Nothing in Secret
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
March 10, 2024
Scripture Reading
John 18:12-14, 19-24
12 So the band of soldiers and their captain and the officers of the Jews[a]arrested Jesus and bound him. 13 First they led him to Annas, for he was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, who was high priest that year. 14 It was Caiaphas who had advised the Jews that it would be expedient that one man should die for the people…. 19 The high priest then questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching. 20 Jesus answered him, “I have spoken openly to the world. I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret. 21 Why do you ask me? Ask those who have heard me what I said to them; they know what I said.” 22 When he had said these things, one of the officers standing by struck Jesus with his hand, saying, “Is that how you answer the high priest?” 23 Jesus answered him, “If what I said is wrong, bear witness about the wrong; but if what I said is right, why do you strike me?” 24 Annas then sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.
For context, we’re in the last night Jesus lived before he died. He’s been arrested, and now begins a procession from place to place, from trial to trial, from examiner to examiner. As we read the passage, you probably noticed how we skipped over some verses. That was on purpose. I’ll say more about this later, but we’re bundling two things together. We’re focusing on two trials. This week, we have the trial inside the house, and next week the trial outside in the courtyard. Inside the house, Jesus is on trial with the high priest. Next week, we’ll see Peter on trial outside the house in the courtyard in a kind of trial with the servants of the high priest. By flipping back and forth between them, John highlights the similarities, and he also contrasts the two. Both trials are similar in that they went poorly. But this trial of Jesus goes poorly, not because Jesus lacked courage, but because he had it. Let’s pray as we begin.
“Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
When we eat at a good restaurant, most of us don’t want to know how the meal was made. What we want is to enjoy a good meal. We don’t need to know what exactly happened to make the potatoes so smooth or why the salmon seems so fresh or why the carrot cake is so moist. Now, if you’re a chef or something of a foodie, you might be interested in how the food was prepared.
I bring this up because I understand that most of you don’t want to know what went into making a sermon. You just want to enjoy the sermon. You want to be helped and encouraged, perhaps challenged. You want to see more of the beauty of Christ and know the hope to which he has called us. You don’t need to know how the sermon became a sermon any more than you need to know how the steak was seared and then cooked more slowly. I get that. But for a moment, I do want to flag one part of making a sermon, namely, choosing the size of the passage. Do we cover a whole chapter? Do we cover just one verse? Do we jump around in the verses? How are these decisions made? The short answer is that pastors everywhere just guess. We make educated guesses about our people and the passage, but they are just guesses.
We picked the verses we did many months ago. And now this week, as I’m getting into it and after I’d done all my study, I checked a number of pastors to see how they broke up this chapter and what they preached. Well, they didn’t do it like we did. But I will tell you that when we focus on only these few verses, a distinct theme becomes clear. But I’ll also tell you that it’s a bit intense—at least at first.
Here’s the theme that comes from this passage: Jesus sees through your pious pretense—and that’s a good thing. I’ll say it another way: There are no secrets kept from God. I’ll say it a different way: Before the burning holiness of the eyes of God, no sin or secrets remain. Before the burning holiness of God, all sins will be exposed. (I have no idea why other pastors might have taken more verses and not covered this theme.)
When we talk of exposure (as in “Jesus exposes our sin”), there are different kinds of exposure. Near the end of my wedding reception, my father-in-law pulled me aside. He’s a great man, a mountain of a man. I love him, and he loves me. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “She’s my only daughter; take care of her.” I said, “Yes, sir.”
I told this story a few years ago. About three days later, we were on our honeymoon, and we went to this island, and there was this mountain. But we’re getting near the top of the mountain, and it starts to get sketchy. To get to the top, you don’t hike. You climb a rockface. And there’s this little rope that’s been out in the wind for like probably years—all frayed and stuff. My wife climbs first. Now, I haven’t said this yet, but a few weeks before this, I had a massive shoulder injury, and I really only had one arm to use well. So I’ve got the rope in my good hand. And then I look out to the ocean, and the sky is just black, and the wind starts hollowing. And I look up at my beautiful wife as he reaches out her hand. And right then, exposed on the rock face, the only thing I could hear was, “She’s my only daughter, take good care of her.”
That’s a kind of exposure, isn’t it? We have the common phrase, “being exposed to the elements.” That’s what we were. It can happen in the desert or the jungle or somewhere else. This kind of exposure might be likened to the phrase we use at the start of church of being “weak and wounded.” This kind of exposure to the elements exposes us to our limits. When a passage goes this direction, we preach about this kind of exposure, the exposure of our weakness and woundedness, the exposure of our limits.
There is another kind of exposure, not of our weakness or woundedness, but our waywardness. That’s the other phrase we use when we start our services. The exposure of our waywardness can be more difficult to preach. To give an extreme case, some of you might remember the scandal from a few years ago around the Ashely Madison website. The website pitched itself as a place for a married spouse to find another married spouse and commit adultery together—secretly, of course. The names of the registry were hacked and leaked to the public, and thousands of people were exposed. No more secrets. Interestingly, there was a kind of double exposure because as more details came out, the public learned that many of the women registered weren’t real women; they didn’t actually exist but had been added artificially to the site to boost engagement. Shall we say it didn’t make the people connected with the story, whether those registered or those running the website (the people exposed) look so good.
And this is the kind of exposure in this passage that author John wants us to see that Jesus sees. Because we took this passage so narrow, it made our theme very narrow. If you asked me, “Is it the sermon everyone needs to hear this morning?” Maybe, maybe not. But I do think it will be good for all of us. God’s word always is.
1. Jesus sees through our pretense.
Let’s look again closer at the passage to see what I’m talking about, how Jesus sees through our pretense. I’ll read vv. 12–14.
12 So the band of soldiers and their captain and the officers of the Jews arrested Jesus and bound him. 13 First they led him to Annas, for he was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, who was high priest that year. 14 It was Caiaphas who had advised the Jews that it would be expedient that one man should die for the people.
John introduces us to two religious leaders. Annas is the father-in-law, and Caiaphas is his son-in-law. As you read this and the surrounding verses, it seems they shared a house with a common courtyard. In your mind, picture a mansion with different wings, Annas in one wing and Caiaphas in another. It’s a confusing detail, but it helps to know that Annas had been the high priest and is still called that, perhaps the way we might still call a former president, president.
This line about “one man should die for the people” comes from chapter 11. As Christians, we read that and think, Yes! Isn’t it great? Jesus died for us—meaning died for our sins so we could be saved!Caiaphas meant the words differently. Jesus presented a threat to their religious power, and if Jesus got too popular, likely Rome would remove the Jewish people and their leadership and their relative freedoms. So what Caiaphas means is something more sinister, more expedient. “We’ll kill Jesus, and we’ll keep our place,” he tells others in chapter 11. John reminds us of this here again because as we go to the next scene, he wants there to be no misunderstanding about their sincerity. John shows us Jesus exposing this trial for a show, a pretense, and a pantomime, if you will. Look with me at vv. 19–21.
19 The high priest then questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching. 20 Jesus answered him, “I have spoken openly to the world. I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret. 21 Why do you ask me? Ask those who have heard me what I said to them; they know what I said.”
The opening line says, “The high priest then questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching.” Oh, right. So he could learn more about him, figure out if he’s really the Messiah, and invite Jesus into his heart, as we might say. Yeah, no. That ain’t it.
Listen to this verse from chapter 19. This is several hours from now when Jesus is before a crowd, and they are deciding whether to crucify him or not.
From then on Pilate sought to release him, but the Jews cried out, “If you release this man, you are not Caesar’s friend. Everyone who makes himself a king opposes Caesar.” (John 19:12).
Why did I read that verse? Well, the point is that the Jewish leaders intend to hand Jesus over to the Romans to be killed. It’s like they are renting. And when you rent, as opposed to buying, you don’t own the house, so you can’t do certain things, like, say, paint the walls. In this context, the Jewish leaders can’t do certain things without Rome’s permission, such as executions. So when the high priest asks questions about Jesus’s disciples, he’s trying to see if Jesus will give them up and, specifically, how many there are. Does Jesus have twelve followers or twelve hundred? The more followers, the more Pilate might be worried about someone who, supposedly, is no friend to Caesar.
Did you notice whether Jesus answered his question? Look again at vv. 20–21. He does not answer the question. He answers their question with his question. He says, “Everywhere I’ve gone, I’ve taught openly. What I say in public, I say in private. And vice versa. In fact,” Jesus says, “my teaching is so consistent and so well known that you could grab any group of people who heard, and they would tell you about my teaching. In fact, why aren’t you doing that? Why aren’t you asking people?”
There’s a pastor some of us around here appreciate named John Piper. Everything Piper’s said in church or speaking engagements, and everything he’s written, whether his books or his articles, is online. There’s a podcast he’s done for years called “Ask Pastor John.” They’re making the best of the episodes into a book, and I heard that the transcriptions of this podcast and the hundreds of episodes account for 2.3 million words online. (A normal book might be fifty thousand words.) Now, can you imagine sitting Pastor John down and saying, “Tell us what you teach”? “It’s all there if you want it,” John Piper might say. In a similar way, Jesus is saying, “You can find out everything I taught if you want. It’s all there. I’m the same person in public and private.”
What jab is Jesus making? Jesus is exposing their pretense of loving truth. They don’t love the truth. They don’t want to hear about his teaching, not to follow it anyway. As you study this, you learn that the standard protocol for an investigation by the high priest involved witnesses taking the stand, not the person himself. In other words, in their day, if this were a real trial, if they were sincerely trying to learn more about Jesus’s teaching, they would have called the disciples. In fact, Jesus tells them to do that very thing.
So, what’s going on? I’m saying a lot. But don’t miss the point: exposure. Jesus sees through all their religious pretense. Everyone inside that room knows what’s really happening. The words, at least from the religious leaders, are a charade or a pantomime. They’re showing up at church for the looks of it, but they don’t give a rip about God.
And consider the irony. Jesus uses the phrase, “nothing in secret.” Think about that. “I’ve done nothing in secret,” he says, “like the kind of secret trial you’re holding here. I see right through you,” he’s telling them.
It’s uncomfortable to consider the ramifications, but we’ll be helped if we press into this, if we bring it close. It’s not fun to be exposed when we are wayward. Maybe you’ve been caught doing something before, and you know how that feels to have others catch you in a lie. You know the defensiveness that rises in your heart, the ways we try to justify our tone of voice or our actions or whatever.
Maybe you haven’t been caught doing something recently, but as you listen to this sermon, things come to your mind that trouble you. I’ll put it like this. Consider your life like a house. Perhaps you keep your relationship with Jesus comfortable because you keep Jesus on the front porch. Maybe you invite him into the living room, but certainly not other places, not those rooms. You don’t want Jesus to expose thisor that.
The good news is that Jesus is inviting you to a better relationship than pretending.
2. Jesus invites us to a better relationship.
That’s the last point I want to make. The actions of Jesus in this passage are jarring. “Hey, Jesus,” we think, “just answer their questions, just explain yourself better.” Notice what happens after Jesus makes his comment about his teaching and how all the world knows about it already. He gets punched in the face. Reading again vv. 22–24.
22 When he had said these things, one of the officers standing by struck Jesus with his hand, saying, “Is that how you answer the high priest?” 23 Jesus answered him, “If what I said is wrong, bear witness about the wrong; but if what I said is right, why do you strike me?” 24 Annas then sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.
They know what’s going on. They want Jesus to play along with their game. And when Jesus answers their questions with his questions, Jesus essentially reverses the trial. He puts them on trial. So they hit him in the face. “We’ll ask the questions; thank you very much.”
We might think their actions are extreme, and they are. But consider the last time you spoke harshly to someone, and you knew you were wrong. What bubbles up in your heart at that moment is a hundred reasons you are justified for what you did. These religious leaders are starting to get exposed, and they become defensive.
Rather than making it easier for them, Jesus asks them, “If what I said is wrong, bear witness about the wrong; but if what I said is right, why do you strike me?”
When they see this is getting nowhere, they send him along. But I want to focus on Jesus for a moment. Whenever we see Jesus ask questions, that’s something to pay attention to. Jesus is the one who knows everything, so if he asks a question, that isn’t so he can learn something. The questions of Jesus are an invitation to something better. The same could be said more generally across the Bible when we see God ask questions, as when God questions Job or when God asks Adam questions in Genesis. After Adam had sinned, God said, “Adam where are you?” God does not ask because he couldn’t find Adam. The questions are invitations to something better, a better relationship.
The same is true here of Jesus. I know Jesus could seem harsh here, but that’s not it at all. Defibrillators are those paddles that medical professionals use on patients to restart their hearts. I’ve never seen this done in person, only in TV shows and movies. We have so many nurses at our church and others in the medical industry that I’m sure many of you have seen defibrillators used in person, and perhaps a few of you have used them on others. Defibrillators strike me as a violent path toward healing. Yet no one would say a doctor was cruel for administering that kind of electric shock. Now, if you did it to me to wake me up from a nap, then that would be cruel. And when I gathered myself together, I might punch in the face. But if I were in sudden cardiac arrest, I hope someone would care about me enough to do something seemingly harsh.
I say this to say, what I said before: Jesus sees through our pious pretense—and that’s a good thing. You are keeping no secrets from God. Before the burning holiness of the eyes of God, no sin, no pretense, no secrets remain. One day, there will be a judgment day. And everyone will give an account.
But that’s the challenge of this passage. But, as I’m saying, there is good news. Jesus’s questions invite us into something better. He asks these questions to wake us up. He wants something better for us than duplicity.
Conclusion
From this passage itself, it could seem pretty hopeless. These men seem spiritually dead. And some of them were. But this ministry of Jesus was not in vain. Let me close by mentioning a few verses that show a redemptive arc to this story, particularly with respect to the repentance and conversion of some of these religious leaders. It’s super encouraging what happens.
If you go back to John 12, Jesus has performed several miracles, including the climactic sign of raising Lazarus from the dead. In that context we read, “many even of the authorities believed in him, but for fear of the Pharisees they did not confess it, so that they would not be put out of the synagogue” (John 12:42). Now, that’s not great, is it? They want to believe, but they are still afraid. So they don’t fully believe.
I have to believe that this exposure had a redemptive effect on some who were in that room with the high priest. Something in their heart saw how Jesus loved them and challenged them and didn’t let them violate justice without being called out for that, and they thought a lot about it. And then, as they carried out their plan and Jesus died, they continued to wonder what his death might mean. They would have thought back to the words of their high priest. According to their high priest, did Jesus die for the nation so that they could keep their power? Or, in a more Christian sense, did Jesus die for the nation so that people would have eternal life? Did Jesus die because they were exposed as sinners who needed a savior? These thoughts stirred in them.
Then, as we read through the gospel of John, the rumors spread as fast as lightning that Jesus rose from the dead. That would have exposed them more.
If we turn to the book of Acts, right after Jesus goes to heaven, Peter, one of the leaders, gets up and preaches to them. Given what we’ll read about Peter next week, that’s amazing grace by itself, but it’s also amazing how, in a very public way, Peter’s preaching exposes that these were the very people responsible for the murder of Christ, and he offers them grace. If only they would return to the Lord.
Think about that. I know preachers can say things like it’s because of your sin that Jesus died. And in a sense, that’s true. But you didn’t actually kill Jesus. But—but!—if there were ever a way to highlight the lavish forgiveness of Jesus, it would be that the people who did actually kill Jesus were offered grace. The men exposed in this passage were offered grace, if they only returned. And, as we read Acts, many of them did.
Finally, consider a verse from Act 6. Just a few years after Jesus went to heaven, an a few years after Peter’s sermon and other ministry, we read, “And the word of God continued to increase, and the number of the disciples multiplied greatly in Jerusalem, and a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith” (Acts 6:7). In the long view, their exposure by Jesus lead to their redemption.
If I mentioned the Watergate scandal, some of you would know exactly what it was about, and others would be vaguely aware. I don’t want to rehash all of it, nor do I think I could. But it went something like this: In the late 1960s and early 1970s, several illegal activities occurred related to listening to conversations, planting microphones, and burglaries. The criminal activity was in service of gaining political advantages. It’s a lot worse than this, but it would be like if, at the Super Bowl, one team put microphones in the opposing team’s locker room to find out their plans. Anyway, during the Watergate scandal, a man named Charles Colson was an attorney and special counsel to President Nixon. Over the several years when all of this was exposed quite publicly, Charles Colson went to prison for a time. During this, he became a Christian. Jesus forgave him. It changed his life. Colson then founded a prison ministry and went on to write over thirty Christian books.
This story is well known, but I highlight it for a reason. I bet if you asked Colson what some of the worst days of his life were, he would say those early years as the scandal was being exposed. I bet if you asked him what events he’s most thankful for, he’d say the same. Because he found Christ and his mercy and his grace and forgiveness. And Colson has spent the rest of his life helping others find Christ too.
History doesn’t give us any indication that Annas or Caiaphas turned their life to the Lord. But, as I read, some did. In fact, to quote the book of Acts again, “a great many of the priests became obedient to the faith” (Acts 6:7). I can’t predict how you’re hearing this sermon and what it’s stirring within you. Maybe we should have done what all these other pastors did and have taken a wider passage and not drilled down on this theme. But here we are.
Many years after this, John would write a letter, which David referenced earlier in the service. I’ll just quote it again for us now to underscore the hope. “If we confess our sins,” John wrote, “[Jesus] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). The exposure of Christ is not vindictive but redemptive. There’s no sin so dark that the light of Christ can’t overcome.
Let’s pray and invite the music team to lead us in a final song.
“Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
