It is customary for a good sermon to begin with an introduction of sorts, an attempt to orient the hearer to the text or topic about to be studied. However, there are some passages of Scripture that simply require no introduction. These are sections of God’s word so momentous, so profound, so dramatic, and so captivating that they demand attention with little outside help.

Such is the case with Matthew’s inspired account of the crucifixion of the King. It is as climactic as it is devastating, as beautiful as it is brutal, and as sombre as it is necessary. And this passage highlights for believers of all eras and ages that which was endured by Jesus, that which was shown by what was endured by Jesus, and that which is demanded by what was shown.

A “kangaroo court” is a trivial-sounding idiom that, in reality, describes something far less playful than its title may suggest. According to one source, this expression refers to “an unauthorized mock court or legal proceeding in which some or all of the due process rights [of the accused] are ignored and the outcome appears to be predetermined.” In other words, a kangaroo court is a sham trial, it is judicial theatre, and it is malevolent injustice.

There could scarcely be a better description of what the Lord Jesus experienced in the hours leading up to his crucifixion. Though his opponents had already decided both his guilt and sentence, the people of Israel—led by their religious leaders—put their Messiah on a trial, a trial more concerned with a desired conviction and execution than with legality and truth.

Yet, there’s deep irony to Matthew’s account of this charade in that it’s the accusers who end up exposing themselves as criminal and it’s the accused, Jesus, who is proved blameless.

Young pastors are often advised, “preach to suffering people and you’ll never lack an audience.” Why? Because everyoneis well-acquainted with the subject. We all suffer, facing times of uncertainty and vulnerability, pain and inconvenience, fear and heartbreak, mistreatment and loneliness. Indeed, each of us have endured, are enduring, and will endure hardship.

But how can we endure well? That’s the question Matthew 26:30–56 is going to help us answer. As Matthew provides readers with a front-row seat to the agony of Jesus and his anticipation of the cross, we can find guidance toward faithful endurance. If we want to be a people that bear the inevitable and inescapable hardships and uncertainties of life in a Christ-honouring way we must be a people that, recognizing our frailty and fallenness, actively draw near God’s power and promises.

Chapter 26 marks a dramatic shift in Matthew’s gospel. In it is a transition from a teaching on things to come to a retelling of things that are, from predictions of Jesus’s future return to predictions of Jesus’s soon departure, from powerful scenes of victory and vindication to pathetic scenes of vulnerability and apparent defeat. Whereas the disciples had been promised that the Son of Man will come in glory and be eternally enthroned (25:31), now they’re being promised that the Son of Man is going to be tortured and executed (26:2).

Indeed, Matthew 26 and 27 describe what is often called the passion of Christ—the unjust events and brutal sufferings that pave our Lord’s road to the cross. It’s horrific … and wonderful. On one hand, there’s ugly corruption—hatred and hard-heartedness, blindness and betrayal. But, on the other hand, there’s beautiful provision—sovereign and sacrificial, precious and powerful. We must remember both.

One can learn a great deal from reading the letters written by soldiers to their families during World War I and World War II. Scanning these preserved messages can grow in us a compassion for those who suffer, provide insights into the horrors of battle, and inspire gratitude for the many men and women who have given their lives for the safety and security of others. And all of this and more can be gleaned in spite of the fact that the letters were not written to us and that they describe particular conflicts we ourselves have not had to endure.

In many ways, Jesus’s teaching recorded for us in Matthew 24 and 25 functions similarly. The discourse itself is not directed at the church and it describes a terrible time of global tribulation that the church will not have to endure. (Thank God!) Yet, just like wartime communique, the church is still able to extract from these prophetic chapters—with the help of the Holy Spirit—much needed lessons and reminders.

The Bible is filled with contrast. Good and evil, light and darkness, joy and sorrow, hope and fear. In many cases, we’re better able to understand just how great something is when it’s compared and contrasted with something that is not very great. If I showed you a twig and a log, it would be immediately obvious which one is bigger, and heavier. But if I held up two twigs that are only slightly different in length and thickness, it might take some time or a closer inspection to figure out the difference.

In the case of the Bible, most of the contrast is noticeable on purpose. That’s kind of the point. It’s included to show just how great the log is in comparison to the twig. And that’s exactly what we’re going to see today as we turn to Psalm 115. We’re going to see a mighty, powerful, strong God contrasted with weak, flimsy, useless idols made by human hands. And as we do so, we’re going to see the futility of so many of the things that fight for our attention and worship, in comparison with the incredible God who deserves it all.

Sometimes, there is suffering in our lives that’s more like a stomach flu: we don’t really know why it’s happening, but it feels terrible. Just when we think it’s done, we get hit again. And while others can comfort us and we can treat the symptoms as much as possible, we know that ultimately we just need to wait it out. But other times, suffering has a cause; we’ve done something unwise or irresponsible, and brought a pain upon ourselves that won’t be stopped until we get that source of corruption out of us.

Today we're going to look at Psalm 32, which is an interesting psalm, a mixed bag of genres, including aspects of praise, wisdom, and thanksgiving. And we’re going to be reminded about the character of the God we serve, and how gracious he truly is, despite our foolishness. As we read through the text today, we’re going to see three principles or realities about our relationship with God, each followed by an example of how that reality can or ought to be demonstrated in life.

It has been observed that “the subject of biblical prophecy is like one magnet interacting with another. For many people, it pulls them in. For others, it drives them away.” Indeed, some are drawn to prophecy. Wanting to know about the future they enjoy thinking, discussing, and reading about things to come and, perhaps, how current events fit in to God’s revelation. Others are repelled by prophecy, viewing it as a futile topic that divides, confuses, and scares.

Surely both groups are represented within most church families, along with those who are apathetic, ignorant, or uninterested. But regardless of individual experiences with and feelings toward what the Bible says about end times, all would do well to understand that Jesus considered it important and edifying. So much so that, during the days leading up to his death, the Lord gave his disciples a peak beyond the horizon. And looking with them, believers today can be reminded of what prophecy is supposed to bring: clarity, comfort, and conviction.

Matthew has recounted Jesus’s final entrance into Jerusalem (20:29–21:17), the unrelenting opposition he faced upon arrival (21:18–22:14), and, now, his rebuke of the faithlessness of the nation’s leadership (23:1–39). To state it another way, the King was formally presented to Israel, formally rejected by Israel, and is now formally rejecting Israel in response. And of all the legitimate reasons the Lord had to condemn that generation of his people, it is their hypocrisy that he highlights. It is their hollow religiosity and resolute sanctimony that Jesus can no longer abide. Why? Because hypocrisy is a poison, as deadly as it is sneaky and as pernicious as it is persistent. But if God’s people can learn to identify its characteristics, its symptoms, and its seriousness, catching exposure early, they can treat it effectively with the antidote of humility.

There are few more offensive concepts to the sensibilities of our contemporary culture than that of submission—the act of knowingly, willingly, intentionally, and repeatedly placing ourselves, our wills, and our preferences under the authority of another. It is considered a distasteful mark of powerlessness, hopelessness, shamefulness, and oppression. Success, according to many, means having others answer to you. True liberty is found in the freedom from ever having to bow to anyone. Truth is something created, not something objective to which we must yield. Ultimately, submission is something to be avoided and condemned.

But the Bible teaches that it is actually through submission that God promises prosperity, liberty, joy, truth, and life. It’s actually when we lay ourselves down that we get to pick it all up. This apparent paradox is what many in the 21st-century fail to understand and, as we’ll see, what many in the 1st-century didn’t understand either.