The act of betrayal is always an intimate one. Is it possible to betray someone you do not know? An act of treason can only be committed by someone who seems to belong.

One of the twelve betrays Jesus with a kiss. There is some discussion, within scholarly circles, as to what type of kiss this was. The use of kataphilein has been taken by some to suggest that it is part of a passionate embrace; whereas others suggest that the kiss was on the hand, cheek or even foot. Our Gospel for this year, Luke, intimates that Jesus does not allow Judas to kiss him.

What is certain is that a kiss is how a disciple would greet their Rabbi or Teacher. It assumes loyalty and fidelity, and adherence to that Rabbi’s pattern of life and teaching.

This is why the action of Judas, the one called Iscariot, from the town of Kerioth, has been the focus of such much displeasure. The kiss a sign of affection is translated in the garden into one of disloyalty and infidelity. To those with long biblical memories, gardens can be a place of delight or a setting for betrayal. Indeed we should never lose sight that within the narrative of God, the story of Jesus is one that sets in motion the repeal of all that happens because of the Fall. The betrayal of Jesus is part and parcel of that.

And yet, this particular act of treachery or betrayal has been magnified out of all proportion. There are obvious reasons for this: how is it that someone who was part of Jesus’ closest group of disciples could hand him over to be crucified? Judas in betraying the Son of God has become the ‘son of perdition’. He has become one who is wholly other. Judas is someone who repels us; not because of who he but because of what he does. He is someone that we do not identify with and often have scant sympathy for. As people who are living through Holy Week, he is the one character we do not want to play. We have sympathetic understanding for Simon Peter warming himself by the fire surrounded by the servants of Jesus’ enemies. We empathise with those who fled at the sight of the armed militia, which belonged to the high priest. But the man of Kerioth is seemingly deserving of no sympathy or understanding.

It is easy on a day like this to get bogged down in the minutiae of what may or may not have caused Judas to do what he did. We indulge ourselves in whether he intended to Jesus to lead a rebellion against Rome rather than follow the way of the Cross. To do that is to an extent to allow ourselves to be let off the hook.

It allows ourselves not to have been part of the betrayal. Yet, we who gather here attempt to follow the pattern and way of life set and exemplified by Jesus of Nazareth. Which of us can truly say that we have not let Jesus down or, yes, at times, betrayed him? Some of us, including myself, will have undoubtedly tried to make Jesus conform to our own image. Some of us, including myself, will have confessed and sung about how much we are willing to give up for Christ, and the next moment living in a way that is totally contradictory to what we have sung. These are not in actual fact small betrayals. They have become small because we have hyperbolised the one in the Garden to such an extent every other one since then can be passed over.

As the shadow of betrayal passes by, I am mindful that the bell tolls for me as well as Judas. As I join Jesus in the Garden, and look into the face of the traitor as he says look my betrayer is at hand, I do not see one who has been hounded through the ages, I see myself.

In the moment, I look into eyes of Jesus as he mouths the words again, ‘Take heart, I have overcome the world’.

The Shadow of Betrayal has fallen