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Why did Judas do it? Was it the money, the thirty pieces of silver? He did have a reputation for dipping into the poor box from time to time (John 12:6), so the cash may have been part of it. But thirty pieces of silver was not that much, and he returned it after the deed was done anyway.

If, like the other disciples, he was perennially worried about where he stood in the pecking order, he may also have been reacting to some imagined slight. After all, he was the only one of the twelve who was not a Galilean. Shouldn't his job as treasurer have had him included with the inner circle of Peter, James, and John?

Was it disappointment? Some Jews were fanatic nationalists who were prepared to go to any lengths to drive the Romans from Palestine. They were called the sicarii, the dagger-bearers, because they followed a deliberate policy of assassination. It may be that Judas was one of that number, and that he had looked on Jesus as the divinely sent leader, who, with his miraculous powers, could lead the great rebellion.1 It may be that Judas never intended for Jesus to die, just to spur him into action, to start the longed-for revolution. Or maybe, because nothing human is ever uncomplicated, something of all of these was involved. Who knows?

Several years ago there was great hoopla over the discovery of the "lost" gospel of Judas. Truth be told, it was not "lost" -- it had actually turned up in the '70s but not much attention was paid to it since it was considered only one of several pieces of contemporaneous literature, which were reflective of the ancient gnostic heresies. The text begins by announcing that it is the "secret account of the revelation that Jesus spoke in conversation with Judas Iscariot during a week, three days before he celebrated Passover." It then goes on to describe Judas as Jesus' closest friend, someone who understood Christ's true message and is singled out for special status among Jesus' disciples.

In the key passage Jesus tells Judas, "You will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me." Scholars interpret "the man that clothes me" as Jesus' physical body, reflective of the Greek idea that the body is the prison house of the soul. In other words, Judas was not betraying Jesus, he was only doing him the great favor that he had secretly requested.

For what it is worth, the church has rejected this line of thinking from the earliest days. In his text called "Against Heresies" distributed around the year 180, Irenaeus, the bishop of Lyons, called the gospel of Judas "a fictitious history."

The traditional understanding is that Judas' action was a betrayal, pure and simple. The canonical gospel accounts do not spell out his motivations. That leaves lots of room for us to consider the many reasons why someone, anyone, would stoop to such a despicable act.

Societies have always reserved their harshest judgment for those who betray. It is a sin against the trust that is critical to maintaining any kind of relationship, whether it is between two people or among the people of an entire nation. That is why betrayal can destroy a marriage, a family, a community, or even a church. It is why we are outraged at someone who would choose to fight against his own country in time of war, why we are disgusted with highly paid executives of big corporations that declare bankruptcy leaving their workers holding an empty bag, why we are repulsed at the repeated stories of pedophile priests. We have always been hard on the Judases of this world. We won't even name a dog "Judas."

Could it be that the real reason we show betrayers so little compassion is that we are afraid there is some Judas "gene" embedded in all of us? We hate the thought that we too are capable of betraying trust. When Jesus said that "you will all fall away on account of me" (Matthew 26:31), they jumped in echoing Peter saying, "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you" (Matthew 26:35). But beneath the surface we know they had their doubts. "We're behind you, Jesus ... far behind."

One of the messages of Holy Week is that sooner or later every disciple has the capacity to betray Jesus. We betray him at home when we hurt those who depend on us and trust us; we betray him in the workplace when it costs too much to think and act like a Christian; we betray him before the world by our indifference to the poor, by our mismanagement of resources, by our hatred of enemies. We betray Jesus. The Judas gene.

Fortunately that Judas gene carries with it, not only the capacity for betrayal, but the capacity for remorse as well. After the dastardly deed was done, Judas was nothing if not remorseful. He returned his ill-gotten gain to the temple tyrants who had given it and then went out and hanged himself. Too bad his remorse was so strong that he could not have lasted for just another day. He might have heard some words from the cross that would have helped. He might have heard, "Father, forgive...."

Perhaps we can derive some comfort from George Bernard Shaw's quip that "The last Christian died on the cross." There is a certain absolution in realizing that we all fall pitifully short. I am not sure I want to absolve myself quite so blithely (or you either, for that matter), but I do admit that I for one am glad that Judas was there that night. If he had not been where he was, I am not sure I could be where I am. Are you feeling the same thing? Remember that the next time you come to the Lord's table.

Remember this, too: One of the earliest charges against Jesus was, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them" (Luke 15:2). You know, he still does, thank God. He still does.

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1. William Barclay, Daily Study Bible, CD-ROM (Liguori, Missouri: Liguori Productions, 1996).