Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann
Matthew 26:14-25
March, 15, 2017
He came in seventh on the all-time list. That’s right, seventh. He came in behind Lincoln, Reagan, FDR and even Clinton and George W. He came in seventh. That’s where Americans a few years back ranked the Father of their Country. The poll asked respondents to choose the nation’s greatest presidents, and they decided that Washington came in seventh. Now, it was a popular poll—in other words people who don’t necessarily know much history were participating; nevertheless, the George Washington fans mobilized in an effort to revive the first president’s image. So instead of the pale face and powdered wig of dollar bill fame, George’s supporters promoted images of Washington as a youthful frontier explorer and surveyor and as a confident and determined general in midlife. It’s quite true, of course, that popular opinions about famous people typically have very little to do with what the person actually did, and everything to do with how people feel about what they think that person did. So, image makeovers do work. With some good PR, and a little cooperation from the popular press, people can recover from a negative public image. Ad campaigns aimed at image reconstruction do work.
Image makeovers are nothing new. History is littered with the attempts—some have been quite extraordinary. Of all the attempted image make-overs, though, perhaps none is as ambitious or as important as the attempt to remake the image of Judas Iscariot. The image of Judas attracts the attention of scholars of Scripture, Jewish history, and even psychology and sociology. But, most of us are more familiar with the attempted remakes that appear in more popular media like movies and books. In these venues, Judas is portrayed sometimes as simply a bit too greedy and money-hungry, other times he’s depicted as a confused and disillusioned idealist discouraged by Jesus’ way of doing things. Sometimes the remake is altogether sympathetic and Judas is portrayed as the hero of the Jesus story—he’s the man with the courage needed to precipitate the confrontation between Jesus and the leaders that finally settles the question about Jesus and his mission.
Why all this interest in Judas and his motivations? It’s probably because he is the character in the story that creates the most confusion. We can, after all, understand the reasons for the actions of the rest of the people in the story: the Romans were doing what they always did to those who threatened the peace, Pilate did what he had to do to quell a riot, and the soldiers were doing what they’d been trained to do. Even the actions of the Jewish leadership make sense: they were just trying to hold on to their own ideas of what was right. You may not like what they did, but you can understand what they did and why they did it. They acted true to form in reasonable and expected ways.
But, not Judas. His actions don’t add up. That’s why we are so interested in trying to explain, understand, and remake the picture of Judas. It’s necessary work because as the story stands, this part is simply too terrifying and too unnerving. So, we offer explanations and solutions to the problem of Judas. Maybe Judas was just a bad apple—you know, rotten from the start and it just took a while to show. Or perhaps we can speculate that what brought about the sudden change in Judas was the temptation of money, or the lure of power, or some disillusionment. All of these explanations help us get a handle on Judas. Maybe they don’t rehabilitate his image, but they do at least make him more understandable and more manageable. And it’s important that we are able to do that, because if Judas can’t be explained, then we have a problem. If Judas can’t be explained, we are left with a traitor without a reason. And if we don’t have some reason, we are left with one of the twelve most blessed men ever to live, a man who spent two or three years walking, talking, eating, laughing and learning with Jesus, a man hand-picked to be one of Jesus’ closest friends, a man who could ask Jesus anything he wanted whenever he wanted, a man who had been chosen to be an apostle of faith that would transform the world forever, we’ve got a man with all of that who rejects it all, betrays it all, and tries to destroy it all. What’s going on? It just doesn’t make any sense…and that’s the scary part.
Think about it: if someone who had all of that going for him could still turn traitor and betray his Lord, then what hope do we have? If one of the chosen twelve blew it and fell prey to sin and evil, then what makes you think that you’re secure? If Judas could reject Christ for no good reason, then what’s keeping you from doing the same? No, it will not do to have Judas as a good disciple who inexplicably, illogically, faithlessly, suddenly goes bad and betrays his Lord. We can’t live with that reality because then no one is safe; and you can never be sure that it won’t happen to you. The story of Judas is frightening because it offers no explanation. It should scare you, it should shake you to your core because when you see Judas fall you must realize that what separates you from Judas is…nothing. Judas, so richly blessed by God, could still betray God. You, blessed by God, can still betray God. And you do. No, I don’t mean that you sell out your Lord and your friends for hard cash—though the reasons for that probably have more to do with lack of opportunity than with personal integrity or strength of will. God-cursing betrayals are not a daily temptation in our culture right now—though that may well change; still, even now you are tempted to other forms of betrayal. However it manifests itself, it is all a matter of broken trust.
Broken trust lies behind or at the bottom of so much of the suffering and hurt that people experience in their lives. You’ve all heard that 1 in 2 marriages will end in divorce—and whatever the exact ratio, the more troubling fact is that the ratio does not change for Christians; Christian divorce rates are equal or even a little higher than they are for the nation as a whole. No marriage ever ends in divorce until one or more betrayals have taken place. Infidelity, indifference, and apathy can all kill a marriage. But these are only symptoms of the betrayal of a spouse—a refusal to invest in and love the other. Children are betrayed by parents who don’t have the time to talk to them, the courage to discipline them, or the commitment to listen to them. And children betray parents when they mock, neglect and dishonor them. Betrayal of the other shatters homes, strains work relationships and destroys friendships. And you directly betray your Lord and his truth when you remain silent when you need to speak his truth, and when you ignore the opportunity to proclaim his gospel because you fear the opinion of others. These are all acts of betrayal. They all break trust. This is the very nature and definition of sin. Sin is failure to honor God and to trust his Word and promise. Sin is broken trust.
When trust has been broken, an image make-over is not sufficient. When trust has been broken, nothing will work to “fix it”. That’s the tragedy of betrayal and broken trust. There are few experiences more crushing and more debilitating than breaking trust with someone. You stand before their hurt and searching gaze with nothing to say. What can you say? The deed is done. The sin is reality. The betrayal is complete. There is no excuse. There is no explanation. Apologies ring hollow and do not restore trust. There is nothing left but regret, anguish, and bottomless emptiness. The very life seems to be sucked out of your soul. You can’t fix broken trust. Break trust and you are faithless. You are not worthy of trust. It is devastating, and you are helpless to do anything about it. When trust is broken, it cannot be repaired. An image makeover does no good at all. What’s needed is an identity makeover. You’ve got to start from scratch. Trust must be re-created. You’ve got to be remade. So, that’s what God does. He remakes you. He gives you a new identity. He recreates trust. You start over from scratch: a new creation.
It’s both repulsive and fascinating that Judas ignored the earnest warning of Jesus and committed his betrayal with a kiss. In the ancient world people thought that a kiss was a sort of soul transfer. In both Hebrew and Greek, breath and soul are the same word. A kiss was, then, a soul exchange of sorts. So, a kiss of death, was actually a kiss that stole a soul. Judas’ kiss was the kiss of death. But the soul that was lost was his own. He sealed the deed, he sealed his fate with a kiss. And his soul was gone—witness his despair as he flings the thirty pieces of silver back at the priests, and as he swings from the end of a rope. You break trust and you lose your soul. You break trust and you die.
So, God intervenes. He makes you alive again. He gives you a new soul, a new you. The Holy Spirit, the breath of God, breathes into you with the intimacy and the tenderness of a kiss, with the nearness of water on your forehead and bread and wine on your tongue and in your stomach. He breathes his breath into you and you are alive again—more than that, you are brand new, a new creation, a new identity, a new you. That’s the work of the Holy Spirit. He remakes what sin destroys. He gives life to those who are empty and dead inside. Those guilty of broken trust are forgiven. Betrayers become God’s children.
Such remarkable giving does not come without a price. Indeed, it costs dearly. The betrayal of God, the willful sin against the Creator, the rebellion of the creation, means the betrayal of the Son, the rejection of the Savior, the crucifixion of the Lord. Something has to be done about your breaking of trust. Jesus does it. He takes the penalty. He pays the price. The shame, the emptiness, the suffering are his. The forgiveness, the freedom, the joy are yours. He dies and gives up the Spirit. The Spirit breathes into you and you live, a new creation. When trust has been broken an image makeover will never do. What you need, then, is a completely new you. In Jesus, that’s what you get. The old has gone, behold the new has come.
We don’t need to give Judas an image makeover, or find an explanation that makes sense of his treachery and betrayal. No, it’s actually better the way that it is. It’s better that the gospel writers offer no easy explanation. It’s better that it makes no sense. It’s better that the story of Judas rocks us and frightens us into taking seriously the sad reality of our own illogical and devastating betrayals. Explanations and understanding don’t restore broken trust. Only the incredible forgiveness of Christ will bring that trust back. Only the new reality of God’s new creation can overcome and conquer the reality of our broken trust. And it does. For you, it does. In Christ, you are restored—you are trustworthy again. Amen.