Editorial

The anatomy of betrayal

To be called into discipleship is one thing; to choose to bear the cross is another

John M. Fowler, Ed.D., is an associate director of the Department of Education at the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists, and a contributing editor of Ministry.

He, so everyone thought, was the best of the lot a patriot, ready to risk his life to break the foreign yoke; an organizational expert; a financial wizard; a man of gallant hopes, cool courage, and planned daring.

The road began so well for him. He was entrusted with much. Every opportunity for advancement was his. Patience bent low to overlook his failures; hope looked up to discover a glimmer of light against every darkening cloud that passed over his life; love labored for over three years to straighten out the crooked in him, to direct the assertive toward nobler objectives, and to replace the spirit of divided loyalty with unambiguous response.

But Judas leaped into the abyss of treachery. By that infamous kiss, he "threw a pearl away richer than all his tribe"1 and left behind nothing of worth or decency. His name knows no bidder: no one names his/her child Judas.

What went wrong? Was it lust of money, lure of position, impatience with the Master's methods? Was it to force the issue, to create a situation that would compel Jesus to launch a dramatic inaugural of the Messianic kingdom? Was it the desperate act of a disappointed follower?

The anatomy of betrayal is made of stronger stuff. The act itself was neither sudden nor dramatic; nor was it, like Peter's denial, an aberration. Judas' betrayal was slow and imperceptible; it grew like a cancer over the years. The inward failure began long before the out ward act. When Jesus fed the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish, Judas was the first to grasp the mercenary and political value of the miracle. Was not the ability to produce food sufficient to rally the hungry millions to Jesus' side and launch a political coup against the hated Romans? When Jesus denounced the at tempt to make Him a king, and instead announced Himself the "bread of life," that was the beginning of the disenchantment of Judas: "[Judas'] hopes were high; his disappointment was bitter."2 Judas was not on the same wavelength as Jesus. The kingdom of Judas was not the same as the kingdom of Jesus. Out of that collision betrayal was born.

The roots of betrayal

Thus the roots of betrayal were found in the assertion of self over against the claims of the One who called. Self dominated Judas so much that he could not see any possibility that he could be wrong. Arrogance, accusation, pride, avarice, and even betrayal seemed not at all inappropriate in the reaching of the goal that self had set for itself. Even discipleship was just an avenue to achieve self's relentless pursuit of its own glory by its own method. And in the process the true meaning and intent of following the Lord got slighted. Thus when a devout fol lower of Jesus chose to anoint His feet with a costly ointment, Judas denounced the act as a foolish waste, a sentimental stupidity (John 12:1-8). All Judas could see was money; all he could sense was the immediate, not the eternal. He was to tally insensitive to the truth that life consists of more than the material, more than the tangible. How does one measure the love of a mother to a vagabond child? How is gratitude to be weighed? How is loyalty or integrity or compassion to be priced?

Judas weighed life perpetually in terms of the cashbox he carried with him. But Jesus pointed out that true living is to be found in the alabaster box in the breaking of it, so that symbolically its precious ointment fills the world with the fragrance of Christ's sacrificial love. In that crucial test of discipleship the test of transition from the cashbox to the alabaster box Judas failed. The kingdom of Judas had no room for the cross. And betrayal emerged.

Further, betrayal had its formation in Judas' tendency to live in parts, not in whole. Singularity has something to commend itself, so long it has the whole in view. Judas had singularity he was a shrewd businessman, a great organizer, bent upon reaching his goal of an earthly kingdom. But in pressing for his singularity, he was not prepared to be guided by the whole, the larger, the eternal. If he were, he would have learned that discipleship is not the end in itself; it is only a beginning, only a part. The successful conclusion of that discipleship depended not so much on striking out on one's own, but on submission to the demands of the one who called, to Jesus, and to His cross. Without that submission, Judas failed another crucial test of discipleship and betrayal found its launching pad.

But neither love nor treachery can succeed without willing instruments. Luke, in the beginning of his story, tells how Jesus prayed all night alone in the mountain before He chose His disciples, including Judas (Luke 6:12-16). And Jesus believed that the Twelvle were God's gift to Him (John 17:6-9). The only Judean in the band of the twelve, was Judas really an answer to prayer? Did Jesus choose him as an instrument of His will and purpose, and in the process risked His own life? Love always takes risks: we see it in creation, in exodus, in incarnation, in the cross, in ourselves. So is there any wonder that Jesus risked the kingdom through the unknown, the unpredictable, the undependable person that Judas was? The risk reveals on the one hand the immensity of divine love and grace, and on the other the profound hurt betrayal causes to that love.

But no analysis of the anatomy of betrayal can be complete without those poignant words of the third Gospel: "Then Satan entered into Judas" (Luke 22:3, R.S.V.). Treachery begins with that temptation: the soft and sweet whisper of Satan that we are our own masters, and that we need neither God nor human to chart the course of life. And treachery ends with that kiss of betrayal, denying the One who loves us most. Between the beginning and the end, the cruel drama of self-delusion plays itself out: the pretension of discipleship, the hypocrisy of seeking God's kingdom, and showman ship of human care and concern.

But Satan cannot enter an unwilling victim. A willful, deliberate rejection of a relationship precedes the act of betrayal. Between the way of the cross and the rush to power, between the transformation of human life and the restoration of the throne, between restored relation ships that love brings and conquered authority that makes so much sense in the immediate, Judas sealed his choice. From that point on, betrayal was only a routine,

"One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,

One more devil's triumph and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!"3

And from then on, Judas' act of betrayal flashes its warning through history: the road to treachery passes by everyone's household, including those who are called. To be called into discipleship is one thing; to choose to bear the cross is another. Only that disciple is safe who looks beyond the lure of self to the Selfless One, the Man of Calvary. With Him rest love and life, trust and hope.

1. Shakespeare, Othello, Act V, scene 2, line 347.

2. Ellen G. White, The Desire of Ages (Mountain View,Calif.: PacificPressPub. Assn., 1940),p.719.

3. Robert Browning, "The Lost Leader."


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John M. Fowler, Ed.D., is an associate director of the Department of Education at the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists, and a contributing editor of Ministry.

February 1992

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