This is the last in a series of four Lenten devotional reflections given by Fr. David Curry on The Kiss of Judas: Themes of Betrayal & Forgiveness in the Scriptures. The first is posted here [1], the second here [2], and the third here [3].
UPDATE (22 Mar.): The four addresses have been compiled into a booklet, which can be accessed here [4].
“Judas, betrayest thou me with a kiss?”
There are no greater betrayals than the betrayals of intimacy, the betrayals of trust and love. And indeed, the larger biblical witness to the ‘kiss of Judas’ as the archetype of all betrayal features precisely those themes of intimacy betrayed. At the same time, they become the occasions of a greater love, the redemptive love of God. Forgiveness is the greater theme that arises most profoundly out of the betrayals of the intimacies of love.
Our focus is upon the themes of betrayal and forgiveness in the Scriptures. There is, of course, a further story that belongs to the history of reflection upon the wisdom of the Scriptures. One has only to note Dante and Shakespeare, medieval and modern, so to speak, to realize how profoundly the themes of betrayal and forgiveness have shaped our literary, philosophical and political culture. Dante’s Divine Comedy explicates with a wonderful and powerful philosophical logic poetically expressed the dynamics of betrayal and forgiveness. Shakespeare, too, in a different timbre of expression but with no less insight undertakes to explore the very power of forgiveness precisely through the betrayals of trust. One only needs to consider The Merchant of Venice, where “mercy seasons justice,” or Measure for Measure, where the one who has been wronged seeks mercy for the wrong doer who himself wishes death and destruction for his sin. And, then, there is The Tempest, a play which in some sense puts love, the love that is greater than the burden of our remembrances, at the heart of the political and social order.
Powerful stuff, we might say. And yet all of it springs if not entirely at least mightily from the witness of the Scriptures. It will not do to focus simply on the New Testament for there is nothing in the witness of the New Testament that is not a reflection upon some story or theme or idea in the Old Testament. And with respect to the kiss of Judas, perhaps no story illumines so much of the dynamic of Christ’s redemptive love than the love-prophet of the Old Testament, Hosea.
The text is graphic. Hosea takes his personal situation in all of its vulnerability and wonder as the lesson of human betrayal and divine forgiveness and restoration. It is, perhaps, not by accident that the last two chapters of this book of prophecy are read in Holy Week in the offices of Morning and Evening Prayer. The whole book itself, of course, is rich and suggestive about the deeper meaning of the pageant of Holy Week.
Hosea has taken Gomer, a prostitute, as his wife. She has borne him three children, then left him, but he has taken her back publicly. His personal story, however, serves as an image and metaphor for God’s relationship with Israel. The themes are those of betrayal and forgiveness. In a way, too, the Book of Hosea comments upon Israel’s betrayals of God’s justice and love historically in the horrific acts of the men of Gibeah, for instance, recalling the horrendous story of the Levite’s concubine obliquely, perhaps, but unmistakeably, as well as in the other forms of tribal warfare that betray the Covenant. As a prophet, Hosea speaks, as it were, on behalf of God.
From the days of Gibeah, you
have sinned, O Israel;
there have they continued.
Shall not war overtake them in
Gibeah?
I will come against the wayward
people to chastise them;
and nations shall be gathered
against them
when they are chastised for their
double inquity.
While the prophet declaims against the iniquities of the tribes of Israel in their betrayal of God and one another, the overarching theme is that of divine love which is steadfast and sure, compassionate and caring. For God is God, after all, and utterly beyond comparison to the fickle ways of human hearts. And yet, Israel is reminded of the waywardness of her ways that stand over and against God’s providential care. There is the constant sense of Israel having to be awakened to the enormity of her betrayal of the God who cares.
I am the Lord your God
from the land of Egypt;
you know no God but me,
and beside me there is no savior.
It was I who knew you in the
wilderness,
in the land of drought.
The recollection of the defining realities of the Exodus are never far from the prophetic picture. In the thought of the prophet anger and grief are in constant dialogue with pity and compassion. The prophetic voice invites us to feel the force of betrayal on the part of the one who has been betrayed. In so doing, the sense of mercy and forgiveness are given a greater power and poignancy.
I led them with the cords of
compassion,
with the bands of love,
and I became to them as one
who eases the yoke on their jaws
and I bent down to them and fed
them.
But this is the love which we have betrayed and Hosea wants that to be clearly seen and known, even from the side of God, as it were, but so as to move our hearts, it seems.
My people are bent on turning away
from me;
so they are appointed to the yoke,
and none shall remove it.
The prophet speaks in God’s words and shows us something of the heart of God which is part of the great gift of the Jews to human culture which has its further complement and fuller expression in the story of Christ.
How can I give you up, O Ephraim!
How can I hand you over, O
Israel! …
My heart recoils within me,
my compassion grows warm and
tender.
I will not execute my fierce anger,
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
For I am God and not man,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come to destroy.
“For I am God and not man.” It is a strong and powerful statement about the divine nature even in the face of human infidelity and betrayal, the consequences of which are abundantly clear from the standpoint of what has been denied and betrayed.
“I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction.” These words will be recalled to great effect by St. Paul as he reflects on the meaning of Christ’s passion and resurrection. Ultimately, Hosea recalls us to the path of repentance in words which occur in the readings for Holy Week and which capture in some sense the intensity of the Passion.
Take with you words
and return to the Lord…
For it belongs to God to restore and recreate.
I will heal their faithlessness;
I will love them freely,
For my anger has turned from
them…
They shall return and dwell beneath
my shadow,
they shall flourish as a garden;
they shall blossom as a vine,
their fragrance shall be like the
wine of Lebanon.
At the outset of the Book of Hosea, the three children borne of Gomer are given prophetic names: a son called Jezreel – meaning God sows; a daughter called Not pitied, and another son called Not My People. The names point to Israel’s betrayal of God’s will and covenant. But no sooner are they so named than the power of divine forgiveness overrides the awareness of our unfaithfulness. “In the place where it was said to them, you are not my people, it shall be said to them, Sons of the living God. And the people of Judah and the people of Israel shall be gathered together, and they shall appoint for themselves one head; and they shall go up from the land, for great shall be the day of Jezreel.”
The son called “Not my people” is renamed “My People”; and the daughter called “Not Pitied” is renamed “She has obtained pity” and his wife, the woman of harlotry, is restored as well. “And in that day, says the Lord, you will call me, My husband, and no more will you call me, My Baal”… for “I will betroth you to me for ever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness; and you will know the Lord.”
And in that day, says the Lord,
I will answer the heavens
and they shall answer the earth;
And the earth shall answer the
grain, the wine, and the oil,
and they shall answer Jezreel;
and I will sow him myself in
the land.
And I will have pity on Not pitied,
and I will say to Not my people,
You are my people;
and he shall say, Thou art my God.
In a way, the whole book of Hosea breathes this sense of the triumph of forgiveness over the betrayals of Israel but only through the very clear acknowledgement of sin and wickedness. It awakens us to the divine mercy only through the awareness of the enormity of human sin, of the betrayals of love and mercy. This is part and parcel of the biblical wisdom that informs the perspective of the New Testament. We can only be awakened to the divine mercy through confronting the betrayals of our hearts. This leads us once again to the story of Peter’s betrayal of Christ.
There is, perhaps, no scene more poignant than the story of Peter’s betrayal, no story that both complements and yet contrasts so greatly with the kiss of Judas. Jesus asked the disciples, “whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am?” It was Peter alone who answered, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” to which Jesus responds, “Blessed are thou, Simon Bar-Jona! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.” It is an heavenly knowledge, an insight into the essential divinity of Christ. Because of that, Christ names him Peter, “the rock upon which I will build my Church,” he says. It is a powerful moment. But then, Jesus goes on to speak about the meaning of his going up to Jerusalem, about suffering, death and resurrection. To this, Peter protests, saying, “God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you.” And Jesus, who had just said “Blessed are you,” says “Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.” In one moment, blessed, and, in the next, cursed.
Such are the confusions of our hearts and the limitations of our understanding. And, of course, it is Peter who at the Passover supper proclaims his faithfulness to Christ. “Lord, I am ready to go with thee both into prison and to death.” Christ responds by telling him that “the cock shall not crow this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny thou knowest me.” In Luke’s powerful account, Jesus is taken away and Peter follows, tellingly, “afar off.” What follows is Peter’s threefold denial of Christ. “And immediately while he yet spake, the cock crew. And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter.”
Everything about betrayal and forgiveness turns on the look of Christ. In Giotto’s depiction of the kiss of Judas, Jesus looks at Judas. But how does Judas ultimately react? There is, as we will see on Palm Sunday, Judas’ confession, “I have sinned, in that I have betrayed the innocent blood.” But his confession is to those who seek to silence Christ as an disturber of the peace and the people; it is not to God exactly. They ignore him and so “casting down the pieces of silver in the temple, [Judas] departed, and went and hanged himself.” What about Peter? The look of Christ convicts him utterly. But instead of remorse and self-destruction, “Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.” It is a most powerful scene.
“Take with you words and return to the Lord,” Hosea had said. Peter remembers the words of Christ but it is the look of Christ that convicts him. What kind of look is it? I think it is the look of divine compassion that knows our human sins and failings only too well, and knows our hearts, too, far better than we do ourselves. It is the look of compassion that convicts us far more than the words of an angry God. Christ’s look of compassion unleashes Peter’s tears of repentance. Those tears will make possible the reconstitution of our broken hearts. Peter who thrice denies Christ will be challenged three times by the risen Christ about his love for Christ. His tears lead to the possibilities of being reconstituted in love. Such is the divine forgiveness and its power and truth. It is greater than our all our folly. And yet, forgiveness can only happen when we are made to confront our betrayals. There is the kiss of Judas, the image of all our betrayals of God, but there is the look of Christ who loves us “while we were yet sinners” and calls us to himself. “Peter remembered the word of the Lord.” The truth which convicts us is the truth which triumphs over ourselves, if we will look at Christ and remember his word.
“Judas, betrayest thou me with a kiss?”
Fr. David Curry
The Kiss of Judas: Themes of Betrayal and Forgiveness in the Scriptures IV
March 19th, 2013
Feast of St. Joseph