CHAPTER 37

Matthew 26:57–75

LISTEN to the Story

⁵⁷Those who had arrested Jesus took him to Caiaphas the high priest, where the teachers of the law and the elders had assembled. ⁵⁸But Peter followed him at a distance, right up to the courtyard of the high priest. He entered and sat down with the guards to see the outcome.

⁵⁹The chief priests and the whole Sanhedrin were looking for false evidence against Jesus so that they could put him to death. ⁶⁰But they did not find any, though many false witnesses came forward.

Finally two came forward ⁶¹and declared, “This fellow said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God and rebuild it in three days.’ ”

⁶²Then the high priest stood up and said to Jesus, “Are you not going to answer? What is this testimony that these men are bringing against you?” ⁶³But Jesus remained silent.

The high priest said to him, “I charge you under oath by the living God: Tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God.”

⁶⁴“You have said so,” Jesus replied. “But I say to all of you: From now on you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven.”

⁶⁵Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, “He has spoken blasphemy! Why do we need any more witnesses? Look, now you have heard the blasphemy. ⁶⁶What do you think?”

“He is worthy of death,” they answered.

⁶⁷Then they spit in his face and struck him with their fists. Others slapped him ⁶⁸and said, “Prophesy to us, Messiah. Who hit you?”

⁶⁹Now Peter was sitting out in the courtyard, and a servant girl came to him. “You also were with Jesus of Galilee,” she said.

⁷⁰But he denied it before them all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

⁷¹Then he went out to the gateway, where another servant girl saw him and said to the people there, “This fellow was with Jesus of Nazareth.”

⁷²He denied it again, with an oath: “I don’t know the man!”

⁷³After a little while, those standing there went up to Peter and said, “Surely you are one of them; your accent gives you away.”

⁷⁴Then he began to call down curses, and he swore to them, “I don’t know the man!”

Immediately a rooster crowed. ⁷⁵Then Peter remembered the word Jesus had spoken: “Before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” And he went outside and wept bitterly.

Listening to the Text in the Story: Exodus 20:16; Leviticus 5:1; 21:10; 24:10–16; Numbers 14:6; Deuteronomy 13:1–5; 19:15–19; 2 Samuel 7:13–14; Ezra 9:3; Job 30:10; Psalms 27:12–14; 37:12; 110:1–2; Isaiah 50:5–9; 53:5–8; Jeremiah 26:8–11; Daniel 7:9–14; Zechariah 6:12–13.

It’s a sad reality in Matthew’s Gospel. Even though Jesus knew it would happen, not a single disciple would follow him to the cross. From this point on, the disciples fade from the story as quickly as they appeared. We’re so used to that part of the story—the failure of Jesus’s disciples—that it doesn’t shock us anymore. Perhaps the fact that Jesus predicted it would be this way softens the blow for the reader. We aren’t disappointed in them because Jesus saw it coming. But then again, when we think about it, the failure of the disciples doesn’t reflect very well on Jesus either. After having spent so much time with these twelve men, teaching them the way of the kingdom—intensive training that makes up much of Matthew’s Gospel—Jesus’s inability to produce faithful disciples is evidenced by the unfavorable outcome. He had already told them, a long time ago, what it would take to follow him (Matt 16:24–27), but they didn’t do it. He repeated the lesson many times, but they didn’t get it. (Few things are more frustrating to a teacher than when your students don’t perform well even though you’ve poured your heart out, giving them everything they need to succeed. It’s hard to take when they fail.) When it was crunch time, the final exam—pick up a cross and follow Jesus—the disciples failed. They had the most innovative, most inspiring, most creative and committed teacher in the history of education, and they still didn’t understand. Jesus teaching a class on discipleship, where the instruction is delivered 24–7—could it get any better than that?

In higher education, we talk a lot about outcome assessment, methods of determining whether we’ve done what we claim to do: teach our students to master their subject. Students giving right answers to test questions isn’t enough. There has to be other evidence of competency—behavior!—to determine whether students have learned their lesson. Biblical-studies students learn about hermeneutics in the classroom. Yet unless they read the Scriptures with integrity—applying consistently the principles of interpretation—what’s the point? Behavior reveals competency. The same would be true for a class on discipleship. Giving the right answers to important questions wouldn’t suffice. There had to be other levels of learning, of actually following Jesus, that make for being a disciple—a lesson Peter had to learn the hard way.

Although we can’t see it in our translation, there’s an ominous tone to Peter’s intention to follow Jesus “from a distance” in order “to see the end” (idein to telos, Matt 26:58). Before it all fell apart, Peter had promised Jesus to see it through to the end, even willing to die with him if necessary (v. 35). Perhaps prompted by his special status as the one who held the keys of the kingdom, Peter was convinced he was different from the rest: he would never fall away even though all else might forsake Jesus (v. 33). But at this point in the story, Peter has already “fallen away” along with the other disciples. Yet, unlike them he seems to be the only one who tried to keep following Jesus at a safe distance so that he could see with his own eyes “the end.” Nevertheless, for all his intentions to witness the end of Jesus, Peter only made it as far as Caiaphas’s house. Once he was there, the man who held the keys to the kingdom realized that trying to follow the Crucified One without having anything happen to you is quite impossible.

EXPLAIN the Story

Like other Gospel writers, Matthew sets these two scenes on parallel tracks, giving the impression to the reader that while Jesus was being interrogated by the high priest, Peter was avoiding interrogation outside Caiaphas’s palace (Matt 26:57–58). We can’t help but allow our eyes to dance back and forth between the two, drawn to the proceedings inside the house, all the while glancing outside to catch a glimpse of Peter squirming around and slinking away. It’s as if the narrator wants us to hold these two episodes in tandem, side by side, daring us to compare Jesus and Peter.¹ Of course, at first glance we know there is no comparison. Jesus is God’s Son, and Peter is supposed to be his disciple. And yet, there are curious similarities that invite us to puzzle over the ironies of their shared experience. For example, both men find themselves in a dangerous situation. Both are quizzed over their identity. Both are recognized as Galilean outsiders. Both have witnesses pitted against them. Both evade answering questions put to them. Both are victims of guilt by association. Both are the subjects of fulfilled prophecy. And finally, there’s a lot of oath swearing and cursing in both stories. Yet for all the comparisons we may find, the stark contrast between Jesus and Peter couldn’t be more evident. Jesus is the faithful witness, rejected and abused. Peter is the false witness, spared and ashamed.

While Jesus spoke the truth to the most powerful Jewish man in Jerusalem who wanted him dead, Peter lied to a female slave who simply claimed she recognized him. While Jesus remained silent in the face of false testimony, Peter swears an oath and pronounces a curse to deny what is true. While Jesus stands to face his accusers in open defiance, Peter sits with the guards, trying to hide in obscurity. While Jesus’s enemies crow that he’s worthy of death due to blasphemy, Peter hears the rooster crow and remembers that Jesus spoke the truth. While Jesus is abused as a false prophet, Peter’s denial fulfills the prophecy of Jesus. While Jesus has spit running down his face because his enemies have tried to shame him, Peter has tears flowing down his cheeks because he was ashamed of Jesus. While Jesus was held captive inside the enemies’ lair because he owned his fate, Peter ran away like a coward because he was trying to escape his. Finally, while Jesus lived up to his name, Peter seemed to forget his. Simon was hardly a rock upon which Jesus could build his church.

So, the question for any reader is this: Was Jesus wrong about Peter? Even though Jesus was right about Peter’s denial, was he ultimately wrong about Simon being the rock? If Peter received the keys of the kingdom because he professed Jesus as the Christ, did he lose the keys because he denied him? That is to say, even though Peter’s denial revealed that Jesus’s prediction came true, did Peter end up fulfilling another prophecy of Jesus that would disqualify both of them? “Whoever acknowledges me before others, I will also acknowledge before my Father in heaven. But whoever disowns me before others, I will disown before my Father in heaven” (10:32–33).² If Jesus warned that he would disown people who disowned him (26:75), does it mean that Peter wasn’t the rock after all? Since Peter left the building, did he take the keys of the kingdom with him?

Jesus Is the Rock

If the chief priests and elders wanted Jesus dead, why didn’t they send a lynch mob to kill him?³ The posse they sent was certainly armed like one, what with all the clubs and swords (Matt 26:47). Maybe they were counting on a blood bath; provoked by Jesus or his followers, the mob would cross swords with the rebel and kill him on the spot. But that didn’t happen. Jesus surrendered to them without a fight. Besides, Matthew gives the impression that it was the intention of the ruling class to do things properly and not violate the law—especially the sixth commandment (Exod 20:13). Of all people, the chief priests should be the very ones who did things “by the book.” At the same time, that doesn’t mean that they brought Jesus before them to determine whether he was guilty—as if they were conducting a fact-finding mission free of prejudice. On the contrary, led by the high priest, Caiaphas, the chief priests and elders were already convinced that Jesus was a false prophet and pseudo-Messiah who desecrated the temple of God and deserved death (Matt 26:3–4).⁴ But when the ruling council began to hear testimony against Jesus, they couldn’t find two witnesses who agreed on what Jesus said or did (v. 60). Even though they were trying to trap Jesus with his own words to prove he was a false prophet (Deut 13:1–5; 18:20–22), they wouldn’t break the ninth commandment in the process: “You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor” (Exod 20:16).⁵ According to the law, there had to be at least two credible witnesses to establish the guilt of the accused (Deut 19:15–19). Yet, in light of Matthew’s account it’s difficult to determine whether the high priest eventually gave up on the requirement. According to our Gospel, the Sanhedrin was looking for “false evidence” against Jesus when two witnesses finally came forward who agreed on one thing Jesus said: “I am able to destroy the temple of God and rebuild it in three days” (Matt 26:61)—something Jesus didn’t say according to Matthew.⁶

Did Jesus refuse to answer his accusers because they misquoted him (vv. 62–63; compare with 24:2)? Or was he simply keeping his own advice, refusing to give these dogs his sacred words so that they wouldn’t turn on him and “tear” him “to pieces” (7:6)? But, then again, that’s exactly what they did, convinced he was a false prophet (26:66–68). Ironically, in their effort to shame Jesus the Sanhedrin ended up treating him like the prophesied suffering servant (Isa 50:5–9; 53:5–8). Is that why Matthew highlighted Jesus’s silence, because he wanted to link Jesus to the suffering servant—a man who refused to talk to save his life?⁷ Or did Jesus keep silent because a righteous man is only accountable to God and not his enemies?⁸ Whatever the reason, what eventually got Jesus in trouble wasn’t what the two witnesses claimed Jesus said. Rather, it’s what Jesus actually said to the high priest that convinced the Sanhedrin that he was a blasphemer worthy of death.⁹

It may seem to us like a leap in logic, the high priest moving so quickly from talk about the temple’s destruction to questioning Jesus about his identity as “the Messiah, the Son of God” (Matt 26:62–63). Was the high priest working with the assumption that no Messiah would predict the temple’s destruction? No, according to Davies and Allison—just the opposite. The true son of David would say such a thing in light of two messianic prophecies that were paired together: one day “the Branch” would rebuild the temple because God made a promise to David that his descendant would build the house of God as God’s son (Zech 6:12; see 2 Sam 7:13–14).¹⁰ That’s why the high priest tried to get Jesus to swear an oath whether he was this messianic Son of God, knowing that Jesus couldn’t keep quiet. “Silence would be the same thing as denial.”¹¹ This is what got Jesus in trouble with the high priest: “Claiming to be God’s Son, to have a heavenly throne, and to be the exalted figure of Daniel 7.13” because such a claim “insults the majesty of God.”¹² According to Luz, the high priest connected Jesus’s temple prediction to his ability to perform miracles—a correlation that is made throughout Matthew’s Gospel, where “the Son of God title is frequently associated with Jesus’s supernatural power.”¹³ Therefore, “in light of Jesus’s temple saying the high priest is thinking: ‘this one could be the Messiah, the Son of God,’ and he challenges Jesus to declare his colors under oath.”¹⁴ At first, Jesus seemed to avert the challenge by offering his usual, vague response: “You have said so”—the same thing he said to Judas and will later say to Pontius Pilate (Matt 26:25; 27:11). But then, for some unexplained reason, this time Jesus kept talking, giving the appearance that he had fallen into the high priest’s trap. Yet, to Matthew’s readers both the high priest’s question and Jesus’s response comprise a true confession, which ironically incites the charge of blasphemy (26:65).¹⁵ Thus the conundrum, something Matthew’s readers must have faced in their confession of Christ: speaking the truth about Jesus will get you in trouble with the authorities.

In what looks to us like a bit of theatrics, the high priest ripped his clothes when Jesus “spoke blasphemy” (v. 65). It’s possible that the high priest broke the law when he tore his priestly garments (Lev 21:10).¹⁶ But it’s more likely he wasn’t wearing his priestly vestments in the middle of the night. By tearing his clothes in open disgust, the high priest was performing what Malina and Rohrbaugh call a “status degradation ritual.”¹⁷ In the honor/shame culture of the New Testament world, maintaining or degrading someone’s status was crucial to the community upholding the standard of “truth.” Status degradation was a way of “publicly recasting, relabeling, humiliating, and thus recategorizing a person as a social deviant. Such rituals express the moral indignation of the denouncers and often mock or denounce a person’s former identity in such a way as to destroy it totally.”¹⁸ So, when members of the Sanhedrin spit in Jesus’s face, they weren’t simply being mean (Matt 26:67). They were performing an important ritual intended to shame Jesus—for all intents and purposes, putting him in his place—for claiming divine status (Job 30:10; Isa 50:6). By spitting on him and hitting him with their fists, they were proving to him that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. The one who sits at the right hand of God, worthy of honor, would hardly put up with such dishonorable treatment. Even those who played the “who-hit-you?” game were following the same script (Matt 26:68): a false prophet is worthy of derision—an age-old conviction going back to the days of Zechariah (Zech 13:2–6). No wonder Jesus took courage from the very next lines in Zechariah’s prophecy: “ ‘Awake, sword, against my shepherd, against the man who is close to me!’ declares the LORD Almighty. ‘Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered, and I will turn my hand against the little ones’ ” (Zech 13:7; Matt 26:31). For, even though his enemies couldn’t see it, his suffering as a “false prophet” would lead to his exaltation as the Messiah of God.¹⁹

The Sanhedrin was already convinced Jesus was a false prophet because he supposedly predicted that the temple’s destruction and restoration would happen in three days. If his temple clearing on Monday was interpreted as a prophetic sign enacting the destruction of the temple (Matt 21:12–13; 24:2),²⁰ then more than three days had passed and nothing had happened (26:17)—neither destruction nor restoration. What further proof did they need that Jesus was a false Messiah other than the fact that he persisted in his claim that “from now on” they would see him ascend to the right hand of the very throne of God (v. 64)? Another prophecy. Really? From their perspective, it must have seemed like another desperate attempt made by Jesus—a false prophet trying to keep up the charade. Shamelessly, this pretender wouldn’t give up making outlandish predictions. Ironically, however, by condemning Jesus to death the religious leaders would be the very ones to help make this prophecy come true. For when they tried to prove to the world that Jesus was not the prophesied king of Israel—what anointed king dies a cursed death on a cross?—they unknowingly lifted him up to the right hand of God (1 Cor 2:6–8). The rock of offense would become the cornerstone of the new temple of God, just as Jesus told them (Matt 21:42), and it would only take three days.²¹ So, when members of the Sanhedrin slapped Jesus and said, “Prophesy to us, Messiah. Who hit you?” (26:68), I wished Jesus would have said, “The ones who will help make my prophecies come true.”

Peter Needs Salvation

This story doesn’t require much comment, does it? Peter’s behavior speaks for itself. We all can relate to the tension within the narrative. It’s a plot played out in the lives of all kinds of people, regardless of context. Lying to get out of trouble is the modus operandi of all humans—from childhood to retirement. Maybe that’s why we’re a little sympathetic to Peter. Who wouldn’t do the same, given these circumstances? All he did was tell a little fib to save his skin. Who could blame him for that? Besides, his white lie didn’t hurt anyone. It’s not like the chief priests called on Peter to testify on Jesus’s behalf, to bear witness that Jesus was a true prophet, to save him from death. In fact, it could be said that Peter didn’t let Jesus down at all. Since Jesus had predicted that Peter would deny him three times before sunrise, and that he would meet up again with Peter and the rest of the disciples in Galilee (Matt 26:32–34), one could say that Peter was “predestined” to betray Jesus and then be restored. So, what’s a little denial every now and then? It doesn’t hurt anyone, does it? At least Peter didn’t betray Jesus like Judas did. It’s one thing to say, “I don’t know the man” (v. 72). It’s quite something else to lead enemies to Jesus because you know him.²² It’s no surprise Judas hung himself. Even he knew his dastardly deed was unforgivable. But all Peter had to do was to show a little remorse—have a good cry—to get over his regret. Lie, cry, feel better in the morning—that’s the way we deal with our sin.

But we know that’s not the whole story. Something far more sinister is going on here. Even though some may want to interpret Peter’s regret as an act of repentance, Matthew doesn’t describe it that way. In fact, there is no indication in Matthew’s Gospel that Peter ever “repented” of his sin. Peter isn’t even mentioned by name among those who received the Great Commission—the reader is led to infer that Peter is just one of “the eleven disciples” gathered on the mountain (28:16). There is no scene of Jesus restoring Peter like we read in John’s Gospel (John 21:15–19). In fact, after Peter remembers Jesus’s fateful words (that he would deny him three times before the rooster crows), Peter is never heard from again. He leaves the Gospel narrative when he leaves the high priest’s courtyard. By the end of the story, Peter is no longer identified as the special disciple appointed to hold the keys of the kingdom. He’s just one of the eleven. Nothing more, nothing less. Why? I think the progressive “downfall” of Peter, tracked both verbally and geographically,²³ make it evident that he did more than simply deny Jesus. Matthew gives the impression that Peter lost the keys to the kingdom—no longer the leader of the group—because he cursed Jesus.

Peter’s fall began with an evasive response to a simple observation. The slave girl didn’t accuse him of much; she simply recognized Peter as someone who had been with Jesus (Matt 26:69). She didn’t say, “You are one of his disciples, aren’t you?” or even “What are you doing here?” She only recognized Peter as one who had been with Jesus. Peter’s response didn’t amount to much either. He neither affirmed nor denied that he knew Jesus. Instead, he simply feigned ignorance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”—which could be passed off as, “Silly slave girl. She thinks she sees things in the dark.” Obviously, the mob that seized Jesus was still hanging around the courtyard. Perhaps those who lived next to the high priest were awakened by the racket and joined the crowd to see what was going on. Apparently, Peter wanted to hide anonymously among those gathered outside the high priest’s house. But he got too close to the action. He therefore decided to leave the courtyard to keep a safe distance. And yet, no sooner had he walked through the gate when another slave girl repeated the same thing: “This fellow was with Jesus of Nazareth” (v. 71). The timing of Peter trying to slink away unnoticed, along with the way Jesus was identified by the slave—he’s an outsider from Nazareth²⁴—convinced Simon that he was in trouble. No more feigning ignorance. To save his skin, Peter denies him outright: “I don’t know the man,” swearing an oath to prove that he means what he says (v. 72)—another indication that Peter wasn’t behaving like a disciple of Jesus, who taught his followers not to swear oaths (5:33–37).

But Peter swearing an oath wasn’t enough to convince the crowd that he didn’t know Jesus. One of them inferred that Peter had to be a disciple of Jesus because he talked like an outsider (26:73). The Galileans were known to slur certain consonants,²⁵ making them sound inarticulate and perhaps even lazy (the same prejudice Yankees have against Southerners). In other words, it was Peter’s words that convinced the company that he had been lying about his identity—not to mention the fact that oaths were commonly used to mask a lie against one’s enemies. Now Peter must take his case to the next level. In addition to repeating the same sworn oath (“I don’t know the man”), Peter “began to call down curses [katathematizein]” (v. 74). We may misread Peter’s cursing as profanity, what we call “cussing.” But that’s not what he did. Rather, when Peter “began to call down curses,” he was calling upon God to curse someone. But who? Did Peter issue a self-inflicted curse, as in, “May God strike me down if I’m lying”?²⁶ Or did Peter call upon God to curse Jesus—similar to what Paul refers to in 1 Corinthians 12:3: “Jesus be cursed”? To use our vernacular, Peter basically said something like “God damn it”—the “it” referring to himself or Jesus. Therefore, in certain respects Peter’s curse would have sounded like “cussing” to our ears because we use this curse so often. (When some of us say, “God damn it,” are we truly calling upon God to damn certain people or things to hell?) Is that what Peter did? Did he call upon God to damn himself or Jesus to hell?

We can’t tell whether Peter cursed himself, Jesus, or perhaps even those confronting him. There is no direct object of the verb. In light of the way Christians were later called upon to curse Christ as a sign of loyalty to the Roman Empire, however, several scholars think Matthew presumes his readers would know that Peter cursed Jesus to prove he wasn’t his disciple.²⁷ If that were the case, then Peter’s intention to “see the end” of Jesus has been aborted by his own words. By pronouncing God’s curse upon Jesus, Peter has already declared “the end of Jesus”—a shameful death that will reveal (and confirm?) the curse of God. No need to “see” it; Peter has declared by his curse that Jesus is “dead” to him, which may also explain why the keys-of-the-kingdom disciple “wept bitterly” when he heard the rooster crow. For Jesus had predicted that whatever Peter would “bind on earth will be bound in heaven” (Matt 16:19). And so, irony upon irony, Peter used his keys to condemn Jesus to a cursed death—“and the gates of Hades will not overcome it” (v. 18). This is not the way Peter expected to be the rock upon which Jesus would build his church. He said he would die with Jesus to bring the kingdom of heaven to earth (26:35). But that didn’t happen. Just as Jesus predicted, Peter denied him three times, finally using a curse to prove he wasn’t a disciple. Yet “in the end” Peter’s denial only proved—being a disciple of Jesus—how much he needed Jesus to die a cursed death on a cross to save him from his sin. “The end” that Peter pronounced by way of his curse was the very way Jesus took for our salvation.

LIVE the Story

Jesus promised his disciples that they would still be forgiven when they “blasphemed” the Son of Man (Matt 12:32). The truth of that promise ended up being fleshed out in living color, not only in the lives of all Jesus’s disciples but especially in the downfall of Peter. Peter not only blasphemed Jesus with his words but also his deeds. He not only denied Jesus by saying, “I don’t know the man”—probably even cursing him—he also denied him by not following him. By denying Jesus, Peter also denied himself—a double blasphemy—for Jesus’s lordship was supposed to be revealed by his discipleship. But at this point of the gospel story, it didn’t look like Jesus had made any disciples, much less one he nicknamed “the Rock.” Not even Peter followed him to the end. When Peter left the courtyard and “wept bitterly,” he left Jesus.

Even though Jesus had already forgiven Peter by not only predicting his downfall but also his recovery, I wonder how long it took Peter to forgive himself. I think the shame of his betrayal must have stayed with him for a long time. Since he failed to live up to his name—having used the keys Jesus gave him to call down God’s curse upon his Lord—who could blame Peter if he preferred his given name for a while? Every time one of the disciples called him by the nickname Jesus gave to him, I wonder if he cringed. Every morning when he heard a rooster crow, I wonder if he remembered what he did to Jesus that fateful night.²⁸ His shame would have been hard to hide. His indiscretion was public knowledge. Jesus had told everyone that Peter would let him down—a rock offended by the rock of offense—a story that made it into all four Gospels. “Hey, Peter, tell us again what it felt like when you betrayed Jesus.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m no rock. I’m simply Simon, the black sheep of the family.”

In her memoir Little Black Sheep, recording artist Ashley Cleveland tells the story of her betrayal.²⁹ It’s a stunningly honest account of how she consistently betrayed her family, herself, and her Lord. Sometimes she blames her dysfunctional family for her addictions. The daughter of a closeted, gay father and perfectionist mother—both alcoholics whose marriage ended in divorce when Ashley was still a little girl—Cleveland was surrounded by hypocrisy her whole life. To appear to be one thing while doing the opposite was her family’s unspoken mantra, the only way to negotiate the repressive social expectations embedded in the honor culture of the South. As I read her story, sometimes I thought to myself, “No wonder she was so messed up,” as if her addiction was predictable—predestined to disappoint. But then, just as I was ready to condemn her family for her addictions, Ashley would put the blame of her betrayal squarely on her own shoulders. After recounting the advantages of being loved by her kindhearted, handsome father or resilient, hardworking mother, this Grammy Award-winning musician would hold her foibles up to me, a reader, with disdain and disgust. As she described yet another screwup—the result of foolish decisions fostered by a self-absorbed myopia—Ashley would quickly admit that the bed she was forced to sleep in was of her own making. Holding up the mirror of her own disgust, she seemed to cry out to the reader, “What’s wrong with me?” Wanting so desperately to fix herself or be fixed, she wondered why things couldn’t be different, why God didn’t “zap” her to make her better, why she always seemed to struggle with addictions in many forms. She wanted to be the victory story, the girl who could speak confidently of salvation from her past as if it were a faded memory. But that didn’t happen.

The path I have taken is the low road of the gospel where I live as a broken person among the broken and where repeated failures have provided the Ebenezer stones for the things that I most cherish. I assumed that in coming to faith, my cracks and splits would be sewn together again in a seamless, saint-like fabric, but such is not the case. Much like the Velveteen Rabbit, I am a series of threadbare patches, irregular stiches with the stuffing poking out, and one button eye displaced and down cast.

I have serious issues with this.

I have despised my brokenness and cry out to God regularly and petulantly, particularly after a public display of contempt, shame, greed, gluttony, grandiosity, or insensitivity: “Would it be such a big deal to relieve me of some of this? Could You make me just a little less broken?”

The answer that I perceive is always the same: “No. More broken.”³⁰

Of course, for those of us who have been following Jesus for a while, we recognize Ashley’s story as a victory story. Because, like all good stories, victory takes time. With time Ashley has experienced victories in her life every now and then.³¹ Her weakness has become a testimony to God’s strength—the bedrock of grace upon which we all have built our Ebenezer. Indeed, she’s not the first to add a stone to the monument of God’s salvation. For the memorial is not only made up of Ashley’s stones or our stones, but way down at the bottom of the tower—one of the first rocks placed upon the cornerstone of our faith—is the rock that was put there by a man named Peter. He was a disciple of Jesus who knew a lot about rejection and restoration, shame and forgiveness:

As you come to him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For in Scripture it says:

“See, I lay a stone in Zion,

a chosen and precious cornerstone,

and the one who trusts in him

will never be put to shame.” (1 Pet 2:4–6, emphasis added)

This is why Christ followers shouldn’t throw stones. Rather, we must use them to build a memorial to the grace of our God: the church of Jesus Christ, the rock.

Yet, the fact that Ashley has been made to feel like “the black sheep of the family”—as if she were an oddball in the game of Christianity—proves that we’d rather pelt one another with humiliating words than build up the temple of God as living stones of the one who was humiliated for us. It’s because we’ve been made to believe our weaknesses, our failures, our mistakes—despite the fact that we all sin and fall short of the glory of God—are a source of shame, things which are to be tucked away in the privacy of our disappointment. On the other hand our strengths, successes, and achievements—things which are worthy of boasting—have been heralded by the church, meant to be put on display for the entire world to see. It’s our concerted effort at public relations, putting on our collective brave face for pagans who need to be converted from their pitiful, messed-up lives to our glorious, upstanding life worthy of imitation. Of course, when the “Simon Peters” among us mess up, we’re ashamed of their shortcomings, knowing the church will suffer another black eye of abusive critique from the world. Which is why those of us who sit comfortably at the table of our Lord are compelled to say, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will. . . . Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you” (Matt 26:33, 35). Eventually, ironically, all the disciples end up saying “the same” (v. 35).

But rather than boast in our loyalty, our faithfulness, and our strength and success, perhaps it’s time we learn to imitate the apostle Paul and boast in our weakness. After all, if we’ve joined Paul to preach “Jesus Christ and him crucified” as the hope of the world (1 Cor 2:2), then maybe it’s time to imitate him and embody the message we proclaim. That’s why Paul boasted in the cross of Jesus Christ. Boasting was one way of getting your community to confirm your words. Of course, the quest for honor—social worth—compelled first-century people to boast about their accomplishments. But Paul decided to boast in his weaknesses and failures—that he was “the least of the apostles,” a nobody (1 Cor 15:9; 2 Cor 12:11). Ironically, his converts (especially in Corinth) confirmed the same. Paul’s foolish boast was on target: in their eyes, Paul was the poorest excuse for an apostle. He was a lousy preacher (1 Cor 2:3–4; 2 Cor 10:10). He was the personification of weakness, the embodiment of foolishness, the incarnation of the cross (1 Cor 4:9–13; 2 Cor 4:7–10)—which Paul, of course, took as the highest compliment. For it was only in weakness where Paul experienced the power of the cross. And that kind of grace was enough for him (2 Cor 12:9–10).³²

Paul was the black sheep of the family, always getting into trouble (2 Cor 11:23–27), and he was proud of it. However, it was not the kind of pride that exults in rebellion; rather, Paul boasted in the foolishness of his weakness because he found resurrection power in the cross of Jesus Christ—the good news of experiencing life in death, honor in shame, strength in weakness—the reason we should all boast in our failures. Our God can use the least of the apostles to write a fourth of the New Testament. He can turn a betrayer into a disciple named “Peter.” He can lead a black sheep into the fold of God (along with all the other black sheep—like me!) and wash her clean. See? When we boast in the weakness of the church, we find ourselves boasting in people named Simon, Paul, and Ashley. Therefore, we might as well boast in our own weaknesses too, for then we will find that his grace is enough for all of us.

1. Luz, Matthew, 3:455.

2. Luz, Matthew, 3:456.

3. For discussion regarding the limits of the political power of the Sanhedrin, see Luz, Matthew, 3:438–46. For full treatment of the historical question regarding the composition and jurisprudence of the Sanhedrin, see Brown, Death of the Messiah, 2:340–48.

4. How else do we explain the gathering of so many witnesses in the middle of the night? See Nolland, Matthew, 1125.

5. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:524.

6. Though it is closer to what Jesus said according to John 2:19.

7. Nolland, Matthew, 1129.

8. Luz, Matthew, 3:428.

9. What exactly was blasphemous about Jesus’s words? See Luz, Matthew, 3:431–32, for a range of interpretive possibilities.

10. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:528. So also France: “To purify and restore the temple was a prerogative of the Messiah” (Matthew, 1024).

11. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:528 (quoting Gehardsson).

12. Ibid., 3:533.

13. Luz, Matthew, 3:428.

14. Ibid.

15. “By declaring that the Son of God, who has spoken the truth, has blasphemed, is not the high priest himself ironically guilty of blasphemy?” (Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:532).

16. Was this gesture an ironic foreshadowing of the temple veil that was about to be ripped in half? See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:533.

17. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Synoptic Gospels, 159.

18. Ibid.

19. Keener writes: “The trial scene, heavily laden with ironies, exemplifies Jesus’s teaching about the hiddenness of the kingdom (13:31–33). Apart from those who share the correct suppositions, the kingdom’s presence remains ambiguous to those it confronts” (Matthew, 644).

20. See above, 411–12; 467–75.

21. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:525.

22. Brown, Death of the Messiah, 1:641.

23. France, Matthew, 1032.

24. France, Matthew, 1033. What’s a Galilean doing in the high priest’s courtyard in the middle of the night (Nolland, Matthew, 1142)?

25. See Evans, Matthew, 444.

26. Keener, Matthew, 655.

27. See Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:548–49; Luz, Matthew, 3:456; France, Matthew, 1034; Brown, Death of the Messiah, 1:624–26.

28. Also Bruner, Matthew, 2:699.

29. Ashley Cleveland, Little Black Sheep: A Memoir (Colorado Springs: David C. Cook, 2013).

30. Cleveland, Little Black Sheep, 22–23.

31. “Henry and Lily [her children] do not remember me as a drinker. They think of Kenny [her husband] and I as boring parents who get excited over a good night’s sleep. When we make vague references to our former wild nights, they roll their eyes and look at us with something like goodnatured pity, as if. I cannot even begin to articulate how much this thrills me” (ibid., 182).

32. See Reeves, Spirituality according to Paul, 41–53.