The texts from the Roman Catholic Lectionary today invite contemplation of how our human zeal for a cause may be the path whereby betrayal and forgiveness are our experience.
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| Betrayal and forgiveness |
The passage from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah describes the suffering servant’s humiliation and vindication.
* [50:4–11] The third of the four “servant of the Lord” oracles (cf. note on 42:1–4); in vv. 4–9 the servant speaks; in vv. 10–11 God addresses the people directly.1
Psalm 69 is cited often by the New Testament especially in the passion accounts.
* [Psalm 69] A lament complaining of suffering in language both metaphorical (Ps 69:2–3, 15–16, the waters of chaos) and literal (Ps 69:4, 5, 9, 11–13, exhaustion, alienation from family and community, false accusation). In the second part the psalmist prays with special emphasis that the enemies be punished for all to see (Ps 69:23–29). Despite the pain, the psalmist does not lose hope that all be set right, and promises public praise (Ps 69:30–36). The Psalm, which depicts the suffering of the innocent just person vividly, is cited often by the New Testament especially in the passion accounts, e.g., Ps 69:5 in Jn 15:25; Ps 69:22 in Mk 15:23, 36 and parallels and in Jn 19:29. The Psalm prays not so much for personal vengeance as for public vindication of God’s justice. There was, at this time, no belief in an afterlife where such vindication could take place. Redress had to take place now, in the sight of all.2
In the Gospel of Matthew, Judas agrees to betray Jesus, as preparations are made for Passover with the disciples.
* [26:21] Given Matthew’s interest in the fulfillment of the Old Testament, it is curious that he omits the Marcan designation of Jesus’ betrayer as “one who is eating with me” (Mk 14:18), since that is probably an allusion to Ps 41:10. However, the shocking fact that the betrayer is one who shares table fellowship with Jesus is emphasized in Mt 26:23.3
Tom Purcell reminds us that one powerful form of prayer in the Spiritual Exercises is to place oneself in a setting, to imagine interacting with the parties in the story, and to observe the participants and one’s own reactions. When he does that, he can see Jesus interact with Judas. He can see in His gaze the complex emotions He must have felt – His look of pain, of utter disappointment, coupled with a transcending spirit of understanding, love and forgiveness.
And then I reflect on my own life, and ask: How many times have I betrayed Jesus by my actions, my neglect, my selfishness, my indifference, my inability to respond with charitable love when I am harmed by someone? Have I observed and understood the look in Jesus’ eyes when He sees me, and what I have done to betray Him? How shameful am I that I have caused Jesus to feel pain, and disappointment? Why is it that I can’t keep from causing Him pain again, and again, and again, as my human failings outweigh my good intentions to live up to what Jesus calls me to do?
And then I feel the wonder, the mystery, the incredible joy of knowing that Jesus understands my humanity and all my shortcomings, still loves me in spite of the hurt I have caused Him, that He has forgiven me, has soothed my heart, has told me to try again to do what He asks, to learn from my betrayals, to become better in Him. I know I likely will betray Him again, but for the moment, I feel at peace because He has touched me with a healing word, a look in His eye, a soothing of my inner being.4
Don Schwager quotes “God's help for a complete conversion,” by Augustine of Hippo, 354-430 A.D.
"When we transform our old life and give our spirit a new image, we find it hard and tiring to turn back from the darkness of earthly passions to the serene calm of the divine light. We thus ask God to help us that a complete conversion may be brought about in us." (excerpt from Confessions 10,4)5
The Word Among Us Meditation on Matthew 26:14-25 notices how the spotlight is not so much on Judas’ treachery as on Jesus’ kindness and mercy. He knows what Judas will do, but he doesn’t expose him or utter words of condemnation. He just gives a vague “You have said so” to Judas’ question: “Surely it is not I, Rabbi?” (Matthew 26:25). It seems that until the very end, Jesus held out hope that Judas would repent.
That’s how Jesus treats you too. He has no interest in shaming you when you fall into sin, and he certainly doesn’t want to condemn you. He wants to forgive and heal you. He wants to restore your dignity as a child of God. But he will never force you to do anything, including repent. God created you with free will, and so Jesus will always wait for you to freely choose to acknowledge your sin, to receive his absolution, and to be reconciled to himself.6
Friar Jude Winkler acquaints us with the life of the mysterious suffering servant of Isaiah. Jesus' betrayal in Matthew is signalled less specifically than in the Gospel of John. Friar Jude nudges us to consider the special attention of the Orthodox Church to fasting on Wednesday to mark Jesus' betrayal.
Fr. Stephen Freeman, a priest of the Orthodox Church in America, serving as Rector of St. Anne Orthodox Church in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, shares that Wednesdays and Fridays of the Orthodox week are always observed more solemnly than other days in terms of fasting and prayer.
Wednesday in the world is known as the “hump,” the middle of the week when we “get over the hump.” In too many ways we get over the hump by selling Christ for silver. You work out the metaphor.
It is Wednesday – time to eat less – to pray more – to stand before the Cross – to keep my eyes and hands away from the silver the world would give me. Better to starve than to eat the bread of the wicked.7
Fr. Richard Rohr, OFM, shares the most courageous thing we'll ever do is probably to accept that we are who we are. As Henri Nouwen once shared with Fr. Richard personally, he believed that original sin could only be described as “humanity’s endless capacity for self-rejection.”
All the truly transformed people I have ever met are characterized by what I would call radical humility. They are deeply convinced that they are drawing from another source; they are simply an instrument. Their genius is not their own; it is borrowed. They end up doing generative and expansive things precisely because they do not take first or final responsibility for their gift; they don’t worry too much about their failures, nor do they need to promote themselves. Their life is not their own, yet at some level they know that it has been given to them as a sacred trust. Such people just live in gratitude and confidence and try to let the flow continue through them. They know that love can be repaid by love alone.
In this time of crisis, we must commit to a posture of prayer and heart that opens us to deep trust and connection with God. Only then can we hold the reality of what is happening—both the tragic and the transformative. I am finding myself turning more often in these days to the simple Christian prayer of “Lord, have mercy.” From our place of humility, God can work through us to help our loved ones, neighbors and the most vulnerable. As Francis of Assisi said to us right before he died in 1226, “I have done what was mine to do. Now you must do what is yours to do.” [1]8
Like Judas, we may have experience of betrayal and forgiveness that moves us to humility and increases our capacity to love our neighbours.
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