Betrayal

There are several passages in the Bible that cut me to the core.

Mark 14:43-50 is one of those passages.

Yesterday was one of those days that overwhelmed me with its fleeting sense of self-pity. A day when I am reminded that people are fickle, and friendships ebb and flow. I’ve had one relationship in particular that has been disappointing. One of those relationships where you think the friendship is growing stronger, when all of a sudden you’re dropped like a rotten egg. (And no, for those of you who are wondering, it wasn’t a dating relationship.)  It was just a simple grown up friendship. It’s difficult to explain, but it has left me with a sense of not being good enough, of somehow not measuring up. It has left me with the feeling that I wasn’t fun enough or understanding enough, or not something enough.

I know what you’re thinking. I shouldn’t waste my time even worrying about people like that. But you know it’s not that easy. It’s the people you like that usually get to you the most. So you scratch your head and wonder, and you look for someone to understand your plight, but you don’t want to sound like the whiny needy person who desperately wants a friend. I know you know what I’m talking about.

Anyway. I was feeling sorry for myself. And it was other things too. It was just one of those days where you wake up and things just don’t seem to be happening fast enough. People just don’t step up for you like you think they should. You feel like you’ve done so much for others, and expect the same in return, but the only sound that you hear is the sound of silence.

And then I read Mark 14:43-50.

It took me exactly 20 seconds to read this passage. It took me exactly 20 seconds to see the life that Jesus lived unravel. 20 seconds to see those closest to him not only turn their back on him, but betray him in the most unimaginable way. 20 seconds to watch relationships flounder, and loyalties disappear. And for what? Jesus spent his life doing good. He spent his life stepping up and doing more than anyone could imagine. He’d taught this group of men, and fixed their problems, and provided for their financial needs, he’d given them purpose for life, and a sense of something greater than their measly life of fishing day after day after day.

He’d given them hope.

And what did he get in return? Less than nothing.  See, nothing would have been better. Instead what he got was so much worse. Hatred. Abandonment. Denial.

I can almost understand the chief priests and scribes wanting to put an end to Jesus’ life and ministry.  But that’s not what hurts the most.

What gets me to the core is the kiss of one of his closest friends. What tightens my gut and burns my eyes and makes me feel like I can’t take a breath is that second when they all turn their back on him and run.

But suddenly I am given hope.  Hope that I am understood. Hope that the one who gave it all for me sees and knows and understands. Hope that he will never never ever turn his back on me.

Hope that I am loved.

By the almighty.

Forever.

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