Spy Wednesday
Betrayal is the stuff of drama.
You name any great movie or novel or Netflix binge, and I betcha that at dead center our protagonist is hanging on to the precipice’s edge of gut-wrenching betrayal. And the antagonist – oh my goodness! – what a completely selfish, narcissistic jerk! I hate that guy.
The truth is ... I love that guy. Writing a good villain takes some talent. Who knew that Peter Pettigrew could be so spineless? Or Edmund Pevensie would give up his siblings for a promise of Turkish delights? Iago was a known backstabber from the beginning. No Mission Impossible movie would be complete without the balding, thin-lipped, Eastern-European-accented betrayer lurking in the shadows. And, of course, the most legendary betrayer of all time: “Et tu, Brute?” Betrayal makes great fiction. And I love fiction.
Except when it’s not fiction. Except when I’m the betrayer.
I find the most poignant line of Matthew’s gospel on this Spy Wednesday is the repetition of that question which echoes in quiet pause: “Surely it is not I, Lord?” The question is asked twice and identically, but by two different suspects, each intimating something quite different.
When the disciples first pose the question in deep distress, they ask: “Surely it is not I, Lord?” In other words, they ask: “Lord, am I capable of such deceit? Is that level of base treachery lurking within me?”
When Judas poses the question, he already knows the answer: “Surely, it is not I, Rabbi?” In other words, he asks: “Have you found me out? Do you already know how guilty I am?”
I’m more troubled with the first question than the second.
Jesus called his disciples -- and me -- to greatness. He knows that I am wonderfully made despite being wonderfully flawed. He created me with a capacity for beauty and virtue; I am a window to an exultation of the soul. But, by the same token, am I as capable of great wickedness as I am of great righteousness?
When Judas asks the question, he knows the answer. His question is layered in rhetorical arrogance.
When the disciples ask the question, they really don’t know. Their question is layered in childlike ignorance of their own capacity. In all honesty, it scares me a little.
“Surely it is not in me, Lord?”
So, although I do love a good juicy villain, Judas doesn’t scare me. His alliances are clear, and his decisions are made. The disciples -- and me -- are the ones to keep an eye on as the story unfolds. What will happen with them? Will Peter betray Jesus by denying him three times? And if he does, will he make amends for his sin? And what about me? When the moment of truth comes: Will I respond to the call with wickedness or with virtue? Will I do the right thing?
The answer, of course, is staring at me: “He answered, ‘You have said so.’”
Man, that all-knowing, all-loving, sacrificial protagonist: he gets me every time.
