Love and Betrayal
The relationship between the two and the table
Maundy Thursday and Good Friday
Christ’s betrayer was not just Judas, nor was it just his twelve closest friends. We all betray him.
Nor was Christ alone in being betrayed. Rome betrayed the idea it instituted justice, instead choosing its spirit of weaponized violence. Religious leaders betrayed the idea that they cared about the Spirit, instead siding with weaponized justice. The crowds betrayed, too, as popularity always does to whom was last foisted. Even Christ wondered rhetorically with the Psalmist whether God had forsaken and betrayed him, just as Job wondered, just as humanity has wondered. God had not and has not. But we all betray God.
We are not just guilty on the cross next to Jesus; whichever thief we are only God knows. We all know the pain of being betrayed. Judas may have even felt that Christ first betrayed him by teaching the Way over his.
We should not forget that Judas loved Christ. After all, love is the foundation underneath betrayal. Without love, there is no betrayal, just politics, war, and “business decisions.” Without love, betrayal would be no worse than poor sportsmanship.
Love and betrayal reveal the fragility of a world full of expectations and commitments. Betrayal often breaks the expectations of love, though the full idealism of agape love holds no expectations. Yet this love makes wordless commitments that we dare not desecrate by speaking. Betrayal breaks these faithful, wordless commitments, often through deception. Love deceives not, but betrayal trades in it until the final demonic apocalypsis, unveiling, of betrayal’s revealed commitment to the self. Love is the thing deceived and betrayed for our own sake.
But what is the most fundamental relationship between love and betrayal? Relationship itself. There is neither love nor betrayal without a relationship. We do not feel betrayed by a bee’s sting, it is just their nature. We may feel frightened by an anonymous robbery, but we do not feel betrayed. We betray and are betrayed only by the people, places, and things we love, however foolishly and madly. We feel most betrayed by those closest to us, but we might also feel betrayed by the Church, our country, our party, the state, or whatever we believed in. And, like the Psalmist and even like Jesus, we might sometimes feel betrayed by the God we love.
So again, whatever we know of Judas’ betrayal, we can be sure that he loved Christ, and Christ loved him. While the others had impulsive betrayals, Judas strategized. While the others denied their betrayer nature, Judas embraced his shadow with the best of today’s therapy culture, only to vomit it back up once he saw the sickening riches of his success. Maybe he was even surprised his betrayal of his powerful teacher worked. Maybe he thought it was a test that might finally steer Jesus on the right path. Maybe he thought he would start a fight in Gethsemane’s garden and finally spark the first battle of victory. Maybe he thought this was the way for Jesus to take him seriously. Maybe Judas loved Jesus so much he expected Jesus to triumph over his betrayal. And ultimately, Jesus did. But not without the full wounds of love that ran deeper than any nails, reeds, thorns, or whip could slice.
Forgiveness is the only thing that can return us, in repentance, to Christ’s kingdom of invitations. A world where God has fully committed to us, though our commitment wavers so much. As we remember tonight, Christ forgives in the midst of his betrayal—“letting go” as he’s “taking on.”
If the sin of these twelve are forgiven, they are also remembered, and we are called also to remember our sins, even the forgiven ones. To remember not just the convenient narrative, but the sometimes ugly story of humanity. Not to live in shame, but to know we live in grace, because we are not excused, but forgiven. If betrayal kills love’s loyalty, then Christ’s repairing of betrayal was in showing a greater loyalty than they knew possible, loyalty that went beyond the betrayal of Christ’s body, Christ’s human person. It was a loyalty to the soul.
If—no, when—we betray each other, we may not get invited back to dinner. Sometimes God does work through brokenness. But sometimes what humans break between us stays broken between us. But if—no, when—we betray God, we are always invited back to the table. When we betray God, God’s loyalty to us is unbreakable.
Jesus loves those who betray him. Jesus loves us, too, when our good intentions prove empty. Jesus loves us without deceit or expectations when our commitments fail. He invites us to the table knowing we will betray him. And when the dust all settles, he will invite us back again.
Beautiful. Reminds me of a line from a theologian betrayed by John Howard Yoder, that only those we need can betray us. I guess the converse is also true: we can only betray those we need.