BETRAYAL NEVER COMES FROM AN ENEMY

(Post by: Madie Hobbs)

Betrayal is a fickle thing, isn’t it? I’m willing to bet that almost all of us have been betrayed by someone at one point or another. It’s an earth-shattering event for most of us.

The thing about betrayal is that it never comes from an enemy. The worst betrayals come from the people you love wholeheartedly. They come from the people you yourself would never even consider betraying.

Yet this is the crux of what sets the Passion week into motion.

The only thing we know about Wednesday of this Passion week we are in the midst of is nothing. This is the one day out of the week where nothing was recorded in any of the gospels regarding Jesus’ actions, thoughts, or plans. It is known as the silent day.

Just because I know a bit about Jesus’ character, I would like to think this day wasn’t actually all that silent. In fact, I wonder if perhaps this day was so emotionally special to the disciples none of them could bring themselves to divulge the details of it either in their own writing or the writings they commissioned from others. They may not have realized at the time this was one of their final days with Jesus as they had always known Him, but I believe afterward the memories collected on this day were rather tender for them.

This emotional connection Jesus had with the disciples is something I’ve been studying rather deeply lately for one of my college courses, and I must admit, it’s thrown my own emotions into quite a tumult. I continue to read about the depth of sorrow and love Jesus felt for those around Him in His final days, and I can hardly consider His own agony without tears coming to my eyes.

The most painful part of it all is that Jesus knew a traitor was among them.

I can imagine it all now. The emotional distance Judas began putting between himself and Jesus, his straight face while the others reminisce about a fond memory, his backward glances over his shoulder while he searches for the perfect moment for his plan to be enacted.

All the while, Jesus hears only the absence of Judas’ laughter amongst the volume of the rest, the extra space between the two of them as they make the trek from Jerusalem to Bethany, the meeting of Judas’ eye after a secret look exchanged with the religious leaders.

It must have been one of the most difficult things to endure. Or was it perhaps more difficult to spare him? In my textbook, it is suggested that the main reason Jesus keeps the identity of his betrayer a secret at the Last Supper is to spare Judas from the other disciples.

Their rage could possibly, and understandably, have been explosive.

I can’t help thinking Jesus perhaps knew that should it have been revealed, the servant of the high priest may not have lost his ear, but Judas most certainly his life.

What love. What utter, deep, and all-consuming love He must still have had for Him.

And is this not the most tragic part?

How often have we experienced such love? For some of us, perhaps an instance does not come immediately to mind. Perhaps the love we once had instantly turned to hate the moment the betrayal was done, and we had only our hatred to keep us warm after that.

This has often, too often, been my experience.

For me, there has been only once in my life where I loved someone so much I was willing to pretend the betrayal never happened. Only one instance where I was willing to take them back without pause, question, or thought. Only one, where I appealed to every good thing within them to turn the clock back and be who we once were.

No other experience in my life has ever presented such unceasing emotional torture.

Yet is this not the love Jesus extends to every one of us, His betrayers? Daily, is this love not renewed? Does He not daily offer us the highest honor of the first piece of bread at the Last Supper? Does He not daily look at us and say, “Here, see this cross, I will take it upon me for you and only you. I will erect it upon the hill and hang, if only you accept this unutterable love I have for you.”

When have we been prompted to such action? How often have we become so concerned with the salvation of others we are taken to the brink of physical failure brought on by stress? When was the last time we sweat blood for those whose knife was hurdling toward our backs?

An interesting thing I learned about last Easter is that the reason Jesus’ sweat blood in the Garden of Gethsemane is because beneath his skin, the blood vessels in His body were under such intense strain they were literally bursting, thus causing blood to rush to the surface.

This is not the worst part, however.

Because so many blood vessels are ruptured, the skin becomes immensely sensitive. The slightest touch can cause excruciating pain.

Thus, the first bout of pain Jesus ever experienced during His Passion was not the flogging, the beatings, the crown of thorns.

It was the kiss of one He so deeply loved, and one who now disregarded Him.

If I’m honest, I don’t want to bleed like Jesus bled. My flesh cries out in revolt against it. I wish to deliver my own blows to my betrayer and watch them suffer as I have done.

But this is not what leads to salvation.

The blood, running in droves, leads to salvation. Not only their salvation, but mine as well. For am I not a traitor too? Have I not felt the chill of steel between my fingertips, as I pound nails into fragile wrists that stay still for my benefit?

And so now I must sit humbly at the foot of the cross, marveling at the fact Jesus’ blood runs for me. That while my kiss still stings the skin of His cheeks, his arms remain spread wide.

If I do not, I may as well tie the noose around my own neck. For betrayal never comes from an enemy, but I would rather die than have it make one of me.