Homily preached at Evensong at Christ Church
Greenwich, Connecticut
April 8, 2020 / Holy Wednesday
John 13:21-32
In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I would like to say something about Judas. He is, alongside Jesus and Pontius Pilate, probably the most consequential character in the story we will be hearing over the next few days. Dante has him at the very center of hell, along with Brutus and Cassius, where the three great traitors are gnawed on by Satan for all eternity. Neither we nor Jesus cannot avoid our encounter with Judas.
It is easy to cast Judas as a vile and selfish thief, a simple villain. But like most of history’s villains, there is a great deal of humanity to Judas and his story, and very little that is simple; and so there is something for us to learn from him, about ourselves, and about this strange and fearful time in which we find ourselves living. Because Judas is a cautionary tale of what can happen when things don’t go exactly the way we were expecting.
We can never forget that Judas was a disciple! He was one of the twelve! He was not an outside instigator, not an opponent of Jesus. His treachery was an inside job. The mystery writer and lay theologian Dorothy Sayers (who also, not incidentally, translated Dante’s Divine Comedy) wrote this about Judas’ motives: “The worst evil in the world is brought about, not by the open and self-confessed vices, but by the deadly corruption of the proud virtues.”[1]
We can imagine Judas as a true believer, who followed Jesus because he genuinely believed Jesus to be Messiah and Lord, the person who would redeem Israel. It has been suggested that Judas expected Jesus to overthrow Roman rule of Judea, and that a disillusioned Judas betrayed Jesus not so much because he loved money, but because he loved his country and thought Jesus had failed it… and thought that Jesus had failed him as well.[2] This Jesus, who washed his disciples’ feet and was to die on a cross, this was not what Judas signed up for.
This is not what we signed up for either. Did any of us sign up to be locked in our houses? To have thousands of people sick and millions out of work? For uncertainty and fear and anxiety and grief? Wasn’t our faith supposed to be a comfort? Isn’t God supposed to make everything all right?
Those are good questions.
Writing recently online, the professor and Episcopal clergyman Frederick Schmidt said this:
To hear some people tell the Christian story, you would think that the giants of the faith are people who never suffer, never struggle, and get all of their prayers answered. The odd thing about that picture, is that I can’t think of a single giant of the faith who lived a life of that kind… In fact, it would be more accurate to have an advisory on the baptismal font that says, “Getting into this water could get you into a lot of trouble.”[3]
Judas had his fondest hopes and dreams disappointed, and he turned his back on his Lord. I suspect that many of us have been disappointed as well. The question is not whether we will be disappointed, because Jesus assures us that indeed we will be.[4] Memorably, Robert Burns put it like this:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
The good news of the gospel is that Christianity is what happens to a person AFTER the best laid plans of mice and men go askew. Judas hanged himself, and that was too hasty. The question is how we will respond to whatever disappointment we encounter, how we will meet the challenges that are before us. Can we be honest about just how harrowing life can be? Can we be present to our friends? Can we be in touch with God?[5]
Whatever we encounter, we may do so with the knowledge that Christ has gone before us in all things, even to death. St Paul tells us, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”[6] That resurrection is not only the one we await at the last day. It is also the life that follows disappointment, the life that follows grief, the life that follows whatever challenges we face. It is the life of a person who knows that his full measure is not whether he knew success or failure, whether she achieved all she set out to, or even whether he died; the full measure of a person of faith is the measure of Christ, who lived and died and rose again, and with whose help we are given courage to endure whatever comes our way.
This period that we call Holy Week—the days between Palm Sunday and Easter—is in some ways a journey into the heart of darkness, which Jesus himself took. We may have a particular appreciation for that journey this year, as we face a crisis unprecedented in our lifetimes. But as we walk with our Lord Jesus on this road, may we remember and be inspired by the magnitude of what has been done for us on the Cross, and the magnitude of what we celebrate at Easter, and may we be given grace to face the days ahead.
AMEN.
[1] Dorothy L. Sayers, The Man Born to be King (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2011), 49.
[2] Joel B. Green, Scot McKnight, I. Howard Marshall, Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels (Downers Grove, Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 1992) 406–407.
[3] Frederick Schmidt, “The Problem(s) with ‘Harmonial Religion,’” https://www.patheos.com/blogs/whatgodwantsforyourlife/2019/09/the-problems-with-harmonial-religion/
[4] John 16:33
[5] For more, see Schmidt’s excellent book: The Dave Test: A Raw Look at Real Faith in Hard Times (Nashville: Abingdon, 2013).
[6] Romans 6:5