I have become an archetype. When you hear my name, you think not only of me, but of every traitor throughout history. Yet, those who recorded my story never had a clear understanding of who I was, what I did, or why I did it. They all tried to make sense of it, but I was no longer there for them to ask. So, they all told my story in their own way.
Let’s begin in Bethany, where Jesus was anointed by the woman Mary with expensive perfume. If you ask John, he’ll tell you that I said “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” and that I said this because I was the treasurer of the group and that I stole from our common purse. But was it really only I who protested? The account of Mark says there were multiple, unspecified people there who scolded Mary for her waste, and Matthew recounts all the disciples doing so. Perhaps John was only trying to save face, to hide the fact that he, too, rebuked Mary for her lavishness. I can’t say that I blame him. It’s embarrassing to be remembered for being selfish. (Matthew 26:6-13; Mark 14:3-9; John 12:1-8)
Matthew, Mark, and Luke all tell the story of my conspiring with the chief priests, offering to betray him. I will point out that my motivation for doing so is not clear in any of these accounts. I did not ask the chief priests for money – they offered it to me in exchange for my betrayal. (Matthew 26:14-16; Mark 14:10-11; Luke 22:3-6)
These three accounts then move to that fateful Passover supper. Jesus knew what I had done and announced that I would betray him, I denied it, we continued to dine. John, however, says we supped before I went to the chief priests. As we reclined, eating bread and wine, Jesus announced that one of us would betray him. We all looked at each other, unsure – as we often were – of what he meant. Finally, John asked him of whom he spoke. Jesus said, “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” Then, he took the symbol of his body and blood and handed it to me. I took the bread and at that moment the adversary, Satan, entered into me. On this point John and Luke agree – that I was acting not of my own accord, but Satan’s. Then, Jesus said to me, “Do quickly what you are going to do,” and it wasn’t until I’d received this instruction that I took his symbolic body with me to the chief priests to betray him. (Luke 22:3; John 13:21-30)
Then, of course, Jesus retreated to Gethsemane to pray and prepare himself for what he knew would happen – for what he had advised me to do. One point that all of these accounts agree on is that I was not with Jesus and the others at this time, but that I arrived later, leading a detachment of soldiers. Some say that I signaled to them who Jesus was by kissing him in greeting – that famous symbol of betrayal with which I will always be associated. According to John, I didn’t have that much control. Rather, Jesus stepped forward as he saw us approaching and proclaimed himself the one they sought. At the sound of his voice, I collapsed. (Matthew 26:47-50; Mark 14:43-45; Luke 22:47-48; John 18:1-9)
Mark and John neglect to mention me after this. My contribution to the plotline of Jesus’ life was over at that point and what happened to me was of little significance to them. Still, Matthew and Luke see my story through to its grisly end. Matthew says that I repented, returned the money to the chief priests and hung myself. Luke says that I didn’t repent, but that I used the money to buy myself some property on which I promptly tripped, spilling my guts and dying unintentionally. Others outside of Scripture tell different versions of my death. Around the same time that Matthew and the others were writing, Papias of Hierapolis told the story of my body swelling uncontrollably until I could no longer step off to the side of the road and I was consequently run over by a chariot and killed. A shameful way to die. (Matthew 27:3-10; Acts 1:18)
My life and my death are mystery, left to history to try to discern and to shape as they see fit. All you know of me is that I brought the soldiers to Gethsemane to arrest Jesus. You don’t know why. You don’t know whose authority I was under – my own? Satan’s? Jesus’s? You don’t know what I thought would happen. You don’t know what I did with the blood money. You don’t know if I killed myself or if fate had its way with me.
Neglected Word 