Matthew 20:17–19

Matthew 20:17 — "Going up to Jerusalem … he took the twelve aside" The phrase "going up to Jerusalem" (Greek: anabainōn eis Hierosolyma) is theologically loaded. Jerusalem sits at a geographic and spiritual elevation — pilgrims literally ascended to it — but Matthew's use of the present participle suggests a purposeful, ongoing movement. Jesus is not being swept toward Jerusalem; He is actively ascending toward it. The deliberate pulling aside of the Twelve (Greek: kat' idian, "privately," or "by themselves") mirrors earlier moments of intimate disclosure in Matthew (cf. 17:1, 19). This is not public instruction but a privileged revelation — a final, solemn confidence entrusted to those who will become witnesses and stewards of the Gospel.

Matthew 20:18 — "The Son of Man will be delivered … to the chief priests and scribes" The title "Son of Man" (ho huios tou anthrōpou) is Jesus' preferred self-designation in Matthew, drawing on Daniel 7:13–14, where the Son of Man receives dominion from the Ancient of Days. Its use here is striking: the one destined for cosmic lordship will first be "delivered over" (paradothēsetai — a future passive that echoes the language of judicial handing-over). This is the language of betrayal, arrest, and legal consignment. The chief priests and scribes represent the official leadership of Israel's covenant institutions — the very custodians of the Law and Temple who, in a tragic irony, will condemn the one to whom the Law and Temple point. The verb "will condemn him to death" (katakrinousin autōn thanatō) is precise: this is not a mob killing but a formal juridical act, a mock-trial whose outcome is predetermined.

Matthew 20:19 — "Hand him over to the Gentiles … to mock, to scourge, and to crucify" The handing over to the Gentiles — the Romans — is an additional layer of prophetic specificity absent in the first two predictions (16:21; 17:22–23). Three verbs describe the Passion in ascending brutality: empaizein (to mock), mastigōsai (to scourge), and staurōsai (to crucify). This triad is not accidental; it maps precisely onto what will occur in chapters 26–27. Crucifixion was a distinctly Roman form of execution, reinforcing that Jesus foreknows not only His death but its precise cultural and political form. The resurrection is then announced with equal precision: "on the third day he will be raised up" (egerthēsetai) — a divine passive, indicating that the Father is the agent of resurrection. The Son who is "delivered" by human hands is "raised" by divine power.

Typological and Spiritual Senses In the typological sense, the "going up to Jerusalem" recalls the binding of Isaac (the Aqedah, Genesis 22), where Abraham and Isaac also ascend a mountain in full knowledge of the sacrifice. As Isaac carries the wood of his own offering, Christ carries the cross. The Fathers saw in Isaac a clear type of Christ the willing victim. The handing over to both Jewish authorities and Gentiles also echoes Joseph, sold by his brothers and delivered into Gentile (Egyptian) captivity, only to become the savior of his people (Genesis 37–50). At the anagogical level, Christ's purposeful ascent toward death and resurrection is the pattern of the Christian life itself — every baptized soul is called to a similar paschal ascension through suffering toward glory.

Catholic tradition reads this passage as a definitive testimony to the unity of Christ's divine and human knowledge. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that "the human soul that the Son of God assumed is endowed with a true human knowledge" and that Christ "knew and loved us each and all during his life, his agony and his Passion" (CCC 472, 478). This third prediction — more detailed than either of its predecessors — is therefore not a prophetic guess but an expression of the Incarnate Word's comprehensive awareness of His mission. Christ is not a tragic hero undone by history; He is the Lamb "foreknown before the foundation of the world" (1 Peter 1:20).

St. Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologiae (III, q. 47, a. 1), argues that Christ suffered voluntarily and that His free offering was essential to its redemptive efficacy: "He freely offered Himself to His passion." This accords with Leo the Great's Tomus ad Flavianum, which insists that the two natures of Christ act in full concert — the divine will embracing what the human nature would endure.

The Second Vatican Council's Gaudium et Spes (no. 22) draws directly on the paschal mystery announced here: "The Lord Himself … through His incarnation united Himself in some fashion with every person. He worked with human hands … and loved with a human heart." The road to Jerusalem is therefore not only Christ's road; it is the road of every human life, now accompanied and redeemed by the One who walked it first.

Pope John Paul II's Salvifici Doloris (no. 16–18) further illuminates the specific sufferings named in verse 19 — mockery, scourging, crucifixion — as dimensions of a complete human suffering willingly borne, encompassing humiliation, physical torment, and social condemnation, so that no form of human anguish remains untouched by the Redeemer.

For contemporary Catholics, the most radical word in these three verses may be the simplest: Jesus "took the Twelve aside." He did not announce His coming death to the crowd or perform it as spectacle; He disclosed it first in intimate community. The Church's tradition of Passiontide prayer — especially the Stations of the Cross, the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, and the Palm Sunday liturgy — is a participation in that same intimate disclosure. Catholics are not spectators of the Passion but recipients of a privileged, personal confidence.

More practically, this passage challenges the common temptation to separate suffering from meaning. Jesus does not explain away His cross; He predicts it, walks toward it, and holds it together with resurrection in a single breath. For a Catholic navigating illness, professional failure, family rupture, or grief, this passage provides not consolation by subtraction — not a promise that suffering will disappear — but consolation by integration: suffering foretold, endured, and transcended is the very shape of the Gospel. The discipline of naming one's own "Jerusalems" — the known hardships one is walking toward — and entrusting them explicitly to the paschal pattern of Christ is a concrete spiritual practice this passage invites.