The Kiss That Wounds

On Betrayal in the Place Where Love Was Given

“He that eateth bread with me hath lifted up his heel against me.”

John 13:18

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Betrayal does not come from strangers.

Strangers do not know where to place the knife.

Betrayal comes from those who have stood close enough to hear your breath. Those who have shared your table. Those who have seen your labor. Those who have received your love without suspicion.

Christ was not betrayed by Rome.

He was betrayed by one of the Twelve.

“One of you shall betray me.”

Matthew 26:21

One of you.

He did not say, one of them.

He did not say, an outsider.

He said, one of you.

One of those who walked with Him. One of those who heard His voice. One of those who were entrusted with His mysteries. One of those who loved Him.

And in that moment, something terrifying happened.

They did not point at Judas.

They pointed at themselves.

“Lord, is it I?”

Matthew 26:22

Each one knew.

Each one felt the unstable ground beneath his own heart.

Because something in them recognized the truth.

They were all capable of it.

Judas did not fall from another species.

He fell from among them.

He was trusted. He was loved. He was chosen. He held the common purse. He walked beside the Word made flesh.

And he betrayed Him with a kiss.

A kiss.

Not a blow.

Not a public accusation.

A sign of intimacy turned into an instrument of death.

This is the deepest wound.

But it is also the deepest revelation.

Because Judas is not only someone we mourn.

He is someone we recognize.

Saint Philip Neri understood this with terrifying clarity. Whenever he saw a man fall into grievous sin, he did not condemn him. He did not distance himself. He said, “There but the grace of God go I.”

He knew the truth.

Outside of grace, there is no limit to our capacity to betray love.

Peter swore he would never deny Christ.

He meant it.

He loved Him.

And yet within hours he denied Him three times, with curses, before a servant girl.

The others fled into the night.

They did not stand beneath the Cross.

They disappeared.

The betrayal of Judas was only the visible edge of a universal wound.

They all abandoned Him.

This is the truth we resist.

We want to believe we are different.

We want to believe we would have remained.

We want to believe our love would have endured.

But Christ reveals the truth when He says, “Without me ye can do nothing.”

John 15:5

Nothing.

Not remain faithful.

Not remain steadfast.

Not remain true.

Apart from grace, we do not remain.

We flee.

The Desert Fathers knew this.

Abba Poemen said, “Do not give your heart to that which does not satisfy your heart.”

But they also knew the deeper danger was not outside.

It was within.

Abba Macarius, when falsely accused and publicly humiliated, did not defend himself. He accepted the humiliation and said nothing. He knew that the same darkness he saw in others lived in him as well.

He did not trust himself.

He trusted only God.

This is the beginning of humility.

Not thinking ourselves incapable of betrayal.

But knowing we are capable of it.

Saint Sophrony wrote that the closer a man comes to God, the more he sees his own capacity for evil.

Not less.

More.

Because he sees that goodness does not originate in him.

It is given.

And it can be lost when he separates himself from its source.

This is why independence is so dangerous.

The moment man stands apart from grace, he falls into himself.

And himself is not stable.

Christ endured betrayal not only to reveal the sin of Judas.

But to reveal the truth about all of us.

We are the ones who sleep while He prays.

We are the ones who flee when He is seized.

We are the ones who deny Him when it becomes costly to remain.

And yet He loves us.

This is the mystery.

He washed the feet of Judas knowing what Judas would do.

He fed him.

He gave him His Body and Blood.

He loved him to the end.

Not because Judas was worthy.

But because love does not withdraw itself.

Saint Silouan said, “The Lord loves us such as we are.”

Not as we imagine ourselves to be.

Not as we present ourselves.

But as we are.

Capable of betrayal.

Capable of denial.

Capable of fleeing.

And yet still loved.

This destroys pride.

Because it removes every ground for judgment.

When we see betrayal in the Church, when we see men cast aside, when we see wounds inflicted by those closest to us, we must not only grieve.

We must tremble.

Because we are not standing outside the story.

We are standing inside it.

We are among the Twelve.

We are among those who said, “Lord, is it I?”

And the only honest answer is this.

Yes.

Without grace, it is I.

Without grace, I am Judas.

Without grace, I am Peter.

Without grace, I am among those who fled into the night.

But with grace,

with grace a man can remain.

Not because he is strong.

But because he no longer trusts himself.

He trusts the One who remained faithful when all others fell.

Christ was not destroyed by betrayal.

He passed through it.

And on the other side,

He forgave.

And He still offers His Body and Blood

to those who abandoned Him.