Who are we?
Welcome
Community
People
Families and Kids
History

What do we do?
Worship
Sermons
Music
Other Activities

What's Happening?
Events
Newsletter

What else do I need to know?
Location
Contact Us
Glossary
Links

Sermons

Friday March 25, 2005 - Good Friday, Children's Service, Year A

Judas's story

It's finally happened. Jesus is dead. After all the waiting, all the hoping, all the praying, in the end there was nothing we could do. Jesus is dead.

It began
on Sunday. We'd heard the rumors, seen the plotting for ourselves. The leaders were out to get him. They wanted him gone, out of their way, for good. We wanted to stay away from Jerusalem altogether , this Passover. Just this year; maybe next year
things would have calmed down. But this year
it was dangerous. He'd upset too many people, challenged them too many times. Or at least we could have slipped in quietly, while no one was looking, stayed quietly in some back alley, said our prayers, and then headed back to the comparative safety of the countryside,
with no one
any worse off.

Instead
he insisted on riding into town through one of the main gates, riding on a donkey! What was that supposed to mean? And of course, word got round that he was coming, and soon we were met by a crowd, waving branches and throwing their cloaks on the ground to make a special path, shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!'" And the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?'
So much for a quiet entry.

And then, then
he made matters worse. Instead of sending everyone away quietly, he went straight to the temple
and started tipping over tables and throwing chairs around
and accusing the people there, who were changing money and selling animals for sacrifice, he started accusing them
of being robbers.
And then
all the misfits came to him, the homeless, people who limped and needed help to find their way, and didn't wash properly or have decent clothes, the dregs of society, he touched them, and they said they were healed. But when the important people came, the religious leaders, the elders, when they came to him, he was rude to them and started telling stories that made them look stupid. And every time they asked him a question, he turned it back in their faces — and of course their opponents love it all — so that eventually they just stopped asking questions, and let him dig himself deeper and deeper into trouble.

And then there was that woman. We were having a quiet meal one night with some of his friends, Mary and Martha and Lazarus — you know, the one he brought back to life — and Mary
took a pound of perfume — do you know how much that cost?
She took a pound of perfume and poured it over his feet, and then wiped them dry
with her hair.
What a waste! We could have used that money far better. So many times we had to do without proper food or a place to stay, because we'd run out of money. And here she is, wasting perfume worth enough to keep us for a month! At the very least, the money could have been given to the poor. I tried to say something, but Jesus told me she had done the right thing.

And then last night. We had a meal, celebrating the Passover. We were well into the meal, when suddenly Jesus stripped down and started to wash everyone's feet. It made me VERY uncomfortable — whatever else I think of him, this is a job for servants, not for people like us. And then he sat down and started passing round bread, and talking about betrayal, and next thing he was giving me bread and telling me to get on with my business.
And everyone was staring at me, so I got up and left. I didn't really want to
but it seemed like I had no choice.

The Jewish leaders had been hanging round all week, whispering in the background. A couple of times they seemed like they were about to ask me something, but the crowds got in the way, and by the time I looked again they were gone. But theis time
they were waiting agin. Just outside the house where we'd been eating. I was feeling pretty mad at Jesus — why did he have to kick me out like that?
And so when they said to me that they'd give me cash
if I told them where he'd be later that night, I figured I might as well. HE certainly didn't want anything to do with me any more.
So I told them, and later that night
we went to the garden, the place he went most often to pray when he was in Jerusalem. I went ahead to make sure, and it wasn't long before I heard them coming, first that bumbling idiot Peter, and then the rest of the, and Jesus in the middle. I stayed hidden
while he and a couple of his friends — Peter of course, and John and James, the special ones — went off a little ways, and he began to pray.
After a while — a few minutes, a couple of hours, I couldn't tell which — I saw the soldiers coming. They were quiet, but you could see the glint of moonlight on their armor.

And then I kissed him. Jesus. On the cheek. Because, because he had been my friend, and it seemed wrong to just point at him. So I kissed him, I kissed him goodbye.

But not this sort of goodbye. I was mad at him, mad at him and his buddies. I never really fitted in. I was glad to be done with them, get back to my old life without all this religion business. But I didn't think it would be like this.

They were just the religious leaders. They had the power to ban him from the temple, to ruin down his name some, to make a laughing stock of him. I just thought they wanted to frighten him. Put him in a cell, interrogate him, scare him off. Put the fear of God into him, so that he would get rid of his stupid ideas of glory and go back to where he belonged, a carpenter's workshop in Galilee.

But I was wrong, so wrong. I didn't know
they were in league with the Romans. And with Roman cooperation, they didn't have to stop at scaring him. I never expected him to go to trial, never expected them to whip him and taunt him and shove a thorny crown on his head, never expected them
to crucify him.

Now he's hanging on the cross. This King of the Jews, it says over his head.
And I heard him, I heard him just say,
"Father, forgive them, they know not what they are doing."
I didn't know, I didn't know.
God, will you forgive me?

 

 

Sermon ©Raewynne J. Whiteley 2005