This week is our Easter Play! Woohoo! It has been such an honor to lead its rehearsal sessions and watch these cast members bloom into dedicated actors. I am sure the performance will be a hit; but regardless of the outcome, I am immensely proud of all of them for showing up, investing their beautiful creative energy, and humoring my weird, drama-therapy, acting exercises.

This play tells the story leading up to Jesus’ death, which includes the story of Judas’ betrayal. On Friday at Boston Warm during Bible study we had a discussion about Judas. If you want to know a secret about me (as someone who identifies as spiritually non-religious), it’s that the character and story of Judas form one of my favorite parts of the Bible canon.

This interest was sparked a few years ago when I listened to a sermon in which the pastor gave a very compelling perspective on the story. She made the case that Judas’ betrayal was not a random act of evil, but a reaction to the feeling that he was betrayed by Jesus first. This feeling of betrayal was the result of a misunderstanding: when Jesus promised glory in God’s kingdom, Judas confused that with earthly glory.   He thought that following Jesus would make him rich, not just spiritually, but physically. He did not realize what they were up against and the weight of what had to be sacrificed in pursuit of their true goal. As such, when he did begin to realize this, he felt betrayed, perhaps even abandoned, by the one person he had trusted most.

One of the most interesting parts of this story to me is that Jesus expected this, and yet he could not (or would not) stop Judas from betraying him. Why? That’s something I could ponder for hours, but the answer I usually return to, and the one we discussed on Friday, is that it has something to do with free will. Because we have free will, we operate in the world as separate, autonomous beings, with separate desires, needs, and consequences. If this were true, then the most powerful thing one could do with their separateness and will would be  to choose unity. Perhaps that is why Jesus did not stop Judas:  because love is not love unless it is chosen, and Judas had to choose for himself. Jesus’ allowing Judas that choice was an act of love. Maybe, from his limited perspective, Judas thought he, too, was choosing love; and his failure to stay in alignment with real love was the tragic consequence of his misunderstanding.

I know this is a more existential spiral than I usually go on, but I want to share it, because it does relate to my perspective on collective healing. I believe that in order to truly bring the world into unity, we need to deeply understand those we fear and those whom we perceive to be against us. I’m sure many people in this community (perhaps even you reading this post) have felt betrayed, abandoned, misunderstood. Or perhaps you, like many of us, have shuddered in fear at the thought of horrible people who do horrible things. What if all of this happens because we have forgotten what it means to choose each other?

A few years ago, after hearing that sermon, I compiled these thoughts into a poem, so I will end this post with it. Before I do, I want to say that while I’m sure this play is not going to Broadway anytime soon (though, who knows), I hope that, at the very least, the process and experience have allowed the cast members to feel chosen, important, understood, and seen. That is all I am aiming to do in this space. Anything else–the laughs, artistry, and inspirations that might come out of it–is just a bonus.

“Judas” by Mary Schwabenland

Day you became the villain,
Day you could not break the chains of fate,
You had already discovered
That the glory he promised you
Would not come with robes and riches.
Your dream, crushed
By the realization that what you were up against
Was not merely an army, or a kingdom, or a land,
But something much deeper,
Something
That you probably had no hope of winning from the start.
And he, the one you trusted most,
Knew this, and did not stop you
From loving him, knowing
What it would cost you.

“Do quickly what you must do”,
He tells you,
And it is almost like instruction.
Day you became the puppet,
Day you became the pawn.

“Do quickly what you must do”,
He tells you,
And it is almost like permission.
Day you became the pardoned,
Day you became the pitied one.

“Do quickly what you must do”,
He tells you, and it is almost like a dare,
Like a test,
An orchestration of your weaknesses,
Day you became the prince of pain,
Day your savior wasn’t enough,
Day you walked into the darkness and never walked back out.

“Do quickly what you must do”, and you did,
You did it with a kiss on the cheek,
Like it was something very gentle.
And it was with both love and grief that he looked into your eyes,
Day of divine failure,
Day you lost your innocence,
Day you forgot how to choose,
Day your reflection tried to warn you,
Day you betrayed yourself back.