Dear Briarwood Family of Faith and Friends,

Below you will find the manuscript of the sermon for March 20, 2022. I want to thank Linda Hill who has been proofing the sermons for us. She is a wonderful editor, and I am very grateful for her help.

Yours with Christ,

Charles

The Garden of Betrayal and Love
John 18:1-27

Betrayal is a most unfortunate, but all too common, occurrence in human relationships. Spouses sometimes betray their wedding vows, not only by infidelity, but also by failing to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death parts the couple. It is very hard for couples to remain completely true to each other amid life’s failures and successes.

Children sometimes betray the trust their parents place in them by deviating from the path that leads to life and choosing a path that leads to degradation and darkness.

Co-workers can betray each other by stealing a good idea, taking credit for it, and reaping the professional rewards.

Politicians! We hardly need to mention their betrayals. They promise their constituents one thing when they are campaigning and vote differently once they are in office.

World leaders betray their own citizens and other countries by abusing their power as Vladimir Putin has done to the Russian people and the nation of Ukraine.

To our eternal shame, even clergy betray their flocks by embezzlement and sins of the flesh.

Betrayal is an all-too-common occurrence in the fabric of human relations.

This morning’s reading from John Chapter 18 is filled with betrayals. Judas, who was one of the twelve apostles and part of Jesus’ inner circle, came under the influence of the evil one. As John told us last Sunday in John Chapter 13, “The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him” (vs. 2). We know from the other gospels that Judas was dishonest. He was prone to steal from the common purse. Part of Judas’ motivation for betraying Jesus was the thirty pieces of silver the Jewish authorities had promised him, but Judas’ motives probably ran much deeper than greed.

The word associated with Judas’ name, “Iscariot,” may be the Greek equivalent of the Latin word “sicarius,” meaning dagger. If so, Judas’ nickname was “the dagger.” The dagger-men were part of the Zealot faction in first-century Palestine. They were committed to ousting the Romans. They were known for stabbing unsuspecting Roman soldiers with long daggers.

Perhaps it dawned on Judas that Jesus was not the Messiah he envisioned, the king who would lead a revolt against the hated Romans. If so, Judas must have felt betrayed by Jesus. After all, he had spent three years of his life following the Lord. Jesus’ washing of the disciples’ feet and his interpretation of the servant-act would have confirmed Judas’ suspicions about Jesus’ messiahship.

John tells us that Judas knew the garden where Jesus had assembled with the disciples. He knew the place because Jesus often met there with the disciples. Judas brought a detachment of soldiers together with police from the chief priest and Pharisees. They came armed with weapons and carrying torches and lanterns. Unlike the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Judas does not betray Jesus with a kiss. Instead, he stands silently in the shadows watching the events unfold.

The chief priests and the Pharisees betrayed their office. They held a kangaroo court in the cover of darkness. They presented no evidence against Jesus and failed to protect him from violence. You will recall that one of the police officers struck Jesus in the face and berated him for speaking the truth.

Peter’s betrayal is perhaps the worst of all the betrayals that night. Perter was the first to publicly affirm that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God (Mt. 16:16). In response to Jesus’ demand to wash his feet, Peter enthusiastically said, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head” (Jn. 13:9). He was all in. In the garden of betrayal, Peter had a sword concealed in his cloak. He drew it and attacked the high priest’s slave, cutting off his ear. John tells us the slave's name, Malchus.

Despite his enthusiasm and his willingness to shed blood in a futile attempt to protect Jesus from the armed cohort that came to arrest him, Peter quickly succumbed to fear. He did retain enough courage to follow Jesus along with another unnamed disciple. Scholars have speculated that the other disciple was John, the author of the gospel. If so, John is discretely inserting himself into the narrative. The unknown disciple had connections with the high priest. As a result, he was able to gain entry to the courtyard and talked the woman keeping the gate into letting Peter come in, too.

The woman at the gate asked Peter, “You are not also one this man’s disciples, are you?” The question is phrased to elicit a negative answer, and Peter obliges. He dishonestly asserts, “I am not.” The police and the slaves made a charcoal fire to warm themselves in the night air. Peter joined the group. The group asked him the same question. “You are not one of this man’s disciples, are you?” Again, they expected a negative answer, and Peter obliged again: “I am not.” One of the slaves who was related to Malchus said, “Did I not see you in the garden with him?” For a third time, Perter denied his association with Jesus. At that moment the cock crowed prophetically.

In the flickering light of the charcoal fire, in the shadows of a courtyard, Peter lost his nerve. The instinct for self-preservation seized him, and his commitment to Jesus evaporated.

Through the centuries, Christians have seen in Peter’s denial a type of the perennial temptation that plagues all followers of Jesus Christ. We do not deny Jesus publicly. We come to church every Sunday to proclaim our faith in Jesus as Savior and Lord, but privately, in the shadows of our lives, we sometimes betray the Lord by the things we say, or do, or think. We deny Christ by sins of commission, by what we do, and by sins of omission, by what we fail to do.

This realization prompted the sixteenth-century Austrian poet and hymn writer Johann Heermann to pen the words to the classic Lenten hymn “Ah, Holy Jesus.” The lyrics are in part,

Ah, holy Jesus, how has thou offended,
That mortal judgment hath on thee descended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.

Who was the guilty? who brought this upon thee?
It is my treason, Lord that hath undone thee!
‘Twas I Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee;
I crucified thee.

This is a painful and sobering thought. During the season of Lent, it is appropriate to ask ourselves, “How have I denied Jesus? How have I betrayed the Lord?” Then we must take those painful realizations of betrayal to Jesus, confessing them, asking for forgiveness, and seeking renewed commitment to follow as faithful disciples.

But the story of the garden of betrayal is not over yet. Think back to another garden, the first garden, Eden. Adam and Eve betrayed their Maker by disobeying the command not to eat of the forbidden fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. They realized they were naked for the first time and made themselves improvised clothing from the garden’s foliage to conceal their nakedness. When they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, calling their names, they hid themselves among the trees. Eden was also a garden of betrayal.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, the roles are reversed. Sinful, violent men with weapons and torches come to the garden seeking someone by name. They are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, but unbeknownst to them the one they are seeking is God in the flesh. Jesus does not hide himself. He steps forward to meet the mob and asks them, “Whom are you looking for?” (vs. 4 and 7). The armed cohort answers, “Jesus of Nazareth.” Jesus replies, “I am.” Normally the phrase would be translated, “I am he” or “I am the one,” but set against the backdrop of John’s gospel, with all of its “I AM” statements, Jesus is declaring himself to be God. Recall that the name of God revealed to Moses at the burning bush was YAHWEH, “I AM that I AM.” The narrative itself bears witness to Jesus’ deity. The armed mob steps back and falls to the ground. Their involuntary action mirrors what people in the Bible do when they come face to face with God.

N.T. Wright, a British New Testament scholar, describes the moment powerfully. “The New Adam steps forward to meet the old. The Light of the World stands before those who, in their darkness, have come with torches and lanterns. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness is not going to extinguish it. The vulnerable man standing before them in the garden, glimpsed in the flickering torch light, is the one who from all eternity was equal with the Father. He is the I AM, the bread of life, the Light of the World, the resurrection and the life, the way, the truth, and the life.”

There is one other important element. When confronted by the armed soldiers and police, Jesus commands them, “If you are looking for me, let these men go” (vs. 8). It is not a suggestion but an imperative. The mob complies with Jesus’ order. John said of Jesus last week in Chapter 13 that “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the uttermost” (Jn. 13:1). Confronted with a dangerous mob, Jesus was concerned for the safety of his disciples. There is no greater love than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends. Jesus acted for the sake of the remaining eleven disciples, including Peter, who would soon deny him three times. Behold the love of God in Christ Jesus!

The same is still true for us. Though we have denied Christ, though human sin necessitated Jesus’ crucifixion to take away the sin of the world, Jesus still loves us to the uttermost.

This Lenten season, as we examine ourselves, as we discover our own betrayals of Jesus, let us not lose sight of the great, great love of Jesus Christ. He stood alone in the garden for us. He submitted to unjust trials for us. He was flogged and crowned with thorns for us. He was crucified, died, and was buried for us. On the third day, he rose from the grave for us. Jesus loves us to the uttermost. Let us love him in return with all of our heart and mind and strength.

Let us say with Johann Heermann,

For me, kind Jesus, was thy incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and thy life’s oblation,
Thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,
for my salvation.

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
Think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
not my deserving.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.