Read: Matthew 26:36-56; 27:1-5

When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders. He said, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself (Matthew 27:3-5, NRSV).

What was Judas thinking when he betrayed Jesus? If ever there were a time to ask, “What brought THAT on?” it’s this one.

Unfortunately, there is no way to know for sure. Greed seems the most obvious motive, but it may be too simple. Thirty pieces of silver is a relatively small sum, after all, and Judas ends up giving even that back. Some suggest that his actions were a twisted act of faith—that he was trying to force Jesus’ hand somehow. Perhaps he thought that, if pressed, Jesus would call down “twelve legions of angels” (Matthew 26:53) and fully reveal his power. But all of this is speculation, and Matthew doesn’t really indulge our curiosity on this point.

While we can’t be sure what Judas is thinking, there is one poignant clue as to what Jesus is thinking. When Judas betrays him in the garden with a kiss, Jesus says, “Friend, do what you are here to do” (Matthew 26:49). Unless he is being ironic, Jesus’ choice of the word “friend” may suggest that Jesus has already forgiven the unforgivable.

This seems to be the explanation that Ruth Etchells runs with in her poem “The Ballad of the Judas Tree.” As a forgiven sinner myself, I find it strangely freeing.

“The Ballad of the Judas Tree” by Ruth Etchells

In Hell there grew a Judas Tree
Where Judas hanged and died
Because he could not bear to see
His master crucified

Our Lord descended into Hell
And found his Judas there
For ever hanging on the tree
Grown from his own despair

So Jesus cut his Judas down
And took him in his arms
“It was for this I came” he said
“And not to do you harm

My Father gave me twelve good men
And all of them I kept
Though one betrayed and one denied
Some fled and others slept

In three days’ time I must return
To make the others glad
But first I had to come to Hell
And share the death you had

My tree will grow in place of yours
Its roots lie here as well
There is no final victory
Without this soul from Hell”

So when we all condemned him
As of every traitor worst
Remember that of all his men
Our Lord forgave him first.

Ponder: Have you ever wondered if you were beyond the reach of God’s power to see and save?

Pray: Where can I go from your spirit, O God? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there (Psalm 139:7-8).

Read: Isaiah 53

Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions; crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed (Isaiah 53:4-5, NRSV).

It’s almost impossible for Christians to read Isaiah 53 without thinking about Jesus. While it’s not wrong for us to do so, we may be limiting our appreciation of this passage if we jump too soon to a New Testament interpretation.

One of my favorite professors used to press his students to explore the original context of Old Testament passages by saying, “It must have meant something to somebody sometime.” In the spirit of that assignment, and as part of the “What Brought THAT On?” theme of this series, I’d like to spend a few minutes wondering what the familiar words of Isaiah 53 might have meant to the people who heard them first. It’s pure speculation, of course. But it may give us a better sense of how the Holy Spirit prepared the way for the Messiah.

So, to borrow a phrase from Shakespeare, “entertain conjecture of a time” when the exiled people of God sought to make sense of their collective trauma. The Temple was a charred ruin, the promised land was lost, and the descendants of Abraham and Sarah sat down to weep beside Babylonian streams….

*******

Reprisals. Our captors said that there would be reprisals if the “culprit” didn’t come forward. Nobody knew quite what that meant, but we weren’t eager to find out. So, the elders met late into the night and came out the next morning shaking their heads. How do you identify the guilty one when no one is guilty? They’re not claiming we’re perfect, by any means. But of THIS crime? No, the consensus was that we were being framed. Someone from outside the community was taking advantage of our disadvantage for their own gain.

You’d think we’d be used to that kind of thing by now, but one never really gets used to racial hatred.

So, as the noon deadline approached, we gathered in the square in front of city hall. The tension was palpable. Parents clung to their little ones. Teenagers glommed together with clenched fists, whispering angry words like “unfair,” and “injustice.” Some people prayed. Others—having given up on that activity long ago—waited silently, shoulders hunched, braced for the worst.

Then he stepped forward. Just as the governor was about to give the order. Just as the guards were about to grab who knows how many people to be made “examples” of. When everyone else was stepping back, he stepped forward.

Later, one of the prophet Isaiah’s students wrote a poem about him. Several, actually. They’re calling them the “Songs of the Suffering Servant.” They’re beautiful, of course. But they can’t come close to the beauty of what he did that day. It broke over us like a wave. Here was this man of whom no one expected anything. He wasn’t much to look at, and we hadn’t even treated him very well, if you know what I mean. And yet, he gave himself up for us.

You could have heard a pin drop. As the poet puts it, “upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.”

The odd thing is, the whole episode has made us start thinking about our own suffering in new ways. Maybe there is more going on here than we know. Maybe God is up to something and we just can’t see it yet….

Ponder: How does this imagined story affect your understanding of the Christian story? Of inspiration?

Pray: May the beauty of your grace break over us like a wave, O Suffering Servant.

Read: 1 Corinthians 14:26-36

Women should be silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be subordinate, as the law also says. If there is anything they desire to know, let them ask their husbands at home. For it is shameful for a woman to speak in church (1 Corinthians 14:34-35, NRSV).

In the interest of full disclosure, I should acknowledge that I speak in church on a regular basis. And while my husband is a highly intelligent person, he would be the first to guffaw at the prospect of my going to him for guidance on matters of doctrine. Rock music, yes. Doctrine, no.

So, what are we to do with passages that seem to slam the door on women’s full participation in the church?

Some, of course, insist that this is a definitive word for all time. The simplicity and apparent obedience of this stance is appealing to many. Its advantages start to fade, however, as soon as we seek to apply it. Why should we issue a gag order for wise and intelligent women whose words would benefit the whole community?

Early in my career I was privileged to work with Dr. Isabel Wood Rogers. “Dr. Izzie” served as a mentor to generations of students. She held a Ph.D. in ethics and theology from Duke University and served as moderator of the PC(USA)’s 199^th General Assembly. Yet even Dr. Izzie had stories to tell about congregations trying to figure out how to avail themselves of her gifts without violating what they perceived to be Scripture’s prohibition against women speaking in church. One congregation got around it by allowing her to speak from a lectern (not the pulpit), and then only if she agreed to wear a hat. Having known her, I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous about that story—the congregation’s machinations or the idea of Izzie in a hat.

So, even the “Paul said it; I believe it; that settles it” approach has its problems. In fact, there is some reason to think that the apostle Paul may not have said it. Some ancient manuscripts place these two controversial verses after verse 33, while others place them after verse 40. This suggests that they may, in fact, be a marginal gloss inserted into the text of Paul’s letter by someone else. Interesting as this suggestion is, it doesn’t really solve the problem for those of us who recognize the whole, complicated project as Scripture.

More productive, I think, is simply to acknowledge that these verses were written to a very particular context two millennia removed from our own. This is where the “What brought THAT on?” question comes in handy. In that culture, it was considered shameful for women to question or contradict men in public. Most of us do not live in such a culture. So, we need to receive these ancient words with a large grain of salt and ask, “What do these words mean in our culture?”

Interpreting the Bible is not for the lazy. It requires that we look not only at the cultural and historical context of a passage but at its literary context as well. I think the literary context of these verses gives us an important clue as to how to apply it today.

Paul’s overriding concern in 1 Corinthians 14 seems to be the edification of the whole church community. “Let all things be done for building up,” he says in v. 26. With that as our guide, I think we can safely dispense with the gag order.

I, for one, will continue to speak in church as often as I’m invited—and probably sometimes when I’m not.

Ponder: Who were the women who helped you to grow in faith? How would you have fared without them?

Pray: Thank you for calling wise and gifted women to lead your church, O God. Make your church ready to receive them.

Read: Psalm 137

O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock! (Psalm 137:8-9, NRSV).

Before you back away from this text in horror, pause for a minute to think about what’s behind it. And before you wish you could somehow cut it out of the canon, consider what it asks of you. Finally, bear in mind the awful possibility that you might need it someday.

Now, let’s look at all of these suggestions one at a time.

What’s behind this outburst? The first clue comes from the opening of the psalm, which is unusual for the specificity of its context. Most psalms are hard to pin down historically, but this one is clearly a psalm that was written “by the rivers of Babylon.” In other words, it was written by someone who had experienced the trauma and disillusionment that came when the Babylonian army swooped into Judah in 587 BCE. This was written by someone who had seen the Temple burned, the land lost, and scores of friends and relatives murdered. (So much for God’s promises to Abraham….)This was written by someone who had been carted off into a strange land to wait and wonder if God was even paying attention.

The second clue as to what brought this on is in the words, “Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us!” What’s been done, specifically? The next verse offers another clue. Imagine reading it with this inflection: “Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!” That’s right. These are the words of someone who has witnessed their children dashed against the rocks.

Suddenly, this psalm doesn’t seem so repugnant. Or perhaps it is, but we are beginning to understand why someone would scream it. We might scream it, too, if we had experienced what they had.

Now let’s consider what this psalm asks of us. At the very least, I think it’s an invitation to stand beside people who have suffered such atrocities. Unfortunately, war crimes are still being committed. While we may be tempted to run away, this psalm asks us to stay—to stand beside those who suffer and listen to their lament. Even more, it invites us to do whatever we can to put a stop to such horrors.

Finally—though it pushes us to think about the unthinkable—we need to bear in mind the awful possibility that we might need words like this someday. God forbid we should, but the very fact that this cry from the heart of darkness is part of Scripture implies that these words are not off limits. They are not pretty, but they are permitted. We can say them, and God can handle them.

The last half of Psalm 137 will never win any popularity contexts. But before we cut it from the canon, we need to imagine ourselves standing beside the person who wrote it. Because it is with Bible study as it is with real estate; the three most important words are location, location, location.

Ponder: Do you hear v. 8 as a cry for vengeance or a cry for justice? What’s the difference?

Pray: Give us the courage to stand beside those who suffer, merciful God. And when we suffer, give others the courage to stand beside us.

Read: Romans 7:14-20

I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate (Romans 7:15, NRSV).

Don’t you wish you knew what was behind this statement? This is really one of those times when I find myself asking, “What brought THAT on?” I’m imagining the apostle Paul in all sorts of situations—some of them unsavory. Oddly, those are the ones that make me like him a little more.

Any time we delve into a New Testament epistle, it’s important to remember that we are reading someone else’s mail. And since twenty-one out of the twenty-seven books of the New Testament ARE letters, that’s a lot of snooping.

Still, as Bible professor Peter Enns points out, the fact that these letters are included in the canon means that “we are supposed to read these letters—and not only read them, but find some way to draw them into our own lives.” Which is not to say we can just “drag these letters into our own life as is. We have to work at finding the connection between them and now.”*

Sometimes, finding that connection means doing some homework. Take, for instance, this verse from just a few chapters later in the book of Romans: “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God” (Romans 13:1). That’s a lovely verse…until it isn’t. If your particular politician is competent, wise, responsible, and sane, this verse is great. But what if they aren’t? We don’t have to work too hard to imagine what that might feel like. Do we still have to assume that an appalling politician’s leadership is “instituted by God”? It’s bad enough dealing with such people without granting them divine authority.

Enns suggests that we would do well to remember Paul’s context before we attempt to apply such verses to our own. The letter is written to first-century Christians in the city of Rome, after all. It was a place that was notoriously dangerous for both Christians and Jews. Paul himself ended up as a prisoner—and ultimately a martyr—there. So, maybe in this context, Romans 13:1 is “a word of wisdom for the church to keep a low profile and not to stir up trouble” (Enns, p. 259).

Having said all of this, however, I’m not sure we need too much context to help us get the gist of Paul’s I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate lament. The context of that statement seems to be, well, the human experience. We don’t need to know the particulars to understand what he’s talking about. We’ve all been there.

One of my favorite lines from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland is this one: “Alice generally gave herself very good advice…though she very seldom followed it.”

Who’d have thought it. Alice and Paul are on the same page.

Ponder: How are you doing with your New Year’s resolutions? What’s that about?

Pray: Inspire our good intentions, O God. Strengthen our attempts to fulfill them. Forgive us when we fall short.

*Peter Enns, How the Bible Actually Works: In Which I Explain How an Ancient, Ambiguous, and Diverse Book Leads Us to Wisdom Rather Than Answers—and Why That’s Good News (New York: HarperCollins, 2019), pp.  254-255.

Read: Psalm 46

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns…Be still, and know that I am God. I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth (Psalm 46: 4-5, 10, NRSV).

Chaos is all around in this psalm. First, there is cosmic chaos. (It’s never a good thing when the mountains slip into the heart of the sea.) Then, there is political chaos with the nations and the kingdoms slipping (That’s terrifying, too—just in a different way.)

But in the midst of all this chaos—Zion—the city of Jerusalem stands serene. It’s a still point at the center of the psalm. A place of safety where the people of God can take refuge. Why? Because God is there. “The Lord of hosts is with us,” the psalmist says. “The God of Jacob is our refuge.”

I’ve often wondered what specific situation gave rise to this psalm. It sounds like something that could have been written the night before a battle—maybe one of those times when Jerusalem was under siege. “God will help it when morning dawns,” the psalmist says. And even though there is reason to be afraid—to panic, even—the psalmist hears God saying, “Be still! Be still and know that I am God. I am exalted among the nations. I am exalted in the earth.”

It can’t have been easy to “be still” in that situation. It isn’t easy. When we’re afraid—when we feel our anxiety rising—it’s as if fear takes us by the throat. We start to panic. We want to run. But just when we feel like the fear is going to win, we hear God’s voice saying, “Be still. Be still.”

Our first thoughts might be, “Seriously? You want me to be still? In this situation?”

It’s only when we remember who God is that this inner stillness—this peace that passes understanding—is possible. The psalm says, “Be still and know that I am God. I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth.” So what if the nations are slipping—I am King of Kings and Lord of Lords! So what if the mountains are slipping—I am the creator of heaven and earth! Remember who you’re dealing with. The Lord of Hosts is with you—the God of Jacob is your refuge.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about Psalm 46 and my suspicion that it was written the night before a battle, but it reminded me of my great uncle, Ralph Bielema. Ralph was an army chaplain in WWII. He was sent to France just after D-Day and followed Patton’s troops through the Battle of the Bulge and the less-known (but every bit as horrific) Battle of Hurtgen Forest. At the end of the war, he witnessed the horrors uncovered in one of the newly liberated concentration camps.

Some years ago I inherited the communion cup that Ralph used during the war with those soldiers. By the time it found its way to me, it was black with tarnish, so one day I decided to take some silver polish to it. The cup cleaned up beautifully, but there was one area that no amount of polish could completely clean. All around the rim was a faint shadow. I realized—in a moment that still takes my breath away—that it was the shadow of all the lips that had sipped from that cup. For some of those men, it was surely their “last supper.” We can only hope that it brought them some comfort, some sense of that “peace that passes understanding.”

As we face the future, we can’t be sure what’s ahead. But we can be sure of one thing: The Lord of Hosts is with us, and the God of Jacob is our refuge. And that, is what makes it possible for us to face whatever comes with peace, courage, confidence, and joy. May God give you all of those things—now and in all the years ahead.

Ponder: What situations make you anxious or afraid? How might you find peace in the midst of that chaos?

Pray: Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire your still, small voice of calm, O Lord.

Introducing Our New Series: What Brought THAT On?

Have you ever read a Bible passage and found yourself wondering, “What brought THAT on?”

In this series we’ll explore the real or imagined back-stories for some of the passages that have left me wondering the same thing. We’ll never know whether they are right, I suppose. But just trying to figure them out can bring us to a deeper appreciation of these puzzling passages—and closer, perhaps, to what they may mean for our lives.

So, prepare for some good old-fashioned detective work as we ask, “What brought THAT on?”

Carol M. Bechtel