Palm Sunday 2014

Lectionary: 35 and 38

One of the Twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said,
“What are you willing to give me
if I hand him over to you?”

 

Saint Matthew’s Passion Narrative begins with two events, Judas’ betrayal and Jesus’ Last Supper. We could never understand what we’re about to witness without retelling these stories.

Judas does more than set in motion the series of events – what in ancient times was called the “machinery” of the drama. He represents the imbedded sin in every human heart, that willingness to betray everything that is holy and good.

To our endless consternation, there would be no drama – no passion narrative – without his betrayal. We might even think his crime is some kind of blessing, except for Jesus’ chilling remark, “It would be better for that man if he had never been born.”

Betrayal is a terrible thing; we might even call it the original sin. First there is that deep, manifest affection between two lovers: the Lord and Adam, Moses and the Hebrews, David and his King Saul, Jesus and Judas. They are easy, happy and safe within each other’s company. There is nothing they cannot say to one another. Then a rift develops, but only one party knows it: Adam eats the forbidden fruit and discovers his nakedness; the Hebrews’ discontent in the wilderness, Saul’s unexpected jealousy, Judas’ greed or disenchantment. (Only one evangelist supposes he was greedy; the others cannot divine a motive.)  Then the rupture occurs and the victim gasps:

For it is not an enemy that reviled me –

that I could bear –

Not a foe who viewed me with contempt,

from that I could hide.

But it was you, my other self,

my comrade and friend,

You, whose company I enjoyed,

at whose side I walked

in the house of God. (Psalm 55:13-15)

The victim is doomed as the drama unfolds toward its inevitable end.

In the Passion of Jesus we should see the betrayal as the requirement that Jesus must drink the bitter cup to its dregs. Like his Baptism in the Jordan, it is necessary.

The incident fits the rest of the story with Peter’s denial, the disciples’ flight into the night, the viciousness of the Jewish authorities and the merciless policies of the Romans.

Jesus’ death must be a solitary bright light in a pitch dark firmament, like the Star of Bethlehem. It must draw our attention and we must keep our eyes fixed on it, as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until day dawns and the morning star rises in our hearts.

Finally, the betrayal occurs as Jesus presides at the Last Supper, the first Mass. Several of our Eucharistic Prayers specifically mention the betrayal. It will always remain like a thorn in the flesh to remind us that our ways are not God’s ways. We would celebrate Christmas without darkness and Easter without Good Friday; we would have families without skeletons, ointments without flies and silver linings without clouds.

Judas’ betrayal remains because we must know the intensity and purity of God’s love for us. That light must shine brilliantly in the darkness of every human heart.