Fight or Flight
John 18:1-12
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Last week was Transfiguration Sunday. The Sunday when we revisit the part of the story where Jesus brought his closest disciples up the mountain. Up to the very top where the view is clearest. And this time, the view was perfect, not just of the town below, but the view of Jesus Christ himself – who before their very eyes was transformed. Bright. Shiny. Holy. Flanked on either side by Moses and Elijah. Attested to by the voice of God. The disciples stood speechless, bathed in light and glory, certain with all their senses that Jesus Christ was truly the son of God.
It might make sense for this to be the end of the story. Jesus came, taught people, blessed people, healed the sick, challenged the system, upset the authorities, empowered the disenfranchised, showed us what it looks like to love God and neighbor. And then on the mountaintop proved once and for all his divinity, leaving us inspired and in awe.
This sounds like it could be a logical end to the story. The mountaintop seems like a reasonable place to conclude in triumph.
But we all know that the story does not end here.
It doesn’t end here because life is not spent on mountaintops. God, in Jesus Christ, entered our world, and our world, as we all know, is not always bright and shiny. We spend far more time in the valleys below. And so, the good news of the Christian faith is that Jesus walks down that mountain with his disciples (he walks down with us). Down into the towns and villages, down into the real world, down into a garden where he will be arrested, down off a cross and down into a tomb.
This is the first Sunday of Lent. This season where we remember that Jesus didn’t stay aloof and safe on a mountain top, but fully entered into the pain and brokenness of our world. This is the season where we remember that there is no suffering we can endure that Christ is not present with us in it. This is the season where we remember that before Jesus could overcome death, he had to taste it.
Our text for this first Sunday of Lent comes from the Gospel of John 18:1-12
After Jesus had spoken these words, he went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden, which he and his disciples entered. 2 Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place, because Jesus often met there with his disciples. 3 So Judas brought a detachment of soldiers together with police from the chief priests and the Pharisees, and they came there with lanterns and torches and weapons. 4 Then Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, “Whom are you looking for?” 5 They answered, “Jesus of Nazareth.”[a] Jesus replied, “I am he.”[b] Judas, who betrayed him, was standing with them. 6 When Jesus[c] said to them, “I am he,”[d] they stepped back and fell to the ground. 7 Again he asked them, “Whom are you looking for?” And they said, “Jesus of Nazareth.”[e] 8 Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he.[f] So if you are looking for me, let these men go.” 9 This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken, “I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me.” 10 Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it, struck the high priest’s slave, and cut off his right ear. The slave’s name was Malchus. 11 Jesus said to Peter, “Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?
12 So the soldiers, their officer, and the Jewish police arrested Jesus and bound him.
In the chapter before we get to this garden scene, we find Jesus deep in prayer. He knows his time has come and he prays that God would be glorified, he prays that his disciples would be protected and sanctified, he prays for all who are yet to follow him, for all who are yet to be born – that we all might believe, know God’s love, and be unified by the Holy Spirit.
Knowing now that the hour has come, Jesus goes to the familiar garden where he had often met with his disciples, knowing that this time would be very different.
There, he is met by a detachment of soldiers. In case you’re not familiar with first century Roman military organization, a detachment of soldiers was typically numbered around 600. It’s hard to imagine 600 soldiers being discharged to arrest one man. Perhaps John, when he included this detail in his gospel, intended to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. Perhaps he was referring to the more specialized detachment of soldiers permanently charged with protecting the temple grounds, who would have been on high alert with the Passover festival just around the corner. In any case, no matter the number, we can imagine an intimidating scene unfolding in this garden – well trained Roman soldiers, together with the religious police, all carrying lanterns, torches, and weapons. The church and the state, both in agreement that Jesus posed a threat that needed to be taken care of.
Fight or flight is what we commonly call the very natural response all humans share when in a dangerous situation, the response that focuses all of our energy and attention on either fleeing to safety or fighting for it. We come hardwired for survival. This is Peter’s response in the garden – drawing his sword, he cuts off the ear of the high priest’s slave, ready to fight his way out of danger. As per usual – Peter represents the response that most of us relate to even if we don’t want to admit it. Of course we’d want to find our way out of that garden!
And Jesus reminds Peter, and all of us, that his is a different way. The kind of peace that God promises is not the kind you can fight your way to. More weapons are not the answer.
Fight or flight – a great instinct to have in moments of danger, but when this instinct informs our decisions to avoid the difficult, broken, hurting places and people in our world, then we need to walk with Jesus through Lent.
We need to walk with Jesus through lent, because it’s so easy for us to flee from the pain of others by turning a blind eye, by walking quickly past, by failing to listen, by avoiding that part of town or those people, by surrounding ourselves only with those who look and think the same. We fight the need to repent with shallow excuses and entrenched defensiveness. We run from suffering in our world by turning to distractions and flooding our lives with noise and self-important busyness. We hide behind politics and patriotism and comfort zones. We pick fights to avoid the real issues bubbling under the surface. We spend a lot more time celebrating Jesus’ resurrection than we do meditating on his suffering and death. Fight or flight. Seems hardwired into each one of us on so many levels.
And Jesus shows us a different way. Jesus enters directly into the pain of the whole world. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t flee. And not because he has nothing to fear.
In the last couple years the story of one Kentucky woman has captured the popular imagination because she has a very rare brain disorder that results in an inability to feel fear. Known only as SM to protect her identity, her brain has been damaged in such a way that has caused her to have no sense of fear. Researchers have exposed her to all kinds of situations that should induce a fear-response, from snakes and spiders, to haunted houses and horror films. Not only did she not feel fear, but she had to be held back from walking straight into dangerous situations, like wanting to pet the poisonous snakes. When asked what fear is, she was completely baffled – she has no idea what it could possibly be.
This condition, while at first glance seems like it could be a gift, is actually a huge liability. Fear is crucial in keeping us alert to danger and helping us to make good decisions. A lack of fear is why SM has found herself in many dangerous situations in her life, and is why her identity is so fiercely protected.
It turns out that fear is actually a good thing. Fearlessness is not what we see in Jesus when he neither fights nor flees the garden. What we see in Jesus in that garden is a love that is greater than fear. A love that walks forward, despite knowing all that was to happen to him, sure of the redemption he will bring to those dark places. It’s a love that walks forward even though he had all the power in the world to get out of that garden.
When the soldiers step back and fall to the ground after he first identifies himself, we see the power of his identity, as stated in the very first words of John’s gospel – “in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made… The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”
When we say that The Word became flesh – it means that the Word took on everything that comes with being human – the fear, the frailty, the vulnerability of it all. God truly dwells with us, as one of us, in Jesus Christ.
Brene Brown is a research professor at the University of Houston school of Social Work, and one area of her research is on vulnerability. In her countless interviews with people from all walks of life, from CEOs to special troops, to NFL teams, she always asks the same question, which goes like this: “give me an example of courage that you’ve seen in your life or that you, yourself, have engaged in, any act of bravery, that was not completely defined by vulnerability.” And she says, “No one has, to this day – even special forces; when Navy Seals can’t tell you, then no one can tell you – because the problem is, there is no courage without vulnerability.”
Vulnerability-and-courage is Jesus choosing to walk down the mountain with his disciples instead of staying safe and comfortable at the top. It’s Jesus walking to that garden knowing all that would happen to him. It’s Jesus drinking the cup of suffering so that he could join us in ours. It’s dying so that he could be raised to new life, so that we could join him in that too.
During lent we are invited to walk with Jesus through this story. With him down the mountain into our messy world. We are invited to stop hiding from our own brokenness and vulnerability, but instead, find that Jesus is right there with us in it.
Lent is a season of repentance, its’ a time to remember God’s mercy, it’s a time to let go of our grip on all the empty things that we cling to looking for meaning and security.
So, on this first Sunday of Lent, whatever your Lenten practices might be (if any), whether that’s fasting, prayer, reading, volunteering, giving, by the power of the Holy Spirit, may you arrive at Easter knowing even more fully how deep the love of Jesus Christ is for you and for all the world. Amen.