by Leah Gilbert Harlow

A BGAV pastor shares thoughts on self reflection as Easter approaches.

One of our first reactions when we hear the name Judas is to instinctively attach the word traitor to it. We think of greed and desperation, often stripping away the reality that he, too, was carefully and intentionally woven together by the hands of God.

When we see Judas in the Bible, he is typically identified as “Judas Iscariot,” likely meaning “Judas from Kerioth,” a town in Judea. The very fact that he would have his place of origin attached to his name is meant to convey his “otherness.” He was the only disciple not from Galilee, as the other disciples were northern fishermen and tradesmen. Judas, however, being the southerner among them, carried a different accent, background, and set of cultural expectations that would have identified him differently. Even in scripture, his name is often followed by the defining phrase, “the one who betrayed him,” as though the Gospel writers wanted no confusion about which Judas they meant.

But by the time the Gospels were written, early Christians already knew the sting of his betrayal. They knew how he sold Jesus for 30 pieces of silver. They knew how he led them to Jesus’ location. They knew how he planted a kiss on his cheek. It is not surprising, then, that the Gospel writers emphasize his “otherness,” shaping him in readers’ minds as the villain of the story. For example, John tells us he kept the money bag and “used to help himself to what was put into it” (John 12:6), Luke records that “Satan entered into Judas” (Luke 22:3), and Matthew adds the detail of the 30 pieces of silver (Matthew 26:14–16). Judas becomes the “other”—the one set aside. The dark figure. The cautionary tale.

But here is the uncomfortable truth: Judas was made in the image of the divine, just like you and me. He was chosen by Jesus as one of the twelve (Luke 6:13–16). He walked with Christ. He preached, healed, and cast out demons alongside the others (Mark 6:7–13). Before Judas was known as the betrayer, he was a disciple—called, commissioned, and trusted.  

Broken? Yes. Imperfect? Certainly. But no more so than the rest who walked alongside Jesus.

It is easy to isolate Judas as uniquely corrupt, uniquely evil, and different from us. Yet scripture reminds us that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). If we cast Judas entirely as “the other,” we risk missing our own reflection in the mirror as we point our finger his way. The seeds of betrayal (disappointment, greed, disillusionment, and unmet expectations) take root in ordinary human hearts as well. All of us are guilty.

Easter reveals both the depth of human failure and the even greater depth of God’s mercy. Judas’ tragic story warns us to examine our own hearts and recognize where we, too, enter the Passion story. Where we, too, have betrayed the one who gave his life so that we might live.

Before we label Judas as “other,” we must ask ourselves: How have I betrayed Jesus? Where have I chosen my own will over his? And what keeps me from returning to him now?

The cross uncovers the truth about us, but the empty tomb unveils the truth about God: there is grace greater than every Judas-shaped failure.

Grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that will pardon and cleanse within. Grace, grace, God’s grace. Grace that is greater than all our sin.

Thanks be to God. 

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