SERMON PREACHED BY
THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR
CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
PALM SUNDAY, 2006

 

 

"And as they sat and did eat, Jesus said, 'Verily I say unto you, one of you which eateth with me shall betray me." (Mark 14:18)

 

 

I had given thought to what I would preach about today, Palm Sunday, and was all ready to go, when I opened my front door on Friday morning and found Judas on the doorstep.  No, not a reincarnation of history's most famous traitor, but Judas in the form of a front page article (although admittedly below the fold) in The New York Times: "The headline read: "In Ancient Document, Judas, Minus the Betrayal."  The Post-Gazette, not to be outdone, featured an article (also front page, and below the fold) by our own Anne Rodgers, entitled "Ancient text portrays Judas in a different light."   (I don't usually read the Tribune-Review, but understand it was a slow news day there, so their article appeared above the fold.)  I began to wonder if this represented some new revelation, some new clarification of the Gospel message.  Would we have to make some changes in the parts of those who are reading the Passion? 

 

The articles contained the news that a document, The Gospel of Judas, has been found, which differs sharply from the account of all four canonical Gospels, and portrays Judas Iscariot not as a betrayer of Jesus but as his favored disciple and willing collaborator.  In it, Jesus tells Judas "You will be cursed by the other generations, and you will come to rule over them."  And these revelations come not from the Vatican or Lambeth Palace, or even the American Bible Society, but from our friends at the National Geographic Society, who organized the archeological expedition that discovered the pieces of papyrus on which this most recent Gnostic gospel has been written.  Oh yes, there are several of these gospels, the most famous of which, thanks to The Da Vinci Code, is the Gospel of Mary Magdalene.

 

Well, our first reaction is "This simply won't do!"  We're not just talking about theology here, we're talking about language.  The word "judas" means "traitor."  When some staff member or colleague or (until the act of betrayal) trusted aide causes someone to lose his or her job or reputation, we all chime in "We knew he was a judas all along."  Even the animal kingdom has its judases.  A "judas goat" is a trained goat whose specific skill is to hang around sheep, befriending them, chatting them up, gaining their confidence, so that they willingly follow him when the time comes for them to go to the slaughterhouse.  Of course at the slaughterhouse door the judas goat slips through a convenient exit while the sheep go forward in order that they may later become someone's Easter dinner.[1]

 

We must admit that our understanding of Scripture leads us to believe that Judas' motivation was pure evil.  He is the quintessential bad guy.  He was born evil.  The Gospel writers conspire to drive this point home.  Seldom does Judas' name appear all by itself; there is always a qualifier, a descriptive phrase, like "the one who betrayed him" or "Judas, the traitor."  In fact, some theories hold that "Iscariot" means either "dagger man" (now there's a name for a new action hero!) or "fraudulent one."  In the twelfth chapter of John, the evangelist goes out of his way to provide a parenthetical aside.  In the story in which Judas suggests that the oils used by Mary Magdalene to anoint Jesus' feet should better be sold and the proceeds used for the poor, the evangelist tells us: "He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it."

 

But are people as one-dimensional as this?  Is it possible that a person can be so intrinsically bad, such a caricature of evil, with no redeeming characteristics whatsoever?  (This question is poignantly addressed, by the way, in "Tsotsi," the new South African film, which I recommend highly.)  Our intellect tells us no, but our gut tells us otherwise --- perhaps because in our human frailty, we secretly like to think ill of others). When we learn of people's private sins that are suddenly made public, we say "I'm not surprised; I knew he was a rotten apple."  Or "I knew there was something bad about her; I just couldn't put my finger on it."  What all of this really is, is that we don't like to admit that we were taken in, that we were duped, that someone has pulled the wool over our eyes.

 

You see, at the risk of being charged with heresy, I think the Gospel of Judas might have a point.  It must be true that Judas was a favored and trusted disciple, because otherwise his betrayal would not make sense.  Whom do we betray?  We betray our spouses, our children, our lovers, our friends, our close colleagues.  We cannot betray strangers, passers-by on the street, and casual acquaintances, because there is no relationship between us and them, and therefore no expectation of loyalty.  And the idea of Judas' being a collaborator is not a new thought.  If indeed, the Death of Jesus was part of the Divine plan, is it preposterous to suggest that it was God's plan to have someone in mind to prepare the way for that death by performing some dastardly deed?  The lyricist of "Jesus Christ Superstar" certain subscribed to such a theological view. Listen to Judas' words when he turns Jesus over to the high priests:

Jesus wouldn't mind that I was here with you

I have no thought at all of my own reward

I really didn't come here of my own accord.

And then he pleads with the authorities:

Just don't say I'm damned for all time!

 

Well, if I'm going to be tried for heresy, let me push the envelope.  In this newly unearthed Gospel of Judas, Jesus also says to Judas, "You will be cursed by the other generations, and you will come to rule over them."  The first part of that prophecy is certainly true: Judas has been vilified ever since the kiss in the Garden of Gethsemane. And is the second part of that prophecy so far-fetched?  We would love to think of ourselves as eternally Christlike, but we have to admit that there is more than at times, maybe even most of the time, Judas holds dominion over us.  How many of us have turned against the people closest to us?  How many of us have sold our souls (or at least sacrificed our integrity or honor) for thirty pieces of silver, which, of course, may take the form of a promotion, a raise, fame, fortune, or prominence, or just plain acceptance by our peers?

 

You see, Palm Sunday, if nothing else, makes us come to grips with a sea of emotions, and one of them is our sinfulness, the fact that as St. Paul reminds us --- we all have fallen short of the glory of God.  But Palm Sunday also allows us to come to grips with our fickleness.  We exultantly shout "Hosanna to the Son of David" in one breath, and in the next "Crucify him."  Our hands strew palms at Jesus' feet during his entry into Jerusalem, and then plait a crown of thorns on his head in the Praetorium.  We participate in a dramatic reading of the Passion for good reason.  It reminds us that we can ill afford the luxury of scapegoating ---- of casting the blame on the crowd, the soldiers, the high priests or Pilate, or even on Judas.  The plaintive hymn of Johann Heermann (Hymnal 1982, 158) sums it all up:

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?

Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.

'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee.

I crucified thee."

 

But back to our maligned friend, Judas Iscariot.  The newly discovered Gospel seems to suggest that Judas really believed in Jesus, and Jesus' power, and that he thought that the Messiah would not let himself be arrested, much less crucified.  Judas thought that his act was doing Jesus a favor, for then the Lord could call upon legions of angels.  The nation would erupt in a mighty war and the kingdom would be restored to Israel.  We can't, of course, be sure if this line of thought was exactly what was going through Judas' mind, but we can be absolutely certain of one thing: he was remorseful for what he had done.  Matthew's Gospel tells us that he laments: "I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood," and with that, threw the thirty pieces of silver in the very faces of those who had given them to him (a reminder to all of us that we often reject the very rewards we jockey for, for which we were willing to sell our souls, often look far less appealing after the fact).

 

I don't know what the Gospel of Judas says about Judas' death, but the two equally gruesome accounts of his demise as recorded in Scripture are both instructive.  In Matthew, he "goes out and hangs himself."  And in the Book of Acts, Judas uses his ill-gotten gains to buy a field and then falls headlong into it, causing his body to burst open and his intestines to spill out.  (Yes, the Bible certainly has its share of gore!) Both accounts show that Judas died in anguish and despair.  Like many of us, the actions we take backfire and unmitigated disaster ensues.  And some, even if, unlike Judas, they do not take their own lives, they say to themselves "My life is over!"

 

But hopefully, at this point, we get a hold of ourselves, and seek solace in a verse from St. John's Gospel.  We know  it because of the famous verse that precedes it, which we will hear in a few moments set to music by John Stainer: "God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him shall not perish but have everlasting life."  Do we remember what follows?  "For God sent not his son into the

world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved; those who believe in him are not condemned!"  Like Judas in "Jesus Christ Superstar," we know that we are not damned for all time!

 

Judas' tragic error was that he took his fate into his own hands.  He removed the possibility of forgiveness and grace.  He never heard Jesus say to him as he said to Magdalene, "Neither do I condemn you."  He never heard Jesus say to him as he said to Peter, who also betrayed him, "Feed my sheep."  My sisters and brothers in Christ, you and I, on this side of Calvary, need never make the same mistake.

 

Let us pray:

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,

I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,

Think on thy pity, and thy love unswerving,

Not my deserving.

AMEN.

 

 

[1] Calvary horticulturalists Jean Adams and Bob Dilts inform me that there is such a thing as a "Judas tree," the colloquial name for the eastern Redbud, or cercis canadensis.  According to legend, Judas hanged himself on this tree, after which the white flowers turned blood-red.