The interrogation scene before Pilate, spanning John 18:28 through 19:16, stands as one of the sharpest peaks in the Gospel narrative for exposing-raw and unfiltered-how human beings treat truth. Pastor David Jang (Olivet University) refuses to reduce this passage to a mere record of a trial or a clash between religious and political power. Rather, he emphasizes that the very place where the innocence of Jesus Christ is proclaimed most clearly becomes, paradoxically, the stage where human sinfulness is unveiled most nakedly. Jesus passes through a long night alone and is pushed out into the cold morning air of the Praetorium. The disciples cannot remain at His side. The hands reaching toward Him are not hands of salvation, but hands of accusation. Pastor David Jang's question pierces straight into the lives of believers today: in the very place where we should have walked with the Lord, why did we end up alone? More precisely, how can we still claim to "practice faith" while leaving the Lord to stand alone? What makes this text frightening is that it does not preserve Pilate or the chief priests as distant villains in a museum of evil-it shows how the same structure can be reproduced within us.
One of the keenest points Pastor David Jang highlights is the refined hypocrisy embedded in the posture of the Jewish religious leaders. They drag Jesus to the Praetorium-yet they themselves do not enter it. Their justification is that they want to avoid becoming ceremonially defiled before Passover. Outwardly, it looks like a pious gesture of reverence for the law. But the very hands guarding their "cleanness" are turning the gears of a plot to remove the true Passover Lamb. When the motion of preserving purity and the will to execute murder coexist in the same body, faith ceases to be faith and becomes a sophisticated technology of self-justification. God's word-"I desire mercy, not sacrifice" (Hos. 6:6)-declares that He weighs the truth of the heart more heavily than the precision of religious form. Through this scene, Pastor David Jang warns how brutal religious zeal can become when it no longer loves truth. The moment external rule-keeping replaces internal love and compassion, faith becomes not a pathway to God but a weapon for condemning others. And that weapon ultimately aims at Christ. The church and believers today are no exception. We can keep the form of worship and yet lose the heart of Jesus. We can recite doctrinal sentences and still postpone the practice of love. That is why this text must become our self-examination today before it is ever merely their story from two thousand years ago.
Pilate receives the case as the Roman governor. Like a cold legal mind, he asks, "What accusation do you bring against this man?" But the answer is not a clear statement of guilt-it is collective pressure: "If this man were not doing evil, we would not have delivered him over to you." Pastor David Jang sees here a classic pattern of how evil operates. Evil often pressures people not through argument but through atmosphere; it distorts judgment not with evidence but with noise. When Pilate draws a line-"Take him yourselves and judge him by your own law"-they reply, "It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death." On the surface, they speak of lacking authority; in reality, they are determined to use Rome's official power to remove Jesus decisively. And what they want is not merely execution, but the cross. Crucifixion was known as Rome's most cruel and humiliating punishment, reserved for rebels and those marked for public disgrace. It was not a death by stoning, but a method that erased personhood through prolonged suffering and open shame. Pastor David Jang says this reveals how quickly violence reaches its extremes when religious power borrows the sword of state power to achieve its aims. That structure repeats across ages. Here is the cunning of an era that destroys others with a face that says, "My hands will not be dirtied."
Yet John's Gospel does not merely record human conspiracy. Another axis Pastor David Jang refuses to miss is that, even within this chorus of darkness, God's providence does not waver by a hair. Jesus had already said, "The Son of Man must be lifted up" (John 3:14), and "When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself" (John 12:32). Human evil seeks to use the cross as an instrument of removal, but God turns that cross into a door of salvation. This is not sentimental optimism that says, "It all turned out fine." It touches the way God works throughout Scripture. Just as the malice aimed at Joseph was redirected into a path that preserved many lives, the worst scenario human beings devise is, in God's hands, rearranged into a narrative of redemption. Here Pastor David Jang speaks of the spiritual muscle believers must hold onto: even when the world shakes and justice seems to collapse, God does not abandon evil's ending to remain evil. His providence, however, always collides with human "common sense." The cross looks like a mark of defeat to human logic; in the logic of the Gospel, it is the seal of victory.
The dialogue between Pilate and Jesus exposes the core of that collision. "Are you the King of the Jews?" Pilate's question is not theological curiosity but a political safety mechanism. If this is a claim to kingship that could fracture the order of the Roman Empire, it must be eliminated. But Jesus' answer dismantles Pilate's very frame: "My kingdom is not of this world." Pastor David Jang reminds us how often this sentence has been misunderstood in church history-and what tragedies those misunderstandings have produced. Jesus' kingdom is not expanded by the sword. It is not built by agitation. It is not defended by violence. If Jesus intended to become king in the world's way, His disciples would have fought. But they scattered, and Jesus stands not by resistance but by truth. This scene provides a foundational principle for how Christians relate to worldly power. When the church mistakes the "kingdom of truth" and colludes with secular power-or reduces the Gospel into a political tool-the Gospel may appear to gain power, but it loses souls. Pastor David Jang says the same demand rests on believers today. When the world asks, "What is this kingdom of God you speak of?" we must be able to answer with the clarity of Jesus: it is a kingdom not belonging to this world-the spiritual kingdom where the reign of truth is real.
So then, what is truth? Pilate asks, "What is truth?" The question appears great, but its conclusion is tragic. With truth standing before his eyes, he does not stand on the side of truth. Pastor David Jang points out that Pilate's question can become not merely philosophical skepticism, but a self-defense mechanism for avoiding responsibility. Anyone who truly asks after truth must offer himself before truth. But Pilate places truth on trial and sets his own position and safety as the goal to be preserved. Therefore, even after recognizing Jesus' innocence, he cannot decide. John's Gospel speaks even more deeply: truth does not exist only in the form of logic. Jesus had already said, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life" (John 14:6). Truth is not a concept but a Person; not merely words but a life. Pastor David Jang understands that this is why Jesus does not add a long explanation for Pilate. Truth was already standing before him, and truth was already walking toward the cross. Today's reader asks the same question: What is truth? And that question immediately becomes a more painful one: do I remain silent even though I know truth? Do I calculate even though I know what is right? Do I wash my hands and step back even while speaking about justice?
In the end, the crowd chooses Barabbas. Instead of the innocent Jesus, Barabbas-described as a robber, an insurrectionist, and a murderer-is released. Pastor David Jang summarizes this as "the most unjust trial in history," and yet, at the same time, he says it is the moment when the doctrine of substitutionary atonement is most vividly embodied. To human eyes, it is the height of absurdity; to the eyes of faith, the structure of grace is revealed: the sinner goes free, and the righteous one dies. Barabbas's place is taken by Jesus. That exchange does not merely change one man's fate-it becomes the very heart of the Gospel. That is why Pastor David Jang says that, before the cross, an awakening occurs: "I am Barabbas." If we ignore the weight of our sin, the cross remains only a moving symbol. But when we face the reality of our sin, the cross becomes a saving event that shakes our existence. This awakening does not turn faith into emotional excitement; it turns it into a change of direction for life. Grace always demands the clothing of ethics. If the cross saved me, I can no longer live by words and choices that kill others. If the cross set me free, I can no longer call the prison of hypocrisy "safe faith."
What Pastor David Jang repeatedly urges is this: do not avoid the fact that the cross exposes human hypocrisy. The Jewish leaders refused to enter the Praetorium out of fear of becoming "defiled," but that fear was closer to preserving their self-righteousness than revering God. Faith today is exposed to the same temptation. Often we do not hate sin as much as we fear "looking like a sinner." We protect our image instead of repenting. We cover ourselves with religious language instead of turning back honestly. Pastor David Jang warns that such a posture resembles the religious dynamics that ultimately drove Jesus to the cross. The moment faith slips from "love for God" into "self-justification," we may appear to stand with Jesus while actually standing on the side that finds Jesus inconvenient-because Christ is not our moral accessory; He is the light that exposes our sin. Light is always uncomfortable. But only those who endure that discomfort receive freedom. This is why Pastor David Jang says, "Courage to stand before truth sets us free."
When meditating on this passage, a certain famous painting can make the scene even more vivid. The large work Ecce Homo by the 19th-century painter Antonio Ciseri portrays, with theatrical composition and visual shock, the decisive moment when Pilate presents Jesus before the crowd. The work was produced over nearly twenty years, from 1871 to 1891, and it is said to be housed today in the Gallery of Modern Art at the Pitti Palace in Florence. In Ciseri's canvas, Pilate stands at the height of authority, while Jesus stands quietly in a lowered place, and the roar of the crowd seems to come from outside the frame, building tension. The direction of light and the distance between figures visually compress what Pastor David Jang calls "the clash between truth and falsehood." Truth does not compete by volume. Truth does not advertise itself. Truth stands-wounded, silent, present-and exposes the violence of history. In this way, the painting can be read not merely as religious art but as an ethical mirror showing how easily human beings trade justice, and how easily power turns "innocence" into "convenience." After looking at the painting, returning to the text makes the declaration "Behold the man" sound not like a simple introduction of a person, but like a sentence that holds up a mirror to humanity.
Pastor David Jang also insists that this interrogation scene must not be consumed merely as a ceremonial reading for Holy Week. Pilate's judgment hall exists today in changed forms-in workplaces and homes, in churches and societies, and even in the online squares of public opinion. We face small but real pressures each day. If we speak against the majority, we fear loss. If we choose justice, we fear relationships will break. If we confess truth, we fear ridicule will follow. So we become people who ask, "What is truth?" yet fail to become people who stand with truth. As Pastor David Jang notes, Pilate confirms Jesus' innocence multiple times, yet in the end he changes his verdict under the weight of the crowd's voice. It is the moment when the language of conscience is buried under the noise of public opinion. Faith is tested in that moment. Belief does not remain a private emotion; it becomes visible in choice-and that choice sometimes comes with loneliness, because the night when Jesus stood alone can be repeated in the life of a disciple. That is why Pastor David Jang says "walking with the Lord" is not emotional fervor, but a sustained decision made before truth.
At the same time, Pastor David Jang emphasizes the dignity the church must learn from Jesus' posture. Before the chief priests, Pilate, and the crowd, Jesus does not attempt to save Himself through excessive self-defense. Instead, even in suffering, He does not lose truth, and He does not turn people into targets of curse. The heart of Jesus-who prayed on the cross, "Father, forgive them"-stops us whenever faith begins to flow into violent language and habits of condemnation. To judge people carelessly under the banner of "speaking truth" may look like defending truth, but in reality it damages truth. Truth did not come to destroy people; it came to save people. This is also why Pastor David Jang calls the cross "God's way of overturning the world's power structure." The world seeks to win by force; God wins by love. The world seeks to subdue the other; God restores the other by giving Himself. This paradox is the heart of the Gospel, and Pilate's Praetorium is where that heart beats loudest.
Pilate, too, had an opportunity. Pastor David Jang uses the word "opportunity" to touch the reader's conscience. Pilate heard Jesus' words directly, found no guilt in Him, and even raised a question about truth. Yet he did not seize the opportunity. The act of washing hands does not erase responsibility; it becomes a confession of responsibility. What cannot be washed away by water is the trace of a choice that turned from truth. Similar moments come to us as well: moments when we clearly recognize truth, yet delay decision to protect our position, reputation, and benefit. Pastor David Jang says that what believers must do then is not imitate Pilate, but follow Jesus' way. Jesus' way is not the way of washing hands, but the way of extending hands. Not the way of ignoring the wrongly accused, but the way of embracing them. Not the way of riding the noise of injustice, but the way of quietly bearing witness to truth. And at the center of that way is always the cross. The cross was not given to bind us in guilt; it is the exit that ends sin and hypocrisy and leads us into new life.
In the end, what Pastor David Jang seeks to say through Pilate's interrogation is clear: the innocence of Jesus Christ is a mirror that exposes human sin, and the cross of the Innocent One is God's wisdom that saves sinners. In a place where religious hypocrisy, political calculation, and the storm of crowd psychology become tangled together, truth stands in silence, and love refuses to retreat to the end. The more organically we meditate on this scene, the more we stand before an unavoidable question: which side am I on? Am I Pilate, who knows innocence yet seeks to protect my safety? Am I the chief priest, who covers evil with the form of piety? Or am I a disciple who, even in fear, returns again to follow the Lord's way? Pastor David Jang says that an honest answer to this question is the turning point that moves faith from form to life. And at that turning point, we receive the most concrete answer to the question, "What is truth?" Truth is the person of Jesus, the way of Jesus, and the cross of Jesus. Before that cross, we can no longer remain outside the Praetorium insisting that we are clean. Rather, the one who stood outside must come in, kneel down, and confess, "Lord, I am a sinner." There, the history of grace begins. Pilate's interrogation, as Pastor David Jang teaches, is that threshold of grace-and it is still the living field of truth, repeated in the very middle of our lives today.
