The King Before the Fox Text: Luke 23:8-12
Introduction: The Unholy Alliance
When the world confronts the Christ, it reveals its true nature. The trial of Jesus was not one trial, but a series of them, a cascade of human depravity and divine sovereignty. He stood before Annas, Caiaphas, the Sanhedrin, Pilate, then Herod, and then back to Pilate. Each stop on this grim tour was a fresh revelation of the bankruptcy of fallen man's systems of justice and power. The religious leaders were driven by envy, the crowds by fickle passion, and the politicians by craven expediency.
In this particular scene, we see the Lord of Glory brought before Herod Antipas. This is the same Herod who had murdered John the Baptist to satisfy the whim of a dancing girl. He was a petty tyrant, a fox, as Jesus Himself had called him. He was a man steeped in superstition, sensuality, and political maneuvering. And Pilate, the Roman governor, sends Jesus to him as a political courtesy, a way to pass the buck. What we witness here is the unholy alliance of corrupt religion and corrupt politics. As the early church prayed in the book of Acts, "For truly in this city there were gathered together against Your holy servant Jesus, whom You anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever Your hand and Your plan had predestined to take place" (Acts 4:27-28). This was not an accident of history; it was a divine appointment. God was gathering all the threads of human rebellion into one place to display His sovereign power over it.
Herod and Pilate were enemies, but their shared contempt for the King of the Jews made them friends. This is how the world works. Men who hate each other will find common ground in their hatred for Christ. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and for the rulers of this age, Christ is always the ultimate enemy. They will set aside their rivalries to unite against the Lord and His Anointed. This scene is a stark reminder that there is no neutrality when it comes to Jesus. You are either for Him or against Him. And when powerful men are against Him, they reveal themselves not as lions, but as foxes and jackals, circling the Lion of Judah, unaware that His apparent weakness is the very instrument of their destruction.
The Text
Now when Herod saw Jesus, he rejoiced greatly; for he had wanted to see Him for a long time, because he had been hearing about Him and was hoping to see some sign performed by Him. And he questioned Him at some length, but He answered him nothing. And the chief priests and the scribes were standing there, vehemently accusing Him. And Herod with his soldiers, after treating Him with contempt and mocking Him, dressed Him in a bright robe and sent Him back to Pilate. Now Herod and Pilate became friends with one another that very day; for before they had been enemies with each other.
(Luke 23:8-12 LSB)
The Trivial Tyrant's Titillation (v. 8)
We begin with Herod's reaction to seeing Jesus:
"Now when Herod saw Jesus, he rejoiced greatly; for he had wanted to see Him for a long time, because he had been hearing about Him and was hoping to see some sign performed by Him." (Luke 23:8)
Herod’s joy is not the joy of a seeker finding truth. It is the glee of a jaded entertainer who has just been presented with a new diversion. He is not looking for a Savior; he is looking for a show. He had heard the reports about Jesus, the miracles, the healings, the casting out of demons. But he did not hear these things with faith. He heard them as a man looking for the next novelty, the next thrill. He wanted a court magician, not a king. This is the essence of a trivial mind. It can be surrounded by ultimate realities and see only entertainment value.
This is a profound spiritual diagnosis of our own age. We live in a culture that is perpetually amused and therefore incapable of being amazed. Like Herod, modern man wants a Jesus who performs for him. He wants the benefits of Christianity, the blessings, the "signs," without the submission, without the repentance, without the Lordship. He wants a Jesus who will fix his problems, boost his self-esteem, and validate his lifestyle, all while performing on command. But Jesus is not a vending machine, and He is not an entertainer. He is the sovereign Lord of the universe. To approach Him with a demand for a sign is to reveal a heart that is not seeking God, but rather seeking to use God for its own selfish ends. Herod's desire was not for revelation, but for spectacle. And God does not put on shows for triflers.
The Sovereign Silence (v. 9)
Herod's interrogation is met with a deafening silence.
"And he questioned Him at some length, but He answered him nothing." (Luke 23:9 LSB)
Jesus had spoken to Pilate, a man at least wrestling with the concept of truth. He had spoken to the High Priest. He would speak from the cross. But before Herod, He is utterly silent. Why? Because Herod was not a serious man. He had already had his chance. He had heard the preaching of John the Baptist, the greatest of the prophets. He knew John was a righteous man, yet he had him murdered to save face at a birthday party. He had trifled with the messenger, and now he would get nothing from the King.
There is a time when the most potent thing God can do is say nothing. The silence of Jesus is a terrifying judgment. It is the fulfillment of the proverb, "Do not answer a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him" (Proverbs 26:4). Herod was a fool, not in the sense of being unintelligent, but in the biblical sense of being a moral and spiritual lightweight. His questions were not genuine inquiries; they were part of the entertainment. To answer him would have been to participate in the charade. Jesus’s silence declared that Herod was not worthy of an answer. He was a man who had so hardened his heart, so seared his conscience, that he was beneath reply.
Let this be a warning. There is a point at which God gives men over to their own foolishness. When a man, or a culture, consistently mocks the truth, trivializes grace, and treats the sacred as a plaything, the day may come when God’s response is simply silence. He withdraws His word, and men are left alone with the echo of their own empty questions.
The Impotent Rage of the Accusers (v. 10)
While Jesus is silent, His enemies are not.
"And the chief priests and the scribes were standing there, vehemently accusing Him." (Luke 23:10 LSB)
Notice the contrast. The King of Heaven stands in silent majesty, while the religious leaders are in a frenzy. They are "vehemently accusing Him." The word suggests a high-strung, frantic, almost hysterical state. Their accusations were a torrent of noise designed to fill the void left by Jesus’s silence. When you have no truth on your side, your only recourse is to increase the volume.
This is the posture of legalism and self-righteousness when it confronts true grace. It cannot be quiet. It must justify itself, it must accuse, it must condemn. Their frantic energy betrays their spiritual insecurity. They are standing, posturing, shouting, while the one seated in the heavenly places is silent before their puppet king. Their vehemence is a sign of their impotence. They have to scream because their case is empty. They are fighting against a man who will not fight back in their terms, and it drives them to madness. They are the storm, and He is the silent eye at the center of it, unmoved and in perfect control.
Mockery, Robes, and Earthly Friendship (v. 11-12)
Unable to get a performance or a word from Jesus, Herod resorts to the last tool of a petty man: mockery.
"And Herod with his soldiers, after treating Him with contempt and mocking Him, dressed Him in a bright robe and sent Him back to Pilate. Now Herod and Pilate became friends with one another that very day; for before they had been enemies with each other." (Luke 23:11-12 LSB)
Herod and his soldiers treat Jesus with contempt. This is the response of the proud when confronted with a holiness they cannot comprehend and a power that will not submit to their control. They mock Him. They cannot kill Him, that is Pilate’s job. They cannot get Him to talk. So they ridicule Him. They dress Him in a "bright robe," a gorgeous, shining garment. This was a piece of political theater. It was a sarcastic acknowledgment of His kingship. "You claim to be a king? Here is a kingly robe for you." It was meant to humiliate, to reduce the Lord of Glory to a clown, a mock-king for their amusement.
But like everything else in the passion narrative, their mockery backfires and becomes an unintentional prophecy. They dress Him in a royal robe, thinking they are making a joke. But in doing so, they are unwittingly testifying to the truth. He is the King. They are mocking the very reality that will be their undoing. This is the profound irony of the cross. Man, in his rebellion, does his worst, and in doing so, accomplishes God's best. They put a crown of thorns on His head, and in doing so, crown Him King of all creation. They dress Him in a robe to mock Him, and in doing so, declare His royal status.
And the result of this shared contempt for Jesus? A political alliance is forged. "Herod and Pilate became friends with one another that very day." They had been enemies, rivals in the cutthroat world of Roman provincial politics. But they found common ground. What united them? Not a shared philosophy, not a shared vision for the good of the people, but a shared prisoner. Their mutual dismissal of Jesus Christ became the basis of their friendship.
This is a permanent principle. The world will always unite against the church. Theological liberals and hardened atheists, progressive capitalists and revolutionary Marxists, will put aside their differences to form a united front against the claims of Jesus Christ. When the church is faithful, it will be hated. And that hatred will cause the most unlikely of bedfellows to link arms. We should not be surprised when we see this. When the world makes friends in its opposition to the gospel, it is simply following the pattern set on the day the Fox and the Governor found common ground in their contempt for the King.
Conclusion: The Silent King's Victory
This scene is a microcosm of Christ's entire passion. We see the world in its full array: the triviality of Herod, the hysteria of the priests, the brutality of the soldiers, the cynical pragmatism of Pilate. All the powers of this world are gathered together, and they do what they do best: they question, they accuse, they mock, and they conspire.
And in the center of it all stands Jesus, the silent King. His silence is not weakness; it is strength. It is the sovereign restraint of a God who could, with a word, unmake the universe. He is silent because His case will not be tried in Herod’s shabby court. His kingdom is not of this world, and its validation does not depend on the verdict of petty tyrants. His vindication would come three days later, in an empty tomb. That was God's answer to Herod, to Pilate, and to the priests. That was the sign they would receive.
The world still wants a Jesus it can manage, a Jesus who will perform tricks, a Jesus who will answer its foolish questions on its own terms. It wants a Jesus it can dress up in a shiny robe and parade around as a mascot for its own projects. But the real Jesus, the sovereign Lord, refuses to play along. He stands in judgment over the very courts that presume to judge Him. And He calls us to stand with Him, not in frantic accusation, but in the quiet confidence that comes from knowing that the silent, mocked King is, in fact, the ruler of all things, and that His enemies, for all their temporary friendships and loud noises, are already defeated.