Menelik II was emperor of Ethiopia from 1889 until 1913. News reached him of a great new invention to deal with criminals. It was called an “electric chair.” It was the ultimate deterrent to crime, people said. So he ordered one. No one warned him, however, that this new invention would not work in his country because at that time Ethiopia had no electricity.
Menelik was determined that his new purchase should not go to waste, so he converted it into the throne for his palace. He proudly sat upon the electric chair himself for the rest of his reign – proudly turning an instrument of death into a seat of power.
Now this is not the first time that a means of execution has been transformed into a throne. About 2,000 years ago, just outside of Jerusalem, at a place called “the skull”, an ancient means of execution was used. It was intended to give the ultimate humiliation to the victims of its power and to the family and community of the condemned. But with One who was hung from that cross, it was transformed from an ancient symbol of death into the throne of Glory for the God of all creation.
Menelik is forgotten and his story is the story of an uninformed ruler too proud to admit a mistake.
But to this day the cross is, for believers, a powerful symbol of life, hope and resurrection. This ancient instrument of torture is now the vision of hope to a people and to a world that longs for new life and for the power of God. The cross has become God’s way of indicating God’s refusal to let death and destruction have the final world.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
"Personalities of the Passion -- Barabbas, 'He took my place'"
Background: Barabbas became an personality of the passion through Jewish law that allowed a prisoner to be set free during the feast of the Passover. In this case, Barabbas was traded for Jesus and Jesus was put to death. We know nothing about Barabbas, except tthe charge of murder. He is mentioned in all four gospels. Mark mentions his name in such a way that we might think that he was fairly well known.
Tonight we get to hear from Barabbas from the fictional manuscript of a lecture given to the alumni of Jewish Theological Seminary about 35 ad.
Alumni, friends, guests: Thank you for the invitation to speak tonight.
I am Barabbas, murderer, thief, and insurrectionist. I was set free and Jesus took my place on one of the three crosses.
My full name is Jesus Barabbas. Barabbas is my “last name” if you will. I am a son of my father. That’s what the name means, Bar (son of) Abba (“Father”). I’m a chip off the old block. My father named me Jesus, meaning “salvation”, because he dreamed that one day I would see the salvation of Israel.
Our family has been part of the religious group called “Zealots” for generations, further back than you care to hear about. For us, salvation would be the deliverance of Israel from the sins of the Roman occupation. It just doesn’t fit that after having been freed from the sins of the Egyptians, we should now be slaves to the Romans. All the sub-groups of Judaism are anti-Rome. But our group, the Zealots, is the most nationalistic. We support guerilla war against the Romans and promote insurrection and rebellion.
From the time I was born, then, you see, I was destined to fight for the salvation of my people. While many of my childhood friends were Bar Mitzvah (sons of the law). I was Bar Chereb, (son of the sword).
At the time of my arrest for murder and insurrection (a revolt against the Romans), I was 27. I had been an active Zealot for some 15 years and had robbed and murdered too many to count.
From the moment of my arrest, I knew my days were numbered. I would not be set free. I would die by hanging on a cross. But at least I would die for the cause. I might even help bring the end of the Roman occupation. I could live up to my name, Jesus (Savior).
My trial was brief. Pilate didn’t hesitate a moment before he declared, “Death! By crucifixion.” He sentenced two others with me. I had grown up with them. We had lived a life of crime and insurrection. Now we were all sentenced to the same fate, death.
We were awaiting our death march when I first saw the one called “Jesus of Nazareth.” I had heard of him ... Who hadn't? But I had never seen him.
I did know some of his followers, fishermen, able and tough – they might have helped our cause and we sure could have used them. Simon was a Zealot, like us, until he followed the Nazarene. Judas was someone who might have helped us. He would have made a good spy, but few of us trusted him and I doubt he had the courage to really do what had to be done.
From what I had heard, I wanted no part of Jesus. His way was different than mine. He talked about love and forgiveness. Come on. Peace could never come this way. The only thing the Romans understood was hatred and brute force.
Even though it was early morning when they brought him in, there was urgency in the air. Being that it was Friday and the Passover, things had to run their course by sundown, the beginning of the Sabbath after which no one could work.
The best I could figure out was that the Nazarene had run afoul of the Jewish priests and religious leaders. Of course it didn’t take much to be on the outs with those hypocrites. Their teaching was every bit as much enslaving as the Romans
As time passed, I learned that Jesus had been before Pilate who, sensing what the priests were up to, found no guilt in him. He had sent Jesus to Herod, hoping Herod would relieve him of the responsibility. As usual, Herod could be counted on to do nothing that didn't further his selfish pretense of being the King of Israel. Some king!! He jumps at the sound of his wife's voice and ultimately he murdered the Baptist at her bidding. John, I liked him. In a different time, I might have followed him.
Anyway, I began to hear the crowds. They were yelling, “Crucify him! Crucify him!!" Then they shouted, “Give us Barabbas! Give us Barabbas!” I recalled that there was a tradition of releasing a prisoner for Passover. Maybe Pilate thought it as a way to free an innocent man. Do you want a murderer living in your midst, or this iterant preacher? Surely, they would want the man of peace and love.
Apparently not. It wasn’t long before the Centurion came and unlocked my cell. Without a word led me outside and shoved me into the street. "You're free! Be gone before someone changes their mind!"
What on earth had happened? I was free but why? I couldn't believe it.
As I listened to the soldiers shouting. As I heard the whips cracking. As the crowd noise grew, it dawned on me what was happening. It was the death march. It was Jesus and my two buddies carrying their crosses to Golgotha. The death march always drew a crowd.
Then it hit me. He was going to die in my place. I was the one who should have been in the death march. By some strange twist of fate, the innocent Jesus will die while I, a murderer and sinner, goes free.
I know you are familiar with the story but you have no way of comprehending the horror. I was deeply troubled by the sight of those three men in the death march. I belonged there. And yet I was saved.
After it was over, I went back to my friends. I planned to take up where I left off. Jerusalem was not free and I, Jesus Barabbas, would fight to make her free. But somehow I had lost my passion for the cause.
Instead I went out to that hill where the three were crucified. The bodies of course were gone but the crosses and signs of death remained. In fact, I went back there almost daily. I was really bothered by the thought that three men died here and I should have been one of them. It troubled me that I should have been on that cross, not Jesus of Nazareth. Who was he really?
I recalled that some said he was Jesus, Son of God. Do you get the irony? Here I am, Jesus, Son of the Father – free though deserving of death. Here he is Jesus, Son of God, crucified in my place. I know it is a play on words, but the fact remains, he knew no sin and was made to take my place so that I could be set free in spite of my sins.
Let me just say this. Once I was an insurrection man. Now, though, I am a resurrection man. He died for me, as he died for you. He died for my insurrection, even as he died for your insurrection – your rebellion that comes from sin. We’re all rebellious in that way, you know. But his resurrection took care of all of that. His resurrection counqured it all.
Thank you for attending tonights' lecture.
Good Night.
Tonight we get to hear from Barabbas from the fictional manuscript of a lecture given to the alumni of Jewish Theological Seminary about 35 ad.
Alumni, friends, guests: Thank you for the invitation to speak tonight.
I am Barabbas, murderer, thief, and insurrectionist. I was set free and Jesus took my place on one of the three crosses.
My full name is Jesus Barabbas. Barabbas is my “last name” if you will. I am a son of my father. That’s what the name means, Bar (son of) Abba (“Father”). I’m a chip off the old block. My father named me Jesus, meaning “salvation”, because he dreamed that one day I would see the salvation of Israel.
Our family has been part of the religious group called “Zealots” for generations, further back than you care to hear about. For us, salvation would be the deliverance of Israel from the sins of the Roman occupation. It just doesn’t fit that after having been freed from the sins of the Egyptians, we should now be slaves to the Romans. All the sub-groups of Judaism are anti-Rome. But our group, the Zealots, is the most nationalistic. We support guerilla war against the Romans and promote insurrection and rebellion.
From the time I was born, then, you see, I was destined to fight for the salvation of my people. While many of my childhood friends were Bar Mitzvah (sons of the law). I was Bar Chereb, (son of the sword).
At the time of my arrest for murder and insurrection (a revolt against the Romans), I was 27. I had been an active Zealot for some 15 years and had robbed and murdered too many to count.
From the moment of my arrest, I knew my days were numbered. I would not be set free. I would die by hanging on a cross. But at least I would die for the cause. I might even help bring the end of the Roman occupation. I could live up to my name, Jesus (Savior).
My trial was brief. Pilate didn’t hesitate a moment before he declared, “Death! By crucifixion.” He sentenced two others with me. I had grown up with them. We had lived a life of crime and insurrection. Now we were all sentenced to the same fate, death.
We were awaiting our death march when I first saw the one called “Jesus of Nazareth.” I had heard of him ... Who hadn't? But I had never seen him.
I did know some of his followers, fishermen, able and tough – they might have helped our cause and we sure could have used them. Simon was a Zealot, like us, until he followed the Nazarene. Judas was someone who might have helped us. He would have made a good spy, but few of us trusted him and I doubt he had the courage to really do what had to be done.
From what I had heard, I wanted no part of Jesus. His way was different than mine. He talked about love and forgiveness. Come on. Peace could never come this way. The only thing the Romans understood was hatred and brute force.
Even though it was early morning when they brought him in, there was urgency in the air. Being that it was Friday and the Passover, things had to run their course by sundown, the beginning of the Sabbath after which no one could work.
The best I could figure out was that the Nazarene had run afoul of the Jewish priests and religious leaders. Of course it didn’t take much to be on the outs with those hypocrites. Their teaching was every bit as much enslaving as the Romans
As time passed, I learned that Jesus had been before Pilate who, sensing what the priests were up to, found no guilt in him. He had sent Jesus to Herod, hoping Herod would relieve him of the responsibility. As usual, Herod could be counted on to do nothing that didn't further his selfish pretense of being the King of Israel. Some king!! He jumps at the sound of his wife's voice and ultimately he murdered the Baptist at her bidding. John, I liked him. In a different time, I might have followed him.
Anyway, I began to hear the crowds. They were yelling, “Crucify him! Crucify him!!" Then they shouted, “Give us Barabbas! Give us Barabbas!” I recalled that there was a tradition of releasing a prisoner for Passover. Maybe Pilate thought it as a way to free an innocent man. Do you want a murderer living in your midst, or this iterant preacher? Surely, they would want the man of peace and love.
Apparently not. It wasn’t long before the Centurion came and unlocked my cell. Without a word led me outside and shoved me into the street. "You're free! Be gone before someone changes their mind!"
What on earth had happened? I was free but why? I couldn't believe it.
As I listened to the soldiers shouting. As I heard the whips cracking. As the crowd noise grew, it dawned on me what was happening. It was the death march. It was Jesus and my two buddies carrying their crosses to Golgotha. The death march always drew a crowd.
Then it hit me. He was going to die in my place. I was the one who should have been in the death march. By some strange twist of fate, the innocent Jesus will die while I, a murderer and sinner, goes free.
I know you are familiar with the story but you have no way of comprehending the horror. I was deeply troubled by the sight of those three men in the death march. I belonged there. And yet I was saved.
After it was over, I went back to my friends. I planned to take up where I left off. Jerusalem was not free and I, Jesus Barabbas, would fight to make her free. But somehow I had lost my passion for the cause.
Instead I went out to that hill where the three were crucified. The bodies of course were gone but the crosses and signs of death remained. In fact, I went back there almost daily. I was really bothered by the thought that three men died here and I should have been one of them. It troubled me that I should have been on that cross, not Jesus of Nazareth. Who was he really?
I recalled that some said he was Jesus, Son of God. Do you get the irony? Here I am, Jesus, Son of the Father – free though deserving of death. Here he is Jesus, Son of God, crucified in my place. I know it is a play on words, but the fact remains, he knew no sin and was made to take my place so that I could be set free in spite of my sins.
Let me just say this. Once I was an insurrection man. Now, though, I am a resurrection man. He died for me, as he died for you. He died for my insurrection, even as he died for your insurrection – your rebellion that comes from sin. We’re all rebellious in that way, you know. But his resurrection took care of all of that. His resurrection counqured it all.
Thank you for attending tonights' lecture.
Good Night.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
"Personalities of the Passion -- Pilate"
BACKGROUND: Pilate was a Roman Official. Back then, the Roman Court was responsible for civil trials and judgments. The problem in the trial of Jesus was this: since the religious leaders brought charges, the trial should be before the religious court, the Sanhedrin. However, the charge that was leveled had to do with the claim that Jesus was “king of the Jews”, which brought it into the civil jurisdiction. Fact was, everyone from Herod on down wanted to “pass the buck”.
Pilate seems to be more interested in not getting himself in trouble than in pronouncing a fair verdict. His actions are determined by fear more than faithfulness. He satisfies the crowds. He gives in to the religious elite. He sends Jesus to die.
Mark’s Gospel does not include the more familiar image of Pilate washing his hands of the whole affair. Mark is clear, though, that Pilate sees an innocent man and gives in to the forces which will lead to Jesus’ death.
To tell Pilate’s story we’ve shared his thoughts through a fictional “Facebook” account. The date is three months after Jesus’ resurrection.
Facebook Friends:
Three months have passed since that fateful day when I handed Jesus over to be crucified. I gave into the cries of the crowd. I was more concerned about my standing with the governmental authorities than I was for the truth. I did see the truth, you know. I did see that this man was innocent. It was clear to me that the “kingdom” that he was talking about had little to do with earthly power, or any power like that of Rome.
But I felt so helpless to act any differently.
I thought that I could wash my hands (literally and figuratively) of the whole thing. I thought that by the time he was gone, I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. I thought maybe my wife would stop having dreams about how I ought to avoid the whole thing.
But all these days later, whenever I see a bowl of water, whenever I wash my hands, whenever I bathe, I see it all over again
Do you know what I see? I see his face. I see his eyes. His eyes looked right through me. It was as if I was on trial, not him. It was as if he was searching me for my true story. It was as if he were inviting me to do something more, perhaps even to do the right thing.
My position as Governor meant that I held the power. I did what I could, under the circumstances. Unfortunately innocent men are put to death all the time.
What I can’t understand is why I feel so dirty. Even after the ritual cleansing, even after my shower, I just don’t feel clean, not like I did before. I simply can’t pretend any more that everything in my world is clean and orderly and all together.
There is something about all of this that makes me wish I had decided differently. I keep being drawn back to re-examine how my choices are party to other’s cruelty and petty concerns. I keep thinking that I aided and abetted the Sanhedrin, who had their own agenda in this whole fiasco.
Truth is, they, like me, wanted to keep their positions secure. This peasant had enough going for him to leave us all quaking in our boots, clinging to our privilege. Maybe that is what he was saying with his eyes. Maybe that is why he looked at us as though we didn’t have the big picture of what was happening. I knew so little. I was so naïve. I was clueless to his mission.
Why can’t I get him out of my mind? Why do the events of that day leave me questioning the meaning of “justice” for the slave and for people on the fringes?
He was a danger, you know. He was a subversive in every sense of the word. It is better that he is dead. That’s my rationalization.
But, really I’m just kidding myself. Even the guard I posted at his tomb was helpless, as helpless as me.
You see, truth will not stay buried. Truth that makes you look at the world with eyes wide open always endures. I wasn’t ready for it. People weren’t ready for it. But it spoke when the grave was found to be empty.
I’m sure that’s why my hands still feel bloody. This man was all truth. This man was all love. This man was innocent and I failed to take responsibility for what I could plainly see.
I will never again be able to feel like my hands are completely clean. Even harder now that I’ve seen him come alive from that tomb I tried to guard. And I’ve even heard that he ascended back to heaven in a cloud of glory.
Facebook friends, here’s another question, a question for you. Where do you want to wash your hands from involvement in the life of Jesus?
I think there are places where you, like me, may want to wash away the guilt that calls you to the truth. I think there are times where you would, like me, want to avoid the suffering of Jesus in our world. I have to wonder if there are places and times where you have a hard time seeing the full truth of Jesus.
Posted by “The Hand Washer”, 4:35 p.m. G.M.T. near Jerusalem via my i-scroll
“You” and 1.4 million “likes”
“Comments” (counter broken)
Pilate seems to be more interested in not getting himself in trouble than in pronouncing a fair verdict. His actions are determined by fear more than faithfulness. He satisfies the crowds. He gives in to the religious elite. He sends Jesus to die.
Mark’s Gospel does not include the more familiar image of Pilate washing his hands of the whole affair. Mark is clear, though, that Pilate sees an innocent man and gives in to the forces which will lead to Jesus’ death.
To tell Pilate’s story we’ve shared his thoughts through a fictional “Facebook” account. The date is three months after Jesus’ resurrection.
Facebook Friends:
Three months have passed since that fateful day when I handed Jesus over to be crucified. I gave into the cries of the crowd. I was more concerned about my standing with the governmental authorities than I was for the truth. I did see the truth, you know. I did see that this man was innocent. It was clear to me that the “kingdom” that he was talking about had little to do with earthly power, or any power like that of Rome.
But I felt so helpless to act any differently.
I thought that I could wash my hands (literally and figuratively) of the whole thing. I thought that by the time he was gone, I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. I thought maybe my wife would stop having dreams about how I ought to avoid the whole thing.
But all these days later, whenever I see a bowl of water, whenever I wash my hands, whenever I bathe, I see it all over again
Do you know what I see? I see his face. I see his eyes. His eyes looked right through me. It was as if I was on trial, not him. It was as if he was searching me for my true story. It was as if he were inviting me to do something more, perhaps even to do the right thing.
My position as Governor meant that I held the power. I did what I could, under the circumstances. Unfortunately innocent men are put to death all the time.
What I can’t understand is why I feel so dirty. Even after the ritual cleansing, even after my shower, I just don’t feel clean, not like I did before. I simply can’t pretend any more that everything in my world is clean and orderly and all together.
There is something about all of this that makes me wish I had decided differently. I keep being drawn back to re-examine how my choices are party to other’s cruelty and petty concerns. I keep thinking that I aided and abetted the Sanhedrin, who had their own agenda in this whole fiasco.
Truth is, they, like me, wanted to keep their positions secure. This peasant had enough going for him to leave us all quaking in our boots, clinging to our privilege. Maybe that is what he was saying with his eyes. Maybe that is why he looked at us as though we didn’t have the big picture of what was happening. I knew so little. I was so naïve. I was clueless to his mission.
Why can’t I get him out of my mind? Why do the events of that day leave me questioning the meaning of “justice” for the slave and for people on the fringes?
He was a danger, you know. He was a subversive in every sense of the word. It is better that he is dead. That’s my rationalization.
But, really I’m just kidding myself. Even the guard I posted at his tomb was helpless, as helpless as me.
You see, truth will not stay buried. Truth that makes you look at the world with eyes wide open always endures. I wasn’t ready for it. People weren’t ready for it. But it spoke when the grave was found to be empty.
I’m sure that’s why my hands still feel bloody. This man was all truth. This man was all love. This man was innocent and I failed to take responsibility for what I could plainly see.
I will never again be able to feel like my hands are completely clean. Even harder now that I’ve seen him come alive from that tomb I tried to guard. And I’ve even heard that he ascended back to heaven in a cloud of glory.
Facebook friends, here’s another question, a question for you. Where do you want to wash your hands from involvement in the life of Jesus?
I think there are places where you, like me, may want to wash away the guilt that calls you to the truth. I think there are times where you would, like me, want to avoid the suffering of Jesus in our world. I have to wonder if there are places and times where you have a hard time seeing the full truth of Jesus.
Posted by “The Hand Washer”, 4:35 p.m. G.M.T. near Jerusalem via my i-scroll
“You” and 1.4 million “likes”
“Comments” (counter broken)
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
"THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING!!!"
March 20, a Tuesday,
Is the first day of spring.
Spring is heralded by the vernal equinox.
Vernal has to do with spring.
Equinox means something like “equal night”,
Which means day and night are exactly equal.
Twice a year we have an equinox,
Once in the spring, once in the fall.
On these days, light and darkness are exactly equal.
However, in our faith lives, and in our lives in general,
We have a tendency to let the darkness overpower the light.
But on the equinox,
There is just as much light as there is darkness.
And the thing about spring,
From March 20th on, the light increases daily while
Darkness decreases.
Yes!!!
Remember that.
Remember, because, you see,
You can choose which part you live in.
You can choose which part you will focus on.
There is light and there is darkness.
But the light is increasing:
The light of Christ,
God’s power through Jesus’ resurrection.
God ushering in the new age of the Kingdom.
God’s promise of a new and exciting future.
God’s light reflecting to the world through our lives.
There is light and there is darkness.
But the light always wins.
Remember that!
Remember that as we live as “children of the light”.
(Ephesians 5: 7 - 9)
Is the first day of spring.
Spring is heralded by the vernal equinox.
Vernal has to do with spring.
Equinox means something like “equal night”,
Which means day and night are exactly equal.
Twice a year we have an equinox,
Once in the spring, once in the fall.
On these days, light and darkness are exactly equal.
However, in our faith lives, and in our lives in general,
We have a tendency to let the darkness overpower the light.
But on the equinox,
There is just as much light as there is darkness.
And the thing about spring,
From March 20th on, the light increases daily while
Darkness decreases.
Yes!!!
Remember that.
Remember, because, you see,
You can choose which part you live in.
You can choose which part you will focus on.
There is light and there is darkness.
But the light is increasing:
The light of Christ,
God’s power through Jesus’ resurrection.
God ushering in the new age of the Kingdom.
God’s promise of a new and exciting future.
God’s light reflecting to the world through our lives.
There is light and there is darkness.
But the light always wins.
Remember that!
Remember that as we live as “children of the light”.
(Ephesians 5: 7 - 9)
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
"Personalities of the Passion -- Peter, the one who denied Jesus"
BACKGROUND:
The story of Peter weaves its way through the whole passion narrative. Peter is best remembered in the Passion as the one who denied Jesus and fell away to the fringes of the crowds at the execution of Jesus. Peter, however, was also among those of Jesus’ inner circle, accompanying Jesus to the Mount of Transfiguration and to the Garden of Gethsemane. Peter is a key personality in all four gospels.
Tonight we hear Peter as an old man remembering his life, particularly the events of the crucifixion. Speaking for himself, Peter is remembers as he sat “afar off” from the cross as Jesus died. Peter?
“Oh my goodness. I don’t quite know what has happened to me. I don’t quite know how I got to this point. It’s a long story, to be sure, but something has happened to me, to have me be at this point. Standing a ways off from the cross where Jesus, the one I once called “the Messiah” is suffering and dying. And I, I didn’t have what it took to stand up for him. I didn’t even dare to say that I knew him.
I’ve been such a failure. I wish my name was still “Simon”.
Simon was my given name, you know. In fact, it was Simon bar-Jonah. Simon, son of John, the fisherman. And I was a fisherman too, until Jesus came along one day and called me to be his disciple. I hadn’t had a chance to be a real disciple since I wasn’t among the best of the best in my school days. But this Jesus, he gave me a second chance. He gave me the opportunity to be a follower of a great teacher. So, there at the lakeshore, I left my father and with my brother joined up with Jesus as a follower, a disciple.
We had some amazing adventures while I was “Simon”. We saw some healings. We heard some great teaching. We, the disciples, up to a dozen by then, saw Jesus’ power even over nature. In fact, one time I was able to walk on the surface of the lake because of Jesus. Well, yes, I lost faith and almost drown too, but that was nothing compared to what’s going on now. I wish I could do that all over again. I wish I could do this all over again too, oh do I wish….
But where was I. Oh, about my name. Jesus seemed to really love us. He let us in on some of the mysteries of the scriptures. And slowly, gradually, it began to dawn on me. He was the long-awaited Messiah. And I told him so too.
I told him, well Jesus asked us all (the twelve, I mean) a question, “Who do people say that I am?” The others fiddled around a bit, looking at their feet, vaguely taking about Elijah or another prophet. I’d had enough of these word games so, I said it straight. We all knew it really. “You are the Messiah,” I said, “the Son of the living God.” And that’s when he changed my name. Said I should be called Peter, not Simon. Peter means ‘rock’, so I guess he thought I was really strong. He implied I’d be the anchor of his church, whatever that is.
I don’t feel strong now; far from it. I think I’d rather be called Simon again.
You see, it was pretty easy to be Peter (the rock) when things were going good.
Even then I had a few slips, like the time Jesus called me “satan” because I was scolding him about talking about his death, something I didn’t understand at all. But mostly, I was in the inner circle. I got to do some things that rest of the twelve didn’t get to do.
But then, the closer we got to Jerusalem, the more difficult things became. I couldn’t understand why Jesus kept on going to Jerusalem, but he insisted that he must do so. So, one day I made a promise. One day when Jesus was asking us about how far we could go with him, I swore that I would never let him down. I was feeling pretty proud and I could boast of my own resolve. I swore that I’d stick by him. I said that even if it meant dying with him, I’d be by his side. That was Peter, the Rock, talking for sure. That was my bloated up pride.
The fact of the matter is, I couldn’t and didn’t keep that promise. When things got really tough, my fears crept in. I realized that no amount of pride or boastfulness could help me get out of this. I was afraid, really afraid. I had to protect myself. Turned out, I couldn’t even stick by his side for a few minutes when things got really difficult, when he got arrested, when he got put on trial, when he got sentenced to death. I couldn’t keep my promise for even a few minutes.
You see, I’d fallen into satan’s trap by putting my trust in myself rather than in my God. I thought I could handle it on my own. Oh, I went with him. But I kept my distance. I kept a safe distance to see what was happening. I don’t know what I was thinking, perhaps I could rescue him. I don’t know.
It was in the courtyard where things got really sour for me. I slipped in with crowd. It wasn’t hard to not be recognized with so many people mingling about. And it was dark.
Then things went all wrong. As we warmed ourselves around braziers, someone just said … (and it was only a servant girl) … “aren’t you one of his followers”. And somehow I just crumbled. And when it got repeated, I started denying that I ever even knew Jesus. I denied knowing him to three different people. I denied that I had ever been associated with him.
Then somewhere … a cock started crowing.
Immediately I remembered something Jesus said … just last night. I remembered him saying that I would deny him three times before cock crow. And from there in the courtyard, I could just see Jesus – and he turned … and looked. It hit me like … like … I don’t know what. But my eyes filled, and my heart felt so very heavy, and I had to go. I’d failed.
I had been no “Rock” at all. I was really Simon. I wish I was just Simon. But I can’t change any of that.
All I can do is stand a ways off and watch. Watch him suffer. Watch him die. There is absolutely nothing I can do to rescue him.
Oh, my goodness. Jesus. I do know you. You are the Messiah. You are the Son of God. I can see that fear hasn’t ruled your life. I see what faithfulness means.
But it is much too late for me to say that now. It’s all too late.”
The story of Peter weaves its way through the whole passion narrative. Peter is best remembered in the Passion as the one who denied Jesus and fell away to the fringes of the crowds at the execution of Jesus. Peter, however, was also among those of Jesus’ inner circle, accompanying Jesus to the Mount of Transfiguration and to the Garden of Gethsemane. Peter is a key personality in all four gospels.
Tonight we hear Peter as an old man remembering his life, particularly the events of the crucifixion. Speaking for himself, Peter is remembers as he sat “afar off” from the cross as Jesus died. Peter?
“Oh my goodness. I don’t quite know what has happened to me. I don’t quite know how I got to this point. It’s a long story, to be sure, but something has happened to me, to have me be at this point. Standing a ways off from the cross where Jesus, the one I once called “the Messiah” is suffering and dying. And I, I didn’t have what it took to stand up for him. I didn’t even dare to say that I knew him.
I’ve been such a failure. I wish my name was still “Simon”.
Simon was my given name, you know. In fact, it was Simon bar-Jonah. Simon, son of John, the fisherman. And I was a fisherman too, until Jesus came along one day and called me to be his disciple. I hadn’t had a chance to be a real disciple since I wasn’t among the best of the best in my school days. But this Jesus, he gave me a second chance. He gave me the opportunity to be a follower of a great teacher. So, there at the lakeshore, I left my father and with my brother joined up with Jesus as a follower, a disciple.
We had some amazing adventures while I was “Simon”. We saw some healings. We heard some great teaching. We, the disciples, up to a dozen by then, saw Jesus’ power even over nature. In fact, one time I was able to walk on the surface of the lake because of Jesus. Well, yes, I lost faith and almost drown too, but that was nothing compared to what’s going on now. I wish I could do that all over again. I wish I could do this all over again too, oh do I wish….
But where was I. Oh, about my name. Jesus seemed to really love us. He let us in on some of the mysteries of the scriptures. And slowly, gradually, it began to dawn on me. He was the long-awaited Messiah. And I told him so too.
I told him, well Jesus asked us all (the twelve, I mean) a question, “Who do people say that I am?” The others fiddled around a bit, looking at their feet, vaguely taking about Elijah or another prophet. I’d had enough of these word games so, I said it straight. We all knew it really. “You are the Messiah,” I said, “the Son of the living God.” And that’s when he changed my name. Said I should be called Peter, not Simon. Peter means ‘rock’, so I guess he thought I was really strong. He implied I’d be the anchor of his church, whatever that is.
I don’t feel strong now; far from it. I think I’d rather be called Simon again.
You see, it was pretty easy to be Peter (the rock) when things were going good.
Even then I had a few slips, like the time Jesus called me “satan” because I was scolding him about talking about his death, something I didn’t understand at all. But mostly, I was in the inner circle. I got to do some things that rest of the twelve didn’t get to do.
But then, the closer we got to Jerusalem, the more difficult things became. I couldn’t understand why Jesus kept on going to Jerusalem, but he insisted that he must do so. So, one day I made a promise. One day when Jesus was asking us about how far we could go with him, I swore that I would never let him down. I was feeling pretty proud and I could boast of my own resolve. I swore that I’d stick by him. I said that even if it meant dying with him, I’d be by his side. That was Peter, the Rock, talking for sure. That was my bloated up pride.
The fact of the matter is, I couldn’t and didn’t keep that promise. When things got really tough, my fears crept in. I realized that no amount of pride or boastfulness could help me get out of this. I was afraid, really afraid. I had to protect myself. Turned out, I couldn’t even stick by his side for a few minutes when things got really difficult, when he got arrested, when he got put on trial, when he got sentenced to death. I couldn’t keep my promise for even a few minutes.
You see, I’d fallen into satan’s trap by putting my trust in myself rather than in my God. I thought I could handle it on my own. Oh, I went with him. But I kept my distance. I kept a safe distance to see what was happening. I don’t know what I was thinking, perhaps I could rescue him. I don’t know.
It was in the courtyard where things got really sour for me. I slipped in with crowd. It wasn’t hard to not be recognized with so many people mingling about. And it was dark.
Then things went all wrong. As we warmed ourselves around braziers, someone just said … (and it was only a servant girl) … “aren’t you one of his followers”. And somehow I just crumbled. And when it got repeated, I started denying that I ever even knew Jesus. I denied knowing him to three different people. I denied that I had ever been associated with him.
Then somewhere … a cock started crowing.
Immediately I remembered something Jesus said … just last night. I remembered him saying that I would deny him three times before cock crow. And from there in the courtyard, I could just see Jesus – and he turned … and looked. It hit me like … like … I don’t know what. But my eyes filled, and my heart felt so very heavy, and I had to go. I’d failed.
I had been no “Rock” at all. I was really Simon. I wish I was just Simon. But I can’t change any of that.
All I can do is stand a ways off and watch. Watch him suffer. Watch him die. There is absolutely nothing I can do to rescue him.
Oh, my goodness. Jesus. I do know you. You are the Messiah. You are the Son of God. I can see that fear hasn’t ruled your life. I see what faithfulness means.
But it is much too late for me to say that now. It’s all too late.”
Thursday, March 8, 2012
"Personality of the Passion -- Caiaphas, the High Priest"
BACKGROUND: The next “personality” key in Jesus’ passion is the High Priest, Caiaphas. While he is not named in Mark’s Gospel, his identity is clear. Matthew’s section of the story is very similar to Mark’s. Luke skims over this part of the passion, making “Why do we need any more testimony?” a communal determination by “the chief priests and teacher’s of the law.” John barely mentions Caiaphas, bringing to center stage Caiaphas’ father-in-law, Annas, who, though deposed by the Romans, still has a position of influence.
To get at the life of Caiaphas, we have a fictional section from “The Memoirs of Caiaphas, the High Priest”, Published by “Shalom” Publishing, Jerusalem, Israel, 37 a.d.
Chapter 3
Being a High Priest was always far from easy. But I usually got my way.
I grew up in Jerusalem. I came from a good family. I had an easy life. I got good grades in school, I was smart. Some said I was devious. I was captain of our chariot team. I took my religion seriously so no one was really surprised when I entered the profession of priest (more of a civil calling than a religious one in those days).
My career track really took off when it was arranged that I should be united in marriage to Ruth, the beautiful daughter of the High Priest, Annas. That put me directly in line for High Priest and sure enough when Annas retired (actually he was deposed by the Romans), it was me who got the job.
Being chief priest was not all that it might have been. There was this “small” matter of the Roman occupation. The Romans had controlled our country for years. We Jews take pride in being a free people. Moses had led us from Egypt to freedom, but now here we were captives in our own land. Becoming free from Rome was on everyone’s minds.
All of that went to the back burner, though, when I started to get wind of this guy named Jesus. It was of a concern because I had to be attentive to the religious and political forces that could come threaten the nation’s welfare.
That’s exactly what it sounded like was happening with Jesus. He was a Galilean, a self appointed prophet of some kind. He attracted big crowds with miracles and a radical style of preaching. What disturbed me most, however, was that he was making negative comments about religious leaders. Some had come to believe he was some kind of new king. The last thing I needed was someone undermining my authority and starting a rebellion.
I won’t go into all the details, but things got worse. There were massive miracles, growing crowds and public run-ins with religious leaders.
It all came to a head during the Passover, 33 a.d. A couple of million people came to Jerusalem for the Passover, our most important religious festival. The Roman occupation made it especially tense.
To add to the tension, early in the week, Jesus showed up in town. He was quite a sight, really, riding on a colt like some kind of king and people shouting praises as to a messiah, a savior. I always thought it was pretty pathetic really, as if this Jesus were going to lead a revolution. But this is where he crossed the line. And he didn’t stop there. When he drove the money changers out of the temple, he’d just gone too far. The time had come to do something, even something drastic.
Personally, I thought that it was better for him to die than for all Israel to be led astray. But, I consulted with my father-in-law, Annas, now a prominent member of the Sanhedrin, the highest court in the land. He agreed that something had to be done. Informally there was unanimous agreement among the religious leaders, even though we disagreed about many things, that Jesus must be stopped at all cost. Some wanted to arrest him right away, others wanted to wait. When Judas came and volunteered his services, it was agreed to arrest him after sundown on Passover.
Chapter 4
It was highly unusual to hold a meeting of the Sanhedrin, the ruling council, at night. Actually, it was against our own rules, but the crisis of the moment made it necessary. We sent word to members of the Sanhedrin, all 70 of them, that we were to meet at 10:00 pm. Shortly thereafter Jesus was brought to the council chamber. We held the trial right then and there to avoid adverse publicity.
I’ve already said that I’m used to things going my way. But I wasn’t at all happy about the trial.
We had some paid witnesses to testify against Jesus. But they couldn’t seem to get it right. Those yokels contradicted each other and even forgot what we had paid them to say. And Jesus, he just stood there. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even acknowledge our presence.
Things were turning into a real fiasco, into a real bad deal.
And I was running out of patience. So much so, I asked Jesus myself, point blank, “Are you God’s chosen one, the messiah?” If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have asked that question because if Jesus denied it, I’m not sure what would have happened. But he broke his silence with this astounding reply. He said, “I am; and you will see the son of man seated at the right hand of the Almighty One, and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
Can you believe that? I tore my clothes upon hearing such an improper use of God’s name and such an affront to authority. In the heat of the moment, I said, “Why do we still need witnesses? We have heard his blasphemy for ourselves! What is your decision?” It was unanimous. Jesus deserved death just for the fact he claimed to be God.
By the time this was all over, it was well past midnight. I have to admit, I felt pretty good about the job I had done. Leadership is not easy and it’s not for the fainthearted. I had acted decisively for the good of the nation. I had recognized a serious situation and taken steps to deal with the problem. I had gathered evidence, had Jesus arrested, conducted the trial, and got the sentence of death that was called for. Jesus would soon be forgotten. I had averted a possible disaster for the nation.
But there were a few unsettling details. Malchus, my slave, had his ear cut off by Peter at the time of the arrest. Malchus, always trustworthy, swears Jesus healed that ear. I’m really not sure what to make of that!!
I haven’t said this out loud, but now these years later, there are still times when I cry out deep in my heart, “My God, what have I done?” Is it possible that this Jesus of Nazareth is really who he said he was? Could he possibly have been the Son of God? The way things are going with this resurrection from the dead and the spread of a group called “Christian” it sure looks like it.
I just keep telling myself that I was just did my job. I put the interests of the nation first. I had a difficult decision to make and I made it. After all, I’m used to getting things done. And, I’m used to getting my way.
One thing still really bothers me. I remember one day when Jesus was preaching out near the temple. Although I strongly opposed him I stopped just to hear what he had to say. I wish I hadn’t have stopped because his words, very searching words, still haunt me. He said, “What does it profit someone to gain the whole world and yet lose their own soul?”
I’m not sure what Jesus meant by that phrase. The meaning seems not to be completely clear. But I’m pretty sure that somehow those words apply to me.
To get at the life of Caiaphas, we have a fictional section from “The Memoirs of Caiaphas, the High Priest”, Published by “Shalom” Publishing, Jerusalem, Israel, 37 a.d.
Chapter 3
Being a High Priest was always far from easy. But I usually got my way.
I grew up in Jerusalem. I came from a good family. I had an easy life. I got good grades in school, I was smart. Some said I was devious. I was captain of our chariot team. I took my religion seriously so no one was really surprised when I entered the profession of priest (more of a civil calling than a religious one in those days).
My career track really took off when it was arranged that I should be united in marriage to Ruth, the beautiful daughter of the High Priest, Annas. That put me directly in line for High Priest and sure enough when Annas retired (actually he was deposed by the Romans), it was me who got the job.
Being chief priest was not all that it might have been. There was this “small” matter of the Roman occupation. The Romans had controlled our country for years. We Jews take pride in being a free people. Moses had led us from Egypt to freedom, but now here we were captives in our own land. Becoming free from Rome was on everyone’s minds.
All of that went to the back burner, though, when I started to get wind of this guy named Jesus. It was of a concern because I had to be attentive to the religious and political forces that could come threaten the nation’s welfare.
That’s exactly what it sounded like was happening with Jesus. He was a Galilean, a self appointed prophet of some kind. He attracted big crowds with miracles and a radical style of preaching. What disturbed me most, however, was that he was making negative comments about religious leaders. Some had come to believe he was some kind of new king. The last thing I needed was someone undermining my authority and starting a rebellion.
I won’t go into all the details, but things got worse. There were massive miracles, growing crowds and public run-ins with religious leaders.
It all came to a head during the Passover, 33 a.d. A couple of million people came to Jerusalem for the Passover, our most important religious festival. The Roman occupation made it especially tense.
To add to the tension, early in the week, Jesus showed up in town. He was quite a sight, really, riding on a colt like some kind of king and people shouting praises as to a messiah, a savior. I always thought it was pretty pathetic really, as if this Jesus were going to lead a revolution. But this is where he crossed the line. And he didn’t stop there. When he drove the money changers out of the temple, he’d just gone too far. The time had come to do something, even something drastic.
Personally, I thought that it was better for him to die than for all Israel to be led astray. But, I consulted with my father-in-law, Annas, now a prominent member of the Sanhedrin, the highest court in the land. He agreed that something had to be done. Informally there was unanimous agreement among the religious leaders, even though we disagreed about many things, that Jesus must be stopped at all cost. Some wanted to arrest him right away, others wanted to wait. When Judas came and volunteered his services, it was agreed to arrest him after sundown on Passover.
Chapter 4
It was highly unusual to hold a meeting of the Sanhedrin, the ruling council, at night. Actually, it was against our own rules, but the crisis of the moment made it necessary. We sent word to members of the Sanhedrin, all 70 of them, that we were to meet at 10:00 pm. Shortly thereafter Jesus was brought to the council chamber. We held the trial right then and there to avoid adverse publicity.
I’ve already said that I’m used to things going my way. But I wasn’t at all happy about the trial.
We had some paid witnesses to testify against Jesus. But they couldn’t seem to get it right. Those yokels contradicted each other and even forgot what we had paid them to say. And Jesus, he just stood there. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even acknowledge our presence.
Things were turning into a real fiasco, into a real bad deal.
And I was running out of patience. So much so, I asked Jesus myself, point blank, “Are you God’s chosen one, the messiah?” If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have asked that question because if Jesus denied it, I’m not sure what would have happened. But he broke his silence with this astounding reply. He said, “I am; and you will see the son of man seated at the right hand of the Almighty One, and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
Can you believe that? I tore my clothes upon hearing such an improper use of God’s name and such an affront to authority. In the heat of the moment, I said, “Why do we still need witnesses? We have heard his blasphemy for ourselves! What is your decision?” It was unanimous. Jesus deserved death just for the fact he claimed to be God.
By the time this was all over, it was well past midnight. I have to admit, I felt pretty good about the job I had done. Leadership is not easy and it’s not for the fainthearted. I had acted decisively for the good of the nation. I had recognized a serious situation and taken steps to deal with the problem. I had gathered evidence, had Jesus arrested, conducted the trial, and got the sentence of death that was called for. Jesus would soon be forgotten. I had averted a possible disaster for the nation.
But there were a few unsettling details. Malchus, my slave, had his ear cut off by Peter at the time of the arrest. Malchus, always trustworthy, swears Jesus healed that ear. I’m really not sure what to make of that!!
I haven’t said this out loud, but now these years later, there are still times when I cry out deep in my heart, “My God, what have I done?” Is it possible that this Jesus of Nazareth is really who he said he was? Could he possibly have been the Son of God? The way things are going with this resurrection from the dead and the spread of a group called “Christian” it sure looks like it.
I just keep telling myself that I was just did my job. I put the interests of the nation first. I had a difficult decision to make and I made it. After all, I’m used to getting things done. And, I’m used to getting my way.
One thing still really bothers me. I remember one day when Jesus was preaching out near the temple. Although I strongly opposed him I stopped just to hear what he had to say. I wish I hadn’t have stopped because his words, very searching words, still haunt me. He said, “What does it profit someone to gain the whole world and yet lose their own soul?”
I’m not sure what Jesus meant by that phrase. The meaning seems not to be completely clear. But I’m pretty sure that somehow those words apply to me.
Friday, March 2, 2012
"Personality of the Passion -- Judas"
Background:
The next “personality” that appears in Mark’s Passion of Jesus is Judas (Mark 14:10-11). Only two verses are dedicated to him here, but he also appears again at the Last Supper (Mark 14:18) and in the Garden when Judas betrays Jesus (Mark 14:43-46).
Matthew’s gospel has a more detailed treatment of Judas, portraying him as a willing to barter for the betrayal and then later “seized with remorse” returning the money and hanging himself.
Luke’s mention of Jesus is more brief, like that of Mark and the Gospel writer, John, only mentions Judas as being present to betray Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
In order to tell Judas’ story, I’m using the vehicle of his recently and fictionally discovered “Last Will and Testament.”
TO WHOM IT MAY ONE DAY CONCERN:
The Last Thoughts of Judas Iscariot, forever known as “The Betrayer”:
Friday of the Passover, 33 a.d.
It is evident to me now that I will always be the “bad guy”. There will be people who are called “Judas” – with a sneer of derision. But “Judas” will never become a popular name for little boys. In fact, it is a certainty that no one will ever name their son “Judas”.
In self defense, I have to clarify some things.
Jesus trusted me enough to call me as a disciple. Maybe he was trying to make the point that everyone, no matter what the sin, is acceptable to God. Maybe he was just trying to round out the twelve with someone from “the south” – Iscariot refers to the town I grew up in Kerioth Hezron, about 30 miles south of Jerusalem. Never-the-less, Jesus saw something in me and had enough faith in me to call me as a disciple.
The disciples trusted me too. They trusted me enough to be in charge of the money bags, to be the treasurer, if you will, of this little band of disciples. I was good at that job. I watched things closely. And it really bugged me when I saw waste, like the waste I saw when Mary so extravagantly emptied that jar of nard over Jesus’ head. We could have used that money and it just went to waste. I was always accused of “greed.” But it was never really “greed”. I just liked to handle money, even though I kept the purse strings pretty tight and that’s what looked like “greed”.
As for my betrayal, I wasn’t the only one. In the end, everyone, and I mean everyone, abandoned Jesus. They all deserted him. Even Peter who said he’d never leave Jesus’ side. Even John, the disciple Jesus loved. Even James, who got to be with Jesus during some of the most important events in Jesus life, left his side. Yes, I’m a bit bitter that I didn’t get to travel to the Mount of Transfiguration and see Moses and Elijah in person. I hold a grudge that I was never among his favorites. But in the end, they all abandoned him, just like I did. At one level, I am not any different than any of them. In fact, as scary as it might be for you, I’m probably not even a lot different than you, dear reader. Yet, forever, I will take the whole rap as “betrayer.”
Now, that being clear, it doesn’t excuse the fact that I sold Jesus out – in fact, I sold him out for the price of a common slave – 30 pieces of silver.
I don’t know why I did that. I’ll never know why I did that. There simply isn’t any explanation. But I want to be clear I didn’t “hate” Jesus. I never “hated” anyone, except now … I hate myself for what happened.
It was clear to me that Jesus knew that I would betray him. His words at our “Last Supper” were pointed and clear. They made me squirm. But what happened, happened because of my own choices, my own decisions. I never want anyone to think that what I did was somehow predestined.
You know, part of what happened was this. I was among the disciples, but I never really had a relationship with Jesus. Peter could call him “Lord.” But I could never use any other form of address than “Rabbi” even last night when I met him in the garden. I could never understand how some of the disciples, or even demons, called him “Lord” when he didn’t act like a “Lord”, one with light and power, one who could use his position to his advantage. I could only see him as “Rabbi”, and when I introduced him to the guards, I kissed him. I used the kind of kiss that was used as a customary greeting from a disciple to their rabbi.
Along the way, I got frustrated, I guess. I was looking for the kingdom, like everyone was. But it sure looked like Jesus had it wrong. I didn’t have any confidence of this strategy of non-violence. A kingdom, after all, is brought in with power. Jesus wasn’t using any of his supernatural powers, those used to cast out demons and raise the dead, and bring sight to the blind … Jesus wasn’t using any of those powers to inaugurate the kingdom that he kept talking about.
I just couldn’t make any sense out of it. It looked like he was helpless. He kept acting more like a servant than a “Lord.” So, because it was so obvious that the religious elite were trying to find a way to arrest Jesus, I just decided to help things along. So I went and volunteered. It was my own choice, remember. And when they offered to pay the price of a slave, it just seemed right. He was acting like a slave anyway. So I sold him out. And I accompanied these same religious elite to the garden and tipped them off to who Jesus was with my kiss.
Now it is happening. Just like Jesus said. He is condemned as an innocent man. He is going to die unfairly as a common criminal. And I, I Judas, have committed a grave sin. I have aided and abetted the death of the one who is a new kind of king, even in his impending death. I am party to the death of an innocent man, one who, as I can see now, is the Son of God.
Oh my. I am so sorry. I am so sinful. I have to go and give that money back. Even then, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live with myself. I am so sorry. I’ve got to, I’ve got to … well, I’ve got to get outta here.
I’m so sorry.
Lord, have mercy.
s// Judas Iscariot
The next “personality” that appears in Mark’s Passion of Jesus is Judas (Mark 14:10-11). Only two verses are dedicated to him here, but he also appears again at the Last Supper (Mark 14:18) and in the Garden when Judas betrays Jesus (Mark 14:43-46).
Matthew’s gospel has a more detailed treatment of Judas, portraying him as a willing to barter for the betrayal and then later “seized with remorse” returning the money and hanging himself.
Luke’s mention of Jesus is more brief, like that of Mark and the Gospel writer, John, only mentions Judas as being present to betray Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
In order to tell Judas’ story, I’m using the vehicle of his recently and fictionally discovered “Last Will and Testament.”
TO WHOM IT MAY ONE DAY CONCERN:
The Last Thoughts of Judas Iscariot, forever known as “The Betrayer”:
Friday of the Passover, 33 a.d.
It is evident to me now that I will always be the “bad guy”. There will be people who are called “Judas” – with a sneer of derision. But “Judas” will never become a popular name for little boys. In fact, it is a certainty that no one will ever name their son “Judas”.
In self defense, I have to clarify some things.
Jesus trusted me enough to call me as a disciple. Maybe he was trying to make the point that everyone, no matter what the sin, is acceptable to God. Maybe he was just trying to round out the twelve with someone from “the south” – Iscariot refers to the town I grew up in Kerioth Hezron, about 30 miles south of Jerusalem. Never-the-less, Jesus saw something in me and had enough faith in me to call me as a disciple.
The disciples trusted me too. They trusted me enough to be in charge of the money bags, to be the treasurer, if you will, of this little band of disciples. I was good at that job. I watched things closely. And it really bugged me when I saw waste, like the waste I saw when Mary so extravagantly emptied that jar of nard over Jesus’ head. We could have used that money and it just went to waste. I was always accused of “greed.” But it was never really “greed”. I just liked to handle money, even though I kept the purse strings pretty tight and that’s what looked like “greed”.
As for my betrayal, I wasn’t the only one. In the end, everyone, and I mean everyone, abandoned Jesus. They all deserted him. Even Peter who said he’d never leave Jesus’ side. Even John, the disciple Jesus loved. Even James, who got to be with Jesus during some of the most important events in Jesus life, left his side. Yes, I’m a bit bitter that I didn’t get to travel to the Mount of Transfiguration and see Moses and Elijah in person. I hold a grudge that I was never among his favorites. But in the end, they all abandoned him, just like I did. At one level, I am not any different than any of them. In fact, as scary as it might be for you, I’m probably not even a lot different than you, dear reader. Yet, forever, I will take the whole rap as “betrayer.”
Now, that being clear, it doesn’t excuse the fact that I sold Jesus out – in fact, I sold him out for the price of a common slave – 30 pieces of silver.
I don’t know why I did that. I’ll never know why I did that. There simply isn’t any explanation. But I want to be clear I didn’t “hate” Jesus. I never “hated” anyone, except now … I hate myself for what happened.
It was clear to me that Jesus knew that I would betray him. His words at our “Last Supper” were pointed and clear. They made me squirm. But what happened, happened because of my own choices, my own decisions. I never want anyone to think that what I did was somehow predestined.
You know, part of what happened was this. I was among the disciples, but I never really had a relationship with Jesus. Peter could call him “Lord.” But I could never use any other form of address than “Rabbi” even last night when I met him in the garden. I could never understand how some of the disciples, or even demons, called him “Lord” when he didn’t act like a “Lord”, one with light and power, one who could use his position to his advantage. I could only see him as “Rabbi”, and when I introduced him to the guards, I kissed him. I used the kind of kiss that was used as a customary greeting from a disciple to their rabbi.
Along the way, I got frustrated, I guess. I was looking for the kingdom, like everyone was. But it sure looked like Jesus had it wrong. I didn’t have any confidence of this strategy of non-violence. A kingdom, after all, is brought in with power. Jesus wasn’t using any of his supernatural powers, those used to cast out demons and raise the dead, and bring sight to the blind … Jesus wasn’t using any of those powers to inaugurate the kingdom that he kept talking about.
I just couldn’t make any sense out of it. It looked like he was helpless. He kept acting more like a servant than a “Lord.” So, because it was so obvious that the religious elite were trying to find a way to arrest Jesus, I just decided to help things along. So I went and volunteered. It was my own choice, remember. And when they offered to pay the price of a slave, it just seemed right. He was acting like a slave anyway. So I sold him out. And I accompanied these same religious elite to the garden and tipped them off to who Jesus was with my kiss.
Now it is happening. Just like Jesus said. He is condemned as an innocent man. He is going to die unfairly as a common criminal. And I, I Judas, have committed a grave sin. I have aided and abetted the death of the one who is a new kind of king, even in his impending death. I am party to the death of an innocent man, one who, as I can see now, is the Son of God.
Oh my. I am so sorry. I am so sinful. I have to go and give that money back. Even then, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live with myself. I am so sorry. I’ve got to, I’ve got to … well, I’ve got to get outta here.
I’m so sorry.
Lord, have mercy.
s// Judas Iscariot
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)