Published in Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter (Orbis Books)
This is a story that can happen anywhere at any time, and we
are as likely to be the perpetrators as the victims. I doubt that many of us will end up playing
Annas, Caiaphas or Pilate, however. They
may have been the ones who gave Jesus the death sentence, but a large part of
him had already died before they ever got to him: the part Judas killed off,
then Peter, then all those who fled.
Those are the roles with our names on them - not the enemies but the
friends.
Whenever someone famous gets in trouble, that is one of the
first things the press focuses on. What
do his friends do? Do they support him
or do they tell reporters that, unfortunately, they had seen trouble coming for
some time? One of the worst things a
friend can say is what Peter said. We
weren’t friends, exactly. Acquaintances
might be a better word. Actually, we
just worked together. For the same
company, I mean. Not together, just near
each other. My desk was near his. I really don’t know him at all.
No one knows what Judas said. In John’s Gospel he does not say a word, but
where he stands says it all. After he
has led some 200 Roman soldiers and the temple police to the secret garden
where Jesus is praying, Judas stands with the militia. Even when Jesus comes forward to identify
himself, Judas does not budge. He is on
the side with the weapons and the handcuffs, and he intends to stay there.
Or maybe it was not his own safety that motivated him. Maybe he just fell out of love with
Jesus. That happens sometimes. One day you think someone is wonderful and
the next day he says or does something that makes you think twice. He reminds you of the difference between the
two of you and you start hating him for that-for the difference-enough to begin
thinking of some way to hurt him back.
I remember being at a retreat once where the leader asked us
to think of someone who represented Christ in our lives. When it came time to share our answers, one
woman stood up and said, I had to think hard about that one. I kept thinking, “Who is it who told me the
truth about myself so clearly that I wanted to kill him for it?” According to John, Jesus died because he told
the truth to everyone he met. He was the
truth, a perfect mirror in which people saw themselves in God’s own light.
What happened then goes on happening now. In the presence of his integrity, our own
pretense is exposed. In the presence of
his constancy, our cowardice is brought to light. In the presence of his fierce love for God
and for us, our own hardness of heart is revealed. Take him out of the room and all those things
are relative. I am not that much worse
than you are nor you than I, but leave him in the room and there is no room to
hide. He is the light of the world. In his presence, people either fall down to
worship him or do everything they can to extinguish his light.
A cross and nails are not always necessary. There are a thousand ways to kill him, some
of them as obvious as choosing where you will stand when the showdown between
the weak and the strong comes along, others of them as subtle as keeping your
mouth shut when someone asks if you know him.
Today, while he dies, do not turn away. Make yourself look in the mirror. Today no one gets away without being shamed
by his beauty. Today no one flees
without being laid bare by his light.
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