Good Friday Reflection: He Said "I Am He" — and They Fell

There is a moment in John 18 that I don't think we talk about enough on Good Friday.

Jesus and his disciples have crossed the Kidron Valley and entered the garden. I'll be honest — when I heard that mentioned in church tonight, I had to look it up when I got home. I'm glad I did.

The Kidron Valley runs between the Old City of Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives. The name itself means "turbid, dusky, gloomy" — and the valley earned that name. It was lined with ancient tombs, a place of olive groves and burial grounds, a valley that sat between the city of the living and the hill where the dead were laid to rest. Jesus didn't wander into a peaceful garden on a calm night. He crossed through a dark, tomb-lined valley to get there.

But here's what stopped me cold when I was doing my research: David crossed this same valley — the Kidron — when he was betrayed by his close friend Ahitophel during Absalom's rebellion. Jesus walked the exact same route the night Judas betrayed him. John mentions the Kidron by name because the original readers would have understood the echo immediately. A king, betrayed by someone close to him, crossing that dark valley. It happened twice. The second time, it was the Son of God.

Judas knows the place. He brings with him a detachment of soldiers, chief priests, and Pharisees — torches, lanterns, weapons. They come prepared for a fight, or at least a chase. They come for a man they think they can take by force.

Jesus steps forward and asks them, "Who is it you are looking for?"

They answer, "Jesus of Nazareth."

And he says, "I am he."

And they drew back and fell to the ground.

Read that again. An entire detachment of armed soldiers — fell to the ground. Not because Jesus struck them. Not because his disciples rushed them. Simply because he spoke.

That is the Holy Spirit. That is the power of God contained in two words. I am. The same words God spoke to Moses from the burning bush. I AM WHO I AM. Jesus doesn't just identify himself in that moment — he reveals himself. And creation itself cannot stand in the presence of the great I AM without buckling.

This is what makes Good Friday so remarkable and so hard to fully hold. The man who just knocked an armed garrison to the ground with his voice is the same man who, moments later, allows them to bind his hands and lead him away. He doesn't resist. He doesn't call down fire. He had already told Peter to put away his sword. He had already said, "Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?"

The power was never in question. The surrender was the point.

I think about that a lot today. We live in a world that reads surrender as weakness. If you have the power to stop something and you don't, people assume you couldn't. But Jesus standing in that garden is the most powerful being in the universe choosing, in full knowledge, to be bound. He let them take him. Not because he had no choice — but because he had made one.

The Holy Spirit didn't leave when the soldiers put the ropes on him. That same power that knocked them flat walked with Jesus through every step of what came next. Through the trial. Through the beating. Through the cross. The Spirit wasn't absent on Good Friday — it was sustaining him through it.

That's the Good Friday I want to sit with today. Not just the suffering, as real and important as that is. But the intentional surrender of someone who had already proven, in that garden, that no one was taking anything from him. He gave it.

He gave it for us.

"I am he."

Two words. An army on the ground. And then — hands extended, willingly bound.

That's the love we remember today.

And tomorrow is Silent Saturday.

The day we don't talk about enough. No crucifixion, no resurrection — just the waiting. The disciples didn't know what Sunday was going to bring. They just knew their Lord was dead and in the ground. That Saturday must have felt like the longest day in human history. Hope buried. Doors locked. Questions with no answers yet.

I think God left that day in the story on purpose. Because most of us live a lot of our lives in Silent Saturday. We've seen the cross — we've been through something hard, something that broke us — but we can't see Sunday yet. We're just waiting in the in-between, not knowing if morning is actually coming.

It is. It always does. But Saturday has to be lived through first.

Tomorrow we wait. Sunday we celebrate.

I pray this helps and resonates with your spirit. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

— CJ