Good Friday homily: Judas’ story ‘should move us to surrender’ to Christ
(Vatican Radio) Pope Francis presided the celebration of the Passion of Our Lord in
St Peter’s Basilica in Rome on Friday evening. The celebration of the Passion of Our
Lord, also known as the Good Friday service, is the liturgy that recalls the crucifixion
and death of Jesus. Fr Raniero Cantalamessa, the preacher of the papal household,
preached the homily.
Below is the official English translation of the full
text of Fr Cantalamessa’s homily:
‘Judas was Standing with Them’ (Jn
18:5)
In the divine-human history of the passion of Jesus, there are many
minor stories about men and women who entered into the ray of its light or its shadow.
The most tragic one is that of Judas Iscariot. It is one of the few events attested
with equal emphasis by each of the four Gospels and the rest of the New Testament.
The early Christian community reflected a great deal on this incident and we would
be remiss to do otherwise. It has much to tell us.
Judas was chosen from the
very beginning to be one of the Twelve. In inserting his name in the list of apostles,
the gospel-writer Luke says, “Judas Iscariot, who became (egeneto) a traitor” (Lk
6:16). Judas was thus not born a traitor and was not a traitor at the time Jesus chose
him; he became a traitor! We are before one of the darkest dramas of human freedom.
Why did he become a traitor? Not so long ago, when the thesis of a “revolutionary
Jesus” was in fashion, people tried to ascribe idealistic motivations to Judas’ action.
Someone saw in his name “Iscariot” a corruption of sicariot, meaning that he belonged
to a group of extremist zealots who used a kind of dagger (sica) against the Romans;
others thought that Judas was disappointed in the way that Jesus was putting forward
his concept of “the kingdom of God” and wanted to force his hand to act against the
pagans on the political level as well. This is the Judas of the famous musical Jesus
Christ Superstar and of other recent films and novels — a Judas who resembles another
famous traitor to his benefactor, Brutus, who killed Julius Caesar to save the Roman
Republic!
These are reconstructions to be respected when they have some literary
or artistic value, but they have no historical basis whatsoever. The Gospels — the
only reliable sources that we have about Judas’ character — speak of a more down-to-earth
motive: money. Judas was entrusted with the group’s common purse; on the occasion
of Jesus’ anointing in Bethany, Judas had protested against the waste of the precious
perfumed ointment that Mary poured on Jesus’ feet, not because he was interested in
the poor but, as John notes, “because he was a thief, and as he had the money box
he used to take what was put into it” (Jn 12:6). His proposal to the chief priests
is explicit: “‘What will you give me if I deliver him to you?’ And they paid him thirty
pieces of silver” (Mt 26:15).
But why are people surprised at this explanation,
finding it too banal? Has it not always been this way in history and is still this
way today? Mammon, money, is not just one idol among many: it is the idol par excellence,
literally “a molten god” (see Ex 34:17). And we know why that is the case. Who is
objectively, if not subjectively (in fact, not in intentions), the true enemy, the
rival to God, in this world? Satan? But no one decides to serve Satan without a motive.
Whoever does it does so because they believe they will obtain some kind of power or
temporal benefit from him. Jesus tells us clearly who the other master, the anti-God,
is: “No one can serve two masters. . . . You cannot serve God and mammon” (Mt 6:24).
Money is the “visible god” in contrast to the true God who is invisible.
Mammon
is the anti-God because it creates an alternative spiritual universe; it shifts the
purpose of the theological virtues. Faith, hope, and charity are no longer placed
in God but in money. A sinister inversion of all values occurs. Scripture says, “All
things are possible to him who believes” (Mk 9:23), but the world says, “All things
are possible to him who has money.” And on a certain level, all the facts seem to
bear that out.
“The love of money,” Scripture says, “is the root of all evil”
(1 Tim 6:10). Behind every evil in our society is money, or at least money is also
included there. It is the Molech we recall from the Bible to whom young boys and girls
were sacrificed (see Jer 32:35) or the Aztec god for whom the daily sacrifice of a
certain number of human hearts was required. What lies behind the drug enterprise
that destroys so many human lives, behind the phenomenon of the mafia, behind political
corruption, behind the manufacturing and sale of weapons, and even behind — what a
horrible thing to mention — the sale of human organs removed from children? And the
financial crisis that the world has gone through and that this country is still going
through, is it not in large part due to the “cursed hunger for gold,” the auri sacra
fames, on the part of some people? Judas began with taking money out of the common
purse. Does this say anything to certain administrators of public funds?
But
apart from these criminal ways of acquiring money, is it not also a scandal that some
people earn salaries and collect pensions that are sometimes 100 times higher than
those of the people who work for them and that they raise their voices to object when
a proposal is put forward to reduce their salary for the sake of greater social justice?
In the 1970s and 1980s in Italy, in order to explain unexpected political
reversals, hidden exercises of power, terrorism, and all kinds of mysteries that were
troubling civilian life, people began to point to the quasi-mythical idea of the existence
of “a big Old Man,” a shrewd and powerful figure who was pulling all the strings behind
the curtain for goals known only to himself. This powerful “Old Man” really exists
and is not a myth; his name is Money!
Like all idols, money is deceitful and
lying: it promises security and instead takes it away; it promises freedom and instead
destroys it. St. Francis of Assisi, with a severity that is untypical for him, describes
the end of life of a person who has lived only to increase his “capital.” Death draws
near, and the priest is summoned. He asks the dying man, “Do you want forgiveness
for all your sins?” and he answers, “Yes.” The priest then asks, “Are you ready to
make right the wrongs you did, restoring things you have defrauded others of?” The
dying man responds, “I can’t.” “Why can’t you?” “Because I have already left everything
in the hands of my relatives and friends.” And so he dies without repentance, and
his body is barely cold when his relatives and friends say, “Damn him! He could have
earned more money to leave us, but he didn’t.”
How many times these days have
we had to think back again to the cry Jesus addressed to the rich man in the parable
who had stored up endless riches and thought he was secure for the rest of his life:
“Fool! This night your soul is required of you; and the things you have prepared,
whose will they be?” (Lk 12:20)
Men placed in positions of responsibility
who no longer knew in what bank or monetary paradise to hoard the proceeds of their
corruption have found themselves on trial in court or in a prison cell just when they
were about to say to themselves, “Have a good time now, my soul.” For whom did they
do it? Was it worth it? Did they work for the good of their children and family, or
their party, if that is really what they were seeking? Have they not instead ruined
themselves and others?
The betrayal of Judas continues throughout history,
and the one betrayed is always Jesus. Judas sold the head, while his imitators sell
body, because the poor are members of the body of Christ, whether they know it or
not. “As you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me” (Mt
25:40). However, Judas’ betrayal does not continue only in the high-profile kinds
of cases that I have mentioned. It would be comfortable for us to think so, but that
is not the case. The homily that Fr Primo Mazzolari gave on Holy Thursday 1958, about
“Our Brother Judas” is still famous. “Let me,” he said to the few parishioners before
him, “think about the Judas who is within me for a moment, about the Judas who perhaps
is also within you.”
One can betray Jesus for other kinds of compensation
than 30 pieces of silver. A man who betrays his wife, or a wife her husband, betrays
Christ. The minister of God who is unfaithful to his state in life, or instead of
feeding the sheep entrusted to him feeds himself, betrays Jesus. Whoever betrays their
conscience betrays Jesus. Even I can betray him at this very moment — and it makes
me tremble — if while preaching about Judas I am more concerned about the audience’s
approval than about participating in the immense sorrow of the Savior. There was a
mitigating circumstance in Judas’ case that that I do not have. He did not know who
Jesus was and considered him to be only “a righteous man”; he did not know, as we
do, that he was the Son of God.
As Easter approaches every year, I have wanted
to listen to Bach’s “Passion According to St. Matthew” again. It includes a detail
that makes me flinch every time. At the announcement of Judas’ betrayal, all the apostles
ask Jesus, “Is it I, Lord?” Before having us hear Christ’s answer, the composer —
erasing the distance between the event and its commemoration — inserts a chorale that
begins this way: “It is I; I am the traitor! I need to make amends for my sins.” Like
all the chorales in this musical piece, it expresses the sentiments of the people
who are listening. It is also an invitation for us to make a confession of our sin.
The Gospel describes Judas’ horrendous end: “When Judas, his betrayer, saw
that he was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to
the chief priests and the elders, saying, ‘I have sinned in betraying innocent blood.’
They said, ‘What is that to us? See to it yourself.’ And throwing down the pieces
of silver, he departed; and he went and hanged himself” (Mt 27:3-5). But let us not
pass a hasty judgment here. Jesus never abandoned Judas, and no one knows, after he
hung himself from a tree with a rope around his neck, where he ended up: in Satan’s
hands or in God’s hands. Who can say what transpired in his soul during those final
moments? “Friend” was the last word that Jesus addressed to him, and he could not
have forgotten it, just as he could not have forgotten Jesus’ gaze.
It is
true that in speaking to the Father about his disciples Jesus had said about Judas,
“None of them is lost but the son of perdition” (Jn 17:12). But here, as in so many
other instances, he is speaking from the perspective of time and not of eternity.
The enormity of this betrayal is enough by itself alone, without needing to consider
a failure that is eternal, to explain the other terrifying statement said about Judas:
“It would have been better for that man if he had not been born” (Mk 14:21). The eternal
destiny of a human being is an inviolable secret kept by God. The Church assures us
that a man or a woman who is proclaimed a saint is experiencing eternal blessedness,
but she does not herself know for certain that any particular person is in hell.
Dante
Alighieri, who places Judas in the deepest part of hell in his Divine Comedy, tells
of the last-minute conversion of Manfred, the son of Frederick II and the king of
Sicily, whom everyone at the time considered damned because he died as an excommunicated.
Having been mortally wounded in battle, he confides to the poet that in the very last
moment of his life, “…weeping, I gave my soul / to Him who grants forgiveness willingly”
and he sends a message from Purgatory to earth that is still relevant for us:
Horrible
was the nature of my sins, but boundless mercy stretches out its arms to any
man who comes in search of it.
Here is what the story of our brother Judas
should move us to do: to surrender ourselves to the one who freely forgives, to throw
ourselves likewise into the outstretched arms of the Crucified One. The most important
thing in the story of Judas is not his betrayal but Jesus’ response to it. He knew
well what was growing in his disciple’s heart, but he does not expose it; he wants
to give Judas the opportunity right up until the last minute to turn back, and is
almost shielding him. He knows why Judas came to the garden of olives, but he does
not refuse his cold kiss and even calls him “friend” (see Mt 26:50). He sought out
Peter after his denial to give him forgiveness, so who knows how he might have sought
out Judas at some point in his way to Calvary! When Jesus prays from the cross, “Father,
forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Lk 23:34), he certainly does not exclude
Judas from those for whom he prays.
So what will we do? Who will we follow,
Judas or Peter? Peter had remorse for what he did, but Judas was also remorseful to
the point of crying out, “I have betrayed innocent blood!” and he gave back the thirty
pieces of silver. Where is the difference then? Only in one thing: Peter had confidence
in the mercy of Christ, and Judas did not! Judas’ greatest sin was not in having betrayed
Christ but in having doubted his mercy.
If we have imitated Judas in his betrayal,
some of us more and some less, let us not imitate him in his lack of confidence in
forgiveness. There is a sacrament through which it is possible to have a sure experience
of Christ’s mercy: the sacrament of reconciliation. How wonderful this sacrament is!
It is sweet to experience Jesus as Teacher, as Lord, but even sweeter to experience
him as Redeemer, as the one who draws you out of the abyss, like he drew Peter out
of the sea, as the one who touches you and, like he did with the leper, says to you,
“ I will; be clean” (Mt 8:3).
Confession allows us to experience about ourselves
what the Church says of Adam’s sin on Easter night in the “Exultet”: “O happy fault
that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!” Jesus knows how to take all our sins,
once we have repented, and make them “happy faults,” faults that would no longer be
remembered if it were not for the experience of mercy and divine tenderness that they
occasioned.
I have a wish for myself and for all of you, Venerable Fathers,
brothers and sisters: on Easter morning, may we awaken and let the words of a great
convert in modern times, Paul Claudel, resonate in our hearts:
My God, I have
been revived, and I am with You again! I was sleeping, stretched out like a dead
man in the night. You said, “Let there be light!” and I awoke the way a cry is
shouted out!
My Father, You who have given me life before the Dawn, I place
myself in Your Presence. My heart is free and my mouth is cleansed; my body and
spirit are fasting. I have been absolved of all my sins, which I confessed one
by one. The wedding ring is on my finger and my face is washed. I am like
an innocent being in the grace that You have bestowed on me.