The final hours before the cross arrive. Luke 22 chronicles the Passover meal where Jesus institutes the Lord's Supper, revealing that one of his own disciples will betray him. As the night unfolds, Jesus prays in agony at Gethsemane while his disciples sleep, then faces arrest, denial by Peter, and mockery before the religious authorities. This pivotal chapter captures the transition from Jesus' ministry to his passion, showing both his human anguish and divine resolve to fulfill God's redemptive plan.
Luke opens this section with a temporal marker that is both chronological and theological: 'Now the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was approaching' (v. 1). The imperfect verb ἤγγιζεν ('was approaching') creates a sense of inexorable movement—the feast is drawing near, and with it the hour of Jesus' passion. Luke's dual designation of the feast reflects popular usage while maintaining liturgical precision: technically, Passover was the single day (14 Nisan) when the lamb was slaughtered, followed by the seven-day Feast of Unleavened Bread (15-21 Nisan), but common parlance treated them as a unified celebration. This conflation serves Luke's narrative purpose, framing the entire passion sequence within the Passover motif and inviting readers to see Jesus' death as the ultimate Passover sacrifice.
The conspiracy of the religious leaders (v. 2) is marked by two imperfect verbs that reveal both persistence and paralysis: ἐζήτουν ('they were seeking') and ἐφοβοῦντο ('they were afraid'). The chief priests and scribes are caught in a strategic dilemma—they want Jesus dead, but they fear the people who regard Him as a prophet. The verb ἀναιρέω ('to put to death') is a euphemistic term for execution, often used in judicial contexts, suggesting that they are seeking a legal pretext for what is essentially a predetermined verdict. The explanatory γάρ ('for') in verse 2 exposes their motivation: fear of popular uprising constrains their murderous intent. They need not just Jesus' death but a way to accomplish it that neutralizes public sympathy—a problem Judas will solve.
Verse 3 introduces a seismic shift with stark simplicity: 'And Satan entered into Judas.' The aorist verb εἰσῆλθεν ('entered') is decisive and complete, marking a moment of demonic possession or at minimum profound influence. Luke has been silent about Satan since 4:13, where the devil departed 'until an opportune time'—that time has now arrived. Judas is identified with unusual precision: 'who was called Iscariot, belonging to the number of the twelve.' The present participle ὄντα ('being') emphasizes his current status—he is not a former disciple or an outsider but one who belongs (ἐκ τοῦ ἀριθμοῦ) to the inner circle. This makes the betrayal not merely treachery but apostasy, a defection from within the covenant community. Luke presents Judas as both responsible agent and satanic instrument, holding in tension human culpability and cosmic warfare.
The transaction unfolds in verses 4-6 with businesslike efficiency. Judas 'went away and discussed' (συνελάλησεν) with the chief priests and 'officers' (στρατηγοῖς)—the latter term refers to the captains of the temple guard, indicating that both religious and security authorities are involved. The indirect question τὸ πῶς ('how') appears twice (vv. 2, 4), creating verbal symmetry: the leaders were seeking 'how' to kill Jesus; Judas provides the answer to 'how' he might betray Him. The leaders' response is telling: 'they were glad' (ἐχάρησαν), a verb of joy that here becomes grotesque—they rejoice at the prospect of murder. The agreement to give 'silver' (ἀργύριον) formalizes the conspiracy as a covenant, and Judas 'consented' (ἐξωμολόγησεν), a verb that can mean 'confess' but here denotes full agreement. The final verse shows Judas actively seeking (ἐζήτει, imperfect tense) 'a good opportunity' (εὐκαιρίαν) to betray Jesus 'apart from the crowd' (ἄτερ ὄχλου)—the solution to the leaders' dilemma. The crowd that constrained the authorities becomes the obstacle Judas will circumvent, turning public protection into private vulnerability.
The convergence of sacred calendar, human treachery, and satanic agency reveals that the cross stands at the intersection of divine plan and demonic opposition—the same event is both the enemy's apparent triumph and God's appointed means of redemption.
Luke's opening reference to 'the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover' deliberately evokes the foundational narrative of Israel's redemption in Exodus 12. There, Yahweh instituted the Passover as a perpetual memorial of deliverance: each household was to slaughter a lamb, apply its blood to the doorposts, and eat the flesh in haste as the destroyer passed over Egypt. The feast of Unleavened Bread followed immediately, commemorating the haste of the exodus when Israel had no time for bread to rise (Exod 12:15-20). By framing Jesus' passion within this liturgical context, Luke invites readers to see the crucifixion as the ultimate Passover event—Jesus is the Lamb of God whose blood delivers from the destroyer, whose flesh is consumed in the new covenant meal, and whose death inaugurates a new exodus from the slavery of sin.
The mention of 'silver' (ἀργύριον) in verse 5 echoes the haunting oracle of Zechariah 11:12-13, where the prophet, acting out Yahweh's rejection by Israel, is paid 'thirty pieces of silver'—the price of a slave gored by an ox (Exod 21:32). Yahweh calls this sum 'the magnificent price at which I was valued by them,' dripping with irony. The silver is then thrown to the potter in the house of Yahweh, a gesture of contempt. Matthew makes this connection explicit (Matt 26:15; 27:3-10), but Luke's more subtle reference still resonates: the Messiah is sold for money, valued as merchandise, betrayed by one of His own. The transaction between Judas and the chief priests becomes a reenactment of Israel's ancient rejection of Yahweh's shepherd, now focused on the Good Shepherd Himself. What was prefigured in prophetic sign-act becomes historical reality in the upper room's aftermath.
The longest tab in Luke 22 holds two distinct but interlocking units: the Passover preparation and meal (vv. 7-23) and the post-meal table discourse (vv. 24-38). Luke organizes them as a single sustained scene at the table, with the meal itself flowing without break into Jesus' instructions—a literary unity that mirrors the theological unity Luke wants to draw between the institution of the Lord's Supper and the cruciform shape of Christian leadership. Where Mark and Matthew end the upper-room scene with the singing of the hymn (Mark 14:26 / Matt 26:30), Luke holds the disciples at the table for additional teaching that, in John, occupies the entire farewell discourse. This is Luke editorializing through arrangement: the bread, the cup, the betrayer's hand, the dispute over greatness, and the prophecy of Peter's denial are all presented as a single seamless episode.
The preparation narrative (vv. 7-13) is built on Lukan secret-rendezvous patterning. Jesus sends Peter and John (the only naming of the meal's preparers in any Gospel) with prophetic foreknowledge: a man carrying water (an unusual sight, since water-carrying was women's work), a known householder, an upper room ἐστρωμένον ("furnished," perfect passive participle—already arranged). The detail mirrors the colt-finding of 19:30-34 and quietly insists that nothing is improvised. Luke's repetition of πάσχα seven times in vv. 7-15 hammers the Passover frame into the reader's ear before the institution words rewrite its meaning.
Verses 14-20 are the institution proper, and Luke's text presents the famous "shorter / longer" textual question. The major manuscripts (P75, ℵ, A, B, C) include both vv. 19b-20 (the "given for you...new covenant in My blood" expansion); the Western tradition (D and a handful of Old Latin) omits it. The longer reading is overwhelmingly attested and is read in modern editions including NA28; the LSB follows that reading. Within it, the meal's twin moments structure the new theology: bread broken ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν ("for you") and cup poured ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν—the prepositional phrase claims the disciples as direct beneficiaries of a substitutionary act, with ὑπέρ carrying both representational ("on behalf of") and substitutionary ("in place of") force. The double τοῦτό ἐστιν ("this is") has been the battlefield of Western sacramental theology for a thousand years; the Greek is grammatically simple, but the predication's mode (literal, metaphorical, sacramental, dynamic) is not specified by the syntax.
The interpolated note about the betrayer (vv. 21-23) is striking in its placement—Luke alone among the Synoptics places the betrayer-disclosure after the institution. Mark and Matthew put it before; John in his own way distributes it differently. The Lukan placement makes a theological point: the betrayer has just received the bread and cup. The hand that will betray Jesus has been on the table during the giving. The mystery of human will operating within divine determination is held without resolution: κατὰ τὸ ὡρισμένον ("as it has been determined," perfect passive of ὁρίζω—the same root that gives "horizon," a settled boundary) declares the going; οὐαὶ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ ἐκείνῳ ("woe to that man") declares the responsibility. Luke does not soften either pole.
The dispute over greatness (vv. 24-30) is uniquely Lukan in placement, though parallel sayings exist in Mark 10:42-45 and Matt 20:25-28 in different settings. Luke's location is dramatically devastating: the Twelve quarrel about precedence within minutes of receiving the broken-body bread. The verb φιλονεικία ("contentious rivalry," from φίλος + νεῖκος, "love of strife") names what they were doing, not just thinking. Jesus' counter-pattern (ὑμεῖς δὲ οὐχ οὕτως, "but it is not this way with you") is anchored in His self-description ὡς ὁ διακονῶν ("as the one who serves")—and in Luke's narrative, this self-description is being acted out at the very table where He has just served them His body and blood. The kingdom-grant in vv. 28-30 is consolation: those who have stayed (διαμεμενηκότες, perfect participle—"have stood firm and continue to stand") will eat at His table and judge the twelve tribes. The eschatological table is promised inside the present table.
The Simon Simon passage (vv. 31-34) is one of the tenderest moments in the Synoptics. The doubled name (Σίμων Σίμων) is solemn address (cf. Martha Martha, 10:41; Saul Saul, Acts 9:4). Satan has demanded all of them—the plural ὑμᾶς ("you all") expands the threat beyond Peter—but Jesus' intercession is for Peter individually (περὶ σοῦ, sg.). The petition's content is precise: ἵνα μὴ ἐκλίπῃ ἡ πίστις σου ("that your faith may not utterly fail"). The verb ἐκλείπω (to leave off, to give out, to be eclipsed) admits that faith may be shaken violently—but the prayer is that it not be extinguished. Peter's denial is therefore not failure of faith but a violent lapse from which Christ's prayer secures return: καὶ σύ ποτε ἐπιστρέψας ("and you, when once you have turned again"). The pastoral logic is that one who has been broken and restored is uniquely fit to στήρισον ("strengthen," the same verb of fixing or making firm that gives "stereo") the brothers.
The two-swords saying (vv. 35-38) closes the tab on a deliberately puzzling note. Jesus contrasts the earlier Galilean mission (10:4)—when no provisions were needed because hospitality was pervasive—with the coming hostility, when even basic resources must be self-supplied. The "sword" instruction is heard literally by the disciples; ἰδοὺ μάχαιραι ὧδε δύο ("look, here are two swords") shows them missing the metaphor entirely. Jesus' reply ἱκανόν ἐστιν ("it is enough") is not endorsement but resignation: enough discussion, the hour of misunderstanding has arrived. The Isaiah 53:12 citation in v. 37 (μετὰ ἀνόμων ἐλογίσθη, "He was numbered with transgressors") supplies the deeper reason for the warning: Jesus is about to be officially classified as an ἄνομος, and His followers will be tarred with the same brush. The swords are not for fighting; they are for marking the disciples as those associated with the condemned Servant. The next tab will show how Jesus refuses to wield them when they are actually used (v. 51, the slave's ear).
Within minutes the same hands that received the body-bread quarreled over rank, requested permission to be sifted, and grasped at swords. Luke does not flinch from showing the meal that saves the world being eaten by the men who will scatter from it before dawn—and the saving is no less real for the scattering, because the prayer that will not let faith utterly fail has already gone up from the host's mouth before the betrayer's foot has left the room.
Luke structures this passage as a study in contrasts, using spatial and postural markers to underscore the distance between Jesus' resolve and the disciples' weakness. The narrative opens with movement—'He came out and proceeded' (ἐξελθὼν ἐπορεύθη)—establishing Jesus as the active agent who leads His followers to the Mount of Olives 'as was His custom' (κατὰ τὸ ἔθος). The phrase anchors this climactic moment in a pattern of habitual prayer, suggesting that Gethsemane is not an aberration but the culmination of Jesus' disciplined communion with the Father. The disciples 'followed' (ἠκολούθησαν), but their following will soon falter. Upon arrival, Jesus issues a command in the present imperative—'Pray' (προσεύχεσθε)—with a purpose clause, 'that you may not enter into temptation' (μὴ εἰσελθεῖν εἰς πειρασμόν). The negative purpose construction (μή + aorist infinitive) emphasizes prevention: prayer is the prophylactic against being overwhelmed by testing.
Verse 41 introduces physical separation: Jesus 'withdrew from them about a stone's throw' (ἀπεσπάσθη ἀπ' αὐτῶν ὡσεὶ λίθου βολήν). The verb ἀποσπάω (to draw away, tear away) carries a note of deliberate distancing, and the vivid measurement—'a stone's throw'—makes the separation tangible. Jesus then 'knelt down' (θεὶς τὰ γόνατα), an aorist participle indicating a decisive posture of submission and supplication. The imperfect verb 'began to pray' (προσηύχετο) signals the onset of sustained, agonized prayer. His petition in verse 42 is structured as a conditional sentence with a present general condition: 'Father, if You are willing' (πάτερ, εἰ βούλει). The verb βούλομαι (to will, desire) is more deliberative than θέλω, suggesting considered intention. The imperative 'remove' (παρένεγκε, aorist active) is direct and urgent, yet immediately qualified by the adversative 'yet' (πλήν) and the contrasting volitive clauses: 'not My will, but Yours be done' (μὴ τὸ θέλημά μου ἀλλὰ τὸ σ�όν γινέσθω). The present imperative γινέσθω (let it be done) expresses ongoing submission, not a one-time acquiescence.
Verses 43-44 intensify the drama with two participial clauses that deepen our understanding of Jesus' ordeal. An angel 'appeared to Him' (ὤφθη δὲ αὐτῷ, aorist passive of ὁράω), 'strengthening Him' (ἐνισχύων αὐτόν, present participle). The angelic ministry does not alleviate the agony but sustains Jesus through it. The phrase 'being in agony' (γενόμενος ἐν ἀγωνίᾳ) uses the aorist participle of γίνομαι to mark the onset of this extreme state, and the comparative adverb 'very fervently' (ἐκτενέστερον, comparative of ἐκτενής) modifies 'He was praying' (προσηύχετο, imperfect). The prayer intensifies as the agony deepens. Luke's medical precision emerges in the description: 'His sweat became like drops of blood' (ἐγένετο ὁ ἱδρὼς αὐτοῦ ὡσεὶ θρόμβοι αἵματος), with the present participle 'falling down' (καταβαίνοντες) vividly portraying the physical manifestation of spiritual anguish. The comparison (ὡσεί, 'like') may indicate either actual hematidrosis or sweat so profuse it resembled blood clots—either way, the body itself testifies to the cost of obedience.
The passage concludes with a return to the disciples and a repeated exhortation. Jesus 'rose from prayer' (ἀναστὰς ἀπὸ τῆς προσευχῆς, aorist participle) and 'found them sleeping' (εὗρεν κοιμωμένους αὐτούς, aorist indicative with present participle). Luke alone provides the explanatory phrase 'from sorrow' (ἀπὸ τῆς λύπης), a genitive of cause that mitigates their failure without excusing it. Jesus' question—'Why are you sleeping?' (τί καθεύδετε;)—is both rebuke and lament. The final command mirrors verse 40: 'Rise and pray' (ἀναστάντες προσεύχεσθε), with the aorist participle ἀναστάντες (having risen) emphasizing the urgency of action, followed by the present imperative for continuous prayer. The purpose clause returns verbatim: 'that you may not enter into temptation' (ἵνα μὴ εἰσέλθητε εἰς πειρασμόν). The repetition frames the passage and underscores the central lesson: vigilance in prayer is the only defense against collapse under trial. Jesus has modeled it; the disciples have failed it; the reader is warned.
Gethsemane reveals that submission to the Father's will is not the absence of struggle but the victory won through struggle. Jesus does not glide serenely into suffering; He wrestles, sweats blood, and pleads for another way—yet emerges with a 'Yes' that will not be revoked. True obedience is forged in the furnace of agonized prayer.
The narrative structure of this arrest scene is marked by dramatic irony and rapid action. Luke opens with a genitive absolute construction (Eti autou lalountos, 'while He was still speaking'), creating narrative continuity from the prayer scene and emphasizing the abruptness of the interruption. The demonstrative idou ('behold') functions as a cinematic cut, shifting focus to the approaching crowd. Judas is introduced with the articular participle ho legomenos ('the one called'), a designation that distances him even as it identifies him—he bears the name but has abandoned the identity. The imperfect proērcheto ('was going before') pictures Judas leading the way, a tragic inversion of discipleship where the follower now guides the enemies.
Jesus's question in verse 48 employs the dative of means (philēmati, 'with a kiss') to devastating effect. The present tense paradidōs ('are you betraying') may be conative—'are you attempting to betray?'—or it may emphasize the ongoing nature of the act, as if to say, 'Is this really what you are doing right now?' The title 'Son of Man' on Jesus's lips recalls Daniel 7 and His repeated self-designation throughout the Gospel, reminding Judas (and Luke's readers) of the cosmic significance of this moment. The disciples' response in verse 49 uses the future indicative pataxomen in a deliberative question ('shall we strike?'), but one disciple doesn't wait for an answer—the aorist epataxen ('struck') indicates swift, decisive action.
Jesus's command in verse 51, Eate heōs toutou, is terse and ambiguous: 'Stop! No more of this' or possibly 'Let it be, up to this point.' The imperative eate (from eaō, 'to permit, allow') can mean either 'stop' or 'allow,' and the context supports the former—Jesus is halting the violence. The participial phrase hapsamenos tou ōtiou ('having touched the ear') precedes the main verb iasato ('healed'), emphasizing the tactile nature of the healing. This is Jesus's final miracle before the cross, and it reverses the violence of His own follower.
The confrontation in verses 52-53 shifts to direct address, with Jesus speaking pros ('to, toward') the assembled leadership. The comparative particle hōs ('as, like') introduces the rhetorical question: they have come 'as against a robber' (epi lēstēn), armed with swords and clubs. The contrast is sharp: Jesus has been present kath' hēmeran ('daily') in the temple, yet they did not arrest Him there. The adversative alla ('but') in verse 53 introduces the theological climax: 'this is your hour and the authority of darkness.' The demonstrative hautē ('this') is emphatic—this particular hour, this specific moment. The genitive tou skotous ('of darkness') is possessive, personifying darkness as a power with its own domain. Jesus is not denying agency to His human opponents, but He is locating their actions within a larger cosmic conflict. They think they are acting freely; He knows they are instruments of a darkness that has been granted its hour.
In the garden, Jesus heals the ear of an enemy even as His own disciples flee—a final demonstration that His kingdom advances not through the sword but through suffering love. The darkness has its hour, but only the hour the Father permits.
Luke structures this passage as a diptych, alternating between Peter's threefold denial (vv. 54-62) and Jesus' mockery by the guards (vv. 63-65). The narrative opens with two genitive absolute constructions (Συλλαβόντες... ἤγαγον and περιαψάντων... ἐκάθητο) that establish the scene's dual focus: Jesus is led into the high priest's house while Peter follows 'from a distance.' The μακρόθεν is not incidental—it sets the spatial and spiritual tone for what follows. Luke's use of the imperfect ἠκολούθει ('was following') suggests ongoing but incomplete action, a discipleship that has not yet failed entirely but is already compromised.
The three denials escalate in both intensity and specificity. The first comes from a servant-girl who merely observes Peter by the firelight; he denies with a simple 'I do not know him.' The second comes from an unnamed man who identifies Peter as 'one of them'; Peter's denial now includes a vocative ('Man') and a more emphatic negation. The third, occurring 'after about an hour had passed,' involves a man who 'began to insist' (διϊσχυρίζετο, an imperfect suggesting repeated assertion) based on Peter's Galilean identity. Peter's final denial is the most elaborate: 'Man, I do not know what you are talking about.' The progression reveals a Peter who becomes more defensive and elaborate in his disavowal even as the evidence against him mounts. The temporal marker 'immediately' (παραχρῆμα) in v. 60 creates dramatic simultaneity: while Peter is still speaking (ἔτι λαλοῦντος αὐτοῦ), the rooster crows.
Verse 61 is the emotional and theological hinge of the passage. The Lord 'turned' (στραφείς, an aorist participle suggesting decisive action) and 'looked at' (ἐνέβλεψεν) Peter. Luke alone records this look—a moment of silent communication that accomplishes what no words could. The passive verb ὑπεμνήσθη ('was reminded') indicates that Peter's memory is triggered not by his own reflection but by the Lord's gaze. The content of the remembrance is given in indirect discourse, recalling Jesus' precise prediction from 22:34. Peter's response is immediate and total: he went out and 'wept bitterly' (ἔκλαυσεν πικρῶς). The adverb πικρῶς captures the quality of his grief—not mere sadness but the bitter taste of self-knowledge and betrayed loyalty.
The mockery scene (vv. 63-65) shifts focus entirely to Jesus, who has been silent since v. 54. The men 'holding him in custody' (οἱ συνέχοντες αὐτόν) were mocking and beating him. The imperfect verbs (ἐνέπαιζον, ἐπηρώτων, ἔλεγον) suggest ongoing, repeated action—this was not a single incident but sustained abuse. The cruel irony of their game is palpable: they blindfold the one who truly sees and demand that he 'prophesy' who struck him, even as his prophecy about Peter is being fulfilled in the courtyard outside. The final verse summarizes with devastating brevity: 'And they were saying many other things against him, blaspheming.' The present participle βλασφημοῦντες indicates that their speech was not merely insulting but blasphemous—they were reviling the Holy One of God. Luke's restraint in describing the abuse makes it all the more powerful; the reader is left to imagine the 'many other things' while recognizing that the true outrage is not physical but spiritual.
The Lord's look accomplishes what a thousand rebukes could not: it pierces the armor of self-deception and opens the floodgates of repentance. Peter's bitter tears are the first fruits of restoration, for only those who weep over their denials can be entrusted again with confession.
Luke structures this pericope as a tightly compressed judicial scene, moving from assembly (v. 66) through interrogation (vv. 67-69) to verdict (vv. 70-71) with dramatic economy. The temporal clause 'when it was day' (ὡς ἐγένετο ἡμέρα) signals the formal, legal character of this proceeding—the nighttime examination before Annas and Caiaphas (22:54-65) now gives way to an official dawn session of the full Sanhedrin. Luke's threefold identification of the council members—'assembly of elders,' 'chief priests,' and 'scribes'—emphasizes the comprehensive, representative nature of Israel's leadership now arrayed against Jesus. The verb ἀπήγαγον ('they led away') echoes the language of leading a condemned prisoner, anticipating the outcome even as the trial begins.
The interrogation unfolds through two questions and Jesus' pivotal response. The council's first question—'If You are the Christ, tell us'—employs a first-class conditional (εἰ with indicative) that assumes the premise for the sake of argument: 'If, as is claimed, You are the Christ...' Jesus' response refuses to play their game. His double οὐ μή construction ('you will not believe... you will not answer') expresses emphatic negation, diagnosing the futility of dialogue with closed hearts. Rather than answering their question directly, Jesus shifts to prophetic declaration in verse 69: 'But from now on (ἀπὸ τοῦ νῦν) the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God.' The future tense ἔσται marks an imminent eschatological turning point—the crucifixion and resurrection will inaugurate Jesus' enthronement, reversing the present power dynamic.
The council's second question in verse 70—'Are You the Son of God, then?'—shows they have correctly understood Jesus' claim. The inferential particle οὖν ('then, therefore') indicates they recognize that being seated at God's right hand implies divine sonship. Jesus' response, 'You say that I am' (Ὑμεῖς λέγετε ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι), is neither evasion nor simple affirmation but a rhetorical strategy that places the burden of interpretation on them. The emphatic pronoun ὑμεῖς ('you yourselves') highlights their responsibility for the conclusion they draw. The phrase ἐγώ εἰμι ('I am') resonates with divine self-disclosure, though here embedded in indirect discourse. The council's verdict in verse 71 reveals their perception: they have heard enough to condemn Him, needing no additional μαρτυρία (testimony). The irony is devastating—they claim to have heard truth 'from His own mouth' yet use that truth as grounds for rejection rather than worship.
The council demands testimony but has already rendered its verdict; they ask questions but refuse to hear answers. Jesus' trial exposes the tragedy of religious authority that has become an instrument of self-preservation rather than truth-seeking—a warning for every generation that claims to speak for God.
The LSB's rendering of verse 67, 'If You are the Christ, tell us,' preserves the conditional structure of the Greek (Εἰ σὺ εἶ ὁ χριστός) without smoothing it into a simple question. This maintains the rhetorical force of the council's challenge—they frame it as a conditional to avoid appearing to grant the premise. The LSB also retains 'Christ' rather than transliterating 'Messiah,' following the Greek text's use of χριστός while recognizing that for Luke's audience, 'Christ' had become a title rather than merely a translation.
In verse 69, the LSB translates δυνάμεως as 'power' in the phrase 'the power of God,' recognizing this as a Jewish circumlocution for God Himself. Some translations render it 'Mighty One' or 'Majesty,' but the LSB's 'power' preserves the literal sense while allowing the context to indicate its referential function. This choice maintains the reverent indirectness of Jewish God-language while remaining accessible to English readers.
The LSB's translation of Jesus' response in verse 70—'You say that I am'—carefully preserves the ambiguity of the Greek Ὑμεῖς λέγετε ὅτι ἐγώ εἰμι. Some versions render this as 'You are right in saying I am' or 'It is as you say,' which over-interpret the phrase as simple affirmation. The LSB's more literal rendering allows readers to see that Jesus neither denies the title nor offers a straightforward 'yes,' instead placing the responsibility for the conclusion on His interrogators. This preserves the rhetorical sophistication of Jesus' response in a hostile judicial context.