Dai­ly Reflec­tion
April 16, 2025

Today’s gospel from Matthew mir­rors some of yesterday’s Last Sup­per account by John. Do you ever won­der why Jesus said to this inti­mate gath­er­ing of friends, “… one of you will betray me“? I do. I think there are a few options for what may have led him to say that.

A. Was he try­ing to moti­vate Judas to some­how change course? He says a bit lat­er, “The Son of Man indeed goes, as it is writ­ten of him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed.” Jesus knew the Father‘s plan had to be imple­ment­ed in order to save humankind, but still, maybe some­how Judas could have extract­ed him­self from the sit­u­a­tion and the cru­ci­fix­ion could have come about through dif­fer­ent circumstances.

B. Maybe he want­ed to give Judas an oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­fess and repent?

C. Was he just speak­ing out of pain and dis­tress and dis­ap­point­ment? And when Judas act­ed just as con­fused as every­one else about who the betray­er could be, Jesus’ crush­ing dis­ap­point­ment in Judas had to have been only magnified.

Imag­ine find­ing out that a dear, trust­ed friend had told author­i­ties (who have trumped up, unjus­ti­fied charges against you and evil intent) where to find you, all the while know­ing you had done noth­ing wrong. Think of how painful that would be. The dread and sad­ness you would feel would be even worse because a cho­sen friend was aid­ing and abet­ting those who were out to kill you. The emo­tions would be swirling in your psy­che, espe­cial­ly in Jesus’ case because he knew exact­ly what was going to hap­pen to him.

I think Jesus said, “… one of you will betray me,” due to a com­bi­na­tion of B and C above. I do think he want­ed to offer Judas the oppor­tu­ni­ty to come clean and be for­giv­en. But I also think pos­si­bly the stress he was under just spilled out of him as he thought about how the agony that would soon fol­low was being assist­ed by his friend and fol­low­er. John’s account does say Jesus was deeply troubled.

Look­ing out my back win­dow this morn­ing, as spring tries des­per­ate­ly to break through, my eyes were drawn to a par­tic­u­lar bush that made me think of the men­tal pain and chaos Jesus must have been going through that night. There is no bet­ter way to describe the huge shrub oth­er than tor­ment­ed and tan­gled. Its branch­es are grow­ing every which way, criss-cross­ing and chok­ing each oth­er. It also made me think of Jesus’ crown of thorns. Although it doesn’t have thorns itself, it looks dry and prick­ly and painful. It’s a mess.

In past years, like most shrubs, trees and flower beds, that for­syth­ia has mag­ni­fied the glo­ry of God and the splen­dor and mir­a­cle that is spring with its dain­ty, bright yel­low flow­ers. But the last few years it has sad­ly lost its way. It is not com­fort­ing to look at.

Our minds and bod­ies can resem­ble that tan­gled shrub when we suf­fer pain and dis­tress, like Jesus was expe­ri­enc­ing in that moment. But just as Jesus clung to hope and his Father’s love to get him through the ter­ri­ble events that were about to hap­pen, so can we.

We plan to cut our for­syth­ia down to its base, fer­til­ize it, and allow it to start anew. And next year, when its fresh, few­er shoots yield yel­low blooms and green leaves, it will remind me once again of the new life we have in Jesus through his death and resurrection.