Sam Bush, “The Antidote to Revenge: A Sermon for Maundy Thursday”

Let me tell you about an act of ultimate betrayal. The incident happened at Colston Hall, in Bristol, England in 1966. Bob Dylan played the first half of his set with the predictable early hits, the crowd cherishing every song. But for the second set, he ditched his acoustic for a Fender Stratocaster and brought out a band and a pair of enormous speakers that literally blew the audience away. The crowd was attacked by a wall of sound, everyone covering their ears. Just before the final song, an audience member shouted one word – “Judas!” – which was followed by jeering and applause, proving that the charge against Dylan was justified. The people had spoken. He had gone from hero to villain in a span of three and a half minutes. He was condemned with one word.

There is hardly a more reviling name in history than Judas Iscariot. What makes him far more treacherous than other traitors like Benedict Arnold is how personal his betrayal was. Jesus was not a political rival, but a trusted friend. Unlike Marcus Brutus, Judas had nothing to gain from Jesus’ downfall. So why did he do it? After thousands of years of speculating, John’s Gospel still provides the most reliable theory: “the devil had put it into his heart to betray him.” Now, our modern minds might accuse John of overspiritualizing the matter – it seems trite to say “the devil made him do it – but contemporary science actually proves John’s case. Judas was likely not in his right mind. What’s likelier still is that he was hellbent on revenge.

Have you ever been betrayed? By a parent, a sibling, a coworker, a spouse, a friend or a minister. Money embezzled, your name slandered, some kind of infidelity or neglect. Nothing hits a nerve like being wronged. Kate Braestrup was a chaplain in rural Maine for fifteen years. She was called in for pastoral care in the aftermath of violent crimes. She says, “The most common real-life motivation for violence, whether it's a bar-room brawl or genocide, is moral indignation. Like, ‘Their ancestors killed our ancestors’ or ‘He disrespected me’ or ‘She abandoned me. What else could I do?’” Well, in the heat of the moment, there is very little that can be done. In those moments, we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.

James Kimmel, who is the author of a fascinating book called The Science of Revenge, gathered a group of neuroscientists to study the human mind when it is triggered by revenge. The study shows that almost one-hundred percent of people who feel wronged instinctively want revenge, as if human beings are biologically hardwired for it. Kimmel compares revenge taking hold of the brain like an addiction or a disease. In order to cover over the pain of being wronged, revenge provides a dose of dopamine that is essentially irresistible.

There is reason to believe that Judas felt betrayed by Jesus. The night Judas handed Jesus over (which is tonight), all the disciples gathered to celebrate the Passover Supper, remembering God’s mighty rescue of the Jews from the powerful clutch of Egypt. In the same way, everyone was looking to Jesus to topple Rome. The scene was set. Days before, Jesus had entered Jerusalem with throngs of people cheering his name. He could lead a massive revolt that very night! He should be armed for battle like his ancestor King David! But what is he doing instead? Wrapping a towel around himself and acting like a little, lowly servant boy.

This foot-washing was no publicity stunt. It was in a private room. The level of intimacy with which Jesus interacted with each disciple was too much to bear. Even Peter wanted to save Jesus from such indecency, saying “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” Jesus replies, “Letting me wash you is a prerequisite for being in my company.” To which Judas says, “Well, then count me out.” This act proved that Jesus was not the strong and mighty savior he had hoped for but a weak man. John’s Gospel puts it so plainly, “Judas went out and it was night.” Call it whatever you like – revenge, disgust, contempt – it had already set in and was coursing through Judas’ veins. Even Jesus realized it was too late to go back.

Have you ever betrayed your better judgment in a way that spooked you? Have you surprised yourself as to what you are actually capable of doing, whether it was losing your temper or having an affair or turning a blind eye to some kind of injustice? You likely sacrificed a lot for very little reward. Like Dostoevsky says in Crime and Punishment, “Your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing.” The thing you wanted – control, power, pleasure, revenge – was an illusion. Sadly, by the time we come to our senses, it is far too late. The act has been committed and has the potential to mark the rest of our lives. Just ask Judas.

Left to our own biology – left to science and science alone – we don’t have a prayer. As James Kimmel puts it, “The iron grip of revenge is so strong, in fact, that forgiveness sometimes seems almost miraculous when we see it.” If revenge is the disease, forgiveness is the antidote. In the case of Maundy Thursday, the antidote can be directly applied to one’s feet.

You can imagine Jesus making his way around the room, kneeling at Matthew, then Peter, then John, then James, each man having layers of dirt and mud, callouses, bunions and hammertoes, each man hanging in the balance between feeling totally embarrassed and completely loved. Somewhere down the line he gets to Judas. He looks at him square in the eye as if to say, “I can see you've made up your mind. I’m not going to stop you.” Jesus knows that this night will, in fact, mark Judas forever. But, this night will mark Jesus as well. And by his marks, we are healed.

The historian Hannah Arendt once said, “In contrast to revenge, which is the natural, automatic reaction to transgression, the act of forgiving can never be predicted; it is the only reaction that acts in an unexpected way and thus retains, though being a reaction, something of the original character of action.” This is how Jesus redeems our betrayals, by retaining them. Think of the towel around Jesus’ waist as he cleans and dries. The dirt has to go somewhere and it goes onto him.

This act of Jesus, that was so repulsive to Judas, was nothing less than God’s saving grace. You see, forgiveness is the antidote that has saved the world from killing itself. What’s that famous Confucius proverb? Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves? It precisely sums up Judas’ experience. Judas turns Jesus in and both of them die. And yet, the antidote of forgiveness insists on life. It refuses to dig two graves. “One grave will do,” Jesus says. “Let it be mine.”

This is where Maundy Thursday hits home. Somewhere in your life you have been betrayed and you have likely betrayed someone else (and that person might be yourself). But Jesus looks you in the eye, he washes you clean with something far stronger than soap and water. He washes you with his blood. And by it you are forgiven and have been made clean.

There was one song missing from the set list that fateful night at Colston Hall in 1966; one of Dylan’s early ballads called “With God on Our Side” in which he sings, “Through many dark hour I been thinkin' about this that Jesus Christ was betrayed by a kiss but I can't think for you, you'll have to decide whether Judas Iscariot had God on his side.” If Maundy Thursday tells us anything, it’s not that Jesus was on Judas’ side. He was at his feet. He is at your feet as well this very night and makes you clean.

Amen.