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Sometimes life's lessons come crashing down on us without warning. At other times, they're so subtle it's only after the passage of time that we realize we've learned something. We often think of them as random occurrences, but God knows better.

My recent lesson started on a cold January night when the worship committee was planning the Lenten season activities for our church. Our senior pastor encouraged us to think "outside the box" as we brainstormed different ways that Christ's death and Resurrection could be portrayed to the congregation.

After some spirited discussion, I found myself "volunteering" to write several dramatic monologues based on the experiences of Pontius Pilate, who "washed his hands" of responsibility for Christ's execution; the Roman centurions, who cast lots to divide up Jesus' clothing; and Judas Iscariot, the disciple who "delivered" Jesus to the authorities. Before the night was over, I found myself as the designated actor as well.

I'm not an actor. But that night I thought to myself, How hard could it be? I had played Tom Sawyer in a sixth-grade play and had gotten good reviews, at least from the teachers. But that was more than 30 years ago. Now I was being asked to portray some pretty heavy characters that played key roles in Christ's Crucifixion. I began to doubt the wisdom of volunteering.

Scoundrel or pragmatist?
In the days that followed, the pastor and I talked about the motives of the various men, what Scripture said about them, and what cultural issues affected them. I tried to understand the desires that drove them, and what the theologians had to say to explain them.

Judas was especially challenging. For centuries Judas Iscariot has been considered the epitome of traitors and the grand betrayer, almost akin to Satan. For Christians, he's one of the most despicable characters in the Bible. How could I write about him, let alone play him?

I did research and pored over the Scriptures. Most importantly, I prayed. I asked God to help me understand this troubled soul called Judas. I wanted to know who he really was and how he could have gone so wrong.

The scholars describe Judas as a devout Jew, almost zealous in his desire to see Israel rid of Roman occupation. Like many Jews, he believed in a Messiah King, a warrior who would stand up to the Roman conquerors. Subsequently, Judas was continually baffled by Jesus' constant plea for love, compassion, and tolerance.

As I discovered these facts, I started to feel uncomfortable. How often had I held strong opinions about how the church should be run or why we weren't moving faster to solve a problem? I realized I had been puzzled by God's timing just as Judas had.

As I read more, I learned that some believe Judas was the money keeper, handling the disciples' finances while they traveled. They say this caused friction and some of the disciples resented Judas because of his concern for earthly matters.

I looked around my home, as if seeing all my "stuff" for the first time. While I tithe and give to charities, I too seemed to be concerned with possessions and things. I began to feel the weight of my earthly baggage.

I learned that some theologians believe Judas was an integral part of God's plan for man's salvation. They claim that he was the one person who put the wheels in motion for Jesus' walk to the Crucifixion and for his ultimate Resurrection to become reality.

I wrestled with all of these interpretations as I tried to decide what Judas would say to members of our congregation. Meanwhile, I was also confronted by my own sense of confusion. Was I truly the Christian I thought I was? Was that Judas I saw in my mirror?

Too close for comfort
Several days passed before I could think of anything to write about Judas. And then, like a seed bursting from the earth to become a flower, the inspiration came. Judas' words tumbled out faster than I could type them. He was talking to me. I could see what he had seen, and feel what he had felt. And it was truly painful.

I played Judas for three worship services. Our senior pastor read the introduction from Matthew 26:14-16 as I entered the sanctuary and walked down the center aisle, dressed in costume, posturing as Judas might have. During each performance, I could see and feel the scornful looks from members of the congregation.

Facing the crowd, I told the people what I had done. I tried to convince them (and myself) that handing over Jesus was necessary. I alone had given Jesus his opportunity to confront the priests, to testify against them and the members of the Jewish Sanhedrin. I alone had forced Jesus' hand.

I recalled the supper in the upper room when Jesus gave me the authority to go. I described the look of confidence he gave me that night, as though I was the strongest of the disciples, the one who could help start the promise of the New Kingdom.

I expressed my disappointment when Jesus hadn't acted forcefully and instead acquiesced, quietly giving himself over to the judgment, ridicule, and scorn of the people. I spoke of my remorse, my pangs of regret when I witnessed how they abused Christ and made a fool of him. I pleaded with them, asking them to tell me how I could stop it and take it all back. In those moments, I felt Judas' pain and understood his struggle.

And when the tears came that Sunday morning, they weren't actor's tears, or even the tears of Judas. They were mine. I wept for the times I had turned my back on God, for the times I had refused to answer the call that Jesus had placed in my heart. I wept for the times I found it easier to follow the distractions of the world than to follow the path of Christ.

That Sunday morning was a cleansing time for me, and for many members of our congregation. We came to the painful realization that there's a bit of Judas in all of us, that we all have the capacity of turning our backs on Christ.

And worse yet, there are times we make decisions or take actions in God's name when it's our own fulfillment we're seeking. I recalled the church meetings where I had silently fumed, thinking I can do better than this!

I remembered the times I volunteered for projects, not in the spirit of service but for personal recognition. I shuddered when I counted the times I'd deceived myself, convinced that I knew the best way to demonstrate my faith and do what was pleasing to Christ.

I learned a lot from Judas that Lenten season. I lived with his pain, his frustration, his shame. And as a result, I gained a deeper appreciation of God's mercy and grace towards me.

Now, when I catch sight of Judas in my mirror, I pause and offer a quick prayer of gratitude. And I realize more than ever that God is not finished with me. I'm still a work in progress.

A Christian Reader original article. Larry S. Beck is a writer living in Muncie, Indiana.

Copyright © 2003 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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