Wednesday
of Holy Week
Fr.
Philip N. Powell, OP
St. Albert the Great, Irving
I will speak kindly of Judas. It has been fashionable among the fashionable to look at Judas and see a man unjustly maligned for his careful act of deceit and betrayal. Aren’t we being just a little too hard on the poor man? He was under a lot of stress! The agony of being the one of the Twelve who would betray his Master and friend must have been horrible to bear. The sweaty nights tossing in his bed, worrying about money problems. The constant gnawing bite of ulcers, watching Jesus intentionally provoke the authorities. The pounding headaches from anxiety as his Master and friend claims, near-suicidally, in the middle of thronging crowds, that he is the Son of God! The insults, the arguments with the priests and scribes, even that day when the crowd starting throwing stones and they had to run for their lives! Too much, too much. You can see why he did what he did. All was lost anyway. Jesus’ end was inevitable. Who could blame Judas for siding with the arc of History against a man determined to die? You and I were in the crowd shouting “blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” All too soon, you and I will be in the crowd shouting “crucify him!” On the last day, will we ask him, “Surely, it is not I, Lord?”
Some suggest that Judas was predestined to hand Jesus over. Others will claim that Jesus asked Judas to betray him in order to fulfill the OT prophecies that prefigure his sacrifice on the cross. Still others will claim that Judas is a modern, existential figure, a man persecuted by history for making a hard choice and playing out the consequences of that choice with focused integrity. Maybe. What we know for sure is that Judas went to the chief priest. Offered Jesus' freedom and his life to those who would see him dead. He negotiated a price to betray his friend – thirty pieces of silver, the fine for murdering a slave. And then he continued living, working, ministering with Jesus, waiting for an opportunity to hand him over to his enemies.
But I said I would speak kindly of Judas. We all should. Why? Judas is so repugnant to us, so vile a man, and deserving of our contempt that, if we believe, truly believe what Jesus died to teach us, we must find it in our hearts not only to forgive him his violence against Christ, but we must see clearly, staring back at us from the twisted face of the Messiah’s betrayer, our own face – disobedient and scarred by our battles against temptation, by our struggles to find, grasp, and cling to God.
If the Christ is the best face we could wear, turned to the Father in beatitude, then Judas is the face we could wear in those moments of loneliness and distress, moments of despair at ever finding the light again. His is the face we put on when that small devilish whisper causally speaks our ruin: “This cannot be forgiven. Not even God loves you that much.” What aren’t we capable of then? What act of betrayal, deceit, selfishness, or violence is beyond us when we believe we are unlovable?
Speak kindly of Judas. Not to excuse his sin, of course not. Not to make right what is always wrong. But perhaps as an act of caution against what we hope is impossible for us. He is our anti-exemplar, the model of what happens in the ruin of despair, the wreck we make of ourselves when we kill hope with yesterday’s hatred or today’s temporary anxiety. Sometime today, ask in prayer, “Surely, it is not I, Lord?” Wait for an answer and then, with whatever answer you receive, remember mercy, and speak kindly of Judas.
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