Matthew Chapter 26 – A Long Walk Through a Heavy Chapter
Matthew 26 is like the deep breath before the plunge. You know when a storm is about to break, and the air feels thick, and even the birds stop singing for a while? That’s what this chapter feels like. It’s long, it’s heavy, and it’s full of movement—plots being made, meals being eaten, prayers being whispered, swords drawn, betrayals carried out. Reading it feels like walking through the dim hallway before the cross itself.
So let’s sit with it. Let’s walk slowly and not rush. Sometimes Scripture is best when we don’t speed-read, but linger, tasting it like strong tea, letting it burn a little in the throat before the comfort comes.
Setting the Scene (Verses 1–5)
“When Jesus had finished all these sayings…” That’s how Matthew kicks it off. Almost like the final bell. Jesus had been teaching, warning, telling parables about readiness and judgment, and now, the teachings stop and the events begin.
He tells the disciples, very plainly this time: “You know that after two days is the Passover, and the Son of Man will be delivered up to be crucified.”
There’s no riddle here, no symbolic parable, just the flat announcement. Imagine sitting at the table, and your teacher, the one you’ve followed for years, suddenly says—matter of fact—“In two days, I’ll be executed.” I think the room must’ve gone so quiet you could hear someone’s breath catch.
Meanwhile, in another room, the chief priests and elders are plotting. They’re not having solemn talks about salvation or prayer; they’re scheming, whispering, “But not during the feast, lest there be an uproar among the people.” They’re worried about appearances, riots, timing, politics. Isn’t it wild how Jesus is talking about eternal things—His own death bringing life—and the religious leaders are worried about crowd control?
That contrast alone speaks to me. How often do I fuss about details, about “when is the right time” or “how will this look,” while God’s plan is unfolding whether or not I approve?
The Alabaster Jar – A Woman’s Costly Gift (Verses 6–13)
Now we step into Bethany, into the house of Simon the leper. That’s already striking: Jesus is eating in the home of someone once unclean. He never avoids the messy places.
Here comes this unnamed woman (though John’s Gospel identifies her as Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus). She carries an alabaster flask of expensive oil, pure nard. Imagine the smell—the room suddenly filled with this rich, heavy fragrance. Sweet, earthy, clinging to your clothes even after you leave. I once dropped a little bottle of essential oil on the floor—lavender, I think—and weeks later my room still smelled of it. Now picture a whole jar poured out. That aroma would’ve followed Jesus all the way to the cross.
She pours it on His head while He reclines at the table. And immediately, the disciples start grumbling. “Why this waste? This could have been sold for a lot and given to the poor.”
Isn’t that just like us? We see devotion and we calculate costs. We see worship and we call it waste. I remember once giving a big chunk of my paycheck to help a missionary friend, and someone said, “You should save for yourself, you’re not being wise.” Maybe they were right in a practical sense, but my heart knew it was an act of love, not economics.
Jesus defends her: “She has done a beautiful thing to me… in pouring this ointment on my body, she has prepared me for burial.”
Notice—He sees deeper. She probably didn’t even fully know what she was doing, but He knew: this was prophetic, anointing for His death.
And then He says: “Wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.” And here we are, two thousand years later, still talking about it.
Judas Makes His Move (Verses 14–16)
Right after this, Judas goes to the chief priests. Almost like the perfume fragrance drove him over the edge. While one disciple shows extravagant devotion, another shows cold betrayal.
“What will you give me if I deliver Him to you?”
Thirty pieces of silver. The price of a slave. I wonder if the coins felt heavy in his pocket, or if he felt numb. Money jingling, but no joy.
The Last Supper (Verses 17–29)
Now we’re at the first day of unleavened bread. The disciples ask, “Where should we prepare the Passover?” Jesus gives them a strangely specific instruction—almost cloak-and-dagger—about a man carrying a jar, and a room ready.
When evening comes, He sits with the twelve. This is not just any meal; it’s Passover, thick with meaning already. The lamb, the bread, the wine, the memory of Egypt. And Jesus sits down, knowing He is the lamb.
He drops a bombshell: “Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples are sorrowful. One by one they ask, “Is it I, Lord?” What a haunting question. They didn’t trust themselves enough to say “Never me!” They felt the weakness of their own hearts.
Judas too says, “Is it I, Rabbi?” Notice—he calls Him “Rabbi,” not “Lord.” Small detail, big meaning.
Then comes the breaking of bread and the sharing of the cup. Jesus gives thanks, breaks it, says, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then the cup: “This is my blood of the covenant, poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
Try to feel it—the crack of bread in His hands, the rich taste of wine, the weight of His words. If I were there, I don’t know if I’d fully get it, but I’d feel the seriousness in the air, the shift in tone.
And He adds: “I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” That’s hope tucked in the sorrow. Like saying, “We’ll eat again, but not here, not now. Later, in joy.”
Peter’s Boldness, Jesus’ Calm Warning (Verses 30–35)
They sing a hymn—imagine that! A hymn before betrayal. A hymn before agony. That alone moves me.
Then Jesus says, “You will all fall away tonight because of me.” Peter, being Peter, jumps up: “Even if all fall away, I will never fall away.”
I kind of love Peter’s passion. I also see myself in his overconfidence. Jesus tells him: “Before the rooster crows, you’ll deny me three times.”
Still, Peter insists: “Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And all the disciples said the same.
And yet, within hours, we know what happens.
Gethsemane – The Garden of Sorrow (Verses 36–46)
Here’s the heart of the chapter. Jesus goes to Gethsemane, takes Peter, James, and John with Him. He says: “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.”
That phrase… “even to death.” You can feel the crushing weight. The Son of God doesn’t glide to the cross lightly; He staggers under the dread of it.
He falls on His face and prays: “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.”
That prayer always stops me. It’s raw. It’s not a neat, polished prayer—it’s wrestling, sweating, trembling. It smells like fear and trust mixed together.
And the disciples? They fall asleep. Three times He comes back and finds them sleeping. I want to be harsh on them, but I’ve had nights where my friend needed me, and I was too tired, too distracted, too wrapped up in myself. Flesh really is weak.
The third time, He says, “Sleep and take your rest later on. See, the hour is at hand.” The betrayer arrives.
Betrayal and Arrest (Verses 47–56)
Here comes Judas, leading a crowd with swords and clubs. He had given them a signal: “The one I kiss is the man.”
So Judas greets Jesus with, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kisses Him. Imagine that sting. A kiss meant for affection used as betrayal. Jesus responds: “Friend, do what you came to do.”
They lay hands on Him, seize Him. One of the disciples (John says Peter) draws a sword and cuts off the servant’s ear. Jesus tells him, “Put your sword back. All who take the sword will perish by the sword.” Then He heals the man’s ear (Matthew doesn’t record that detail, but Luke does).
And He says: “Do you think I cannot appeal to my Father, and He will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?”
He could’ve. But He didn’t. He chose surrender so that Scripture would be fulfilled.
The disciples? They all flee. Just like He said.
Jesus Before the Council (Verses 57–68)
They drag Him to Caiaphas’ house. Peter follows at a distance, slipping into the courtyard. Inside, the council tries to bring false witnesses, but their stories don’t match. Finally, two step up: “This man said, ‘I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to rebuild it in three days.’”
The high priest asks, “Have you no answer?” Jesus is silent. That silence feels louder than words.
Finally, the high priest says: “I adjure you by the living God, tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God.”
And Jesus answers: “You have said so. But I tell you, from now on you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
That’s it. The high priest tears his robes: “Blasphemy!” They condemn Him to death. They spit in His face, strike Him, mock Him.
The Son of God, spat upon. I can hardly picture it without feeling anger and sorrow together.
Peter’s Denial (Verses 69–75)
While all this unfolds inside, Peter is outside. A servant girl says, “You also were with Jesus.” He denies it: “I don’t know what you mean.”
Another girl says it. Denial again, this time with an oath.
Others say, “Certainly you are one of them; your accent betrays you.” Peter begins to curse and swear: “I do not know the man!”
And immediately, the rooster crows.
Peter remembers Jesus’ words. He goes out and weeps bitterly.
Oh, how human that is. The boldest disciple, the loudest vow-maker, crumbles under pressure. And yet, this isn’t the end of Peter’s story. Grace will meet him again on a shore with breakfast and forgiveness. But for now—bitter tears in the night.
Closing Thoughts
Matthew 26 is so packed—it’s almost exhausting. From the perfume in Bethany to the prayers in Gethsemane, from betrayal’s kiss to Peter’s tears—it’s like watching a slow-motion train crash you can’t stop.
But here’s what I take from it, personally:
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Jesus knew everything coming, and He still walked forward.
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Human devotion can be beautiful (like the woman’s anointing), but human weakness is real (like Peter’s denial).
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God’s plan moves even when people plot, betray, deny, or flee.
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And in the middle of it all, Jesus chooses surrender, for love’s sake.
Every time I read this chapter, I feel a knot in my stomach. But I also feel gratitude. Because this is the shadow before the dawn, the breaking before the healing.
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