Week 3 Tuesday — That First Easter... I Was There
Day 16: Judas the Betrayer
Day 16: Judas the Betrayer
Matthew 26:14-16, 47-50; Luke 22:47-48
Introduction
We don’t want to be in this story.
Every other character in the Easter narrative offers us some distance. The crowds were fickle — but crowds are unpredictable. The religious leaders were self-protective — but power corrupts. Peter denied Jesus — but fear does strange things to brave people. We can hold those mirrors up, wince, and still feel like the reflection is slightly softer than the original.
But Judas.
We don’t want to be Judas. We want him to be a category unto himself — a uniquely evil man, a special case, an aberration. The villain of the story so that the rest of us can be something else.
The problem is that Judas wasn’t uniquely evil. He was uniquely positioned. He had walked with Jesus for three years. He had heard every sermon, witnessed every miracle, eaten every meal. He had been trusted with the group’s money. He had been sent out to heal the sick and proclaim the kingdom. He was one of the Twelve — chosen, called, close.
And he betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.
Scholars have debated for centuries what drove him. Greed, certainly. But maybe also disillusionment — a Jesus who kept talking about dying instead of conquering, who washed feet instead of raising armies, who wasn’t becoming the Messiah Judas had signed up to follow. Maybe Judas thought he could force Jesus’ hand. Maybe he thought the money was simply a bonus for doing what needed to be done.
We don’t know exactly what he told himself. But we know what we tell ourselves. And that’s the mirror we need to look into today.
Scripture
¹⁴ Then one of the Twelve — the one called Judas Iscariot — went to the chief priests ¹⁵ and asked, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?” So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver. ¹⁶ From then on Judas watched for an opportunity to hand him over.
— Matthew 26:14-16 (NIV)
⁴⁷ While he was still speaking, Judas, one of the Twelve, arrived. With him was a large crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests and the elders of the people. ⁴⁸ Now the betrayer had arranged a signal with them: “The one I kiss is the man; arrest him.” ⁴⁹ Going at once to Jesus, Judas said, “Greetings, Rabbi!” and kissed him.
⁵⁰ Jesus replied, “Do what you came for, friend.”
— Matthew 26:47-50 (NIV)
⁴⁷ While he was still speaking a crowd came up, and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, ⁴⁸ but Jesus asked him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?”
— Luke 22:47-48 (NIV)
Reflection
The Slow Drift
Judas didn’t wake up one morning and decide to betray Jesus. That’s not how betrayal works. It accumulates. One small compromise at a time. One quiet resentment nursed in private. One expectation unmet, then another, then another — until the gap between the Jesus he followed and the Jesus he wanted had grown so wide that crossing to the other side felt, somehow, justifiable.
John tells us Judas had been stealing from the disciples’ money bag for some time (John 12:6). The thirty pieces of silver wasn’t his first transaction. It was just the largest. The pattern had been established long before the chief priests made their offer. He had already learned to take what he wanted from his proximity to Jesus. The betrayal in the garden was simply the final withdrawal from an account he’d been quietly draining for years.
And here is the detail that should stop us cold: at the Last Supper, Jesus knew. He knew what Judas was about to do. He washed his feet anyway. He passed him the bread anyway. And when Judas walked into the garden with a crowd carrying swords and clubs, and pressed his lips to Jesus’ cheek as a signal to the soldiers — Jesus called him friend.
Not enemy. Not traitor. Friend.
That word cost Jesus something to say. It was the last thing He offered Judas before the arrest. An open door. A final invitation. You are still, even now, someone I call friend.
Judas walked away from it.
We Are Like Him
We betray Jesus for far less than thirty pieces of silver.
We trade Him for approval — staying silent about our faith when speaking up would cost us socially. We trade Him for comfort — choosing the easier path when obedience would require sacrifice. We trade Him for convenience — setting aside what we know He’s asked of us because this week is too busy, this season too hard, this particular surrender too costly.
We don’t think of it as betrayal. We think of it as being realistic. Practical. Appropriately balanced. We tell ourselves we’ll follow more fully when circumstances are better, when we’re stronger, when the cost is lower. And in the meantime, we kiss His cheek on Sunday and hand Him over to whatever it is we love more by Monday.
The difference between us and Judas is not the capacity for betrayal. It’s what we do with it afterward.
Judas felt the weight of what he’d done — Matthew tells us he was seized with remorse, returned the silver, declared Jesus innocent. But he brought his guilt to the wrong place. He took it to the chief priests instead of to Jesus. He let despair have the last word instead of mercy. And it destroyed him.
Peter betrayed Jesus too — loudly, publicly, three times in one night. And Peter wept bitterly. But Peter came back. Peter let Jesus meet him on a beach after the resurrection and ask him three times: “Do you love me?” Peter let the failure become the ground of restoration rather than the end of the story.
The sin of Judas and the sin of Peter were not so different. What was different was where they took their failure.
Jesus called Judas friend at the moment of betrayal. He was still calling. The door was still open. Judas just couldn’t believe it was open for him.
We were there in the garden, finding our own ways to hand Jesus over to whatever we love more. We are there now. The question isn’t whether we’ve betrayed Him. It’s where we take it when we realize we have.
Grace Note
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9 (NIV)
Not some sins. Not small sins. Not sins committed before we knew better. Our sins — the ones we committed with full knowledge, the ones that cost Him most, the ones we are most ashamed to name. He is faithful and just to forgive. The door Jesus held open for Judas in the garden is the same door He holds open for us now. It has not closed. It will not close. Bring what you’ve done and lay it at His feet. That’s all confession is — taking our failure to the right place. He will meet you there.
Prayer Prompt
Jesus,
I confess that I’ve found my own ways to betray You. Not with a kiss in a garden — but with my silence, my comfort, my small and daily trades. I’ve handed You over to approval, to convenience, to the things I want more in weak moments than I want You. I’ve told myself it wasn’t betrayal. It was.
Forgive me for taking my guilt everywhere except to You. For letting shame convince me that the door You hold open for others isn’t open for me. You called Judas friend at the moment of his worst. You are calling me by name right now.
I don’t want to be the one who brings his remorse to the wrong place. I want to be Peter — broken, yes, but returning. Letting You ask me on the beach: “Do you love me?” And meaning it when I say yes.
I love You. Even when my choices don’t show it. Especially then. Amen.
Response
1. Name the Trade: What have you been exchanging Jesus for — quietly, gradually, in ways you’ve been calling something other than betrayal? Approval? Comfort? Silence? Control? Name it specifically. Not to condemn yourself, but to stop pretending it isn’t happening. Judas’s problem wasn’t just what he did — it was the years of small transactions that made the final one feel normal.
2. Take It to the Right Place: Judas took his guilt to the chief priests. Peter took his to Jesus. Today, take one specific failure — something you’ve been carrying in shame rather than bringing to confession — directly to Jesus. Out loud if you can. Write it if that’s easier. Don’t clean it up first. Just bring it as it is. He already knows. He’s already calling you friend.
3. Receive the Beach: After His resurrection, Jesus didn’t avoid Peter. He went looking for him — made him breakfast, met him in his shame, restored him with the same number of questions as denials. Spend 5 minutes today reading John 21:15-17. Read it as if Jesus is asking you — not Peter — “Do you love me?” Let Him restore what betrayal has damaged. That’s what He came back to do.
To read all the posts in this devotional series, visit: That First Easter... I Was There
© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way