The Oxford Dictionary defines justification as "the action of showing something to be right or reasonable." But in biblical terms, justification goes deeper; it’s about declaring or making someone or something righteous in the sight of God.  

Let me share something about myself—I’m a justifier. Seriously, if I’m wronged or misunderstood, my first instinct is to explain, defend, and set the record straight. I want people to know my side, to see why I did what I did, and to understand the truth as I see it. Can you relate? I think a lot of us can. We want to be understood, to be seen as "right" when it matters most to us.

But then, there’s Jesus. If anyone had the right to justify Himself, it was Him. He was literally perfect—sinless, always truthful, compassionate, and wise. People misrepresented Him all the time. They twisted His words, doubted His intentions, and ultimately turned on Him. And yet, He rarely defended Himself. Instead, He often chose silence and surrendered to God’s will. This really hit me when I recently read Matthew 26:47-68 again, where Jesus is betrayed and arrested.

Imagine it: Jesus, the one who healed people, fed the hungry, raised the dead, is suddenly betrayed by one of His closest friends. Judas, with whom He had shared so much, kisses Him on the cheek—the ultimate sign of betrayal. Then, a crowd with swords and clubs shows up to arrest Him. Not only was Jesus betrayed, but He was also dragged into a sham of a trial in the middle of the night. The religious leaders gathered people to give false testimony, not because they wanted the truth, but because they wanted a reason to condemn Him. And what did Jesus do? He stayed quiet. He didn’t argue or try to prove them wrong. He didn’t say, “Hold on, let me tell you the real story.”

In verse 63, we read, “But Jesus remained silent.” Honestly, every time I read that, I’m blown away. I mean, if there was ever a time to set the record straight, this was it. He could’ve easily pointed out their hypocrisy, their lies, and defended Himself as the innocent Son of God. But instead, He chose silence, and when He did speak, it was brief and to the point. When asked if He was the Messiah, He simply said, “You have said so,” and reminded them that they would see Him “sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One.”

I’ve always struggled with that. Why didn’t He say more? Why didn’t He justify Himself? But the more I think about it, the more I realize that Jesus’ silence wasn’t weakness—it was strength. He wasn’t interested in winning a debate or proving His point. Jesus knew that God was His ultimate Justifier, and He trusted God to handle the situation. He saw beyond the moment and knew that this trial wasn’t the end of the story. By choosing silence, He showed complete faith in God’s plan, knowing that one day, the truth would be revealed and that God would vindicate Him.

This realization has shifted something in me. I’m learning that sometimes, it’s okay not to explain myself, not to jump in and defend my actions. I’m starting to see that, like Jesus, I don’t have to justify myself because God knows my heart. When I’m misunderstood or feel the urge to argue my side, I remember that God is my Justifier. And honestly, it’s freeing. There’s a weight that lifts when we stop needing everyone to see things our way.

I think about Jesus’ words in Philippians 2:10-11, where we’re reminded that one day, “Every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.” That promise reminds me that, in the end, it’s not about winning arguments or proving our point. God has already won the victory. Our job is simply to trust Him, to let Him be our Justifier, and to walk away with grace, knowing He sees us and knows the truth.

So here’s my prayer for us: May we let go of our need to be “right” and instead trust in the ultimate truth that God holds. Let’s live with confidence, knowing that no matter what happens, the battle belongs to the Lord, and He has us in His hands. We don’t need to fight for our reputation or our story—God’s got it covered. And that is such a relief, isn’t it?