Sermon for Lenten Quiet Day
“Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?”
The kiss of Judas gathers into itself all of the forms of betrayal. Not least is the idea of the betrayal of brotherhood and fellowship, betrayals that are related to our betrayals of ourselves and God and that lead to disorder and disarray. In a way, those aspects of betrayal are captured best in the Old Testament story of Joseph and his brothers and in the New Testament story of the Peter’s betrayal of Christ. Both stories bring out the nature of betrayal and the prospect of forgiveness through contrition and repentance; paradoxically, the very things refused and denied by Judas himself.
Giotto’s poignant portrayal of Judas’ betrayal has Jesus look directly into the face of Judas and speak to him. And yet, the story of Judas is also the denial of redemption, of the possibilities of forgiveness and mercy. That is, it seems to me the horror of the kiss of Judas. It shows us the fullest possible extent of human sinfulness – not only do we deny the truth of God but we persist in our denials to the point of willful destruction. Such is the end of Judas. And it serves as an object lesson precisely about lessons not learned!
The stories of Joseph and his brothers and of Peter’s betrayal concern the matter of recognition. Joseph makes himself known to his brothers and they, in turn, confront themselves and the consequences of their actions. Jesus, “on the night in which he was betrayed,” is hauled before the High Priest and turns and looks at Peter who has just denied him. Powerful moments of recognition and repentance.
But who are we that God should recognize us? How are we known to him and to each other? How shall we divine an understanding of who we essentially are? We are so good at deceiving ourselves and one another. We are so good at betrayal.
But coming to terms with ourselves is not easy. It is often a matter of tears, “a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou shalt not despise.”