Betray
Read John 13:18-30.
An oldish song by Michael Card has this profound lyric:
So think about that table on that last night. They were all friends. These thirteen men had shared life, had shared stories, had experienced things no one else had come close to experiencing. Any one of them looking around that table would have seen men they would have trusted with their lives. There were, perhaps, no better or closer friends gathered that night anywhere in Jerusalem than these twelve disciples and their rabbi, Jesus.
We're prejudiced when we read the story of Jesus' life and especially his last week, because we know how it comes out. We're told from the beginning that Judas betrayed Jesus. John tells us twice in this short passage when Judas makes the decision to do the deed. Satan entered him (13:27) and he went out (13:30). Both things happened when he took the bread. But no one—not one—suspected Judas when Jesus announced that someone would betray him. No fingers pointed toward Judas. Do you know why? Because he was their friend. He was their brother. He had done ministry just like the rest of them had. He had been with them from the beginning. Jesus had chosen him just like he had chosen the rest.
Judas was a friend. And that's why he could betray Jesus. That's how he could betray them all. He was their friend, their brother, their comrade-in-arms. Only a friend can betray a friend.
And so some come to the conclusion that it's better not to have any friends, not to engage in close relationships. The only way to avoid being hurt is to remain alone, aloof, outside any sort of group. And I suppose that's partly true: you can't be hurt if you care about no one. But you also can't be loved. You can't know peace. You can't know the kind of life God had in mind for us from the beginning. God made us for friendship, for community. Jesus demonstrated that with these twelve men. And the most beautiful part, in my mind? Jesus loved even Judas "to the end" (13:1).
You see, in small and big ways, we betray Jesus each and every day. When we fail to do what we know he wants us to do. When we take steps back from becoming the disciple we could be. We may not sell him for thirty pieces of silver, but we do share fellowship with him and then deny him or ignore him or fail him. But he doesn't quit loving us. He welcomes us, redeems us, saves us from ourselves. Even in the worst betrayal, Jesus still offers us the bread of fellowship. That's, in part, what this scene at the table is all about. Judas is us. We are him. We are Jesus' friends who often betray him. And even we can be welcomed, loved, forgiven. That's good news!
An oldish song by Michael Card has this profound lyric:
Only a friend can betray a friend, a stranger has nothing to gain.It's true, isn't it? Strangers can't betray us, and not only because they don't know us that well. They can't betray us because, most of the time, we don't care about them. We don't care about our relationship with them because there really is no relationship. Only a friend can betray you. Only a friend, with whom you've shared life, with whom you've shared things you haven't told anyone else, only someone who has come to mean something to you—only that person can betray you.
And only a friend comes close enough to ever cause so much pain.
So think about that table on that last night. They were all friends. These thirteen men had shared life, had shared stories, had experienced things no one else had come close to experiencing. Any one of them looking around that table would have seen men they would have trusted with their lives. There were, perhaps, no better or closer friends gathered that night anywhere in Jerusalem than these twelve disciples and their rabbi, Jesus.
We're prejudiced when we read the story of Jesus' life and especially his last week, because we know how it comes out. We're told from the beginning that Judas betrayed Jesus. John tells us twice in this short passage when Judas makes the decision to do the deed. Satan entered him (13:27) and he went out (13:30). Both things happened when he took the bread. But no one—not one—suspected Judas when Jesus announced that someone would betray him. No fingers pointed toward Judas. Do you know why? Because he was their friend. He was their brother. He had done ministry just like the rest of them had. He had been with them from the beginning. Jesus had chosen him just like he had chosen the rest.
Judas was a friend. And that's why he could betray Jesus. That's how he could betray them all. He was their friend, their brother, their comrade-in-arms. Only a friend can betray a friend.
And so some come to the conclusion that it's better not to have any friends, not to engage in close relationships. The only way to avoid being hurt is to remain alone, aloof, outside any sort of group. And I suppose that's partly true: you can't be hurt if you care about no one. But you also can't be loved. You can't know peace. You can't know the kind of life God had in mind for us from the beginning. God made us for friendship, for community. Jesus demonstrated that with these twelve men. And the most beautiful part, in my mind? Jesus loved even Judas "to the end" (13:1).
You see, in small and big ways, we betray Jesus each and every day. When we fail to do what we know he wants us to do. When we take steps back from becoming the disciple we could be. We may not sell him for thirty pieces of silver, but we do share fellowship with him and then deny him or ignore him or fail him. But he doesn't quit loving us. He welcomes us, redeems us, saves us from ourselves. Even in the worst betrayal, Jesus still offers us the bread of fellowship. That's, in part, what this scene at the table is all about. Judas is us. We are him. We are Jesus' friends who often betray him. And even we can be welcomed, loved, forgiven. That's good news!
Great analogy!
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