Several years ago, I was reading a story to my children called The Road to Easter Day. When we got to the bit about Judas sneaking away during the Last Supper, Madeline announced that she had once played the part of Judas in a skit during her First Communion prep at church. “No one else wanted to be him,” she said.
“Why?” her little sister asked.
“Well,” I explained, “probably because Judas hurt Jesus.”
“But it was just pretend,” Madeline added.
“Of course,” I agreed, smiling.
I’ve often thought about poor Judas, the betrayer of Christ.
Madeline was right: no one wants to be a Judas. At first look, it’s because, as I explained to my kids, we don’t want to be the one who hurts Jesus, the person whose betrayal leads to the scourging and nails driven into his hands and feet.
I’ve never been convinced, however, that Judas’s kiss of betrayal was his worst offense. We all betray Jesus. This happens every time I hurt a family member or choose not to show compassion to a fellow human being, including the wakeful child who asks for “one more cup of water, please,” and I screech, “You know where the faucet is!”
It’s interesting, too, that Peter, who openly denies any allegiance to Christ—not once, but three times—even after pledging his undying love to him at the Last Supper, is the guy we all admire, the part we all want to play. Jesus chose Peter to be the rock of the Church. “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church” (Mt 16:18), proof that Jesus forgives and uses weak people to build his Church.
So what’s the difference between the hero and the apostle who will go down in all of history to be the villain no one wants a part of?
Judas’s gravest sin was not his betrayal; it was his complete and utter despair. Peter accepted his weakness and humbled himself before Christ. Peter believed in God’s mercy. Judas did not.
Madeline was only playing pretend when she took on Judas’s role. Sometimes I’m not. There have been several particularly dark chapters in my life when I have felt too unworthy to bring my needs to God. Back in my twenties, I went to Confession for the same exact sin over and over, and I never felt washed clean. Guilt about something you did is one thing, but shame comes into play when you feel badly about who you are. In the throes of depression, I have felt nothing but despair. I have felt as if I’d betrayed my God-given vocation as a mother, and there was no way out. I was Judas hanging from the tree. I’d put the noose around my neck. I’d condemned myself. God was the one who gently called me back with his mercy and his unwavering love.
Who will you be as a mother? And I don’t mean who you’ll be to the outside world who might think you’ve got it all together, but who will you be in your heart? Will you be Judas—so mired in despair and afraid of your imperfections that you hide from Christ? Or will you be Peter—the Rock whose courage was often reduced to the size of a pebble?
Give your fears of failure, your flaws—give it all to Christ. Put them at the foot of the cross, and watch how he lovingly gazes down at you.
Look at your children, too. They are wellsprings of mercy. When you lose your temper or commit some other maternal misstep, don’t be afraid to look into their eyes and ask for their forgiveness. Sometimes what I think are my worst mothering moments transform into beautiful lessons in love and mercy for both my children and me.
I have often shared these simple but profound words with my children when they have been upset about something they did: “There is nothing you can do that will ever take away my love for you, and there’s nothing you can do to earn that love either.”
Imagine how touched I was—okay, so maybe I started to sob tears and choke on my own spit bubbles—when a daughter patted my arm after I apologized for being a frazzled, snappy stress ball, and she said those very same words for me.
“Mommy, there’s nothing you can do that will ever take away my love for you, and there’s nothing you can do to earn my love either.”
Now imagine for a moment how much God loves us. There’s nothing you can do to take away or to earn his love. It’s there for the taking.
*Excerpted from Getting Past Perfect.
Kate,
You are so inspiring and amazing! Such a powerful lesson for us all. I love you, Dad
Katie,
This is just one other reason why I am so proud to call you my daughter. Thanks for the Lenten inspiration.
Love you more,
Mom
I love this…some serious thoughts to ponder! Thank you, Kate!!
I think three of biggest fans may have just commented here. ;-)
A holiest of Holy Weeks to you all!
Kate Wicker recently posted…Will Judas please stand up?
Lots to ponder here, Kate. I’d never given much though to my Judas-like tendencies, but I suppose they’re certainly there. Now to figure out how to be more Peter, less Judas. More resolving to do better next time, less despair and desolation.