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March 24, 2016
Luke 22:1-23
Now
the festival of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was near. 2 The chief priests and the scribes
were looking for a way to put Jesus to death, for they were afraid of the
people.
3 Then Satan
entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was one of the twelve; 4 he went away and conferred with
the chief priests and officers of the temple police about how he might betray
him to them. 5 They were
greatly pleased and agreed to give him money. 6 So he consented and began to look for an opportunity to
betray him to them when no crowd was present.
7 Then came the
day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. 8 So Jesus sent Peter and John,
saying, “Go and prepare the Passover meal for us that we may eat it.”
9 They asked him,
“Where do you want us to make preparations for it?” 10 “Listen,” he said to them, “when
you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you; follow
him into the house he enters 11 and say to the
owner of the house, ‘The teacher asks you, “Where is the guest room, where I
may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ 12 He will show you a large room upstairs, already furnished.
Make preparations for us there.”
13 So they went and
found everything as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover meal.
14 When the hour
came, Jesus took his place at the table, and the apostles with him. 15 He said to them, “I have eagerly
desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; 16 for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.”
17 Then he took a
cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among
yourselves; 18 for I tell you
that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of
God comes.” 19 Then he took a
loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them,
saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of
me.” 20 And he did the
same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is
the new covenant in my blood. 21 But see, the one
who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. 22 For the Son of Man is going as it
has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!” 23 Then they began to ask one
another which one of them it could be who would do this.
Meditation:
Once upon a time, there was a
little boy. He was the quiet one of his
siblings. His home was not a peaceful
one. Often the dinner table held weapons
instead of food. Whenever it got scary,
he would creep out of bed in his pajamas, and wander out into the night
alone. No one would notice he was missing. He would climb a favorite tree, and feeling
safe above the world, would gaze at the stars, and talk to God. Sometimes, God talked back in the winking of
stars. If someone saw him talking,
seemingly to himself, he didn’t mind much.
He had the self-assured confidence of a child who is completely
themselves, even in the face of violence.
You see, this boy was born
into the Jewish zealot sect known as Sicarii.
It’s for that reason you might recognize his last name: Iscariot. Sicarii were not the farmers, or the
teachers. They were not the writers, or
the thinkers. They were the
fighters. Their name means assassins. So you can understand why this boy liked to
spend so much time alone, away from his family.
But as he became older,
things changed, as they often do with little boys. He became anxious about being seen to be
talking to himself (or God), and frivolously climbing trees. He became afraid other boys would beat him
up, and when you’re in a village of Sicarii, that would be brutal indeed. So he did the thing teenage boys do: he tried
to blend in.
He didn’t talk to God
anymore. He pretended that nothing
phased him: not the weapons on the table, not the shouting in the hallway, not
the makeshift hospital in the living room.
While on the inside, he might have been shrieking with fear and anger at
what he saw, on the outside, he looked completely and utterly bored by it
all. This is when something began to
break within our dear little boy.
A constant disconnect between
what he felt on the inside and what he did on the outside grew and grew, until
that innocent child who climbed trees and talked to God all but disappeared. He didn’t talk to anyone anymore, not
really. He shouted when it was shouting
time, cursed when it was cursing time, but was like a puppet saying the words
others wanted or expected to hear. He
felt nothing, which for this teenager was better than facing the terror of his
home.
The teenager grew into a man,
as they do. And, as they do, he stopped
wanting to blend in, and instead wanted to stand out: to make a name for
himself, to be taken seriously as a man.
What models for manhood did he have?
A loving father? A patient
husband? A peaceful follower of
Yahweh? He had never seen any of
these. So, he thought being a man meant
might. And he joined up with other
Sicarii young men doing terrible things.
They hurt. They killed. And the brokenness of this young man was
complete. Not only did his feelings
inside not match his actions outside, he didn’t even allow himself the luxury
of any feelings at all.
Then he met someone. His name was Jesus. This man seemed to portray manhood and
faithful Judaism in a way he had never seen before. This Jesus was utterly and completely
peaceful. He wasn’t afraid to touch, to
hug, to cry, to welcome the child and the outcast. He seemed to nearly always be threatened, but
he never kept weapons on the kitchen table.
The lonely little boy, who became a violent man, wanted to be like this
Jesus. So he followed him around. He stopped fighting. He rarely visited his family, knowing they
would wake the sleeping criminal within him, and he did not want that.
Jesus seemed to look right
through him, and could see the pain in his eyes, a pain this young man had hid
for so long he forgot it was there.
Jesus saw it in how quickly his temper flared. In racial slurs he would make about
others. In how the community of
disciples was like an oasis in the desert of this man’s life, one who had never
really known true, loving family.
And slowly, the inside of
this man, (who’s name you know by now surely – Judas) began to match the
outside. When he prayed for God’s will
to be done, he meant it. When he spent
money from the common purse to feed the hungry, he actually cared for them. When he listened to Jesus, he deeply believed
him. But remember, our boy Judas was
broken. And brokenness, when not faced
and dealt with, will always leave unsteadiness in a person. Luke says that the chief priests and scribes
were looking for someone to betray Jesus.
It was obvious who the choice
should be. The fisherman? Nope.
The tax man? Nope. The man raised by assassins? Oh, yes.
It was all too easy to pull at the strings of violence and betrayal so
deeply woven into that poor child’s soul.
The text says Satan entered him. Sure. But this wasn’t some sneaky fellow with a red
pointed tail. This was the darkness that
took root in this child when he learned to fall asleep to lullabies of violence
in his home. (And, I cannot stress this
enough, it was not his fault that
such darkness dwelled in him, and was sparked to life by those scribes and
chief priests. It was not his fault.)
Jesus knew Judas was easy
prey. And at that dinner table – a table Judas came to love because instead
of weapons it bore bread and wine – Jesus said one of them would betray
him. Judas put to practice once more
that skill he had to learn as a teenager.
He felt guilt and fear inside, but showed absolutely nothing
outside. He ate the blessed bread. He drank the holy wine. And his heart broke with every bite, and
every sip, knowing this was the last time he’d ever gather at such a table.
We know, of course, the rest
of the story. It is a tragic ending to a
tragic life. If only Judas could have
remained the little boy who found joy in climbing trees and talking to
God. But the world he knew, the family
he was born into, would not have allowed that.
Was he guilty of betraying
Jesus? Oh, goodness, yes. Did he ever really have any other option,
given the life he lived? Perhaps
not.
I tell you this story because
we often think of this betrayer as so very different from ourselves: He was a terrorist, born and bred. He prized money more than his savior’s
life. He did not survive making that
choice.
But, I ask, what if we became
our worst possible selves? What if we
never heard we were loved or valued until we were adults? What if people knew exactly how to press our
buttons and manipulate us? What would we
be capable of doing?
I tell you this story,
because we need to see that the line between good and evil, between love and
hate, between peace and violence, is rather thin. You
might say it’s as thin as a table, and we tip one way or another based on what
we see on that table.
So let us come to this table,
and bring all of our histories here: the times we were lonely children, the
times we had to confront violence we did not understand, the times one we loved
brought us suffering or suffered themselves, the times we chose the path of
selfishness. Let us come to this table,
and, by the grace of God, have our insides and outsides match. Let us face all that we have endured,
especially as children, and bring that to the One who welcomed all the children
to him.
Here, we are fed – all of us – even Judas. Here, the painful things are not ignored
(this was where Jesus chose to reveal his betrayal). And
here, we can become better, but only if we do it together. Only if we work through our own history with
a trusted friend, a pastor, or a therapist.
Only if we carefully lay down our crosses in vulnerability, knowing that
we are fed by One who took all our pain, all our pasts, all our hurt and sin to
the cross with him.
Come to this table, to
discover the line between good and evil, love and hate, peace and violence, and
allow the grace of God to tip our weary hearts in the right direction: towards
the God who shelters us in safe trees, winking back in the starry night as we
pray for a better life, not just for us, but for all who live in fear and
violence in the world below. Amen.
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