Betrayal

Betrayal

What happens when what you believed in starts slipping away, when what you once held dear becomes too dear too hold on to, too costly to pursue?

What happens when you have invested in a story passed from generation to generation, a story of promises and promised land, a story of milk and honey, a story of release from captivity and Exodus. A story told whilst sat on your father’s knee, a story told by grandmother and auntie at family gatherings – told by their parents and grandparents – told by you – to your children.

What happens when that story of an anointed one, promised for generations, becomes your story, not just in the sense of being remembered and told by you, but retold by you in a way that has your ambition written all over it. All over it.

What happens when the one you put your hope in comes riding to Jerusalem, on a foal instead of a warhorse, with that ragbag of fishermen and tax collectors; it should have been an army, armed to the teeth. What happens when the one you thought anointed fights in stories, questions, at the fringes where influence is seemingly limited; talks of a kingdom you are too impatient and ambitious to wait for.

What happens when our hope in what we think God should do seems like yet another story of betrayal; we want to force the hand of chance, make it happen our way, now. 

What happens is that we take what we have in our pocket, thirty pieces of silver, and misunderstand its purpose. 

What happens is that we take our friends, those we have travelled with us through thick and thin and change our allegiance. 

What happens is that we misunderstand what a kiss is for – kindness, welcome, affection, gentleness – the wrong kind of messiah. This messiah anointed by spikenard and by God is now anointed by a friend with a kiss – a Judas kiss.

Betrayal