At the Last Supper, Jesus Christ speaks words that unsettle the table: “One of you will betray me.” What follows is striking. No one points a finger. Instead, each disciple asks, “Surely not I, Lord?” Even Judas Iscariot joins the question.
This moment is not about identifying the traitor. It is an invitation for every disciple, in every age, to examine the heart: Am I capable of betraying the Lord? Judas becomes more than a historical figure; he represents the “anti-disciple,” one who walks with Christ outwardly while nurturing other loyalties within—ambition, self-interest, or the quiet seduction of power.
The danger is real and subtle. A disciple does not fall overnight but drifts gradually—from love to calculation, from service to self-advancement, from fidelity to compromise. That is why the Christian life demands vigilance. Only a constant return to the Word of God and to the self-giving love of Christ can guard us from the illusion that we are immune.
Paul the Apostle urges the Philippians to reject rivalry and vanity: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition… but consider others better than yourselves.” He then points to Christ as the model. Though divine, Christ “emptied himself,” embracing human weakness and the condition of a servant. His path did not avoid suffering; it led to the cross.
The Passion according to Saint Matthew repeatedly affirms that these events unfold “to fulfil the Scriptures.” This does not mean God delights in suffering. Rather, it reveals the unexpected way God saves: not by force, but by love that gives itself completely. At the foot of the cross, the crowd mocks Jesus: “If you are the Son of God, come down.” This is the logic of the world—prove your power, secure your victory. But Jesus remains. He does not save himself because he has come to save others.
One brief command captures his way: “Put your sword back.” In disarming his disciple, Jesus disarms every follower. Violence has no place in the Kingdom he proclaims. The Christian is called not to destroy life, but to give it.
Even Judas’ tragic end invites reflection. He recognises his betrayal but turns not to mercy, only to despair. His failure is not simply sin, but the loss of hope in forgiveness. Had he returned to Christ, his story might have been one of restoration.
As Jesus dies, Matthew describes cosmic signs—the earth quakes, rocks split. These are not mere details, but a proclamation: in this moment, a new world is being born. What appears as defeat is, in truth, the victory of love. God does not remove suffering; he transforms it. The cross becomes not the end, but the beginning.
Thus, the “crime” of Jesus is clear: he loved—and he taught others to love in the same radical way. Such love unsettles systems built on power and self-interest, and so it is rejected. Yet it is this very love that redeems.
Father Josekutty Mathew CMF
