Tuesday of Holy Week

 Lectionary: 258

Reclining at table with his disciples, Jesus was deeply troubled and testified,
“Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me.”
The disciples looked at one another, at a loss as to whom he meant.

Jesus had urged his disciples to be as clever as serpents and as meek as lambs. They apparently got the lambs part right because they were utterly astonished at Judas's betrayal. They never saw it coming and were "at a loss as to whom he meant" when Jesus predicted it. 

That speaks to the admirable way Jesus taught his disciples. They trusted him and, for all their bickering about who was the greatest among them, they trusted each other also. They could not see in Judas's manner his loss of faith, his distracted attention, his grumbling about wasted funds, or his coming betrayal. They had their eyes fixed on Jesus and were not especially interested in one another's character defects. 

When a community of the Lord's disciples is more lamb than serpent, this kind of thing will happen. If betrayal is a terrible thing, the fact that we're flummoxed by it is not. We might be disappointed in ourselves that we didn't see it coming, but we can be consoled by the innocence we bring to the table. 

More important than seeing it coming, we have to deal with betrayal by restoring our confidence in one another. Our hearts must heal and again be ready to receive and welcome one another. We don't need suspicion; we should not practice excessive caution with one another. 

I was the spiritual assistant for a Secular Franciscan Fraternity in Minnesota several years ago. A woman joined us who had many stories to tell. She was attractive, clever, and energetic; but her stories were not true. No one in the group could have a medical issue that she didn't have a worse one. On one occasion, as she told me about her latest major surgery, she offered to show me the scars. Horrified, I declined. I am no doctor and I don't pretend to be one.

It was a bluff, apparently. When one of our group happened to meet another woman, a mutual acquaintance, and the two compared notes about this odd person, the pattern emerged and her persona unraveled. Eventually she found another group to regale with her outlandish stories. Why she should behave that way no one ever explained.

Betrayal happens. It shouldn't but it does. Judas's untimely death cancelled any reconciliation with the Church. Peter and the other disciples also sinned against the Lord, and all were forgiven by the triumphant grace of His resurrection. They remained in Jerusalem as a church to receive the blessing; some who had decamped in bewildered distress were brought back. There is no sign of Judas's posthumous rehabilitation in the New Testament. 

But the Church moved on without him, as it must. They elected Matthias to take the empty seat. They received the Spirit and announced the gospel to the far corners of the world. 

The Evangelists understood that Judas's betrayal was also part of God's plan. He didn't have to commit this crime but the humiliation -- the kenosis -- of God had to be complete. His being vilified by his enemies and condemned by the populace; his crown of thorns, the scourging, carrying the cross, his nailing to the cross and nakedness, his death agony, burial, and descent into hell: all that would not be complete if his disciples had rallied to save him. Not only did some flee from his presence while his spokesman denied ever knowing the man, he was betrayed to his murderers with a kiss. 

The sacrifice of Isaac had set the pattern. If Abraham was willing to give more than his own life for the love of God, God would give his Only Begotten Son to the utter futility and ignominious defeat of crucifixion. There should be no reason to believe, hope, or love when God restores our faith, hope, and love by the Resurrection of Jesus.  

And so we follow him to Calvary.