Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.
-Mark 15:5
The silence of Jesus is remarkable.
His economy of words. His restraint. His refusal to add to the noise.
But Jesus is not known for being a silent man.
Here is a man who is incredibly good with words. As a tween he could hold conversations with the adult scholars of scripture in the Temple. Now, as a grown man, thousands of people flock to listen to him teach. Lawyers try to trip him up with questions—and he finds a loophole. Religious leaders try to back him into a corner—and his witty and wise response makes them look foolish. He tells stories so simple a child can follow them, and yet so layered that we are still discussing their meaning today.
And now here we see him, death bearing down on him as he is on trial, and he is silent.
The silence of Jesus is remarkable.
Although, to be truthful, as he stands before his various interrogators he is not 100% silent. But it is a relative silence. But he becomes a man of very few words. So few words that it feels like total silence.
Consider this:
In Mark’s Gospel, the longest continuous discourse of Jesus is what’s commonly called the Olivet Discourse (Mark 13). In this “sermon,” we might call it, Jesus speaks 648 words (in the NIV). In contrast, during his trial he speaks only 30 words—that’s only 4.6% of the total words in his Olivet Discourse.
That’s like the difference between driving from Augusta out to Thomson, as opposed to driving to Indianapolis, IN. A remarkable silence!
In Luke’s Gospel, the longest continuous discourse we call the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6). In this teaching Jesus uses 706 words (in the NIV). But then during his trial he speaks only 46 words—that’s only 6.5% of the total words in the Sermon on the Plain! A remarkable display of restraint!
That’s like the difference between driving out to Barnwell, SC as opposed to driving all the way up to Philadelphia, PA.
In Matthew’s Gospel, the contrast is even more striking. In the Sermon on the mount, Jesus speaks a whopping 2,345 words (in the NIV). And in his trial speaks only 41. That’s a mere 1.7% of what he said in the Sermon on the Mount.
That’s like the difference between driving out to Lincolnton, as opposed driving out to San Diego, CA.
The silence of Jesus is remarkable.
He’s not silent because he’s lost his wits. He is not silent because he’s suddenly confused. He is not silent because someone else now finally has a better argument. He is not silent because he is faced with questions for which he has no answers. No. Jesus is silent because he chooses to be silent.
Especially in a world as noisy as ours.
Especially in a culture that compels and incentivizes us to speak our mind. Most strongly whenever we or “our people” or “our cause” are maligned in any way.
Not only are we incentivized to speak our mind, but we are given the tools to do so. Tools that dwarf every other means of communication in human history. We can say far more with our thumbs than anyone in Jesus’ day could say with their mouths or write on papyrus. More than anyone could type and print after the invention of the printing press. More than anyone could type and print after the invention of the personal computer.
In our country in particular, I am grateful for the freedom of speech that we are afforded. Yet “freedom of speech” easily becomes “compulsion to speech.” But just because you can say virtually anything, doesn’t mean that you should say everything. At some point I have to ask myself if I am more American or more Christian. At some point I have to ask myself if I am going to be a loud and brash American, or a humble and quiet disciple of Jesus. At some point I have to ask myself if I believe that it is the bold who will inherit the earth, or the meek.
Silence is counter-cultural resistance
Resistance to contributing to the noise might just be one of the most revolutionary actions we can take in a post-Christendom world.
This is counter-intuitive. But it seems to be the way of the Kingdom. The King of Kings entered the world in relative anonymity, with little public fanfare besides a few shepherds and some livestock; the King of Kings left the world without opening his mouth, “as a sheep before its shearers is silent,” as Isaiah puts it (Isaiah 53:7)
Maybe part of following in the way of Jesus is learning to be more silent—especially when we can (and supposedly should!) speak up. Maybe our opinions and doctrines and politics don’t need us to defend them. Maybe we do more harm than good the louder we get.
My suspicion is that much of our noise stems from our compulsion to be right. To defend our rightness. But does Jesus call us to be right, or to live rightly?
Maybe—just maybe—even Jesus doesn’t need us to defend him. He could have defended himself against every accusation against him. He could have answered every question they threw at him. But he didn’t. He held his tongue. He was silent.
Jesus still made no reply, and Pilate was amazed.
-Mark 15:5
As we pick up our crosses and follow Jesus, perhaps we might pick up silence as well. And then go on to mirror the restraint of Jesus to a noisy, angry, accusing world. And maybe—just maybe—that world will end up being amazed.
This was the homily I gave at the Good Friday Cross Walk on April 3, 2026. This yearly Cross Walk is a variation stations of the cross in which we literally carry our crosses up a hill, following Jesus towards Golgotha. We stop at four different churches from different traditions along the way for worship, Scripture readings, and sermons. It is a beautifully ecumenical event that both reminds us and displays to the world that Jesus is who who says he is, and that he really only has one Universal Church.