When everything looks out of control

Have you ever watched someone's life begin to unravel online in real time? Maybe it was someone respected and trusted, someone who had built a good reputation over years of hard work and integrity. People listened to them. Their life seemed stable. And then suddenly, everything changes. A private message gets leaked. A clip is taken out of context. Someone posts an accusation, and within hours it's spreading faster than anyone can control. People pile on because it feels safer to join the crowd than stand alone. Friends who once stood close suddenly go quiet. One of the frightening things about social media is how quickly everything can collapse. In a few hours, a person can go from respected and admired to mocked, abandoned, and publicly torn apart. When you watch it happen, you instinctively think: this has completely spiralled out of control. The whole situation feels driven by momentum that nobody can stop. That's exactly the feel of John 18.

A garden interrupted

The chapter begins with Jesus in a garden. Gardens are supposed to be places of peace and quiet. But into that picture of serenity, Judas arrives with a group of soldiers and temple guards carrying weapons, torches, and authority. Everything about the scene suggests this is the moment things end. And yet John, the careful writer that he is, tells us something that changes how we read the whole situation: Jesus, knowing all that was going to happen to him, went out and asked them... This is not the picture of someone being dragged against his will. This is not someone hiding or trying to escape. This is someone deliberately stepping into what he knows is coming. Jesus is not reacting to events. He is directing himself toward them — in obedience to his Father's plan. And then something happens that's easy to read past.

"I am"

Jesus asks the soldiers who they are looking for. They answer: Jesus of Nazareth. He replies: "I am he." And immediately they draw back and fall to the ground. Fit, trained, armed temple guards on the floor without any physical struggle. That should make us stop and ask what just happened. In English it reads like a simple way of identifying himself. But in the original language Jesus actually says, "I am." And anyone familiar with the Old Testament knows that's the name God uses for himself — "I am has sent you." In that moment, Jesus isn't merely saying he's the man they're after. He's revealing his true identity as the divine Son of God. For a brief moment, the reality of who Jesus really is breaks through. And the soldiers cannot stand in his presence. Jesus is not weak or powerless. He has authority far beyond what's visible on the surface. Which raises a question: if Jesus has that kind of authority, why doesn't he just walk away? Why doesn't he stop the arrest? The answer isn't that he can't. It's that he won't. Jesus is not being captured against his will. He is choosing to give himself up. The cross isn't something that happens to Jesus as if he were a victim of circumstance. It's something he walks into deliberately, willingly, as part of God's plan of salvation. Even in the darkest moment, nothing is outside God's control. Jesus is actively fulfilling the very purpose for which he came.

"I am not"

Then comes Peter. Peter follows Jesus as he's marched away — but at a distance. That detail matters. While Peter was one of the twelve, there was also a strong desire in his heart for safety and self-preservation. Familiar territory, if we're honest. There have probably been many times we've wanted to step up and be 100% for Jesus, and yet peer pressure, or a desire to protect our reputation, or just fear has kept us at arm's length. It is possible to be close enough to observe Jesus yet not close enough to stand with him when the going gets tough. That's exactly where Peter finds himself. When he's questioned about whether he's one of Jesus' followers, listen to the contrast. When the soldiers were looking for Jesus, Jesus said "I am." When the servant girl asks Peter, Peter says "I am not." Not once. Three times. While Peter fails under pressure, Jesus remains strong. It's a quiet reminder right in the middle of the chapter: our hope doesn't rest on our performance. It rests on Jesus' faithfulness. It's not our hold on Jesus that ultimately saves us. It's his hold on us.

The strongest person in the room

The trial moves to the religious leaders, who have already decided what they want to happen. Before Jesus says a word in his defence, the outcome is moving in a predetermined direction. Jesus is questioned, accused, and at one point one of the officials slaps him across the face. How does he respond? If I said something wrong, testify as to what is wrong. But if I spoke the truth, why did you strike me? No panic. No defensiveness. Just calm, fearless truth. Often when truth becomes uncomfortable, people stop listening. They don't answer it fairly — they try to silence it. We see it everywhere in our own moment. And yet Jesus remains completely controlled, dignified, and fearless. He's the one in the room who is physically bound. But morally and spiritually, he is the strongest person in the room.

"What is truth?"

Then Jesus is brought before Pilate. Yet even here it quickly becomes clear that the real authority in the room lies with Jesus. He speaks of a kingdom not of this world, grounded not in force or popularity but in truth. Everyone who is on the side of truth listens to me. Pilate's response might be the saddest three words in the Bible: What is truth? And then he turns away. He doesn't wait for an answer. That posture is still everywhere today. Many people are willing to consider ideas about Jesus — he was a good teacher, he did remarkable things — but unwilling to actually submit to the truth he speaks. Ignoring truth doesn't remove its authority. It just leaves us standing where Pilate stood. Then comes the crowd. Pilate offers them a choice between Jesus and Barabbas. They choose Barabbas. Shocking on the surface, but it reveals something about the human heart. The crowd rejects the true King because he doesn't fit their expectations. They prefer power and immediate change over humility and sacrifice. We often do the same — choosing comfort over obedience, what feels right to us over actually submitting to Jesus' authority.

Everything according to plan

Step back and look at the whole chapter, and on the surface it appears that everything has fallen apart. But in reality, everything is unfolding exactly according to God's plan, as Jesus steadily moves toward the cross. The cross is necessary because of the reality of sin. We fail like Peter. We avoid the truth like Pilate. We choose wrongly like the crowd. And yet Jesus steps up to take our place — to bear the judgement we deserve so that we might be forgiven. Not something forced upon him. Something he willingly embraces.

What will you do with Jesus?

John 18 doesn't just describe events — it confronts us with a question. When life feels out of control — and the older we get, the more we say when rather than if — we will either conclude that Jesus has lost control, or recognise that he is in control, and choose to trust him. When following him is uncomfortable, we will either stay silent or stand with him. When confronted with truth, we will either turn away like Pilate, or listen and respond. When faced with a choice, we will either choose ourselves, or submit to Jesus as King. The one we're being asked to trust is the one who stood in that garden, spoke and caused soldiers to fall, who had the authority to walk away but instead chose to step forward and give himself up. He did this not reluctantly, but willingly — for the sake of rebels like you and me. So the question remains, and it can't be avoided forever: what will you do with Jesus?

This post is adapted from a sermon preached by Steve Williams at St Hilda's Anglican Church Katoomba on John 18, as part of our Come and See series through John's Gospel. Visit us at www.katoomba.church.