Being honest about hard things without losing yourself

A modern photo of the garden of Gethsemane. Photo by Stacey Franco.

In the Christian tradition, this week is holy week. It is the time when we remember Jesus’s last days. There is so much to notice about them that remains no less stunning two millennia later. I want to focus on two very different ways of addressing what happens when life is hard or scary that show up in the story.

I’ll start with Judas. I know, I know. He’s the villain so whatever he did must be the wrong thing. And it is. But there’s more to it than that. I’m not confident, as I was when I was younger, that he was a villain intent on seeing Jesus dead. The gospels describe him as a betrayer from the beginning, but they were written well after they knew how his story would end.

And he’s described as dishonest. He kept the common purse for Jesus’s friends and wasn’t opposed to skimming a little extra to treat himself from their donations. Worse, he masked his greed by framing it as concern for the poor (John 12:6). Not that either of those things would ever be present among church people today (insert sad smile emoji).

None of that is excusable but none of it makes him a murderer. Jesus’s disciples, including John the beloved and Peter and the rest, all expected the Messiah would be a king in the traditional sense like David was, not merely a spiritual leader. They believed Jesus’s ministry would result in a coronation in 1st century Jerusalem. They were far from alone in that conviction.

For all his faults, it is possible Judas was tired of waiting around. Enough traipsing through the wilderness, hanging out with losers, and just *talking* about change. Maybe he went to the chief priests to force Jesus to reveal himself as the true King. He wasn’t alone in that impulse. Others had tried it before (John 6:15).

Whatever he intended, he was horrified by the outcome of his actions. If all he intended was getting his hands on more cold hard cash (the 30 pieces of silver would have been the equivalent to around four months wages), he would have been long gone to put his take to good use. But the morning after Jesus’s arrest, Judas was still there. He saw Jesus was condemned and was gripped with grief and regret. The language used is that of repentance. Did he hear about what happened and return? Or had he been there all night, waiting in the shadows for Jesus to do another miracle to free himself and prepare to ascend to David’s throne?

He confessed his error to the chief priests and elders who scornfully dismissed him. You know what happens next. Judas threw down the money, none of which he’d spent, and went to kill himself. He choose the wrong people to confess to. The chief priests and elders were focused on preserving their own power. And when they sneered, Judas’s guilt and shame overwhelmed him. Death seemed the only answer.

Over the course of the same days, Jesus also faced the worst. He knew Judas’s plan and was aware of what it would cost them both. He also knew that his life and teaching were so threatening to Rome and his own people who were holding onto power and calling it righteousness that his arrest and execution were inevitable no matter what Judas did. Which makes me think of the post I saw this week about who is to blame for Jesus’s death (don’t miss the caption).

 When Jesus knew that his arrest and death were near, he went to a garden. But he did not choose isolation in his sadness. He invited all his friends to come with him. For those of us who couldn’t count on help solving problems or processing loss as children, the tendency when faced with grief or stress is often to isolate. Jesus models asking trustworthy others to join us in grief. There is power in engaging lament in community.

Yet he didn’t need a crowd for his most intimate moments of anguish. All his friends were nearby but he only asked three of them to come further apart with him. It was dark by then, and sleep was calling after a long day, but he begged them to stay awake with him.

Jesus knew what was coming, but he wasn’t flippant or stoic. He didn’t paint on an expression of piety and push through. He didn’t talk brightly about how God is in control or quote his favorite theologian or Bible verse. He was sad and distressed. He was troubled, agitated, anxious, and heavy. He told his friends his sadness and anxiety felt intense enough to kill him. He knew his torture and execution were coming but the distress of expecting them seemed like they might do the job for those who wanted him dead. For any who have experienced the illness or death of a loved one or another type of acute loss, you know exactly what Jesus is talking about.

And he wasn’t afraid to share all of it with God. He knew that trust and courage could coexist with grief and anguish. And he asked for deliverance passionately three separate times. He begged for another way forward even as he reaffirmed that he would do what God asked him to. Amid his deep pain, his closest friends fell asleep. Even when he’d begged them not to. Because the reality is that grief and anxiety are exhausting. Go gently when you are facing it.

 Judas kept his darkness hidden. And when he did confess it, he chose the least trustworthy people possible. He didn’t bring it, that we know of anyway, before his friends or to God where healing and restoration would have been possible. He sought repair from those with political and cultural power who were eager to maintain their own positions. He was like Nathan Shelley going to Rupert Mannion for advice or absolution (#tedlasso).

Death found both Judas and Jesus that weekend so many years ago. But Judas died weighed down by the shame of his worst choice. Jesus knew grief is engaged most safely with trustworthy others. He knew that God isn’t afraid of our fear, our questions, our heaviest emotions. And for Jesus, and I trust for us, death is not the end.

As we approach Easter, I wonder what fears, questions, and longings are swirling in you? How would it be to bring them into God’s presence? You might consider a practice Lacy Borgo introduced to our spiritual direction with children students of writing what you need help with on strips of paper and creating a paper chain just as you would a Christmas garland. On Easter morning (or when you feel ready), you could break the chains as an act of trust and hope, letting that, too, be prayer. This is a great activity to invite the children in your world to participate in. And it’s one way of adding some childlikeness to your own prayers.

Holding you in Light,
Terra

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.

Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,
And it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,
And heaven knows if it ever sleeps.

Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe
The wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn’t move,
Maybe
The lake far away, where once he walked as on a
Blue pavement,
Lay still and waited, wild awake. 

Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
Keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
So utterly human, knowing this too
Must be part of the story. 

-Mary Oliver, “Gethsemane”