Jn 13

I want to begin with a question. How many are there among us who have names (or variations of names) that appear in the Bible? I looked through our directory, but I may have missed some: Anna, Philip, Grace, Lydia, Mary, Julie, Steve, Kristina, Tim, Esther, Jeanne (French feminine for John), Debbie, Ian (Scottish for John), James, and what else? Why isn’t there a Judas? Oh yeah, something about being a traitor.

This is the night in which we celebrate the institution of the Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper. This is the night in which we recall Jesus’ washing the feet of his disciples. (That’s a ritual that some churches observe. How about us?) This is the night in which we remember the prayer—the struggle—of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane.

This is the night in which Jesus gives his disciples “a new commandment, that [they] love one another” (v. 34). That’s the origin of “Maundy” Thursday. “Maundy” comes from the Latin mandatum—which in English is “mandate” or “commandment,” as in “a new commandment.”

Oh, and by the way, this just happens to be the night when Judas turns Jesus over to his enemies.

The gospel of John clearly emphasizes that this happens after the fall of darkness. After Jesus dismisses Judas from the gathering of disciples, the statement is quite deliberate: “And it was night” (v. 30). Surely more is going on here than a mere notification of sunset! It’s probably safe to say that this is a theological, as opposed to a meteorological, statement.

In John’s gospel, “night” has both literal and symbolic meanings. In chapter 3, Nicodemus visits Jesus “by night” (v. 2). There may also be deeper meanings at work, but it surely means after sundown.

Jesus himself uses the word in symbolic ways. In chapter 9, we hear him say, “We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world” (vv. 4-5).

Then in chapter 11, Jesus claims, “Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them” (vv. 9-10).

It could be argued: what kind of nonsense is that? No one can work at night? Nobody can walk at night? Again, we’re dealing with theology. How one works is how one behaves. And to speak of how one walks is to speak of one’s path in life. Doing that stuff at night means turning from the light that Christ provides—the light that Christ is.

Concerning the phrase, “and it was night,” Rudolf Bultmann says it points out “that the night which puts an end to Jesus’ earthly work has now come.”[1] In his gospel, John uses the word “hour” in a similar way. In verse 1 of chapter 13, we hear that “Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father.”

For me, regardless of whatever theological content is present, it has an effect that I definitely call dramatic. Picture this. They’re all gathered at the table, and Jesus blurts out that one of them will betray him. Everyone is genuinely puzzled. What is he talking about?

A disciple, described as “the one whom Jesus loved”—usually considered to be John—is leaning against Jesus. Peter motions to him to ask Jesus who it is. Jesus likely responds in a voice too low to be heard by others. It’s the recipient of the piece of bread he dips in the sauce.

Handing the morsel to Judas, he tells him to go ahead and do what’s necessary. Everybody at the table is clueless. Judas exits the room. And it was night… It’s almost as if his very departure ushers in the realm of night. If this were the script of a grade C horror movie, one might expect to hear a thunderclap and a wolf howling in the distance.

A problem with John’s portrayal of Judas is that it’s led to misunderstandings throughout the centuries. The name “Judas” is a variation of the Greek word for “Jew.” Judas is the personification of the Jew. Maybe you can see why that might be a problem. What’s more, John has Jesus refer to “the Jews,” as if he and all the disciples aren’t themselves Jews, through and through (v. 33).

John’s gospel was written at the end of the first century, after the church had broken away from Judaism. Facing the hostility of a new era, John wants to encourage fellow believers in Christ. Unfortunately, his rather two-dimensional, cartoonish depiction of Judas has been twisted into stereotypes of a certain ethnic group. Greedy, scheming, Christ-killers: who have we heard that applied to?

Down through the ages, there’s been no shortage of people trying to psychoanalyze Judas. Why would he do such a thing? What’s his motivation? I’ve just suggested one way to read John’s portrayal: he’s just evil. Judas is bad to the bone. Verse 27 says, “After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him.”

Still, that really doesn’t answer the question, “Why?” Some have said that Judas has no choice; fate forces his hand. Others have said that Judas has good intentions. He wants his friend Jesus to take a stand against the Roman occupation force. Judas is a misunderstood patriot.

Still others press even harder, claiming that Judas should be called “Saint” Judas. They see him as an agent of salvation. He’s the only one willing to, as they say, “man up.” Only Judas submits to God’s will and does the deed that forces Jesus to the cross.

I’m not too sure I agree with that last line of reasoning. After all, elsewhere Jesus says, “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come!” (Lk 17:1). And in Matthew’s version of the incident, he has Jesus say, “The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed!” (Mt 26:24).

In any event, there are plenty of other ideas as to what’s going on in the mind of Judas.

Regardless of his motivations, I think we can see Judas as a kind of poster boy. He’s the poster boy for one who’s set on his own agenda. Come hell or high water, my will be done! He seems determined to press the issue, despite the repeated appeals by Jesus to him.

I’ll give one example, which happens during the supper. Jesus answers the question about who will betray him in a quiet voice. He doesn’t want to “out” Judas. “Indeed,” one writer notes, “suspicion would be turned away from Judas.” The offer of the morsel of bread dipped in sauce “by the host would be a sign of special favor.”[2] Jesus is still reaching out to him. Unfortunately, Judas is “working” and “walking” at night. He is turning from the light.

I personally feel that Judas has been judged too harshly. Let’s not forget that all the other disciples abandon Jesus when he’s arrested—just at the time when he needs them the most. And let’s be honest: who among us can say what we would do if we were in their place?

But then, too often, we are in their place. We’re nearly twenty centuries removed from those first followers of Jesus, but Judas the betrayer and Peter the denier live inside of us. We’re quite capable of deserting our Lord when we’re called on—when we’re called to obey the new commandment, that we love one another.

Too often, we work—too often, we walk—in the night. We let ourselves get distracted by our own agendas. We close ourselves off, and come hell or high water, my will be done!

Brian Turner served with the US Army in Iraq in 2003 and 2004. He’s also a poet, and he published a book entitled, Here, Bullet. As I thought of this matter of Judas and how he is in the night—and how, time and again, we act like we’re in the night—one of his poems kept coming back to me. It’s called “Alhazen of Basra”:[3]

Dear friends, as I was completing the writing of this sermon, I received word that my neighbor’s son, who’d been missing for almost a week, had returned home. Even when we wander away into the night, it is the light that defines us. Let us remember the pronouncement and the promise of our Savior: “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” (vv. 34-35).

[1] Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1971), 483.

[2] G. H. C. Macgregor, The Gospel of John (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), 280.

[3] Brian Turner, Here, Bullet (Farmington, ME: Alice James Books, 2005), 39.