Breakfast with Jesus (Reflections on Easter 3, Year C 2025)

 

He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.” (John 21:17)

I love breakfast. I love cooking it and I love eating it. I love that first cup of coffee at a Denny’s or a Waffle House when I’m road-tripping. I love my “Breakfast of Champions,” 16 oz. Wawa Cuban roast and a sleeve of Tastykake[i] little chocolate doughnuts I eat in the car when I’m late for something. I love dicing onions and other goodies to put in scrambled eggs and have them with bacon and a toasted bagel when I have time to cook for myself. I love sharing breakfast with other people. It’s a cozy kind of meal. That’s why I love this story in the gospel appointed for Easter 3, Year C in the RCL (John 21:1-19). What could be better than having breakfast with Jesus?

In this story, the evangelist tells us, Jesus appears for the third time to his disciples. These boys have gone off on a little fishing trip. After all, what do you do when your rabbi and Messiah has miraculously been raised from the dead and you’re not quite sure what the next move should be? Sometimes it’s just comfortable to go back to what you know. So, Simon Peter takes the lads out on the boat. They’ve fished all night and caught bupkis. They row back to shore, and there’s a guy there with a charcoal fire making some toast. Yup. It’s the Lord alright. What’s he up to?

Jesus is making the guys some breakfast. He gives them a little advice on where to catch the fish, but he’s already got the fire going to roast some kippers. Kippers and toast sounds like a pretty good breakfast to me. I’m sure Jesus enjoyed it with them, further demonstrating that he wasn’t a ghost or phantasm[ii]. Maybe that’s what he intended to show them through this homely, impromptu picnic by the lake shore. He was real. He rose. Life is eternal, death is conquered, and they have no need to be afraid of anything ever again.

I imagine these old boys felt pretty good sharing each other’s company while munching their toasted fish sandwiches. When I think of this moment, I can almost feel the soft breeze coming off the Sea of Galilee and see the smiles on the faces of the disciples as they relax in the faith and surety that God is in control, Jesus is back, and they just caught 153[iii] fish, most of which they can sell at a profit. It’s a pretty good morning.

That’s another thing Jesus has shown them. They’ve spent a long night and come up empty, but joy came in the morning. God provided for their needs. Maybe they were just looking in the wrong place. Maybe they were impatient. The fish were always there. Jesus wanted them to have faith, to know that God provides. Beside reassuring them of eternal life, Jesus wanted them—and us—to live fearlessly because fear is an instrument of the devil. We’ll be afraid of what we don’t understand, and we’ll learn to hate what we fear. But God calls us to know his goodness and providence and to live lives of trust and faith.

When I see this story in my mind’s eye and imagine Jesus standing with the fork over the barbeque, I’m reminded of John’s version of the Last Supper. Jesus demonstrated his love and ministry by washing the feet of the disciples. Here, in this passage, he’s again taking the servant role. He’s the host and they’re the guests (even though they brought most of the breakfast). He’s leading by example, reminding his buddies their job is to be servants—not leaders—to a hungry world. He’s slowly preparing them to be the Church.

There’s also this little chat Jesus has with Peter around the charcoal fire. Bible scholars think it’s significant that Jesus’ breakfast barbeque pit is described the same way (a charcoal fire) as the fire which warmed the slaves and police outside the home of the High Priest the night Peter denied three times that he even knew Jesus[iv]. This time, Peter gets to tell Jesus three times that he loves him, thereby erasing the shame of his earlier cowardice. Of course, Jesus could simply have forgiven Peter, but Peter is the kind of guy who needs to feel he’s worked off his mistakes. This is another lesson for the Church. Jesus doesn’t just teach forgiveness; he teaches us to respect the emotions of those who are penitent.

And Jesus makes clear what he expects Peter, who will, someday in the not-too-distant future, give his life on a cross in Rome, to do. Feed the sheep. Love the people of God and see to their needs.

The lessons we read in the Revised Common Lectionary during the 40 days between Jesus’ resurrection and ascension are mostly about the way Jesus transforms his disciples from followers to ambassadors of the Good News. Faith is certainly key but so is love. As Christians, we come to the breakfast table every Sunday morning right in front of the altar. We come to enjoy a celebratory meal with one another, to know—as Peter knew—our sins are forgiven, and to remind ourselves of Jesus’ love for us.

Bon appetit!

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[i] For my international or non-US East Coast readers, Tastykake is a Philadelphia-based bakery producing delicious confections sold at most convenience stores and grocery marts. Wawa is a chain of convenience stores and gasoline stations located in the eastern part of the Central States, Virginia, and Florida. They have a rich variety of coffee flavors and make any kind of sandwich imaginable on savory French rolls. They usually play classic rock music, and, for my money, they beat Disneyland as the happiest place on earth.

[ii] See Luke 24:40-43.

[iii][iii] Bible scholars ponder the significance of this number, but nobody knows for sure why John included this exact count. It’s possible the fishermen always counted the number of their catch for tax reasons since fishing was a commercial venture.

[iv] John 18:18.

Holding Out a Wounded Hand (Reflections on Easter 2, Year C 2025)

 

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” (John 20:27)

It looks like we’re catching the Apostle Thomas at a bad moment in the Gospel appointed for Easter 2, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary (John 20:19-31). This is where he gets that unflattering nickname “Doubting Thomas.” Prior to this, Thomas gave every appearance of being a pretty gung-ho kind of guy. When Jesus was warned not to go back to Bethany even though his good buddy there, Lazarus, was deathly ill, Thomas wasn’t afraid of the death threats his rabbi was receiving. He was all set to go and die with Jesus if it came down to that. [i]

Christian legend and that classic gore fest Fox’s Book of Martyrs tells us that after Pentecost, Thomas headed east and spread the gospel in what is modern day Iran and even got as far as India where, it seems, he got on the wrong side of some pagan priests and was put to death by being impaled with a spear. You have to hand it to the old boy, he certainly had zeal for the gospel.

But you can’t be too hard on him for having his doubts right after the crucifixion. Let’s figure Thomas has just spent three years following Jesus around. He hasn’t always picked up on everything Jesus is trying to teach him. When Jesus tells the disciples that he is preparing a place for them in his Father’s house and that they all know the way he is going, Thomas takes this a little too literally and has to have it explained to him.[ii] He seems to be a pretty plain-spoken kind of guy, and you can’t fault him for being sad and disappointed when one of his buddies turns out to be a traitor and his rabbi gets nailed to the cross. Even someone who has been all in for a cause might get discouraged and just want to go back to Galilee and get his old job on the fishing boat back when things end as badly as they appear to have ended for Jesus. Even if ten of his old gang tell him Jesus is raised from the dead, he’s not going to buy it unless he can see it for himself and actually see the nail scars in Jesus’ hands.

But he does see them. Jesus comes and holds out his hands and shows Thomas those wounds. Thomas sees the real human Jesus and sees the marks of the anguish Jesus suffered. He experiences the flesh and blood reality which moves him with empathy and with pity and brings him back to a place of faith.

“My Lord and my God,” Thomas says. And it’s the first time someone expresses what John has been trying to teach us with his gospel—the Father’s divine presence is manifest in Jesus.

Now here’s some wonky back story: In 1945 an Egyptian peasant name Mohammed Ali[iii] was digging around out in the desert and discovered a giant stone jar containing thirteen ancient books hidden in the sands for centuries and dating back to the early Christian era. One of these writings is known as The Gospel of Thomas and is a collection of the sayings of Jesus. Some of the sayings appear in slightly altered forms in the gospels of Matthew and Luke, but some others seem really wacky and arcane. The Gospel of Thomas didn’t pass the smell test for some of our early Christian ancestors, and so it’s not included in the Bible that’s come down to us today.

We know historically that there were some early Christians who believed Jesus had passed on some mystical, secret teachings (similar to the Jewish Kabbalah tradition) to his disciples which might’ve left average believers scratching their heads and saying , “Say what..?” The sayings in The Gospel of Thomas might be a reflection of this sect and its teachings. It’s possible that John’s gospel was written in opposition to this mystical school of early Christianity[iv]. John always locates the holiness of God in the person of Jesus. There’s no secret mystery here. If you want to know God, John seems to be saying, just look at Jesus. There is, perhaps, a bit of poetic irony in John having Thomas, the guy whose gospel is so esoteric, make the confession that Jesus is Lord and God.

It used to bother me that John’s gospel made Jesus so God-like with all of those “I AM” sayings, but I now see how John also made Jesus more human than had the authors of the synoptic gospels. It’s in John’s gospel that Jesus cries. It’s here that Jesus humbly washes the feet of his friends, that he arranges care for his mother, and that he openly tells his disciples that he loves them. God’s divinity is displayed in Jesus’ humanity.

It's easy to be like Thomas at times. We try and try, and then we just want to give up. But sometimes, just when we think we’ve had enough, Jesus comes to us and reaches out his wounded hands. In the hurt or need or courage or compassion of another flesh and blood human being, Jesus comes back to us and says, “Here I am. And I am not finished with you yet. Do not doubt but believe.”

I hope you had a blessed Holy Week and Easter. I know I did. Thank you for reading this week, and please come back again.

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[i] See John 11:16.

[ii] See John 14:5.

[iii] Not to be confused with the great heavyweight!

[iv] We Christians can’t ever seem to agree on everything. We’ve been splitting into denominations for centuries.

How Would You Feel on that Morning? (Reflections on the Resurrection of Our Lord 2025)

 

“…he went home, amazed at what had happened.” (Luke 24:12b)

How would you have felt on that Sunday morning so long ago? A whole lot of stuff got packed into that one Passover week in Jerusalem. Just a week before Jesus rode his little donkey into town and was greeted by cheering fans throwing off their cloaks and waving palm branches like he’d just won the Super Bowl. Then he went into the temple and confronted the myrmidons of the corrupt regime which, under the guise of religion, was kneeling on the necks of the people while picking their pockets at the same time. Chasing money changers out of the temple was a really daring act of civil disobedience. But what was even more audacious was the fact Jesus got away with it! Nobody arrested him. The Pharisees and Sadducees were all too chicken of the crowds who gathered around Jesus and seemed to adore him. He spent the next four days teaching in the temple, and nobody even tried to stop him.

But then came Thursday night. If you were one of the twelve gathered around the table at Jesus’ Passover seder, you might’ve felt some tension. Jesus knew it. Something was about to go down. Things started to get a little weird when Jesus told you he wouldn’t be eating this meal with you again. They got weirder when Judas Iscariot got up and left the room for no reason. After dinner, when you all went out for a stroll, it happened. Judas had ratted the boss out to the authorities. They came at night when the crowds were nowhere around. Few witnesses. Sneaky. The way they always do things.

How would you feel if you were Simon Peter? First, when they come to take Jesus, you do the macho thing and grab your sword. But Jesus doesn’t believe in violence. He tells you to put your weapon away. Then you see the size of that cohort that’s come to drag him in, and you start to lose your nerve. In a little while you’ll be telling people you never met this Jesus dude.

On Friday, the religious bigwigs, who have been looking for any excuse to get rid of this popular preacher, send him to the Roman governor. They can’t come right out and say they’re jealous of the guy, so they gin up a charge that he’s been corrupting the people, telling folks not to pay taxes, and claiming that he’s the rightful king of the Jews. None of this is true, but that doesn’t matter. The lie will get the job done.

And it does. Jesus is crucified.

So how do you feel now, Peter? You talked big, but when it came down to it, you wimped out. Your teacher and friend is dead. Another guy you thought you could trust like a brother betrayed everyone. The grand movement is over. Looks like the powers of darkness have won. Are you in mourning? Are you realizing you gave up a good job as a fisherman and walked around with Jesus and these other guys for three years for nothing? Or are you thinking the authorities might be coming for you next? How do you spend that Friday after Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross? I guess you’re hiding somewhere, defeated, ashamed, afraid, and in shock.

But then there are the women who have been following your little band. How do they feel? Their hearts must be breaking. They were there at the end. They saw Jesus die. They’d be honored to do the last thing they can do, the women’s job of anointing his body, but religious law has forbidden them to do even that last act of love because he’s died too near the Sabbath. So, they gather their spices and wait. First thing Sunday, before the sun is even up, they head to the tomb. It’s not an easy task to anoint a body, even if it’s the body of someone you love. The task is made more disagreeable when the loved one has already been dead two days. Still, it’s better than doing nothing and being left alone with the helplessness that always come to us when there’s a death.

As the women reach the tomb they are greeted with an astonishing sight. It’s open. And it’s empty. And two dazzling gentlemen have come out of nowhere to tell them Jesus is risen from the dead. The women are scared spitless, but once they recover, they race off to find Peter and the others and tell them what’s happened.

The trouble is, of course, no one wants to believe them. Would you? These guys have been through enough. They’ve lived on faith and hope for three years and it’s all turned to crap before their eyes. Their leader is dead. Their movement is over. Their livelihoods are gone. For all they know they might be wanted by the police. All they want is to sneak away back to where they came from, live in peace, and try to rebuild their lives like soldiers who’ve seen too much of war or addicts who’ve finally gotten sober. They don’t have time to listen to unreliable witnesses telling them something which is too good to be true. They’ve had enough of that.

And yet Peter somehow finds the courage to go and check it out. And he’s blown away. He’s astounded. He’s gob-smacked and freaked out. He has no idea what has just happened or what it’s going to mean. Not yet. And that’s where the story cuts off—for now.

Like Peter, we don’t understand God, and it often takes us a while to feel God’s purpose for us. But just like old Peter, we’re all called to get up and check it out.  Faith never comes instantly. It has to grow over time. The “why” of Easter may not be apparent, but the empty tomb tells us the story isn’t over. Out of death can come new life. Out of pain comes strength and love. Out of loss comes hope. Out of sin comes forgiveness. Out of despair and cynicism comes curiosity and expectation. As Christians this is what we embrace—lives of hope and trust and joy seeking the will and way of Jesus.

The story isn’t over.

“Because he lives, “the old hymn says, “I can face tomorrow. Because he lives all fear is gone. Because I know he holds the future, and life is worth the living just because he lives.[i]”

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

 

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[i] From “Because He Lives” by Gloria and William Gaither. Copyright 1971 by Wm. Gaither.

Let's Wash Some Feet (Reflections on Maundy Thursday 2025)

 

“You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. So, if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” (John 13:13-14)

If I haven’t told you so before, I guess you should know I really love Holy Week. I think it’s the old actor in me that loves the ritual reenactment of the last week of Our Lord’s earthly ministry. During these precious eight days we in the Church, through our solemn liturgies, act out the old, old story. We wave the palms, we wash the feet, we eat the meal, and we shudder in the darkness when the Light of the World breathes his last upon the cross.

At Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia Maundy Thursday, the feast which commemorates Christ’s Last Supper, is also the time we welcome first-time communicants to the Lord’s table. We have a really cool ritual (which I stole from my vicariate parish, Grace Lutheran of Yorktown Heights, New York—shout out to you guys and the Rev. Dr. Tim Kennedy who wrote the liturgy) in which the first-timers and their parents promise to live in the covenant of their respective baptisms, confessing to each other and granting forgiveness in remembrance of the forgiveness granted us all through the body and blood of Jesus.

I also wash the feet of the kids who are about to receive the sacrament for the first time. This, as you might imagine, tends to make third grade boys a little squeamish; nevertheless, with gentle coaxing from their parents, they usually consent to let me do it. This is the reenactment of the Gospel lesson for this feast (John 13: 1-17, 31b-35). I never grew up with this practice in the church myself, but now I find it one of the most meaningful things we do all week.

Lutherans usually prefer the term Maundy Thursday to Holy Thursday. Maundy is a word which comes to us via a tortuous journey through Middle English and Old French from the Latin mandatum which means a commandment. Jesus gave us a couple of pretty good commandments on this night when he ate the Passover meal with his disciples. The first was that we should also eat this meal to remember him—his love, his suffering, his death, and his resurrection every time we come to the table. The other commandment he gave after he’d taken the slave’s job, the job of the lowest personage in the household, and washed the disciples’ feet:

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:34-35)

If you had been at that Passover seder you might’ve freaked out the same way Peter did. It just wasn’t kosher for your rabbi to get down on the floor and tend to your dirty, stinky feet. But in Christ there is no distinction. We are all brothers and sisters, and we are all to be servants to one another.

Today in America there are some Christians who may not have gotten the memo. There’s this thing called the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR). It’s a Christian supremacist theological belief and controversial movement advocating spiritual warfare to bring about Christian dominion over all aspects of society, and end or weaken the separation of church and state[i].

I don’t know how widespread this movement is or how many followers it has. That doesn’t matter. It will make no difference if Christians gain control of the government or control of the whole world. Things will only change for the better if we can humble ourselves enough to let Christ be in control. And on this night, he taught us to take the slave’s job. He taught us to remember his self-denial and sacrifice. He taught us his blood was shed for all people. He never said a word about gaining governmental power because, as he’d tell Pontius Pilate the next day, his kingdom is NOT of this world[ii].

No. Jesus taught us to love and serve and be servants. He taught us to care for the least and the lowest, the teacher to honor the students, the wealthy to feed the poor, the able to tend to the disabled, and the respected to welcome the despised, the stranger, and the outcast. That is the command of Jesus.

If you’d been a disciple at that final seder meal, you probably reached the point where nothing Jesus did could surprise you. When he told you to break with the norms of your culture and share this meal—his body and blood—with everyone, you’d know he meant it. There were some whom the culture decided were not ritually pure or righteous enough to sacrifice the body and blood of their livestock on the altar of the temple of Jerusalem, but Jesus’ sacrifice would exclude no one.

We call this meal the Eucharist, a word which means thanksgiving. Indeed, whenever we share it, we share it in joy for who our Savior was and still is for us. But on this particular night, we hit the pause button on our joy. We remember that, before this meal was over, one of those whom Jesus loved would betray him to his enemies. Judas would abandon Jesus for the false god of wealth or power, or prestige, or who knows what. The authorities would come for Jesus at night, when the crowds couldn’t see what they were doing. Jesus would order his followers not to use violence to protect him. He would be arrested, abused, mocked, and falsely convicted.

Tonight, Jesus is with us in the bread and the cup. But he is also with all who have been bullied, all who have been betrayed by others or by governments, all who feel lost and abandoned, all who have been wrongly persecuted, and all who have felt spit upon and ridiculed. May they be in our hearts tonight as well.

 

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[i] For more information on this movement click NAR.

[ii] I guess the New Apostolic Reformation and Christian Nationalist folks didn’t read that far in their Bibles.

When the Stones are Talking (Reflections on Palm Sunday 2025)

 

He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.” (Luke 19:40)

If you were in Jerusalem on that Sunday so long ago, I bet you’d know something was up. Things always got a little tense around Passover time. Folks remembered how God had set them free from Pharoah, parted the Red Sea, and gave a sorry-assed bunch of slaves an historic victory over the might of an empire. And lots of them were waiting for God to do it again. Maybe, had you been there, you might’ve been hoping that this was the time when the Messiah would show up, lead a revolution, kick the Romans out of Israel and depose that greedy bunch of hypocritical oligarchs like Herod Antipas and the Pharisees and the Sadducees and everything would go back to the good ol’ days.

Maybe you’d be thinking that this Jesus of Nazareth guy would be the one to kick things off. You might recall all the promises made by the prophet Zechariah about Jerusalem being restored, and you’d think this guy coming to town “humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey”[i] just like the prophet predicted, will be the one to do it. All of Jesus’ fans are gathering around, throwing their cloaks on the road, and making a heck of a racket as the rabbi rides in on that little baby donkey.

Meanwhile, the Pharisees, who have been playing footsie with the Romans and the Sadducees and want to keep everything quiet, are starting to sweat. They’re afraid there’s going to be trouble, and the kind of trouble they don’t want. They know Pontius Pilate has come to town from Caesarea Philippi to keep his eye on things during the Passover festival, and he’ not going to like it if folks start getting ideas about liberation and restoration and such.

No. The Pharisees want to keep everything low key. No hoopla, no chanting, no singing, no trouble. Just keep your mouths shut, okay? “Teacher,” they say to Jesus, “order your disciples to stop.” But Jesus tells them, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

The truth just has to be spoken. Jesus knows this. He knows what’s about to happen, and he can’t keep silent. He sees Jerusalem and his eyes fill with tears because he knows there’s a chance for peace—a chance that’s going to be missed. The people will choose violence and rebellion and bloodshed. And then the city will be leveled and not one stone will be left upon another. Then the scattered stones themselves will shout out the people’s folly. The rubble of Gaza, the wreckage of Ukrainian cities, the scattered debris of American homes lost to fire, flood, and other climate-related disasters all speak aloud of the foolishness of humankind and our resistance to listen to the word of God.

The cry for peace, reconciliation, and forgiveness just has to be sounded even if we think no one is listening. We know the crowd that cheered for Jesus that Sunday as he drove the money changers out of the temple, the crowd which sat spellbound in the temple later that week listening to Jesus preach, would be the same crowd which stood passively on Friday while a violent insurrectionist was released in  place of Jesus and the Prince of Peace was nailed to the cross.

When we are baptized, we are baptized into God’s mission for the world. We are also adopted into God’s family, and family members have to talk to one another and, sometimes, tell each other the truth. Our baptismal promises enjoin us to “trust God, proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.”[ii]

I think we find ourselves in an hour similar to that in which Jesus entered Jerusalem. Things are tense. People are unhappy. It is no time to be silent, because the society is hungry for the things Jesus came to give: love, compassion, fellowship, forgiveness, cooperation, and self-denial. It might start with a simple conversation with a neighbor or a family member about what faith in Jesus means to you.

Let’s find our voice so the stones don’t have to talk for us.

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[i] Zechariah 9:9

[ii] Liturgy for Holy Baptism, Evangelical Lutheran Worship (Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 2006)

What About Judas? (Reflections on Lent 4, Year C 2025)

 

One of my favorite actors from Hollywood’s Golden Age is the late Basil Rathbone, probably best known for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes in multiple films and radio plays of the 1940’s. What old Basil may not be quite so well known for is the fact that he was a very devout Christian who really loved to ponder the scriptures. In 1929 the actor co-authored and starred in a Broadway drama called Judas, in which he portrayed the title character—the reviled arch back-stabber who makes his appearance in the Gospel lesson assigned for Lent 4, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary (John 12: 1-8).

Judas is a puzzling fellow whose presence in the story of our Lord’s ministry and passion raises a boatload of questions which Basil and I have both tried to answer. Rathbone wrote in his autobiography,

“If Judas was the mean, despicable betrayer he is said to have been, why did Jesus choose him to be one of his disciples? At what time in his life did Jesus become aware of his divine mission here on earth? Certainly by the time he made his choice of the twelve.”[i]

Good question, Baz. Just why did Jesus choose Judas? If Jesus was omniscient, he should’ve known this guy was going to rat him out, right? In his theatrical opus Rathbone suggested a now familiar theory that Judas saw in Jesus the vehicle to lead a revolution against the hated Roman occupiers of Israel. Probably, all the disciples thought the same thing at one time or another. This, of course, makes us ask the next question: So why did Judas turn on Jesus?

John’s Gospel gives us a pretty simplistic answer. Judas was just one greedy, selfish son of a bitch. He kept the common purse and liked to help himself to the cash inside. He was so greedy, in fact, that he was willing to sell out his friend and rabbi for thirty pieces of silver according to Matthew’s Gospel. Mark and Luke concur, but they don’t specify the amount Judas was paid for his treachery. Luke and John add another explanation: he was demonically possessed.[ii] But are we satisfied with that?

There’s a ton of moral ambiguity in our story for Lent 4. John editorializes that Judas doesn’t really care that Mary’s extravagant sacrifice for Jesus is wasteful and could be used better if the nard was sold and the money given to help the poor. He just wanted more cash in the common purse from which he could embezzle. Nevertheless, Judas actually does have a point. Mary is spilling an awful lot of cash out on Jesus’ feet.

Something which has troubled me about this story is Judas doesn’t go to Jesus and say, “Hey, Boss. I think this gal is wasting money. You should tell her to stop pouring that expensive stuff on the floor.” Because Jesus’ response is “Leave her alone,” I’m tempted to believe Judas was criticizing Mary and not Jesus. We’ve seen this before where the woman gets scolded, but nobody confronts the person who may have more power than she has. When Jesus healed the bent-over woman in the synagogue on the Sabbath, the synagogue leader blamed the woman for wanting to be healed, but not Jesus for doing the actual healing.[iii] In John’s Gospel there’s a woman caught in adultery who is about to be stoned to death, but nobody seems to want to throw stones at the guy she was caught with.[iv]

Picking on the weaker individual is just plain bullying. Judas may have liked feeling superior. It wasn’t only the money which seduced him, it was coveting a position of power. If it looked like Jesus wasn’t going to be the one with the power, Judas may have decided to side with the folks who would have it.

(Please permit me a quick digression about Mary’s extravagant gift. Remember, Jesus just raised this girl’s brother from the dead.  Can you imagine how grateful Mary was for that? Granted, as Christians we’re all called to do deeds of mercy, generosity, and love and not ask or expect to be thanked for them. However, some folks just need to express their gratitude. Jesus doesn’t stop Mary from doing what she’s doing. Maybe he knew giving this enormously generous gift was necessary for her wholeness.)

But back to Judas. Mr. Rathbone’s dramatic interpretation theorized Judas’ betrayal was an attempt to force a conflict between the followers of Jesus and the ruling powers. Who knows? Did Judas act out of a political motive, greed, or did the Devil make him do it? I’m not real comfortable with a Calvinistic explanation which says God just preordained this guy to be a jerk so he could do an evil deed and go to Hell for it. Judas’ later suicide suggests he had some remorse for what he’d done. Remember: Jesus did choose Judas, and, for a time, Judas did follow him. Maybe he is just like the rest of us—one who loves God but sins in spite of himself.

I’m not sure the betrayal by Judas was necessary for this story to play out. Jesus’ counter cultural message was bound to get him a date with the cross one way or another. The way of Jesus will always challenge the way of the world. Even the most devout believers among us may bristle at the notion of choosing forgiveness over vengeance, humility and servanthood over dominance, generosity over riches, and inclusivity over divisiveness.

The challenge for us always as Christians is not how to love Jesus. It is how to love Judas.

Thanks for stopping by this week. Be good to yourself.

 

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[i] Rathbone, Basil: In and Out of Character.1962. Limelight Edition 1989.

[ii] See Matthew 26:14-16, Mark 14:10-11, Luke 22:3-6, and John 6: 70-71,13:2, and 13:27.

[iii] Luke 13:10-17.

[iv] John 8: 1-11