Smooth, silver coins clattered as they hit the tile floor, rolling in every direction. It was a mess. Just like his life. It was a disaster, too. Full of accidental missteps and egregious errors. A thousand things he wasn’t proud of. A handful of things he was. Like being Jesus’ disciple. No matter how the gig had ended, he would never regret the time he’d spent as one of the chosen ones. He couldn’t. Those had been the best years of his life. Years brimming with miracles, ministry, mercy, and magnificent love. For him. Judas. No matter what he did. No matter how offensive the words he spoke. No matter how often his suspect heart was displayed for all to see. The love of Jesus still covered him, welcomed him, fed him. No matter who he was that day. Judas Iscariot. Disciple. Chief financial officer. Thief. Betrayer.
He hadn’t meant to be those last two things. Not really. It all started so small. Skimming a few coins from the money bag had been the extent of his intentions. He thought it would be enough. He wasn’t planning to rob anyone blind. He wasn’t pocketing jewelry and valuables from the homes they visited. Largely, he kept his hands in his own pockets. He also kept his ear to the ground for opportunities to get more money. He wanted it. Needed it. Craved it. The love of money held his soul in an iron-tight grip. Judas was willing to do anything to have it. That was how he ended up here. Betraying his Savior. Selling his soul. For the love of money.
Realizing how eager the priests and elders were to arrest Jesus, Judas arranged to meet them himself. Sneaking away from the other disciples, he quietly made his offer. He could get them what they wanted. A time. A place. An opportunity. All for a fee. A finder’s fee, if you will. A tiny sum. Paltry by any estimation. Just thirty pieces of silver. The going cost of a slave. The price of opportunity. That was his offer. Take it or leave it. They took it. (Exodus 21:32)
So did Judas. Without discussion. Without explanation. Without taking a moment to unfold the plan and peruse the outcome. Judas took the money, made the arrangements, and handed them Jesus. Not once did he stop to consider whether or not those pious religious leaders had truly nefarious intentions. Not once did he consider trumped-up charges, planned narratives, and blatant lies. Not once did he worry that Jesus wouldn’t walk out of this situation unscathed, as He had so many other times before. Not once did Judas truly believe there was any charge that would stick. He knew there weren’t. He knew Jesus. Knew his history, his heart. Knew there was no reason to hold Him. No accusation worth imprisoning Him. No grounds to execute Him. When Judas approached those men to strike a business deal, he never dreamed things would go so far off the rails. Unfortunately, Judas had his money blinders on. The delicious weight of those coins in his hand clouded his thoughts. Silenced his conscience. Obscured the truth. Until it was too late.
Arriving at the temple in the early morning, Judas found himself eavesdropping on an urgent meeting of the religious leaders. It was so much worse than he originally thought. Pain lanced through his soul as their words drifted across the quiet expanse of the room. They were actively plotting to kill Jesus. Creating a narrative. Building a case. Lining up witnesses. It was appalling! Horrifying. Breathtaking. Worse was the realization that he had aided their plan. He shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have approached them. Shouldn’t have made the offer. Should never have let the love of money take over his soul to the point of betraying someone who had only shown him love and kindness. Frozen in time, listening to their treacherous plans punctuated by evil chuckles, Judas regretted his actions. All of them. Regretted meeting them to propose an offer. Regretted receiving the bag of coins. Regretted leading the mob. Regretted kissing His cheek. Regretted the fact he was here lurking, listening, as the religious leaders plotted and planned their revenge against Jesus. Regretted that he was alive when Jesus would soon be dead. Because of him.
Unceremoniously crashing the private meeting, Judas, filled with remorse, did his best to reverse the situation. Return the money. Release Jesus. Absolve his guilt. It wasn’t happening. No amount of wheedling or cajoling would change the minds of the priests and elders. What was done was done. The guilt was his own. They felt none. It was Judas’ problem. Not theirs. His feelings weren’t their concern. Not now. Not ever. Judas’ part of the agreement had been fulfilled. They were under no obligation to him. They had purchased his help fairly. Paid the amount up front. What he chose to do with the coins was up to him, but they would never rescind Jesus’ arrest. It was too late. It was done. It was nearly finished.
Anger and self-loathing collided in Judas’ soul as the words of rejection rang through the Temple. His hands were tied. There was nothing he could do. Despair and desperation engulfed him. The coins in his hand felt as though they weighed a thousand pounds. They dragged him down. He couldn’t wait to be rid of them. Money meant nothing to him anymore. Hurling the coins to the floor with violent force, he whirled around and ran from the building. At the end of himself, hopeless, helpless, overcome by sadness, regret, and remorse, desperate to be free from the haunting guilt, Judas fled to a copse of trees. And there, he hanged himself. (Matthew 26:14-16, 46-50; 27:1-5)
There is no sadder phrase in all of Scripture. Not for me. Nothing hurts my heart more when I read it. Feeling hopeless and helpless, believing himself to be beyond the reach of grace, past the point of mercy, Judas ended his life. He didn’t think there was anything left for him. He believed himself to be too bad, too evil for the amazing, unending, unfailing, redeeming love of God to reach him. Settled in that dark space with no one to tell him it wasn’t true, in despair, Judas gave up on living. Gave up on God. Gave up his soul. To death. I can’t stop the tears from welling up in my eyes when I think about it. Nor can I stop my mounting frustration as I realize how often we hear about how awful Judas was, how hard his heart, how evil his soul, yet we rarely hear that little, defining phrase from Matthew ever mentioned. Judas was filled with remorse.
Judas wasn’t skipping down the road making plans for his riches, and just happened to get caught in a loose rope somewhere. No. Judas hanged himself. On purpose. Because he was filled with remorse. His heart was broken by his own actions. He regretted every part he’d played in Jesus’ arrest. He hated the part of himself that pressed him to do it. Judas saw himself for exactly what and who he was and was deeply repulsed. We never talk about it. I don’t know why. We are exactly the same. We are just like Judas. We rarely weigh the end results against the immediate gratification. We often fail to look before we leap. So excited are we to cut a favorable deal that we don’t stop to ask questions, read the fine print, or seek godly advice. We don’t stop to pray about it. To our great regret and remorse, just like Judas, we grab the pleasures of this life with both hands and make a run for it, stopping only in the aftermath to count the cost.
You see, friend, Judas didn’t actually have the heart of a murderer. He had a heart just like yours. A heart that easily becomes distracted and enamored with earthly things and worldly comforts. A heart that wants some of Jesus, but not enough to change your life. A heart that craves decaf religion and Jesus’ lite. A heart that hopes Jesus will answer your prayers and fill your requests like an online ordering system, yet never make any demands of your life or take up any of your time. A heart that thinks it can get to Heaven by name-dropping Jesus rather than by a soul that is cleansed, a heart that is pure, and a life lived in holiness before God and man. Sound familiar? It should. That’s you. That’s me. That was Judas. He was just like us. He needed a Savior.
So do we. Buried in our self and sin, frequently betraying Jesus by our words and actions, we find ourselves in the exact same space as Judas. Hearts darkened by sin. Disgustingly evil. Yet remorseful. Regretful. Filled with despair. The voice of the evil one continually tells us there is no hope or help for people like us. We are too far gone. Beyond salvation. Without hope. Outside the reach of mercy, the grasp of grace. It says we have exhausted the love of God, that forgiveness is impossible. Don’t you buy that. Don’t even listen to it. It’s just not true. At all. The truth is this. Nothing can separate you from the love God has for you. It is inexhaustible. No matter what you have done or left undone. No matter who you have wronged or betrayed. No matter what unchangeable life choices you have made, the love of God transcends it all and offers forgiveness through the shed blood of Jesus on the cross. The one Judas sent Him to. The one He willingly hung on so He could offer you grace upon grace. Whenever you come to Him. Whoever you are. Wherever you have been. The darkest of sinners, the purist of saints. There are no exceptions. Whosoever will may come. No matter where your sins have taken you, the amazing love of God can bring you back, even if you are just like Judas. (Colossians 2:13-14; Revelation 22:17; John 3:16, 8:44; Romans 8:31-39, 10:13)