The night was dark as Judas walked the road from Bethany to Jerusalem. He had gone on ahead of the rest of the retinue. He was headed to the chief priests to see what they would give him to betray Jesus into their hands.
Something had happened earlier that night at the house of Lazarus and his sisters Martha and Mary. Something had tipped the scales, and set his course.
The Psalmist says: “Blessed are those who have regard for the weak;
the Lord delivers them in times of trouble.
The Lord protects and preserves them—
they are counted among the blessed in the land—
he does not give them over to the desire of their foes.”
Judas didn’t much care for that. His experience taught him that what was important was power and money. Without those there could be no talk of justice and kingdom.
He saw in Mary a weak person. He didn’t like the way she fawned over Jesus. He thought her a loose woman of weak character, lazy and flighty. “I mean,” he thought as he trudged more deliberately, his anger rising, “look at that display tonight!” She had taken a jar of costly oil and poured it out on Jesus’ feet and then just wiped them with her hair.
“All of that waste! All of that sentiment! They are a well to do family! They could have given the money to support our cause. They could finance the restoration of the kingdom. Why didn’t Jesus accept the wealth of this family? Why doesn’t he use the power of having raised Lazarus from the dead to claim the throne?”
After the way Jesus defended the waste, and talked about his burial, Judas realized he was never going to do what needed to be done. Not without a push.
Judas’ experience is not uncommon. How often do we come to realize a bitter disappointment, that God was not going to work in the way we had always dreamed? That we had fooled ourselves or worse come to feel that God had deceived us? This disappointment brought Judas late at night to the lit portico where the chief priests were plotting how to bring death to Lazarus and more importantly that Jesus. They were more than happy to promise him 30 pieces of silver if he could provide them with an opportunity, away from the crowds, to take Jesus. Either Jesus would be forced to act, or he would come out 30 pieces of silver richer.
Judas had expectations about what he had signed on to do. They had been called to change the world, hadn't they? Surely this would mean revolution and throwing off oppression. He wanted in on the ground floor, to be somebody in this new kingdom - a man of power and influence.
The next day Jesus and his disciples gathered to celebrate the Passover meal together. They laughed and chatted between solemn moments remembering their exodus from slavery. Then Jesus took off his robe and put a towel around his waist and one by one washed his disciples feet. It was intimate, like the scene the day before with Mary. Jesus washed Judas' feet, and for a moment Judas felt like a true disciple. After all wasn’t he called by Jesus himself? Didn’t he feel the stirring of the Spirit of God that something big was happening and he was to be a part of it? Hadn’t he been convinced of a sense of destiny in following Jesus.
Jesus said, “You’ve no idea how much I have looked forward to eating this Passover meal with you before I enter my time of suffering. It’s the last one I’ll eat until we all eat it together in the kingdom of God.”
Taking the cup, he blessed it, then said, “Take this and pass it among you. As for me, I’ll not drink wine again until the kingdom of God arrives.”
Taking bread, he blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, given for you. Eat it in my memory.”
He did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant written in my blood, blood poured out for you. (Luke 22.15-20)
As dinner progressed the nagging feelings returned. Judas saw his master take the place of a slave and wash his feet. He was in turmoil. How could Jesus accept such a position of powerlessness. Why couldn’t he just accept the power the people were so willing to grant him? Why was Jesus such a disappointment? How could a kingdom come from this, and all this talk about going away? About dying?
Then Jesus drops the bombshell. “The Psalmist says, ‘The one who has eaten bread with me has betrayed me.’ Even here at this table, sitting among us as a friend, is the man who will betray me. For it has been determined that the Son of Man must die. But what sorrow awaits the one who betrays him.”
There was a commotion of “Who could it be,” and “certainly not I.” Judas saw John leaning in and whispering to Jesus. Judas leaned in too, reaching for a piece of bread. Jesus got it first and handed it to Judas. Judas said, “Are you talking about me?”
Jesus replied, “You said it. What you are going to do, do quickly.”
There was a moment of hesitation. Judas realized that Jesus knew what deed he had been entertaining. Was Jesus giving him a last chance to repent of what he was going to do? Something seized Judas and he left. It was now or never.
Looking back the others tried to make sense of what would compel him to betray them. How could one of them, a disciple of Jesus, one who had just communed with them, sharing the bread and wine of a new covenant turn his back. How could one Jesus called by name be lost to them? How could this bring glory to God? Luke would say that Satan entered him when he went off on his own away from the disciples the night before. Matthew thought it was about the money, and John wondered if Judas had ever really been one of them at all.
It is a great mystery. Judas’ betrayal was necessary to fulfill what had been prophesied. If Jesus was to be glorified this must happen. Yet, it was destruction for Judas. It would have been better for him that he had never been born. How can God use such ugliness? In this mystery is the clue to another.
The mystery of the Passover is that from death comes life. The paschal mystery is precisely what Judas could not contemplate and it is the most surprising thing about this story of salvation.
This is the gospel: Victory comes through defeat, life comes through death, power comes through powerlessness. It is in the midst of the betrayal that the psalmist can declare with confidence:
But may you have mercy on me, Lord;
raise me up, that I may repay them.
I know that you are pleased with me,
for my enemy does not triumph over me.
Because of my integrity you uphold me
and set me in your presence forever. (Psalm 40:10-12)
Judas comes to the garden and betrays Jesus with a kiss. Jesus is raised up on a cross and he repays this treachery and malice with love, forgiveness and total sacrifice. As he says “It is finished!” he echoes the psalmist:
Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
from everlasting to everlasting.
Amen and Amen.
