Religion
Man of Kerioth
Martin Sullivan
As we approach the commemoration of Christ's death, this is an appropriate moment to examine the role of some of the chief agents in this judicial murder. These were not all men of exceptionally infamous character. There have been many ecclesiastics, not very unlike Annas and Caiaphas whose tombs and monuments in cathedrals record only their virtues. Pilate was a weak and vacillating judge who has had a host of successors.
What, however, is to be said of Judas Iscariot, who has the dreadful stigma of traitor attached to him for ever? What are we to make of this man who seemed to fall like lightning? Even his name has become a scholars' quarry, 'man of Kerioth' a village in Judaea; it has been linked with other languages to become, 'betrayer,' felon' or 'assassin.' He was the only one of the twelve who was not a Galilean and he may always have felt himself something of an outsider.
We know nothing of his call, why he was attracted to Christ or Christ, to him. He was obviously accepted as a loyal disciple. He became bursar or treasurer, and 'held the bag,' an office which could not have been given to him if he were not capable and trustworthy. When some of his companions called him a thief it is important to notice that they provided no evidence. He obviously took his duties seriously. When a grateful woman poured expensive ointment over Christ's head and feet he protested at this prodigality. The gift could have been sold and the proceeds given to the poor. Whether he would have taken his own advice, we cannot tell.) am always sceptical of those who advance the same argument today, because this denial of generosity in one field usually means the withdrawal of it in others. I suspect Judas, like most treasurers, was always conscious of an empty bag, and, of course, he may have dipped his own fingers into it. But what really went wrong with this man?
A wide range of theories has been advanced, stretching from those which suggest he tried to force Christ's hand and make him assert His Sovereignty, or to protect Him from assassination by putting Him under arrest, to the fanciful notion that Judas is not an historical character at all, but the personification of the Jewish people upon whom the Evangelists and others wish to heap all the blame for Christ's death. But all this is entirely speculative.
We shall do better if we go back to the text of the narrative and meditate upon it, and perhaps the fourth Gospel will be our best guide. The references are simple but often deeply symbolic. The Last Supper was about to begin, prefaced by the famous feet washing incident. The devil has already put into the mind of Judas, son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. Nothing has led up to this bold statement. The word 'already' does duty for all the tentative steps which doubtless has been taken, but it was not until later on that same evening that the die was finally cast. Christ said bluntly that a traitor sat at meat with them. "Who is it?" asked his disciples. Christ replied, "The man to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish." He then gave it to Iscariot with the urgent entreaty "Do quickly what you have to do;" but no one present understood what he meant. What had passed between them before this moment? What, if anything, had Iscariot revealed or what had Christ guessed? This is the secret of the betrayal, never to be revealed.
What did the traitor do? Put simply, he surrendered Jesus to His enemies. The thirty pieces of silver would have meant nothing more than the contractual basis of the agreement between Judas and his new employers. In a fit of bitter shame and remorse he returend later to throw his wages into their faces.
This tortured man is not far from any of us. When his friends were told that a betrayer was in their midst, they simply asked, each of himself, "Does he mean me?" a question all Christians might put to themselves at any time. Judas did not write a Gospel. What a pity. He was not wholly evil, and his idealism as well as his mistakes would have taught us so much had we been allowed to enjoy his confidence.
Martin Sullivan is Dean of St. Paul's
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