The Sanhedrin’s Public Delegation to Jesus Christ

At that very time, as Jesus Christ was thus conversing with His disciples about the power of faith and teaching them love for their enemies, the fanaticism of His own enemies was devising new means to destroy Him. The chief priests, already greatly alarmed by His entry into Jerusalem, heard of His action against the money-changers with still greater indignation. The first time He drove them out of the Temple (Jn 2:14–21), the Pharisees had thought it necessary to ask by what right He acted so; but they made no particular legal claims, and seemed satisfied with His mysterious answer that, in proof of His divine mission, He could rebuild the Temple from ruins in three days (Jn 2:19). At that time the God-man had not yet been acknowledged by the people as the Messiah (save for a small number of people vouchsafed particular revelations of God concerning Him, such as John the Baptist, righteous Simeon, and others), and in general He was regarded only as an extraordinary Teacher who, in a fervor of pious zeal, allowed Himself certain excesses. But now His zeal was judged quite differently: in His action against the money-changers they saw an act performed in the capacity of Messiah, an open encroachment on the rights of the Jewish hierarchy that administered the Temple, a fresh movement toward the beginning of that social and religious upheaval which everyone expected with the appearance of the great descendant of David.

In the heat of wounded pride, several means of destroying Jesus were proposed once more (Lk 19:47–48; Mk 11:18), but the devotion of the crowd surrounding Him made carrying them out entirely impossible. And so, while awaiting a favorable occasion to use force, they resolved to try one more means—to send to the wondrous Wonderworker a delegation from the Sanhedrin, to conduct, in the presence of all the people, a formal inquiry into His actions and intentions. This means had every possible appearance of propriety. By common opinion, the Sanhedrin had the full right to test prophets and judge their worth (Deut 17:18, 19:17; Ezek 44:15–24); still less could it remain an idle onlooker of the actions of a man who put himself forward as the Messiah. The people themselves had long awaited a lawful inquiry concerning Jesus Christ. This measure, moreover, seemed the gentlest and most impartial: the decree for Jesus’s arrest was to be regarded, for the moment, as suspended, and He was given full freedom to prove the divinity of His calling. Meanwhile, His enemies could confidently hope that the inquiry they were contriving, even if it did not destroy Jesus, would gravely damage His designs. They expected, no doubt, that in justifying His actions He would appeal to the rights of the Messiah; and a declaration of Messiahship might serve as sufficient grounds to accuse Him before the Roman government of a capital crime (Mt 27:11; Jn 19:12). To give the delegation greater weight, and to show the people that the Sanhedrin itself was by no means indifferent to the appearance of the Messiah, the men sent were chosen from every order making up the Sanhedrin—that is, several were detached from among the most honored priests118, the elders of the people, and the scribes (Mk 11:27; Lk 20:1).

No sooner had the Lord entered the Temple and begun to teach the people than the men sent from the Sanhedrin came up to Him with their inquiry. The extraordinary purpose with which they now appeared no doubt made them the object of everyone’s closest attention. In their persons, as it were, not only the Sanhedrin but the whole Jewish people stood now before its Messiah. For Jesus’s own disciples this delegation had to carry particular weight. As Jewish citizens they were bound to keep faith and obedience toward the supreme national government. In following Jesus, they had set aside the authority of the Sanhedrin, in the conviction that the Messiah ought to be heeded more than the Sanhedrin—God, more than men. But the people had not yet settled the question of Jesus’s dignity, which they themselves held to be entirely settled; and so they might seem, to many, unfaithful sons of the fatherland, who had hastened to set their own opinion above its judgment. Now this fatherland itself seemed to wish, once and for all, to pronounce its own verdict on Jesus. And who had more reason to prize that verdict than those who had already presumed to pronounce it themselves, and thus taken responsibility before public opinion? That Jesus’s disciples were not indifferent to their fatherland’s opinion is shown by the example of the apostle Paul, who reckoned it the most dreadful punishment to appear before his countrymen a liar in his testimony concerning the Messiah (1Cor 15:15).

«The Sanhedrin,—thus began the eldest of those sent—wishes, by its duty, to know: by what authority (divine or human) You do these things—accept from the people the title Son of David, enter Jerusalem in triumph, drive the money-changers from the Temple, and so forth? And who gave You this authority? (Did You receive it directly from God, or are You commissioned by someone who has direct communion with God?)»119

Such precision and detail in the question showed that those who put it were among the scribes120.

The Lord listened to the proposal, but, as was His custom (Lk 7:41–43, 10:29–37), did not answer it directly. «I too will ask you one thing — He answered — and if you tell Me, I will likewise tell you by what authority I do these things» (Mt 21:24).

The scribes were silent, expressing consent, since to answer a question with a question, as the Lord now did, was not only a very common practice among the Jewish scribes of that time, but even brought credit to whoever answered so.

«What do you think—the Lord continued — John’s baptism (as well as his ministry) where did it come from: from heaven (from God) or from men» (a human invention) (Mt 21:25)?

A question more directly relevant, and at the same time better fitted to confound the cunning of the Sanhedrin, could not have been found. The people had long known that Jesus’s ministry stood in close and unbreakable connection with John’s ministry, that the latter, constantly, right up to his own death, testified to the great destiny of the Former, calling Him the Messiah and himself His Forerunner. And so, if John was a prophet, as almost the whole people acknowledged, then Jesus had to be a person of even higher rank; for it was only in relation to the Messiah that John could call himself the Bridegroom’s friend, earthly, speaking from the earth, one who must decrease, unworthy even, like a slave, to carry His sandals after Him (Jn 1:27, 3:28–31). And so in the Lord’s question about the worth of John’s baptism was contained, imperceptibly yet entirely, the answer about the worth of His own person and ministry; and by putting this question to them for decision, He was thereby handing over His own cause, so to speak, to their judgment—an impartiality and resolve as great as could be demanded in such a case!

The scribes saw how weighty the question was, felt that justice demanded an answer to it, but could not say a word; the trap in which they had wished to entangle Jesus had now turned entirely upon themselves. It was not the difficulty of the question that tied a tongue accustomed to act at the bidding of its own passions; had they been alone with Jesus, they would at once have answered that John’s ministry contained nothing divine, that he had some impure, or at least fruitless, aims: such was the opinion of the greater part of the Pharisees concerning John and his baptism, and this is why they had rejected it (Lk 7:30). But in the presence of the people, who had greatly esteemed John in his lifetime, and still more after his martyr’s death, to declare their own (unfavorable) opinion of his baptism was to expose themselves to obvious danger. «If we—the scribes reasoned among themselves—resolve, contrary to our own opinion, to declare that John was a prophet, then Jesus will say to us: why did you not accept his baptism, why did you not believe his testimony concerning Me? But if we say plainly that in our opinion there was nothing extraordinary in John, nor anything divine in his baptism, the people, in their anger, may stone us in vengeance for the holy man they took John to be» (Lk 20:6).

Having reasoned this out, the scribes, contrary to their habit of appearing all-knowing before the people, thought it best to keep silent. «We do not know,—they answered—where John’s baptism came from» (since, as it were, the Sanhedrin had not yet settled this question).

Jesus Christ said to them: «Then neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things» (Mt 21:27).

Indeed, by pointing to John’s ministry, everything needful had already been said, so far as the Sanhedrin was concerned, which sought not the truth but only a means to destroy Jesus. On the other hand, by evading judgment on John, the scribes themselves testified before the whole people that they were incapable of judging prophets, still less of judging the worth of the Messiah, and so did not deserve a direct answer. The people, no doubt, at once understood that the Sanhedrin wished to deal with Jesus just as it had earlier dealt with John—that is, insincerely, maliciously, and shamelessly; otherwise its envoys would not have said, ‘we do not know where John’s baptism came from,’ having long since decided among themselves that there was nothing divine in it.

To tear the very mask from the hypocrites, and to show that it was not fear or anything of the kind that kept Him from answering the Sanhedrin’s question, but solely the certainty that an answer would be useless, the Lord turned to the envoys with a new question, to which they could no longer avoid answering, even though the answer tended entirely to their own shame; and, as was His custom, He cast His question in the form of a parable.

«Perhaps,—He said, looking at the scribes—it will be easier for you to give your opinion on this matter. A certain man had two sons. One day he went to the first and said: son, go work today in my vineyard. But the son was so rude that he answered flatly: I will not! But afterward he thought better of it and went. The father turned to the other son and said the same to him as to the first. This one answered with every show of respect that he would go to the vineyard at once; yet he did not go. Which of the two, — the Lord added, looking at the scribes — did the father’s will?» (Mt 21:31)

«The first, of course»—the scribes answered proudly, not yet seeing where the parable was tending, and wishing, by their decisive answer, to show that they in no way applied it to themselves.

«Is it not the same,—the Lord replied—that is happening with you? John came to you in the way of righteousness, lived and taught as a prophet; but you did not believe him, did not bring forth the repentance he preached—you, who, like that second son, constantly declare that you are willing to do the father’s will. On the contrary, the people you despise—tax collectors and sinners, who until then had shown disobedience to the will of God—believed John, repented, and brought forth fruits worthy of repentance. This example at least should have moved you and awakened you. But you remain stubborn and unrepentant. Truly I tell you,—the Lord added, raising His voice—tax collectors and sinners will enter, and soon, into the Kingdom of Heaven; but you, who think you have full right to it, will be cast out of it!» (Mt 21:28–31)121

To speak such words to the chief priests in the presence of the whole people was to strike them as with a thunderbolt. Everything they had hoped to gain by their solemn appearance before Jesus was lost; the very dignity of their office now weighed upon them like a burden. Gladly would they have entered into dispute with Jesus, but doubt of their own strength tied their tongues; still more gladly would they have used force, but the people were on Jesus’s side. Not knowing what to resolve on, they remained, against their will, standing before Him like condemned men awaiting the final sentence.

What advantages could not have been drawn from so pitiful a position, had Jesus Christ, as the members of the Sanhedrin falsely supposed, truly wished to seize power over the people from them! The weight of public opinion lay entirely on His side. The people had long wished for His kingdom to begin as soon as possible; many, no doubt, would have wished to see its beginning precisely now, in the presence of the Sanhedrin’s own delegation. It would have sufficed to tell the assembled multitude once more, directly, that He was the Messiah, that these blind guides no longer deserved their trust—and those same chief priests would have been forced, in submission, to hand over to Him all their power, or else become the victims of a popular uprising.

The Son of Man was content to make them listen to one more parable, in which, under the cover of an allegory, the impure cast of mind of the Jewish chief priests was laid bare, and the whole, so to speak, perverse and pitiful system of their conduct toward the Messiah was disclosed.

«A certain rich man—the Lord said—planted a vineyard for himself, and gave it particular care: he set a hedge around it, dug a winepress122 in it, and built a watchtower. Since business required his presence elsewhere, he, on setting out, gave the vineyard over to vinedressers, on condition that they deliver to him each year a fixed quantity of wine and produce. When the time came to gather the fruit, he sent his servants to the vinedressers for the agreed share. But the vinedressers received them with hostility: some they beat (1Kgs 22:24; Jer 20:2), others they wounded on the head with stones (Mk 12:3); still others they killed outright (Isaiah, Ezekiel, Amos, for example). The owner of the vineyard, notwithstanding such injustice and malice, sent other servants to the vinedressers; but they treated them no better than before: some they killed, others they drove away with dishonor… At last, the long-suffering owner sent servants a third time (Mk 12:5), but again without success.»

It seemed the time had come for judgment and vengeance; but the master of the house was exceedingly good. «What am I to do?» he pondered (Lk 20:13). I will send them my beloved son as well (Mk 12:6); it cannot be that their malice will go so far as to disregard my own son. The son went; but the vinedressers, no sooner had they caught sight of him, resolved with one accord to destroy him. «This is the sole heir,—the wretches said among themselves—if we kill him, the vineyard will be ours.» And seizing the young man, they killed him and threw him out of the vineyard.

(At these words the hearers were filled with indignation.)

«But the owner of the vineyard,—Jesus continued—will not remain forever in a distant country; he will return—and how, do you think, will he deal with the vinedressers?»

«Such intolerable evildoers,—the scribes answered—he will hand over to a grievous punishment, and give the vineyard to other laborers, who will render him its fruits with all diligence, and at the appointed time» (Mt 21:38–41).

To answer in this way, pronouncing judgment upon themselves, could only mean either that they had entirely failed to understand the parable, or that they had put on a mask of open shamelessness. To fail to understand was impossible: the veil of allegory was far too transparent, and everyone could see that by the master of the vineyard was meant God, by the vineyard the Jewish people, by the servants the prophets, by the only-begotten son the Messiah Jesus, and consequently by the worthless vinedressers the present rulers and leaders of the Jewish people. The example of the prophet Isaiah, who had used a similar parable with a full explanation, removed even the last possibility of misunderstanding (Is 5:1–7). And so it was shamelessness that spoke through the scribes, wishing to make it seem as though they did not recognize themselves in their own likeness.

«Yes,—the Lord confirmed—the owner of the vineyard will hand over the worthless vinedressers to punishment, and the vineyard will be given to others, better than they» (Mk 12:9; Lk 20:16).

The tone of His voice and His gaze showed that these terrible words applied directly to the members of the Sanhedrin.

«God forbid!» — one of them exclaimed, as though struck by the threat. «You count this impossible,—the Lord continued—but have you never read that the very stone the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone, and that the Lord Himself has done this, to the astonishment of all (Ps 117:22)123? Not without reason is it written: whoever falls on this stone will be broken, and whomever it falls on, it will crush124. Know,—the Lord added, as though in conclusion of His warnings—that the Kingdom of God, which you seem to await so ardently, will be taken from you and given to a people producing its fruits!»

After these words it was impossible for the envoys to pretend not to understand: the mask of hypocrisy fell away of itself! In the confusion of shame and vexation they wished to use force and seize the One who had exposed them (Mk 12:12); but the movement of the people, who revered Jesus, restrained them from their rashness: they withdrew wearing such an air as only men publicly disgraced, and yet least of all wishing to become an object of public contempt, could assume.

The Sanhedrin, no doubt, laid the failure of its delegation to Jesus Christ’s own account, and some Pharisaic orator, like Tertullus (Act 24:1–3), might have represented Him as guilty of disobedience to the authorities, of evading examination of His case. But in its very substance, the Lord’s manner of acting in this instance flowed from deep wisdom, and even from love for His enemies. What would have followed, had He now decisively and directly declared Himself Messiah, as the scribes wished? True, they would have gained a base pretext to accuse Him before the Roman government: their present delegation aimed at nothing further; but what danger would Jerusalem, and they themselves, have been exposed to? The people, on hearing from Jesus’s own lips a decisive declaration of His dignity, would at once have split into two camps, the greater of which would have been against the Sanhedrin, and would easily have come to an uprising that could have cost the chief priests their own lives. The Lord foresaw all the dangerous consequences of a direct declaration of His dignity, and, wishing to avoid every occasion for public disorder, put it off, as we shall see, until the very last moments of His life. The Sanhedrin would hear from Him decisive words: «I am the Son of God» (Mt 26:64), but would hear them at a time when they could have no consequences harmful to the people, when the declaration of His Messiahship, alarming no one, would bring nearer only His own cross.

On the other hand, the Sanhedrin, through its own delegation, learned all that was useful for it to know. From Jesus’s parables it followed of itself that He was the Messiah; it followed further that He knew all the motives by which His enemies acted, and all the secret reasons prompting them to reject the Son of David; that He fully knew the fate being prepared for Him, and had resolved to submit to all of it by His Father’s will and out of love for the human race. The Lord’s comparison of Himself to the heir-son was especially weighty and striking: it disclosed that an unwillingness to part with the advantages of supreme power over the people, in order to hand it over to the Son of David, was the chief reason the chief priests had rejected Jesus—a reason whose full working upon themselves they themselves, perhaps, did not entirely perceive. After such clear, though indirect, admonitions, the members of the Sanhedrin ought to have turned to their own conscience, and asked whom it took Jesus to be. No doubt, to anyone with ears to hear, it would have said that a man who teaches, lives, and acts thus is the true Christ, the Son of the living God…

After the scribes had withdrawn, the Lord continued His discourses with the people. The Sanhedrin’s failed delegation gave a further occasion for this, and in some measure laid upon Him the duty of giving the people counsel on how to act in the present circumstances, so extremely weighty for every Israelite.

Indeed, what people could ever have found itself in such a position as the Jews now were? Each of them saw with his own eyes the Messiah—the object of a thousand years of ardent expectation—and each felt himself exposed to the plain danger of failing to recognize Him. On the one hand, everything drew them toward Jesus: His wonders, His teaching, His life; on the other, much drew them away from Him too: the authority of the Sanhedrin, the example of the Pharisees renowned for holiness, and His own poverty. Where to turn? What to do? In such circumstances a good heart would wish, disregarding everything, to give itself over to Jesus; ordinary worldly prudence said that one must wait for the opinion of the authorities, to whom God Himself had given the governing of the people. Still more powerfully at work was the prejudice that the whole Jewish people was destined for blessedness in the Messiah’s kingdom. Still less, they thought, could the rulers be excluded from that number; and so it seemed better to come to the feast together with them, even if later (the Jews most often pictured the blessedness of the Messiah’s times under the image of a feast), than, outrunning others, especially the rulers, to risk being led astray by some false Messiah.

«With the Kingdom of God—so the Lord began to speak to the people—it is like what happened with a wedding feast125 that a certain king held on the occasion of proclaiming his son heir. When everything was ready, he sent word to the guests to come to the feast. But the guests refused, unwilling that his son should be their king. The king sent servants a second time, to tell those invited that everything was ready, and only they were lacking. But these went so far in insolence that, seizing the servants, they mocked them and killed some. At this the king lost patience, and at once sent an army, which not only put the despisers of the royal favor to a cruel death, but also razed their very city to its foundations126.»

Meanwhile the time of the feast arrived. The king, not wishing his joy to remain unshared with his subjects, said to his servants: «See, the feast is ready, and those invited have proven unworthy, but I will find guests for myself! Go out to the crossroads and invite everyone you meet.» The command was carried out, and the king’s house was filled with people of every rank, good and bad alike, without distinction.

In the course of the feast the king came in among the guests to survey the gathering and gladden it with his presence. One of those reclining at once drew his attention by being in plain clothing127, not in festive dress as was fitting. «My friend,—the king asked, with a gentleness befitting the general festivity—how did you dare come in here not properly attired?» The guilty man was silent, not knowing what to answer. «Take him,—the enraged king said to his servants—bind his hands and feet and cast him into the deepest and darkest dungeon, where he will weep and gnash his teeth. Many,—the king added, as an instruction to the gathering—are called, but few are chosen!..»

The Lord had already used this parable before, but for a different purpose and in a different form. The first time, recorded by St Luke (Lk 14:16–24), it was used to show that not all, and not many, of the Jews would enter the kingdom of the Messiah, because not many would agree to fulfill the conditions of entry: on that occasion not a word was said about the places of those invited being taken by others, called in from the crossroads. Now, to the thought already expressed about the rejection of the Jews, another is added—about the calling, in their place, of the Gentiles, and about the fact that these newly called, like the Jews, would not all justify by their lives the mercy shown them. This example shows how wisely the God-man’s parables were composed, how exactly fitted to their hearers, and how they changed shape according to circumstance.

For the people, this parable now contained the resolution of all their perplexities regarding present circumstances, and at the same time offered the surest and most reliable rule of conduct. There was, then, no cause to wonder that the chief priests did not believe Jesus, and rejected the kingdom He proclaimed. Many are called, but few are chosen! There was no cause to ask who, then, would inherit the kingdom, if the Jews did not enter it; the king would find guests for himself!.. And so, setting aside every blind imitation of anyone whatsoever, one must listen to one’s own conscience, go to the feast, but go in wedding garments. In this—in fitting attire, in a godly life—lies the chief matter. With God there is no partiality. If I keep the faith and am good, I shall surely be with the Messiah in His kingdom—I shall receive salvation. For Christians, the parable of the feast holds a fearsome lesson—to work out one’s salvation with fear. «I—says one teacher of the Church—always shudder when I remember the words: ’friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?’» (Mt 22:12).