Part 18 (1/2)

It became, therefore, more and more clear to Judas, that the Master knew perfectly well all that had transpired, and he said to himself, ”If He knows so much, it is almost certain that He knows all.”

Therefore, partly to disarm any suspicions that might be suggested to the others if he did not take up their question, partly because he felt that probably there was nothing to be gained by maintaining his disguise before Jesus, and being withal feverishly anxious to know how much of his plan was discovered, he asked, adopting the colder t.i.tle Rabbi, rather than that of Lord, as employed by the others, ”Rabbi, is it I?” Probably the question was asked under his breath, and that Jesus replied in the same tone, ”Thou hast said.”

Immediately the thoughts of Judas sprang back to the foot-was.h.i.+ng, and all the other marks of extraordinary tenderness with which Jesus had treated him. At the time he had thought, ”He would not act like this if He knew all.” Now, however, he realized that Jesus had acted in the full knowledge of all that had pa.s.sed, and was pa.s.sing in his heart.

It must have struck him as extraordinary that the Master should continue to treat him thus when He had read the whole dark secret. Why did He not unmask and expose him? Why not banish him from His company?

Why count him still on speaking terms? Not till afterward was he aware of Jesus' motive, nor did he detect the loving purpose which was laying siege to his stony heart as though to turn him from his evil purpose before it was too late.

Once more the Lord made an effort to prove to him that though He knew all He loved him still, even to the end. It was the Jewish custom for one to dip a morsel in the common dish and pa.s.s it to another in token of special affection, so when He had dipped the sop, Jesus took and gave it to Judas, the son of Simon. He had previously answered John's whispered question, ”Lord, who is it?” which had been suggested by a sign from Peter, by saying, ”He it is to whom I shall give a sop when I have dipped it.” But He did not give the token of love merely as a sign to John and Peter, but because He desired to a.s.sure Judas that, notwithstanding His perfect knowledge, His heart was full of tender affection.

But when the sun strikes on a foetid pond, its rays, beneath which all creation rejoices, bring out the repulsive odors that otherwise had slept undiscovered; so the love of G.o.d is ever a savor of life unto life or of death unto death, and the very fervor of Christ's love seems to have driven Judas almost to madness. Shutting his heart against the Saviour, he opened it to Satan, who was waiting his opportunity.

”After the sop, then Satan entered into him.” Instantly the Master saw the change, and knew that He could do nothing more to save His disciple from the pit which he had digged for himself. Nothing could be gained by further delay. Jesus therefore said unto him, ”That thou doest, do quickly.”

So carefully had the Lord concealed His knowledge of Judas' real character that none of those who sat at table guessed the real significance and purport of His words. For some thought, because Judas had the bag, that Jesus said unto him, ”Buy what things we have need of for the feast”; or that he should give something to the poor. Only John, and perhaps Peter, had the slightest suspicion of his possible errand. The sacred narrative adds significantly, ”He then having received the sop, went out straightway, and it was night”; as though the black pall of darkness were a befitting symbol of the blackness of darkness that was enveloping his soul--a night broken only by one star, when Jesus once more in the garden sought to arrest him with the words, ”Friend, to what a deed thou art come! Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss?” But that lone star was soon obscured. The cloud-wreath hastened to conceal it. Head-long and precipitate over every obstacle, he rushed to his doom, until his career was consummated in the despairing act which the Evangelist so solemnly records.

The specified fee was no doubt paid to Judas, on his delivery of Jesus into the hands of the High Priest. As soon as the great doors closed behind the arresting band, Judas went to some inner pay-office, claimed his money, and then waited in the shadow to see what befell. Perhaps he met John; and if so, avoided him. Perhaps he heard Peter deny the Lord with oaths, and congratulated himself that there was not much to choose between them. But for the most part his mind was absorbed in what was transpiring. He beheld the shameful injustice and inhumanity of the trial. Though he had kissed his Master's face, his soul winced from the blows and spittle that befell it. Perhaps he had entertained some lingering hope and expectation that when the worst came to the worst the Master would use on His own behalf the power He had so often used for others. But if that thought had lodged in his mind, the dream was terribly dissipated. ”He saw that He was condemned.”

Then the full significance of his sin burst upon him. The veil fell from his eyes, and he stood face to face with his crime in all its naked horror. His ingrat.i.tude, his treachery, his petty pilfering, his resistence of a love which the strong waters of death could not extinguish. And the money scorched his hand. A wild and haggard man, he made his way into the presence of the chief priests and scribes, as they were congratulating themselves on the success of their plot.

There was despair on his face, a piercing note in his voice, anguish in his soul; the flames of h.e.l.l were already consuming him, the thirst of the bottomless pit already parching his lips; his hand convulsively clutched the thirty pieces of silver.

”I have sinned,” he cried. ”I have sinned. He whom you have condemned is innocent; take back your money, only let Him go free; and oh, relieve me, ye priests, accustomed to deal with burdened hearts, relieve me of this intolerable pain.”

But they said, with a gleam as of cold steel, ”What is that to us?

That is your business. You made your bargain, and you must stand to it: see thou to it.”

He knew that it was useless to parley with them. That icy sarcasm, that haughty indifference, told him how man must ever regard his miserable act. He had already refused the love of G.o.d, and dared not expect anything more from it. He foresaw how coming ages would spurn and abhor him. There seemed, therefore, nothing better than to leap into the awful abyss of suicide. It could bring nothing worse than he was suffering. Oh, if he had only dared to believe in the love of G.o.d, and had fallen even then at the feet of Jesus, he might have become a pillar in His temple, and an apostle of the Church. But he dared not think that there could be mercy for such as he was. He pa.s.ses out into the morning air, the most wretched of men, shrinks away into some lonely spot, puts a rope around his neck, and dies.

We have been accustomed to think of Judas as one whose crime has put him far in front of all others in the enormity of his guilt. Dante draws an awful picture of him as alone even in h.e.l.l, shunned by all other sinners, as Turkish prisoners will shun Christians, though sharing the same cell. But let us remember that he did not come to such a pitch of evil at a single bound. There was a time, no doubt, when, amid the cornfields, vineyards, and pastoral villages of his native Kerioth, he was regarded as a promising youth, quick at figures, the comfort of his parents, the pride of his instructors, the leader of his comrades.

During the early years of His manhood, Jesus came through that court country on a preaching tour, and there must have been a wonderful fascination in Him for young men, so many of whom left their friends and callings to join and follow Him. Judas felt the charm and joined himself to the Lord; perhaps Jesus even called him. At that time his life must have been fair, or the Master would never have committed Himself to him. He was practical, prompt, and businesslike, the very man to keep the bag. But the continual handling of the money at last awoke within him an appet.i.te of the presence of which he had not been previously aware. He did not banish it, but dwelt on it, allowing it to lodge and expand within him, till, like a fungus in congenial soil, it ate out his heart and absorbed into itself all the qualities of his n.o.bler nature, trans.m.u.ting them into rank and noisome products. All love for Christ, all care for the poor, all thought of his fellow-disciples, were quenched before that remorseless pa.s.sion; and at last he began to pilfer from those scant treasures, which were now and again replenished by those that loved to minister to the Master's comfort. At first, he must have been stung by keen remorse; but each time he sinned his conscience became more seared, until he finally reached the point when he could sell his Master for a bagatelle, and betray Him with a kiss.

Alas! Judas is not the only man of whom these particulars have been true. Change the name and you have an exact description of too many.

Many a fair craft has come within the reach of the circling eddies of the same boiling whirlpool, and, after a struggle, has succ.u.mbed. The young man hails from his native village home, earnest and ingenuous.

At first he stands firm against the worldly influences around; but gradually he becomes careless in his watch, and as money flows in he realizes the fascination of the idea of being a wealthy man. He becomes increasingly absorbed, until he begins to drift toward a goal from which in other days he would have shrunk in horror. If any reader of these words is conscious of such a pa.s.sion beginning to lay hold of him, let him beware, lest, like Judas, he be lost in the divers hurtful l.u.s.ts which drown men in perdition.

And if already you have been betrayed into sins which would bear comparison with that of Judas, do not despair--true, you have sinned against light and love, the eager, tender pleadings of G.o.d's love; but do not give up hope. Cast yourself on a love which wants to abound over sin, and glories in being able to save to the uttermost.

XXIX

The First Trial before Pilate

”Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas unto the hall of judgment: and it was early; and they themselves went not into the judgment hall, lest they should be denied; but that they might eat the Pa.s.sover.”--JOHN xviii. 28.

There is no doubt that had Pilate been absent from Jerusalem at the time of our Lord's trial before the Sanhedrim, they would have rushed Him to death, as afterward Stephen, and have risked the anger of the Governor. But they dared not attempt such a thing beneath the eyes of the dreaded Roman eagles. They must needs obtain Pilate's countersign to their death sentence, and, indeed, consign their victim to him for execution. The Lord was to die, not the Jewish death by stoning, but the terrible Roman death of crucifixion.

The day then breaking was that before the Pa.s.sover. If the order for execution were not obtained that morning, the case could not come on for seven days, and it would have been highly impolitic, from their point of view, to keep Jesus so long in bonds. The national sentiment might have awoke and refused to sanction their treachery. For the same reason it was necessary to carry the sentence into effect with as little delay as possible, or the whole plot might miscarry. Then led they Jesus from Caiaphas to the official residence of Pilate, which had been the palace of the magnificent Herod--_and it was early_.