Diary of a Judas, a betrayer (Wednesday)
“If the rabbi can raise one man from the dead, he can raise many,” I thought to myself as I reclined at Simon’s table.[1] “An immortal army!”
Martha leaned over me to refill a few cups and scowled at the commotion going on over my shoulder. A noisy crowd had gathered outside the windows watching our meal, pushing for a better vantage. It was Martha’s brother Lazarus, our host for the week of Passover, who was the desired sight. The scads of pilgrims to Jerusalem were walking the few miles to Bethany to see the “dead” man and listen to Lazurus’ story.[2] Hundreds had pledged to follow the rabbi as a result.[3] It was these people who I was placing my trust in to force Yeshua’s hand into battle. Who wouldn’t fight if you knew you couldn’t die? And the rabbi’s compassion would force him to act on behalf of his people if my plan worked.
My attention was diverted from revolution to Mary who was normally reserved and quiet. She had begun to weep. Sniffling, she rose and pulled an alabaster jar from the folds of her robe. We had been dabbed with a few drops of invigorating cedar oil when we arrived, so I was confused what her purpose with this new oil was. She approached the rabbi and uncorked the bottle, turning its end up and letting all the contents slip out into his hair. The brown liquid dripped down his temples and began to gather in his beard and plop onto his shoulders. A warm, earthy musk invaded my nostrils. It was Nard!
“Stop it!” I jumped up, aghast at the waste. I pushed my way around prostrate bodies to her side. She had saved a few drops for the rabbi’s feet and was spreading it around with her hair.
“Why waste this perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money used in a more noble fashion!” This amount of Nard was worth a small fortune that we could have used for weapons or food for our followers.
“Mary, what are you thinking?” Peter frowned and tried to grab the vial from her hand.
”Leave her alone!” Jesus scolded. “Why are you giving her a hard time about this? She has listened to me and knows I am soon to die. You have a lifetime to do good, but your time with me is limited.”
Mary broke into new sobs and threw herself across the rabbi’s feet. I wanted to slap her. She was encouraging him in this foolishness. I stepped back from the table, stung by the rabbi’s rebuke and confused in my thoughts.
Why does he go on and on about dying? He holds power over death. He holds power over the people. He can even control the weather. Why is he giving up? I was desperate to understand his motives, but terrified that he simply was not the man I wanted him to be.
“Please excuse me rabbi, I am unwell.” I said quietly and I hoped he would not detect the dark cloud filling my soul.[4]
I made polite with Martha, then walked through the twilight up the road into the city, through the streets of the lower city and up the sets of stairs into the palace district. I don’t how I got where I went. But there I was, facing the gate of the palace of Caiaphas, the high priest of the Temple.[5] I swallowed a lump forming in my throat, wiped my hands on my robe then clapped loudly to the gatekeeper.
I was allowed in when I gave my name and association. As I entered, I heard loud arguing from the courtyard, but silence fell when I approached. My stomach soured as I viewed the table of reclining men. What was I doing here? I almost abandoned my cause.
Then I inhaled the scent of Nard from the head of a vain priest near me, and my desperation flared, propelling me to the center of the hushed group.
“I am Judas, disciple of Rabbi Yeshua.”
“Speak up, boy.”
I lifted my eyes to meet the watery stare of the evil priest and clenched my fist.
“You heard me. What are you willing to give me if I hand him over to you?” I said through my teeth, a fraction louder.
The high priest’s mouth gaped, then a giggle erupted from behind his beard. He caught himself and straightened.
“This man wants his shepherd’s pay!”[6] the priest said with outstretched arms of victory.
A cheer rose from the hallowed men. A few whooped and slapped each other on the back. I was grieved by the reference to the worthless shepherd who had turned on his flock,[7] but I guess in their eyes, that was what I was. A turncoat. A traitor. A covenant breaker.
“If you think it best, give me my pay.”
“Thirty pieces of silver!” the men shouted in unison. They began to fill each other’s cups and dine with renewed vigor. I was offered a place at their feast, and I am ashamed to say I can’t remember what I did the rest of the night.
The Diary of Judas, a betrayer: Tuesday’s Entry; Monday’s Entry; Sunday’s Entry
[1] Matthew 26:6
[2] John 11
[3] John 12:9-10
[4] Luke 22:3
[5] Matthew 26:3
[6] Zechariah 11:12
[7] Zechariah 11:8-9,15 (Note: this prophetic passage is best fulfilled with Christ being the unwanted shepherd, but for purposes of storytelling, Judas is personally applying it.)
Mortality of Beautiful Girls
In high school, my best friend and I had a term we used for people that intimidated us because not only were they good looking and wealthy, their lives appeared wonderful. We called them – the Beautiful People. I spent the next few years of my life studying the beautiful people, coveting their model of perfection. Do you think it made me a happier person? No way. I started to imitate what I could, and then I began to pick apart what I couldn’t. I became judgemental of those who didn’t meet my standard of beautiful and grew into a fussy and critical person. Dissatisfied with the “common” life, I was fixated on the beautiful life, thankless for the good things all around me. A typical youth, my moods hinged on how I thought I measured up to my ideals based on my assumptions of those beautiful people. I was miserable and believed God was being rather mean to not give me the life I desired.
God IS good.
In my brooding envy, I was rejecting the belief that God had a beautiful and good life for me. I didn’t want His version of good, I wanted theirs. And when God wasn’t giving me my idea of good, then I doubted HIS goodness. Recently, I’ve started remarking to myself when I start to mope, “Uh-oh, God is out to get you!” Or, “Well, I guess God screwed up.” The shock of concluding my gripe into a summarizing statement usually flips my attitude in an instant. Because, I really do believe God gives me only things that are good for me. So if He hasn’t given it, it isn’t good … for me.
No doubt about it! God is good— good to good people, good to the good-hearted.
But I nearly missed it,
missed seeing his goodness.
I was looking the other way,
looking up to the people
At the top,
envying the wicked who have it made,
Who have nothing to worry about,
not a care in the whole wide world. (Ps73 The Message)
Envy is doubting the goodness of God.
It is hard to get good Christians to admit they don’t believe that God is good. But, doubt of God’s goodness is the root of all our problems. We just don’t talk about. We quietly covet what we think is good; ignoring the good we already have. We use our own tactics to get that “good” often in disobedience to God. And, we feel sorry for ourselves when God won’t let us have it. A mother looks at the weekly tabloids and makes herself sick trying to be thin. A wife eyeballs her friend’s marriage and derails her own with self-pity that her husband won’t meet her high standards. We go into debt grasping for materials to transform our lives into our idol’s. We fill our thoughts with “if onlys” and “I wishs” instead of “thank yous” and “I’m so glads.” As a result of comparing our lives to others, we wonder if God even cares, and our lives begin to disintegrate.
What’s going on here? Is God out to lunch? Nobody’s tending the store.
Still, when I tried to figure it out,
all I got was a splitting headache . . .
When I was beleaguered and bitter,
totally consumed by envy,
I was totally ignorant, a dumb ox
in your very presence. (Ps73 The Message)
The Beautiful People are an illusion.
I remember the time I gave up chasing my dream of being beautiful. You know what I learned? It was easier to submit to God’s plan for my life. I was free to desire things I knew God would allow me to have, things eternally more valuable than beauty, wealth or a sharp wit. I was also free of my intimidation of the beautiful people. My rose-colored glasses came off, and I saw their lives through my new God-glasses. When I saw the truth, it wasn’t envy I felt, but compassion.
Until I entered the sanctuary of God.
Then I saw the whole picture:
The slippery road you’ve put them on,
with a final crash in a ditch of delusions.
In the blink of an eye, disaster!
A blind curve in the dark, and—nightmare!
We wake up and rub our eyes….Nothing.
There’s nothing to them. And there never was. (Ps73 The Message)
From silent envy to cheers!
Rejoicing gratitude is a way of life, but it can only grow in submission to God. One word of thanks for the life He’s given you, right now, can start you on your journey to a feast of happiness filling all your tomorrows!
You’re all I want in heaven!
You’re all I want on earth!
When my skin sags and my bones get brittle,
God is rock-firm and faithful.
Look! Those who left you are falling apart!
Deserters, they’ll never be heard from again.
But I’m in the very presence of God—
oh, how refreshing it is!
I’ve made Lord God my home.
God, I’m telling the world what you do! (Ps73 The Message)
Is Jesus the rose of Sharon? I hope not.
Many hymns refer to Jesus as the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley. Commentators wax poetic when linking the fragrance, the delicateness, the beauty of these flowers to our Lord. Although it is pretty to think of Jesus being the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley, is this really what the author of the Songs had in mind when he penned it? It’s doubtful.
When is a rose not a rose? When its a crocus.
First of all, this flower (translated rose in many English versions) was most likely a type of crocus, or literally a meadow saffron; a bulb flower. So, the picture and props presented by the idea of a rose fails when applied to Jesus from this context. A rose is not historically correct.
The context is feminine.
Then, there is the gender to consider. A young girl depicts herself as spring flowers growing in mass across the plains and lowlands of Israel.
“I am a spring crocus blooming on the Sharon Plain, the lily of the valley,” she says.
I believe she is fishing for a compliment! In other words, “I am a humble girl. I’m nothing special.”
Her lover complies. ”Like a lily among thorns! You stand out above all the others. There is no one like you!”
Commentators anxious to apply everything in the Old Testament to Christ and the church, didn’t get the gender sorted out on this one. In the New Testament, Christ is a male bridegroom and the church is considered the female bride. So, if this piece of love poetry must be churchified, then at least call the church the rose or lily, and not Christ.
Ancient pillow talk: flowers, trees, and fruit. (Wink, wink)
Frankly, I believe we do a disservice to the church and Christian marriages by “cleaning” up the innuendo found in Songs with application to Christ and the church. The book is risque and suggestive. It is meant to be. I stand with Lewis and Chesterton in the assertion that God is sexy. I invite you to read between the lines as the speaker intended when she said them. I put the expanded Hebrew meaning in brackets beside the words to help you grasp the eloquence in her words.
After receiving the compliment she desired, the young woman exclaims, “And you are like a tree dripping with fruit among the trees [also bone, staff, hard wood] of the rugged forest [also honey oozing from honeycomb]. You are better than all the others! I recline [could be expectantly waiting or idling] in your shadow [also used for something fleeting or transient] with pleasure. Your fruit [result of labor with the idea of offspring] is sweet to taste [or in my mouth].”
Application to Christ is speculative, how about applying it to wives?
And here is the heart of the matter. We have wasted and misapplied this passionate portion of God’s inspired word on Christ. How much more appropriate and practical to apply it to our marriages and instruction for marriage? Putting the good book to good use.
God Loves Freedom
I am a starry-eyed patriot. I hang an old WW2 flag on my door every holiday that gives me the excuse to do it. I point out the flag to my daughter when we see it, and we practice saying “United States of America,” which is hard for a four-year-old to get her mouth around. Having traveled around the world, I say with fervor, “There is no land like the good ole USA.” Today I remember and mourn, with the rest of you, the buried brave.
Are you free when you must keep the rules?
I read a quote somewhere last week about God being the author of freedom. Being critical by nature, my thought was first, “But what about the rules?” Right from the beginning, God restricted man. Adam and Eve were told, “You can do anything you please except, do not eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil or you will die.”
Mortality was foreign to immortal Adam and Eve. Death is being removed from life found in connection to God. Why tempt them to do something that God knew would separate Him from His loves, cause Him pain and ruin His creation? Is that freedom? I would think true freedom is found in the absence of regulations and the temptation to break them.
American slavery as an example.
In the 1860’s, the conscience of American culture was different than ours. Cocaine was fed to children like sugar to give them pep and vigor. Church clergy, as well as upstanding leaders of the community, smoked like chimneys. And the most heinous act: Christian men and women bought and sold people. It was even believed that the Bible promoted enslaving the black race! Abolitionists were like ecologists in the 1980’s; a nagging nuisance to the white majority.
Not only did the white majority believe enslaving Africans to be lawful, many believed it was their God-given duty to protect and care for their slaves. This sentiment is called Paternalism. The black slave was considered a lower human, childlike and simple. Their ways were cute and amusing. Most slave owners believed their ownership was for the good and betterment of the slave race.
“What would they do without us? We provide them with a better life, ” was the delusion many believed.
“I am a papa,” a Georgian slave owner might say. “God has given me all my children to care for. I provide my blackies with food and shelter. I give them medical attention and instruct them in the Lord’s ways. It is good for them to be under my care.”
What is wrong with this sentiment? They owned slaves! Sure, the slave had enough to eat. Sure, he had shelter. Sure, many had an honest and good owner. But they had no choice. The slave was forced to obey. Slaves would risk torture and death to escape to freedom. Freedom was the one thing the “papas”, the slave masters, refused to provide.
But not our Papa.
Freedom is in the choosing to obey the rules.
If God had placed Adam in the Garden and provided for all his needs, without also providing the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, he would have been no better than a slave owner. God knew that to care for a man without giving him the choice to leave, is owning a slave. Without the tree, Adam would have had no choice in the matter; no freedom. That is not good, and God is good.
With choice comes freedom. God is the author of freedom.
Stumble It!
