Peter's Denial

Power is a performance, and Jesus is off script

Commentary on John 18:12-27

Adam Hearlson

The contrast between Jesus’s candor and courage and Peter’s secrecy and cowardice provides the narrative gravity for this passage.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus is first taken to see Annas, the former high priest (cohen gadol) in Jerusalem. This is a peculiar detail found only in John. Curiously, John omits Jesus’s conversation with Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin—as found in other sources—in favor of including this preliminary conversation with Annas.

This preliminary interrogation suggests that Annas still wielded a “soft power” within the community of priests. Although he no longer held the official role of high priest, his informal assessment of the situation would be valuable to Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin as they considered the “Jesus problem.” Moreover, the lack of a formal role may have allowed Annas to circumvent the expected norms of a trial. Annas interrogates Jesus under the cover of night in a backroom Jerusalem “black site,” providing no charges and calling no witnesses for his claims. The text suggests he is fishing for valuable information that could be brought to the Roman governor.

Jesus refuses to play the game. His teaching has been public and easy to find. While Annas acts surreptitiously, Jesus shows no guile. Jesus’s candor enrages one of the temple guards, who then strikes him.

This moment of violence is telling. Jesus mildly refuses to answer Annas’s question and suggests the need for a formal trial where independent witnesses might corroborate any claims of blasphemy. Jesus’s response is, among other things, a gentle reminder to Annas that his late-night interrogation is a naked display of coercive power. The highly unusual nature of their conversation is proof of a deep anxiety within the halls of religious power in Jerusalem. Jesus knows it, and Annas knows it, but power requires that this fear is never noted, even though it is obvious to everyone present. Any resistance exposes the anxiety and inspires coercive violence. Power is a performance, and Jesus is off script.

In a state of anxiety, Annas demands compliance, which Jesus refuses to give. Jesus does not recognize Annas’s authority and, even while slated for death, will not be governed by fear—neither his own nor Annas’s. Jesus is instead governed by his mission, which has been available for all to see. (Remember his response to the anxiety of his cousin John: “Tell him what you see and hear.”)

Ironically, Peter and a second disciple are the very type of witnesses who could speak authoritatively about Jesus’s mission. Sadly, though, Peter lacks Jesus’s courage.

It is worth noting that Peter followed Jesus into the temple courts, further than the rest of the disciples. Led by an unnamed disciple (no one can quite agree on who this was), Peter attempts to follow Jesus into the mouth of danger, but loses his nerve.

It is worth questioning why Peter tried to follow Jesus in the first place. His courage carried him as far as the temple courtyard. The text provides no rationale for this choice. Did Peter envision some sort of commando rescue mission? Did he intend to break Jesus out of a captivity that Jesus had explicitly chosen? Peter’s plans are confusing because Peter is himself confused—compelled by a mixture of grief, anxiety, and an inflated sense of self.

Peter has been among the most vocal of Jesus’s disciples. When he is around Jesus, he is zealous and committed. Earlier in John, he promises to lay down his life for Jesus. In the garden, he draws his sword in a moment of his own coercive violence, ready to retaliate against the captors. In both cases, Jesus has to redirect Peter’s impulses. Peter is a willing weapon, but Jesus isn’t looking for weapons; Jesus is looking for witnesses. Apart from Jesus, and apart from his faith in retaliatory violence, Peter is unmoored.

The truth is, we are all much braver when we feel secured by those we know to be more powerful. It is easier to sound strong when we stand behind strength. In the temple courtyard, Peter now stands by himself, without the weapons of the world. His location foreshadows the eventual place of the church, which likewise will be vulnerable to a wider world that has no compunction about using violence. Peter’s vulnerability by the fire is unbearable.

The church has always struggled with its own vulnerability, and it still does today. Should the church seek strength through coercive power, like Annas? At the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, the forces of Constantine marked their weapons with the sign of Christ. Many kingdoms since have raised the banner of Christ as a justification for conquest. Or should we secure ourselves with anonymity? If we become unrecognizable, then we can survive. But Peter in the garden and Peter at the fire expose our troubles with vulnerability, even as Jesus himself finds power in his own vulnerability.

This central contrast between Jesus’s candor and Peter’s cowardice illustrates Christ’s commitment to a different kind of power. It is the power of truth and integrity that refuses to participate in the “performance” of fear and coercion or to be driven into hiding by the suspicion of the world. While Annas’s authority is fragile, propped up by secrecy and the threat of violence, Jesus’s authority is inherent. While Peter hides, Jesus is open. He demonstrates that true power is not the ability to coerce, like Annas, or hide, like Peter, but the courage to remain governed by mission and truth, even when it leads to the cross.