In Acts 1, the disciples take their first act after the Ascension: replace Judas. But the story of our lives shows that replacing him only papers over the trauma. Jesus taught them as much. Their work isn’t to forget their enemies, but to love them. Not to pretend the world is broken, but work to heal it.
Dealing with trauma and the command to love
Easter 7B | Acts 1:15-17, 21-26, John 17:6-19
It’s a strange thing to be talking about Judas now, isn’t it? Aren’t we done with him? And really, hasn’t he been…taken care of? He served his purpose.
And isn’t this an odd time to have Judas come up in two of our readings? He reminds us of the Passion, because that’s when we hear about him! At the Last Supper—when he eats with Jesus and then betrays him.
And really, let’s be honest, talking about Judas at the end of Easter really harshes the vibe, man. We’ve been talking about love and Jesus and being all “Alleluia! Alleluia!” We’ve got flowers again and graduations and nesting doves above the door and 80 degrees outside and brunch! Why in the world would we talk about Judas now? Shouldn’t we be over him by now?
I’m not a psychologist, but there’s something really telling that the story isn’t done with Judas. It’s like the scripture and the lectionary combine to remind us of the trauma. To remind us, like in real life, that if we don’t reflect on our history it will haunt us.
And we would be wise to remember that we don’t simply “get over” anything without working at it.
We go to therapy and seek counseling. We get help. Which often goes against a cultural mandate to do it on your own: even if it means using unhealthy coping strategies—from dissociation to stress eating.
And we pass on this nonsense with insufferable arrogance. We actually think traumas can be easily and finally banished. Just think it away! Just be healthy!
Traumas change our epigenetic makeup and reside in our bodies. Traumas always come back because they never really leave. And maybe we’re wrong: the work isn’t ridding ourselves of trauma but to seek healing, transforming it? Perhaps transforming our own DNA?
Judas Again
We get Judas again because Judas is still around. Even when he leaves, he’s present.
And there are so many things about Judas we imagine from the slim evidence in Scripture. He’s our Rorschach test.
When you look at Judas, what do you see?
Do you see the devil, the adversary, the tempter?
Is he the personification of disloyalty, selfishness, greed?
Maybe he’s the epitome of fear, disappointment, and outrage?
Do we see Judas as misunderstood; the “good German” just following orders (from God)? Or maybe the picture of disbelief and a lack of faith?
Who is Judas really? None of these things? All of them?
And why do we care? Why do we flesh out his story in ways we don’t with any other disciple? And I’m not even talking about the ones we forget about. I’m talking about Thomas, Andrew, James, John, and Peter.
Judas has been a huge historical obsession for Christians. Because we’ve never gotten over it. Judas never really left!
The Rebound Apostle
Of course the apostles tried to get over him. They’ve torn him out of all the group photos. They’ve unfriended him on Facebook, deleted his number from their phones: they are so ghosting him. But now, they’re getting up the courage to date again.
And finding a rebound for Judas is really easy. They look at the dudes who’ve been with them the whole time and they apparently just pick two of them at random, pray about it, and then take a vote. And voila! Judas is replaced! So simple!
But we all know he’s still there, right? They can replace him, but the ghost lingers forever. He’s a part of them, and really always will be.
But that isn’t necessarily as bad as we think. Most of us have experienced loss, betrayal. Friends who are friends no longer. But we also know of times which were beautiful, and can’t be restored. People and encounters which were just in that season of life. And those are in that memory too.
When I hear Jesus pray
“But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves.”
he says it after the betrayer and the fulfillment of scripture and the stunning turn toward his crucifixion. Like the point is the completeness of joy—not happiness, joy. The spontaneous response of awe that raises in the midst of the ordinary. It bubbles up and escapes like a giggle, like belching happy bursts up from the gut.
Even as the ghost of Judas lingers and the physical Jesus departs, joy remains, joy returns.
This is the in-between Sunday.
On Thursday, we celebrated the Ascension, one of the principal feasts of the church and the day we remember Jesus departing after the resurrection.
Now we’re in the in-between week because Jesus left on Thursday and the Spirit will show up next Sunday in the Pentecost. Thematically, it’s the perfect time to engage the idea of loss and joy at the same time.
And it gives us this beautiful juxtaposition of Judas who never leaves and yet they’re trying to replace him at the time that Jesus is leaving them and we all know He can’t be replaced.
But it actually serves, not only as contrast, but comparison. Jesus doesn’t really leave any more than Judas does. He can’t be forgotten. His teachings don’t leave their memories and his love never leaves their hearts.
Jesus is always there. Even as he goes away, promising to return, he remains there inside of them.
The Prodigal Presence
It reminds me of the parable we call the Prodigal Son but I call the parable of the Lost Sons. It’s a story about a son who disowns his family and runs away, but they’re never really gone from his heart. And he’s never really gone.
And when he returns, his Dad welcomes him home again. Restored as if the family were never broken, a son as if he never wasn’t one. No matter what the son had to say about it.
His big brother, in the end is jealous. He threatens to go. He threatens the same fate. And his Dad comes to him too. Why break what needn’t be broken? Why leave what will always be home? Being with you has been paradise! Has your fear and jealousy turned it into a prison?
I love that story. A parent is always a parent, even when their children aren’t there. And children are always children, even when their home doesn’t feel like home. We may not all be parents, our parents may not be perfect, but we’re all God’s children.
Dealing with Memory
It’s a strange thing, dealing with memory. The bright reminders fill us with joy and the haunts convince us we’re good for nothing. Like words etched on our hearts like its a stone tablet—like our parents are gods—their lips like fingertips. Words which could inspire our greatness or drive us to rebel. Or worse.
Like the words my mother told me of my childhood—of happy dispositions…before the hormones. Words which continue to resonate many, many years later. Words which continue to change me and encourage me to change; to be better. The child she always knew I was and the adult I always could become.
And I know the power of words to shape and to shame; to mold my own children and all of you. Words of comfort and challenge, of identity and opportunity, of compassion and hope. Words I choose to use to encourage and share all that is ours with love and respect.
Because God’s dream for us isn’t limited by our traumas and bad decisions. We aren’t always and forever the worst things we imagine God thinks of us. But the very ones God has blessed and called “very good.”
Children of the In-Between
We are children of the in-between teaching one another how to love what others hate and bless what others curse. Inheritors of Jesus, like family, children not once removed. Even our traumas teach us, a talisman, iconic, enduring, even when fading into our past.
Like Jesus, with us here, in us. Everything that was his: God’s, ours. A life in creation, beautiful and beautifully made. All at once it is given to us to share, to love, and receive with hearts full of gratitude and pure joy.
May we savor this life, even this moment, for what it is: an ever-present communion with God. The one who always loves us and inspires our love to heal the world.