If time could stand still, if it were possible to stop a moment in the life of Jesus as though freezing it in the ice of a Mt. Hermon winter, there is one moment that would be among the most revealing. It is the very last second of his attempt to claim the outer court of the temple for the Gentiles.
If this were possible, merchants searching for coins, pilgrims running in fear, doves flying erratically in panic, sheep attempting to leap one another to safety, tables turning in midair, coins bouncing in every direction, priests running for help, temple guards running toward Yeshua, his men wary of the danger, booths toppling over—would instantly stop in mid-motion. All would be suddenly quiet and still.
The revelation would be in the faces of the chief priests. They would be standing at a distance, only slightly affected by the commotion. The look on their faces would be one of disgust blended with knowing and a sense of satisfaction.
It would be because they have information others in that courtyard do not. It is this: Jesus is a dead man. This deed, this outrage in the temple, has sealed his fate. He was already a target, though before now there were still options, variations in how his future might play out. Now his fate has been decided. Instantly. With no turning back. The leading men already know this man will be killed and killed horribly in a matter of days.
Jesus knows it too.
He has been hunted all his life. He grew up hearing his parents’ stories of how a wicked, dying king sent men to murder him when he had barely left his mother’s breast. Infant boys in Bethlehem died in his stead. His parents wisely hid him in Egypt. Even when he returned to his country, the son of the wicked king ruled and instilled such fear that the family did not return to Bethlehem. Instead, they moved him a hundred miles away, toward the mountains of the north.
He was not safe even then. This son of Herod, Archelaus, still wanted him dead. The notoriously brutal ruler of Judea had apparently learned from his father or the magician-priests from the east or perhaps the scholars in his own court that a boy born in Bethlehem had been a threat and might still be. Archelaus lived until Jesus was eight. The boy’s parents must have thought about the evil possibilities every night of those years.
While authorities hunted him, he was also in danger from people offended by his teaching. He had just begun appearing in public when he decided to speak in his hometown. The locals were proud of him and kept bringing up stories from his youth. He wasn’t Mary’s Bastard anymore. Then it went badly. He spoke in the synagogue and decided to mention one of his favorite themes: God and the Gentiles. The people rioted. They surrounded him, shouting and threatening, and drove him to the edge of a cliff he knew well from his adventures as a boy. They had every intention of murdering him—these people whose faces filled his memories and who were among his closest friends. Given who he was, he simply walked away but the experience was so disturbing that he recounted it to his men.
Once the officials in Jerusalem became aware of him, they began envisioning his death. If he healed a man on the Sabbath, they plotted. If he called God his father, they talked murder. If he taught something new, they planned assassination. They were hesitant, weak, and ever debating, but they were certain they could not survive if they did not take his life.
He did not cower before them. He stayed away from Jerusalem for a season and based his ministry in the north for a while. This simply made sense. It kept his men from harm and meant less time debating the Pharisees in Jerusalem and more time teaching and healing among the people.
Still, he did not hesitate to face down those who wanted him dead. He once openly asked a crowd why they were planning to kill him. This was in the temple and while the chief priests were watching. He almost casually asked yet another crowd the same thing. No one denied it. Some Pharisees told him that Herod Antipas wanted to kill him and they urged him to move away. Jesus called the old conniver a “fox,” and then started talking about his mission and his death.
He seemed fearless. He taught. He did miracles. He preached against the scandalous men in control of the temple. It became an embarrassment to the conspirators. Everyone knew the religious leaders wanted him killed, and yet he appeared openly in the temple and taught ever more radical ideas. They were unable to take him. He was somehow protected, operatives reported to their masters. The people of Jerusalem discussed it openly. Yeshua’s enemies simply could not do him harm. Not yet.
Months of this standoff went by. The leaders plotted—incompetently, ever talking—but unable to act. The rabbi went about his business, the possibility of death hanging over him. In fact, he talked about his death constantly. His men were tortured by the thought but he knew it was vital that he predict his murder, explain its meaning, and prepare his followers for what would happen once he was gone.
Whatever plans the officials had made, Jesus decided to force their hand. He rode down the Mount of Olives on a donkey and entered the city at the same time that Pilate was entering at the head of his troops on the other side. It was the first day of the festival. Everyone knew what it meant. He was proclaiming himself king. The pilgrims who camped around the Kidron loved it and cheered him. Then he made his way to the temple. Everyone was eager to see what he would do. But he did nothing. He looked around for a moment and then left. Perhaps he was testing them, pondering his options.
The next day was no test. He entered the temple courts early on that second morning. He didn’t hold back. He immediately ran the merchants from the outer court and . . .
The frozen moment has come. What shows in the chief priests’ unmoving faces is the certain knowledge that this man’s death can no longer wait. Killing him after the feast might prove too late. He is too dangerous. He has directly challenged their authority. He has compromised them in the eyes of the people. He has somehow made himself one with God and the temple. Though he does not mention the Annas syndicate by name, he attacks its methods. More dangerous still, if he led a rebellion and proclaimed himself king, the Romans would decimate the nation.
The frozen moment just at the end of the temple clearing is not frozen, of course. So it races by, no more than a fleeting moment of meaning on a priest’s face. Yet after this moment, nothing is the same. The religious leaders, already engaged in a conspiracy, feel themselves under siege. They can wait no longer to execute the rabbi. Matters have become too desperate. The man will have to die. Even if the people have to see. Even if it has to happen during the feast.
Still, it should not be hard. They have already heard from someone willing to betray him. They will need to ask for help from the Romans, of course. Only the Romans have the troops to stave off a riot and only their governor can issue a sentence of death. But the Romans are always more compliant at feast times. No, it has to be now. Take him at night, sentence him, and end him without further hesitation. That is the plan.
None of this will come as a surprise to Jesus. He has been predicting it for years. And he’s had a long season of preparation. Powerful men have been trying to kill him all of his life.