grave. It does not matter how or where He goes. What matters is that He has ever entered these houses and will never be able to escape from the roundelay of death.
We have already observed in what manner Christ was conducted into Herod’s presence. This new feature of the process of His passion represents a remarkable moment in His suffering. When He was before the Sanhedrin, Jesus had to battle against the false and carnal exegesis which the unregenerated heart gave of the Messiah. In the presence of Pilate, He stands over against the fact of unbelief. Today, as He stands in the presence of Herod, it is superstition which casts its dull reflections upon Him.
As for this superstition, the Bible mentions the fact that Herod Antipas,[1] who now sees the Saviour standing before him, had for a long time been struggling with the question as to who Jesus, the Nazarene, really was.
[] In the preceding chapter we regard Herod as a typical representative of Esau. But there is room, too, — and that is why this separate chapter is devoted to it — for the consideration which Herod as a person devotes to Christ.
A long history of suffering lies behind this question which is agitating the king. Time was when this same ruler had had John the Baptist killed. That murder had in part been the result of a false sense of shame owing to the fact that Herod had not had the courage to refuse the “favor” which his daughter Salome had asked of him. We remember that he had promised to give her whatever she should ask, when she danced before him at the celebration of his birthday. Spurred on by her mother, Salome had on that occasion asked for the head of the Baptist. In part this murder, the plan of which had been carefully worked out in the mind of Salome’s mother, Herodias, had had a political significance. We know this from the fact that the Baptist had been imprisoned for a while before his death. John, then, was beheaded in his cell, and the ball in celebration of the king’s birthday was brought to a conclusion by this atrocious act.
After that day, however, Herod had never again felt at rest. This is not surprising. We must know that before the Baptist was beheaded, Herod had had a good deal to do with him. In secret, you see, he acknowledged that the Baptist, even though he had been imprisoned, was guilty of no misconduct, but was, on the contrary, a holy and righteous man, a prophet whose credentials were indisputable. That is why Herod, during the time in which the Baptist was being held captive, secretly visited him more than once, in order to talk with him. These lone conversations between the weak prince with his troubled conscience and the quiet witness-bearer of God had made a deep impression upon the soul of Herod. How eagerly he would have refused to grant the request of the frivolous dancer when she required the head of that much-hated man. But to refuse he dared not. He dared not because of the people who were standing by and who noticed that he had given Salome an indefinite promise. Is it any wonder then that the restiveness which had consumed his troubled conscience before the gruesome murder continued to tantalize him afterwards? No, that can readily be understood. Accordingly we read that after this time Herod Antipas could not rid himself of thoughts about John the Baptist. A tantalized conscience, a smothered voice of conscience, a superstitious obsession, a suppressed anxiety, and a rather vague notion about what becomes of the dead after their departure from this life (the question of the state of the soul was a much mooted issue among several factions in those days)—these all combined to greatly disturb Herod’s peace of mind. Secretly he feared that the Baptist might return some day.
Then Jesus of Nazareth went through the country doing wonders and preaching a message which in all of its earnestness greatlyresembled that call to repentance which the Baptist had sounded. Moreover, when Jesus, just as John before him, showed no respect of persons, the king felt intuitively that the line of the Baptist had not been cut off in the sombre cells of the prison where his head had fallen to the ground, but that this line of his prophetic work was being continued by Jesus of Nazareth. This thought never left Herod: a troubled conscience cannot easily be put to rest. That is why, then, Herod again and again imagines that he recognizes the beheaded Baptist in the miracle-working Jesus. Sometimes he rejects the thought as unworthy of acceptance (Luk_9:9), but on other occasions he simply cannot escape from the depressing possibility (Mat_14:1-2, Mar_6:14-16). Hence Jesus existed as a vaguely understood mystery in the mind of Herod Antipas. Moreover, Herod was not the only one who, in a vague sort of way, felt that the murdered Baptist had returned to the world in one form or another, be it in the guise of the prophet of Nazareth or in some other form (Luk_9:7). Hence Jesus was regarded by many as a hidden mystery, as an unexplained visitor from the other world, possibly an angel of wrath. Jesus’ good works and preaching were regarded as sombre threats by the king and the court. But especially alarmed was Herod himself,—poor Herod, against whom a wreaking judgment should unexpectedly be released later.
However, even this does not tell the whole story. We read that when Jesus returned to Galilee somewhat later, certain Pharisees warned Him in a quasi-friendly way that Herod wanted to put Him to death; and they added the advice that the best thing He could do was to remove Himself from the province of that king.
It becomes apparent from the very peculiar reply which Jesus gave to these “friendly” advisers that the Pharisees had mingled truth with falsehood. It was true that they were eager to have Jesus remove Himself from Herod’s province. It was not true that Herod wanted to put Jesus to death. He would not have dared to do that. The king feared the influence of Jesus. The threatening storm cloud was approaching ever nearer, and the king did not know what he had to think of it. It is obvious, accordingly, that he had arranged with these Pharisees that they should make use of these means of intimidation in an effort to get rid of Jesus. This arrangement was just another manifestation in Herod of that mingling of hope and fear which had long possessed his soul, and which was stirred up as often as he thought of Jesus in connection with John the Baptist. Quietly but persistently the longing grew in his soul to see the remarkable Jesus face to face. On the one hand, he shied away from any such need; no one could tell when the storm might break loose, when the spirit of the murdered Baptist might leap forth from the body of the Nazarene, when John’s hand might reach out to grasp Herod’s throat. . . . But, on the other hand, the king wanted to have as much certainty as was at all possible. He had to rid himself of his anxiousness; he simply could not go on living with this tantalizing conscience.
Hence it is easy to see why Herod is as happy as a child to know that today Pilate has referred Jesus to him. The opportunity for meeting Jesus has unexpectedly come at last. That which the king had not dared to coerce was suddenly achieved for him through an agency with which he himself had had nothing to do. The question to which he himself could give no reply—should he engage Jesus in conversation or shun Him?—was suddenly answered for him.
Besides, the manner in which Jesus was presented to the king immediately alleviated much of his anxiety. For Jesus made His appearance in bonds. He was quite defenceless. No, that does not mean to say that Herod supposes no danger at all remains now; superstition is not put to rest as easily as that. But at least the first threat of danger seemed to be allayed for the time being. As long as the Nazarene stands before him bound, the arrow of death will very likely not leap at the king’s throat. Accordingly, Herod was very glad when he saw Jesus.
We can appreciate his feelings in the matter even better if we remember that the last word which Jesus spoke to him had never ceased to trouble him. We refer to the answer which Jesus had given those Pharisees to whom we alluded a moment ago.
In response to their friendly warning, advising Him to leave Herod’s province, Jesus had replied: “Go ye and tell that fox, Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I shall be perfected. Nevertheless I must walk today, and tomorrow, and the day following: for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem.” With this message Jesus had dispatched His advisers.
But the sublime irony contained in that statement had long continued to make the king’s life difficult for him. The statement gave expression to a spiritual superiority which offered the king a good deal to think about. It was plain that the Nazarene was not afraid. That in the first place.
And this besides: Just what did the statement mean? It seemed to be a kind of riddle. Yes, to a considerable extent it represented a kind of international conundrum, the kind in fact to which we have had occasion to refer frequently in this book. What did Jesus mean when He said: ‘On the third day I shall be perfected?” Did He mean to say that He would have completed His work after a few days? Or could it be that this statement contained a hidden allusion to His death? And, in case this last meaning were the real intent of the utterance, could it be that Jesus wanted to mock the king by telling him in effect that he could kill Him, but that the death would in no sense harm Him; that He will complete His own work in His own way in spite of the murder; that His death would represent a perfecting? And that other idea, too, implying that Jesus wanted to complete His schedule of activities in His own manner first, and that then, if the king chose, he might take Him, perhaps in . . . Jerusalem—what could that possibly mean? It just does not happen, it is quite impossible, said Jesus, that a prophet is killed outside of Jerusalem, and is He giving expression to the fact that He knows such a death will be the culmination of everything? Can it be that Jesus is telling Herod that He, as the very crown of the prophets, standing upon the prophetic mountain, wants also to assume the fate of those prophets who in a general way were never understood by the people and, consequently, were each in turn, be it literally or figuratively, put to death? When Jesus says that He is going to Jerusalem, the city whose privilege it has been to murder prophets, He seems to be relying on the fact that He will have a place in the vale of martyrs. In any case, however, this statement, which might then be fairly called a cynical one, is an instance of haughtiness on the part of a citizen of Nazareth against his majesty, the king.
Now it was certainly a most difficult thing to know what Jesus’ statement might mean. We say this seriously. We do not hesitate to say that we notice a kind of maschil in this ironical speech of Jesus. We do not mean to say that it was a general riddle such as accompanied Jesus’ usual prophesying, but do mean that it was a conundrum directed to a specific address.
The more we think about it, the more delicate and the more devastating the irony of Christ seems to us to have been. For Herod on his own part has already feared that Jesus has taken his place heretofore in the valley of martyrs—recall the Baptist again. Mark now: Jesus, He who tried human hearts, seems to fall in line with those peculiar, restless thoughts of the king who is the prey of folly, and by means of His well-chosen and pointed words He seems to join in with the trend of those thoughts. He appears to be quietly playing with the secret anxieties of Herod. Can it be that He actually is the Baptist? And does that man know everything?
Ah yes, this was indeed an instance of sublime majesty. On the one hand, Jesus did not repudiate the truth of what the king feared, but couched His meaning in such phrases as would give the king’s anxieties new stuff to feed on. But, on the other hand, Jesus also showed very plainly that He goes His own way quite independently, and that He, when He is ready to enter the city which kills the prophets, will make His entry not as an embarrassed and shy candidate for the privilege of martyrdom but as a king who follows His own schedule, and who will not be diverted from it by this old fox.
Hence you need not ask what impression this last message which Christ had conveyed to Herod made upon the king. He must have felt a sense of defeat. The sublime irony of the Christ was simply too much for him. His spiritual superiority weighed down very oppressively upon Herod.
Nevertheless, the matter was not one of spiritual superiority solely. Christ was standing over against Herod not merely as a human being but as a prophet, as a revealer of God, and Herod had been caught in the snares of Jesus Christ, the Christ who bears witness to revelation. Christ had taken the king captive in His maschil, in His intentional conundrum, in His riddle directed to “that fox”.
We refer to a maschil, and do so with good reason, we believe. Remember that a maschil is characterized by two elements: first, it represents a concealment of the truth; and, second, a thoroughgoing penetration in the direction of the truth. Both of these elements characterize Jesus’ reply to “that fox”.
On the one hand Christ had purposely couched His meaning in the form of a conundrum. To that we referred above, and hence we will not discuss it here.
On the other hand, however, Christ had also constrained Herod; in fact, had constrained him to a seeking of the truth which had hitherto remained a mystery to him in the matter of the Nazarene. By naming Jerusalem the official city for the murdering of prophets and by declaring outright that Herod, if he indeed wanted to rid himself of the Nazarene in whom the Baptist possibly was hidden had better wait until both of them were in Jerusalem, Christ had given the king a very definite hint. He had clearly indicated to him that for the present the Nazarene did not expect any persecution on the part of Herod. But He had indicated also that He nevertheless expected an outburst of enmity against His own life work. Christ had not tried to conceal the fact that a persecution of life and death was not only a natural consequence of Herod’s own life but would also serve as the very crown of the tribulation of martyrs, which had accrued to all the prophets of God throughout the centuries. By naming Jerusalem as the place of the murder of prophets, and by awaiting Herod in Jerusalem, Jesus had included Himself in the company of all the martyrs. He proved that He thoroughly understood Herod, that He knew him to be a dyed-in-the-wool Edomite, an enemy of the true seed of Jacob-Israel. This, too, was a painful reprimand for Herod, the more so because he was doing his best to be acknowledged among the Jews as a pious prince, one who was being faithful to all the traditions. That he had been eagerly active in attaining this purpose becomes obvious from his restorations of the temple, later from his battle against Pilate’s religious plunderings, and now from his presence in Jerusalem for the purpose of attending the Passover together with all orthodox Jews.
You see that the man was eager to be popular when such popularity was expedient for him.
In this way, then, Christ had caught Herod in the net of His revelation.
Thereupon Herod came to the city at once with a heavy heart. What can he do? His superstition gives him no answer. On the contrary, superstition always makes one lose one’s way. In fact, a superstitious person cannot even read such directions as point out the road to take. Yes, what can Herod do in the city? Conform himself to its manner of life? Join with the others in singing the feast-day songs, and so drown out the groanings of the murdered prophets in this “official” vale of martyrs? Or should he proclaim judgment to the city? Had not the Nazarene truly said that the murdering of prophets had grown to be the habit here?
And at the feast itself: What must the king do there? The whole city is talking about the Nazarene. Naturally Herod, too, has heard the rumors about his triumphal entry. Hence they are both in the same neighborhood, Herod and the Nazarene miracle- worker, Herod and the man who has been an irksome problem in his mind these last years, Herod and the man who has been writing on the wall of his festal ball-room. Secret writing indeed and bearing a message which seemed to say mene, mene, tekel. . . Ah, yes, what must Herod do at this feast? Shall he carefully avoid any conflict with the Nazarene and move about at the feast as unobtrusively as is possible for a king? Or shall he try to lay hands on the Nazarene and prove that the lofty utterances of the ruler of Galilee and Iturea are not a bluff? The Pharisees had not forgotten the agreement: they would be there to see whether he “could hold his own” over against the Nazarene, now that He had dared to come to the city in which prophets were murdered.
Yes, Herod’s is a very difficult situation. Too many eyes are kept upon him to allow him a sense of ease. The eyes of the Pharisees, and more particularly—the eyes of John the Baptist.
But mark now: God suddenly removes Herod’s perplexities. All of a sudden the Nazarene is placed before him. This is a pleasant surprise—a surprise inasmuch as the detention of Jesus had occurred in secret and inasmuch as the events had followed each other in astonishingly rapid succession.
Can we wonder at the fact that Herod is surprised? And pleasantly surprised. Some say that Herod was glad solely because Pilate granted him the honor of a share in the procedure. Others maintain that Herod’s joy was as exuberant as it was because the situation gave him an opportunity to put Jesus to death. A third group contends that Herod’s tantalized conscience felt much better now because of the fact that the formidable, depressing uncertainty which had made life so difficult for him these many years would give way at last to certainty about whether this man were really the Baptist or simply an ordinary man of flesh and blood.
You see that there are three interpretations. Must we choose one of the three? We believe that is not necessary. The one cannot possibly be separated from the other two. Psychological conflicts are always complicated. On the one hand Herod must have leaped for joy at the thought that his unformulated problem— after all, a person always feels ashamed of his superstition—was suddenly removed in an unanticipated manner. At least, he thinks that it will be removed. On the other hand, it must have been particularly pleasant for Herod, inasmuch as he was always pathetically wanting in self-assurance—and the man standing before him there was to a large extent “responsible” for that—to know that some official attention was given him at Pilate’s behest. And, finally, he can positively rejoice at the fact that the man whom he feared so much is dependent upon him now.
Nevertheless, uncertainty dominates the situation. A feeling of abiding uncertainty claims dominance over the rising sense of exuberant gladness. The question mark remains; the secret writing remains, its letters almost standing out as large now as Herod himself. Yes, the question mark and the writing on the wall both have been introduced into the court.
Hereupon Herod reveals himself as he truly is. He asks for a sign. That is revealing himself as he is, his asking for a sign. It may be that faith first asks for the Word, but superstition would rather have a sign. Hence Herod demands one of Jesus. He wants a sign, he wants a miracle to be performed. He wants something miraculous to happen. From the Nazarene’s answer to the question whether or not he can perform a miracle it will appear whether he is the much-feared Baptist or not.
The king asks for a sign. He hopes that this will give him some assurance as to the identity of this mysterious person.
Quick as lightning he makes the request: Perform a miracle.[1] Naturally this question greatly increases the tenseness of the atmosphere in the court. Visualize the situation. Here is Herod. He vehemently demands that a wonder be performed. The conflict he has suffered during the past months gives his request an impassioned violence. There, on the other side, are Jesus’ accusers, the high priests and the scribes. These, for their own part, want no such sign to be displayed. Suppose the Nazarene should comply with the request—that would be merely a waste of time. Besides it would weaken their “chances,” for the Nazarene would get more prominence because of it. As long as Jesus’ signs simply provide the stuff for folk-tales to feed upon, they have no objections. After all, such tales, . . . well, they are merely the gossip of the masses. But it will be a harder thing to erase from the public mind the impression which would be created by a sign given in this court. Had they not when they were in the presence of the Sanhedrin carefully avoided every inquiry about miracles?
[1] True, this is not stated in so many words in the Biblical account, but it is evident from that account that much was said on this occasion; and the eager desire of the king must naturally have arisen to the surface.
Yes, the atmosphere is growing tense in the court.
Herod and the Jewish authorities stand there over against each other. The one is eager to see a sign, the others want to do everything in their power to prevent one. The one makes his wishes known by expressing them aloud; the others make violent and persistent accusations their forte. By the clamor of their vitriolic accusations they would hinder Herod from asking and Jesus from demanding attention for an impressive sign.
What of Jesus Himself? What does He do? We can put it this way: He sees the temptation, but He conquers it.
Yes, this was a temptation for Christ. This is the third time during the process of law affecting Him that a temptation has come to Him. Had Jesus explained His maschil to the Sanhedrin He would have placed the meeting in great embarrassment and have been able to postpone the day of His death. But He would have done that independent of God’s justice and truth.[1] That was the first temptation.
[1] Compare Chapter 5 of this volume, especially pp. 115 f.
Moreover, if He, just a moment ago, had disclosed His official and personal secret to Pilate, in spite of the fact that Pilate had brazenly overlooked the all-important question as to what the essence of Christ was (that is, when he asked: What is truth?), Christ would also have embarrassed Pilate greatly, would have forced the suit at law, and would have postponed the day of His death. But that too, He would have to do, then, independent of God’s justice and truth. That was the second temptation.[2]
[2] Compare this volume, p. 356, Chapter 19, “Christ Being Silent Before Pilate”
In the presence of the Sanhedrin Christ conquered the first temptation: He held His peace.
In the presence of Pilate Christ conquered the second temptation: He held His peace there a second time.
In the presence of Herod Christ conquered the third temptation: He stood mute a third time.
Yes, this occasion was indeed a temptation for Him. You can arrive at that conclusion yourself. How easy, how very easy,— we talk after the manner of men—it would have been for Christ by means of some suggestive hint or by means of busy argument to escape from His own fate, which is the fate His Father assigned to Him, or at least to postpone the decision to a later time.
In the first place, Christ could have made use of the principle employed by tyrants: Keep factions alive, and rule. A perfect opportunity was given Him to drive a wedge between Herod and the scribes. The one wanted a sign, and the others did not. Besides, Herod, who had so often catered to the Jews and was doing so even now by attending the Passover, had also on occasion bitterly provoked and offended the Jews. Everyone knew that such was the fact, and Christ was the first to know it. What could be easier, therefore, than to play off Herod against the scribes? Life is so good, and He was a man of like passions with us!
In the second place, the opportunity was an especially favorable one for Jesus, because the soul of Herod was particularly impressionable. If ever anyone—and again we speak after the fashion of men—was susceptible to receiving a good “impression” which nevertheless would involve him in difficulties, that man was Herod. A psychological conflict which lasts months and years suffices to make the human personality very pliable. It might be that Jesus was the Baptist in very fact. But Herod himself knew very well that the Baptist was a “holy and righteous” man. Hence, as long as he reckons with the possibility that the Baptist has returned in the form of Jesus, so long he must necessarily think of the Christ who is standing before him as one who is “holy and righteous”. And it is not true that a single dazzling sign would have strengthened that thought in Herod immeasurably. Was the Nazarene a messenger from heaven? An angel of wrath? Or a token of God’s utmost long-suffering? A messenger from heaven, in other words, whose coming was ushered in with peace? One who showed a stern countenance, but nevertheless had no will to condemn? This wandering mystery—might something still be expected of him? If so, O Jesus, Jesus, help Herod then. He will be grateful to Thee if Thou canst heal his sickness. He will move about much easier then, there in his position above the tombstone of the accursed Baptist, that good and holy, but very troublesome man. He will do everything in his power then to change Pilate’s point of view. He will be glad to bear the discomfort of a break between him and the scribes if he may know that the weight of the burden resting upon his conscience will be lifted today. O Christ, do show a sign!
But Jesus held His peace.
Again in this matter we worship Christ’s passive obedience, an obedience which rests in His Father’s good pleasure. We must worship Christ’s active obedience as He manifests it in the silence which He maintains before Herod quite as much as His passive obedience. Jesus recognizes that the temptation is here, but in all of His responses to what confronts Him in this world he acts purely and genuinely, and He does so also in His response to this situation.
Yes, He knows very well that a sign, humanly speaking, will save His life. O Christ, Christ, Thou hast saved others by Thy miracles: canst Thou not save Thyself? By Thy signs and miracles Thou didst give much to many. Mayest Thou not in this Thy dire need give Thyself anything? Christ, Thou crown of Moses, Thou prince of Aaron, convert Thy staff into a serpent, put Thy hand—have it loosened a moment—into Thy bosom so that it may become leprous and then well again, have Thy almond reed burst into bloom, perform a wonder for Thy own benefit in order that Thy enemies may in their wrath and much to their regret, observe how God comforts and delivers Thee.
But Jesus held His peace. He did not reply to a single word. He performed no miracle, precisely because He is more than Moses. Yes, “more than Moses”; there are two ways in which that phrase can be explained. Satan has his own exposition. He tells Jesus: If you really are more than Moses show a greater sign than Moses ever revealed. But God has an explanation too. His exegesis of the messianic appeal, “being more than Moses,” is a different one. God says: Because Thou art more than Moses, perform no miracle on this occasion. For Moses performed his wonders in order to escape from the house of bondage. In the company of his people, of course, but also in order that he himself might escape. But Christ is a greater than Moses. And He performs no miracle, He shows no sign, on this occasion, for the specific reason that His people will emerge from the house of bondage at the very place at which he, Christ Himself, must all alone enter into that house of bondage and be swallowed up by it.
That is what “being more than Moses” means. It means to refuse to show a sign, whenever the demonstration of it would benefit only Himself; to refuse to understand, in order that He might show those signs which will convey some of the gifts of the peace of God and the power of salvation to the others, to the oppressed and heavily laden.
No, Christ knows very well that if He were to show a sign, here in the presence of this man at this specific moment, He would be sinning. For Christ, that is, the man Christ, is not the chief Lord of wonders, even though He demonstrated His signs time and again. His task is to be the servant of the Lord. Now a servant may never play with the signs and with the powers of the kingdom of his Sender. Had Christ in this moment demonstrated a sign which had not been commanded Him He would have been playing with the powers of the world to come.
The signs which Christ demonstrates must find their purpose in His God and not in Himself, for He is a servant. The sign He demonstrates must reveal the power of redemption, not as that power pertains to Himself but as it pertains to the people to whom He has been sent. Obviously, then, if Christ had showed a sign, the only purpose of which had been to glory in the presence of Herod, or to redeem Himself from this maelstrom of death and curse, He would Himself have taken the central position; He would have thrust God out of that position. Then He would have placed Himself at the very end of His course in an effort to save Himself from death, and to throw the responsibility for our illnesses off His shoulders; He would have thrust His people aside.
That, then, is why He shows no sign. Had He done so the Christ of God would have fallen into sin. He will not stretch out His hand to the tree of life, before God’s time has come. He will not eat a fruit which God has refused Him, in all eternity He will not.
This is so perfectly true that, to go on, we can safely say that Christ was unable to perform a wonder. In order to perform a miracle, faith is necessary, faith in the fellowship with God in this specific hour and for this specific purpose. As often as in any given instance this faith is not present in Him, He cannot show a sign.
That faith is not present in Him here. Christ has no faith in the fact that it is possible for Him to perform a wonder here. He has no faith in it because He knows that any wonder which He might perform now could profit only Himself. But He knows that He may not be the end and purpose of the powers which God sends into the world. That is why Christ was unable to show a sign on this occasion. To say that He did not want to is to tell the truth. And to say that He could not do it is to present the other side of that perfect truth.
Hence the moment in which Christ refuses to perform a wonder for Herod is just as momentous as the one which came to Him in the wilderness at the very beginning of His official ministry. In one sense this whole episode resembles a kind of intermezzo; in one sense Christ’s hearing before Herod seems hardly more important than the sudden flash which induced Pilate, who was eager to have done with the matter, to give the case into the hands of another. Nevertheless, Christ’s stay in Herod’s house is a perfect counterpart to His temptation in the wilderness. At the beginning, in the wilderness, and at the end, here in Herod’s court, Satan tried to tempt Christ to perform an extra-official wonder.
The parallelisms in these two events are not hard to discover. When Satan invited Christ to show a sign in the wilderness, the question at issue was whether or not Christ would be willing to show a sign within a “closed circle,” that is, in the wilderness with none there to see except Satan and Jesus Christ. By this sign, then, Christ would have served Himself the miracle-bread, apart from the favor and outside of the fellowship of God. For it was God who had caused Him to hunger. The same implications hold for the temptation which followed, in which Satan advised Christ that He leap down from the pinnacles of the temple. Even though this last sign would not have been as conspicuously limited to a closed circle (for the temple was a public place), Christ by this sign, too, would have been serving Himself. He would have been curtailing the tedious road which He must take in revealing Himself as the Messiah, by personally deciding to forego the suffering. This dispossessing sign would not have served His God nor God’s people, but would have remained a service of self. In this way, according to the Satanic prediction, the way of the Servant of the Lord would have taken a direct route to world conquest: “I will give thee all the kingdoms.”
This same evil prompting of satanic temptation returns at this time. Would Christ not be willing, just for one moment, to show a sign in an exclusive society? If need be, Herod and Jesus can step into the king’s apartment for a moment,—the two can be quite alone there. Or, if the secretiveness need not be as far- reaching as that, would Jesus not be willing to show the sign in the somewhat larger but still limited circle of Herod and the scribes and the chief priests? He must remember, of course, that in both events the sign which He shows will be demonstrated for the benefit of the accused Himself; it will help Him greatly in obtaining His freedom. True, this demonstration of a wonder will not this time be directly referred to God, nor to God’s people, and it will not be done with a strictly evangelical purpose, nor be full of blessing for the poor and the miserable—but, after all, Christ has blessed these so very often before. This time it concerns Himself. Yes, indeed, have Him perform a miracle; perhaps the wonder will not lead to world conquest, but it will at least insure a longer life. It may be that the cross will recede. . . ..
The offer sounds attractive, does it not, Lord Jesus?
But Jesus held His peace.
He will perform no miracles in an exclusive circle, but will show His signs only along the ways traversed by God’s church- forming redemption. The Christ will perform no miracles in a secluded corner, but only along the public way which has been made smooth and traversable for God, only along the highway by which God seeks His people in love. The servant never makes himself the purpose of his actions. Hence Christ refuses to show the requested sign.
How now, Christ, do you really want to make that choice? You have come to appear before Esau today; a new Jacob stands before a new Esau. What has become of your birthright, Christ? Is it not true that to show signs, to master the forces of nature, to manipulate the forces of the kingdom of heaven as you will, are some of the highest prerogatives which belong to the birthright of the estate of God’s covenant of grace? Come, Christ, appropriate Thy birthright, work it out, cause it to shine in splendor.
But Christ held His peace.
For He is not Jacob, but Israel. He is paying the penalty for Jacob’s sins. When he robbed Esau of his birthright — we return to this matter once more — he reached for the promise, but he overreached himself in reference to the commandments. He separated the blessing of the birthright from the duty of the birthright and made himself, instead of God, the purpose of God’s promises. He refused to take the roundabout way of suffering in his journey to glory. In that moment Jacob, who had been called a prince, became a beggar; he had to beg for his life — from Esau. He fled from the spot and later purchased Esau’s favor at the cost of half of his capital; he had already closed the deal in his soul before that.
Now see the Christ standing before Esau. He makes God, and not Himself, the purpose of life and of work. He does not beg Esau for a day of life. He does no dickering in the house of God. If there is anyone who thinks such language irreverent, we ask him to remember that prophecy itself reaches one of its high points when it is able to say: “There shall be no more the Canaanite (that is, the bargainer, the dickerer) in the house of the Lord of Hosts” (Zec_14:21). This statement has the sound of music in the ears of the prophets. For the history of Israel began by a “dickering.” Think of the wiles of Jacob, of how Esau sold his birthright, and of many instances besides. Spiritual goods have very frequently been offered for sale in the markets of the unworthy.[1] But today that spirit of Esau and that deceit on Jacob’s part will be entirely wiped out and atoned for by Christ. The Christ who refused to perform a miracle, earns His birthright by remaining faithful to the commandments. By His refusal He not only persisted in the purification of the temple which He began when He threw the “dickerers” out of the house of God, but He also earned His right to the feast of the Passover and related to Himself the powers of the world to come. By refusing to abuse the forces of nature for an arbitrary personal wonder, He earned for Himself the mastery of the forces of all natural life. He earned His reward; presently He will be given all power in heaven and on earth. In Him the power of the blessing of the birthright will be perfectly conjoined with the prerogatives which that birthright gives. O Jacob, here only will you be able to find rest.
[1] Compare this volume, p. 79, Chapter 4, “The Vicious Circle Condemns Christ”
On this occasion, then, the steadfastness of the manner of Christ’s perfect justice becomes manifest. This third instance of His silence is again an assertion of the maschil, of the greatest mystery. Again the desire to conceal, apparent here and now, points to the manifest character of His revelation.[2]
[2] Compare this volume, p. 87 f, Chapter 4, “The Vicious Circle Condemns Christ”. In order to circumvent too much repetition we simply allude in passing to what was treated in greater detail in connection with Christ’s first assertion of the maschil.
We remember that the last word which Christ had conveyed to the king before this time was the marvelous message: “I do cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I shall be perfected.” Now this maschil was even richer than the first which Christ pronounced to the Jews in the vicinity of the temple. You remember it; He spoke of breaking down the temple and rebuilding it in three days.
But this second maschil, directed to Herod, refers unmistakably to His humiliation, to His death. Prophets are put to death only in Jerusalem, and the Christ numbers Himself among them.
In this way, then, Herod saw Christ consciously entering into the vale of martyrs.
But the problem remained. In the statement directed to Herod, Christ had put two truths in juxtaposition with each other. He had referred to the persecution, to the fact that He was awaiting the fate of prophets (“I shall not perish outside of Jerusalem”). Next to that He had put the truth that He would complete His own work in His own way and would brook no interference on the part of anyone (“I shall be perfected”). Now by placing these two truths next to each other Christ had given Herod a difficult problem to solve. And He had done more. He had constrained Herod — precisely as in the previous instance He had constrained the Jews — to come out into the open, to lay bare his feelings. What will Herod do? Abuse the maschil by riding over it roughshod, by brutally and indifferently ignoring it? Or will he take refuge in the Word, shamefacedly and with embarrassment? Will He mock Jesus, or will he precisely because he cannot explain the maschil, inquire into the secret of His mission?
Yes, Herod too, has been caught in the snares of the messenger of God who speaks in riddles. Now Herod’s position must be made public.
It was made public. It appears later that Herod has no will to inquire; that again he deftly steps over the stumbling-block of the maschil. It becomes apparent that he does ask for a sign, for the unknown, but only in order to escape from the Word, from the known.
Thereupon Christ asserted His maschil over against him also. Everything we have said about that maschil heretofore[1] applies in this instance also. For Christ did Herod justice, He did Himself justice, and above all He did justice to God the Lord. The key to the explanation of the maschil (which called the death of prophets the perfecting of prophets) lay in the knowledge that Jesus’ perfecting, Jesus’ complete florescence, was contained in the martyr’s crown, in His going down to death as one of the many belonging to the martyred seed of the woman. However, Christ did not give Herod the key. The maschil remained unexposed. Herod was simply directed to the Word of God and to the birthright of Jacob-Israel, and that was enough for him. Note how austerely strict the style of Jesus is. Three times He holds His peace. He is always perfectly consistent with Himself.
[1] Chapter 5: “Christ Being Silent Before the Sanhedrin.”
We must say more. Christ asserts His maschil not only, but also His irony. He not only remains true to His style, but in using it He always remains beautiful, the most beautiful among the children of men.
We have said already that Christ’s statement to “that fox” was an ironical one. Moreover, we have previously made the point that irony in Christ represents the fact that His thoughts have reached a point of rest.[2] This holds true also of the poignant, ironical utterance with which He caused Herod to reflect upon His status. The statement gave expression to the fact that Christ had reached a point of rest in His heavily laden life.
[2] Compare Christ in His Suffering, p. 383 ff, 391-392, Chapter 22, “Christ’s Sorrows Have Their Own Peculiar End”
If anyone should ask whether Christ, who was very man, after He had been abused by three judges, could still maintain His poise, we would reply: Yes! Christ has appeared before Caiaphas, before Pilate and before Herod and, even though the tension for Him was never as oppressive as it was in Herod’s presence, inasmuch as — humanly speaking — the chances for living were His for the taking, He even there perfectly retained His equilibrium. He even maintained it over against the tantalized conscience of Herod which He thoroughly penetrated.
Such is a crushing majesty, for none of us can avoid thinking of the fact that Jesus can maintain an equal poise over against our own tantalizing conscience. He who thinks of this is wise.
But it is also a saving majesty. Remember that Christ has now reached the end of His hearing at the court. After this time He will not be heard further, not even by Pilate.[3] It was His own will that it should be so. And the fact that He retains the irony with which He had addressed Herod and upon which He now lets him continue to brood, proves to us that His will to sacrifice is extremely great. We can say that He has already prepared the wood for that sacrifice Himself, has done it even now. When, after a while. He is conducted out of Herod’s palace — never in all eternity to be given another hearing, for it is so that He thinks of it — His soul calmly says to God: Father, the wood has been laid ready; I think everything has been prepared. In Herod’s presence I gave Satan no chance to lay His hands upon me; Father, it was still possible for me to see Thee. I thank thee, Father.
[3] The question “Whence art Thou?” which we will discuss later, does not represent a legal hearing.
As for ourselves, all that we can do is to worship Him. One who after three hearings before as many judges is still able to express His irony is able also to make the state of equilibrium which He achieves on the prophetic mountain correspond to the nadir of the vale of martyrs. By means of His irony, that is, by the superiority of His soul, Christ preserved a state of equilibrium in the presence of Herod. In doing this, Christ, by reaching backward, maintained the sense of the sublime statement which He had made in Gethsemane: Sleep on now and rest.[4] In .addition, by reaching ahead, He achieved for Himself the prerogative to say to weeping children later: Weep not for me, but for yourselves, and for your children.
[4] See Christ in His Sufferings p. 379 f., Chapter 22, “Christ’s Sorrows Have Their Own Peculiar End”
In the meantime, however, the irony of prophets when asserted over against kings meets with the penalty of death. Hence Christ will not be able to escape from His punishment. In fact, we can say that He has let “His last chance” escape. His last chance had been to cling fast to Herod’s restlessness and to the disparity between him and the scribes. When Jesus failed to take advantage of this opportunity, the decision against Him was quickly made.
Herod feels provoked and humiliated. The question mark in his mind refuses to become an explanation point. The wandering mystery he had yearned to know refused to disclose itself. What is more, that accursed “Jacob” simply persists in refusing to beg from “Esau.”
But now Herod succeeds in getting past his “dead center.” He “gets a grip on himself.” He succeeds in mastering his doubt; succeeds because of the law for all sinners: his mind has not reached clarity, not a single question has been answered for him, but he acts nevertheless as though he knew the answer, he acts as though he knew everything about it, and goes on to try to suppress his fears by arranging a mock comedy. The kings of his day understood the art of arranging these. They lived close to theactors of their time, especially when they kept up close contact with Rome. Herod Antipas, for instance, retained in his splendid palace such luxuries as a theatre gave. Now, accompanied by his whole court, by his entire retinue — for that is the implication of the word used in the original—he begins to flay and to mock Jesus. Jesus had entered the hall as an eventual martyr in Herod’s own eyes; He had announced Himself to Herod as a probable martyr beforehand. But Herod, who takes the fact of Christ’s candidacy for martyrdom from His own lips, does not want to let Him leave as a martyr. Sin is always changing its own ways of regarding things. Hence he refuses to wound Jesus and does not condemn Him. As a matter of fact, he does not even talk threateningly to Him, nor sign a death warrant against Him. He simply proceeds to mock Him.
When he did that, Christ — this was His fate — took the lowest place in the vale of martyrs. He became a lesser one than all others who had been beaten down in it.
After all, the martyr was struck down in the name of the law, but we have observed repeatedly that the outlaw is thrust outside of the pale of the law. Hence Herod unites with the Sanhedrin in making Christ an outlawed Christ, one, that is, who stands outside of the scope of the law. He arranges a mock comedy which in its devilish purport and brutal sarcasm is by no means second to that arranged by the Sanhedrin. He and his courtiers jeeringly move to and fro around the Christ. Thereupon they put a gorgeous robe on Him. Some think that the word gorgeous tells us nothing about the color of the robe, which, they maintain, might have been red or white or any other hue. But others, and these very likely upon a sound basis, believe that what is indicated is a white garment, a glistening white robe.
What is the significance of this gorgeous robe?
Many have felt that Herod put it on Christ as a kind of caricature of the so-called toga candida in which according to the Roman custom those persons were dressed who presented themselves as candidates for this or that official office. If this interpretation is correct, Herod would have been mocking Christ by ludicrously making Him a candidate for the kingship. Naturally the motivation for such conduct would have to be found in the charge of the high priest that Christ had wanted to regard himself as a king.
At the same time it must be said, however, that it is highly unlikely that Herod thought of this Roman usage on the spur of the moment, or that he chose to make use of this device here in this particular vicinity. In Jerusalem the toga Candida was not used for such purposes. Accordingly, the Jews would not have understood the satire conveyed by the scheme. Hence, the interpretation that Herod wanted to mock Jesus as a pretender to the crown must remain an unlikely one. Herod did not want to mock Christ as a pretender to the king’s crown but as the caricature of a king. The robe in which he decked Jesus was a princely garment.
This phenomenon teaches us the nature of sin and simultaneously conveys to us the meaning of Christ’s suffering as the Surety.
Yes, this manifestation reveals the nature of sin to us. When Jesus first came, Herod began by giving his own problems first consideration but he concluded by joining in with the others and by agreeing with the charges and formulae of complaint drawn up by the priest’s party and by the scribes. When Jesus first entered, Herod began his inquiry by asking whether or not Jesus was a mysterious prophet. Now, as the session is dismissed he acts as if he is certain that Jesus is a self-vaunted king.
You see that in a single moment Herod has abandoned all of his own problems. He has completely bared himself, and revealed the pathetic nakedness of his blinded understanding and perverse will. When Jesus first came to him, he thought: You are perhaps a mystery; I do not understand you yet. Now that he dismisses Jesus he shouts after Him: In your own eyes you are a sun, but I call you darkness. As Jesus entered the court, he thought: This may be a messenger from heaven. Now that he sends Him away, he says: You are called the messenger of heaven, but that is impossible. At the beginning he thought he recognized in Christ a mystery; but at the conclusion he denies in Him the mystery. Herod began by acknowledging the possibility that Christ was a reincarnation of a human being, in this case, of the Baptist. But at the close of the session he haughtily ignores the preaching that Christ truly was the incarnation of the living God.[1] And although Herod had at first suspected that Christ was an angel of wrath,now he resorts to mocking Him in order to escape from the message that Christ is the angel, of love certainly, and of grace, but also of God’s perfect wrath.
[1] The many and violent charges which the priest sounded doubtless included what Christ had professed in the presence of the Sanhedrin: I am the Son of the living God.
Such is man, of course. I like to think at present that the Holy Spirit, who thinks of all things, also thought of Herod Antipas when He had the evangelist write that men would not repent even though one should return from the dead. For Herod troubled himself about that issue — God knows how long. But this moment suddenly marked the end of his meditation, of his thinking, and of his anxious temptation.
Such is man: he would see a sign, so that he might have certainty, and closed his eyes to those possibilities which he feared had begun to become realities.
Herod still lives and lifts the sword
Of mockery against his Lord. (Guido Gezelle)
But what good does it do us to regard Herod’s sin? It is our sin also. Hence we must turn our eyes aside from Herod and ourselves and search out our Surety.
He is here. Our Surety and Mediator is here. He is in the vale of His martyrdom. He suffers the reproach of mockery, and is humiliated as the Christ who stands outside the pale of law. Observe Him now as He sinks beneath the plane of all martyrs; observe Him as He enters upon a fate which is a thousand times worse than that of John the Baptist.
Yes, worse. For it was at least the Baptist’s privilege to be put to death by the sword, and to be put in prison as a dangerous character. In fact, he was taken seriously by the king, who visited him repeatedly in order to talk with him.
Christ is not taken as seriously as this. He gets only mockery and disdain. They belittle Him. He sinks beneath the plane of the Baptist. Certainly a prison, and a vindictive woman, and an embarrassed ruler are better than the mockery of an entire court. This all constituted His suffering. Never before was the fact so unmistakably proclaimed to Him that even the very idea of the Messiah was thought of as perfectly despicable. Here was the man who, of all those concerned in the legal process, appeared to be the most susceptible to the teaching of the Great Mystery. But this man also washes his hands of the Christ as soon as the messianic message reaches his conscience. For Christ this means that even the crown of the martyrs which Herod had seen resting upon His head when Jesus entered, does not serve as a recommendation to the world for Him, as long as the spirit does not intervene to vanquish the heart by His irresistible power. The spirit only can conquer the heart and make it susceptible to the truth that Christ is not a martyr, even though He is mocked in the vale of the martyrs, for when He was in the depth of that valley, He bore them all within Him; He was no longer one of them, but became their surety, the Lord and Head of them all.
In all this we honor God’s plan. Herod mocked and despised the Christ, but he went no farther than the mockery and disdain. He was not allowed to write the death sentence. He was not allowed to, because God gave him no permission. The same God who first prevented Christ’s being limited to and being put to death by the narrow circle of Moses’ last Jews[1] also prevented Jesus’ being put to death now within the restricted area of Galilee, the province over which Antipas swayed the sceptre. Herod was not allowed to dismiss the case of Jesus once and for all. Christ must go to Rome, to the empire which circumscribed the whole world. Pilate, and Rome, and Caesar, in short, the world, will not succeed in getting rid of Christ. Christ must be made a sign before the broad gates of Rome and of the world-tribunal, and not merely inside of the narrow enclosure of Galilee, nor before the narrower door of Esau-Herod. The brazen serpent must be raised to a height where every eye may see.[2] For Christ will continue to affect the world. The same God who exalted and raised Him above the circle of Moses-Jacob, also lifted Him above the plane of Esau.
[1] See this volume, pp. 297-298, Chapter 15, “Christ Being Raised Above the Sphere of Mosaic Law”
[2] See this volume, p. 298 f., Chapter 15, “Christ Being Raised Above the Sphere of Mosaic Law”
Accordingly, Herod had to send Christ back to Pilate.
It may be that these two will become good friends today. If so, the friendship will only prove that hatred against Christ and against the birthright of Jacob-Israel, serves to unite the false brother (Esau) with Sodom and Egypt, that is, with Rome and the world-empire (see Revelation 11). Herod and Pilate become friends, and that is a good thing. For it proves that Herod’s friendship with the Jews and with Moses, whose Passover he has been eager to celebrate, is broken because of Jesus of Nazareth. He celebrates the feast of the Jews, but he thanks the pagan for the pleasant time he has had at the feast. By this fact, then, the great, unique, all-inclusive schism of the world proves to be conditioned and circumscribed by the antithesis between the seed of the woman and the seed of the church, between election and reprobation, between Christ and Antichrist, between faith and unbelief. By that antithesis the great schism is determined, and not by the fluctuations of natural birth, by cultural problems and their various fortunes, or by any force which can be explained in terms of purely mundane phenomena.
Presently Christ leaves Herod’s palace wearing his gorgeous robe. God has laid His king’s crown and His martyr’s crown in a place above all prophets and kings, and in a place below the deepest catacombs of all the martyrs. The seed of the woman, adorned with that double crown, is now being led for the last time through the broad gates of the empire of the world by God Himself.
O Thou King of the gorgeous robe, Thou wearest the garment of mockery in front of the eyes of all the powers of the world. It is good that this is so. Thus it will be possible for Thee to wear the white robe, which God will give Thee, in the presence of all people. If a king’s crown and a martyr’s crown are identical to Thee, then the white robe of Thy perfected mockery will also be the white robe of Thy perfected glory. Thou wilt return. On Patmos Thou wilt return. Patmos belongs to Rome’s domain. There Thou shalt wear the white robe, and in it dominate the world. I hear Herod saying: “There goes the king with the white robe.” I hear the angels singing: “We see Him already crowned with glory and honor.” And all of the martyrs are awaiting their white robe and their summons to the great rest (Rev_6:11; also Rev_1:13-14). They await the hour of Patmos in which John will see Thee in Thy shining white robe as the Son of man. Here, O church, is the Son of man as John saw Him and described Him:
His robe was long, His waist encircled quite
With golden belt. As white as wool, as snow
His flowing hair; His glance a flaming fire;
Like dazzling bronze in burning oven bleached,
So were His feet; His voice the voice
Of many waters. . . His left hand
Held seven stars aloft; and from His mouth
Issued a sharp, a two-edged sword. Like
Dazzling sun, haloed in mid-day splendor.
His face . . . [1]
[1] Louis Couperus: Fragmenten Uit Johannes’ Apocalyps (Williswinde).
But first it will be necessary for Thee, Saviour, to pay God a price. Thou wilt be required to look upon Thy gorgeous robe of mockery, and to recall Thy dazzling form upon the mountain of metamorphosis.[2] It will be necessary for Thee to see both of these two white robes around Thine own body at once. Then, Lord, Thou wilt Thyself confess that it seems as if the Lord God up there — upon the mountain — has had Thy shining raiment trampled upon by the angels or the satyrs. Does it matter much in this world which?
[2] See Christ in His Suffering, p. 83 f., Chapter 4, “The Vicious Circle Condemns Christ”
I ask no further questions: I see His eye fixed upon me, as though He wanted to say: Behind me, Satan.
I believe it, Lord. I believe that Thou understandest heaven and its strange mode of doing things. I believe that Thou wilt be able presently to watch soldiers raffling off Thy robes. Lord, I believe that no raffling is going on between heaven and earth in the whole world. Help Thou my unbelief.
He will go on His way. But all the souls beneath the altar will have to confess that He did not leave John the Baptist in the lurch. He did not forget the deceased friend of the bridegroom; the bridegroom confessed this friend before Herod and the Father. That is a great thing: there are some who name the remembrance of a departed one the greatest act possible to love (Kierkegaard). He placed no sign upon the Baptist’s grave in order to release Herod from painful memories of John, and thus to shake Himself loose from the fingers of death which were reaching for Him. What? No sign? No ma