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THE MAN WHO SOLD OUT GEORGE

For several years he had been a disciple. Working hard, late hours, promoting the agenda and the dreams and the "(quote) kingdom" of his chosen leader. He'd been a supporter for such a long time, a cheerleader, a defender of his boss. But now, at the most critical moment in the quest, the ugliest word in any relationship showed up: BETRAYAL.

I'm speaking, of course, about George Stephanopoulos, former senior advisor to President Bill Clinton. All during the 1992 campaign, this short, messy-haired whiz kid was on television, putting out fires, faxing out the latest poll numbers and position statements. By his own admission, he worked all day, every day, for six straight months without a break to get the governor from Arkansas into the White House. Then during the first Clinton term, he kept the same long hours, doing the hard jobs, pushing the agenda of the Democratic kingdom.

Then this past January, 1998 there was a two-page spread in Newsweek, written by this same Stephanopoulos, now a contributor to Newsweek as well as ABC News. And he himself chose the headline: "A Question of Betrayal." Of course, we can look back on what he said from our perspective late in this tumultuous, scandal-ridden year. But as the Monica Lewinsky charges and the Linda Tripp tapes were just coming to light, Stephanopoulos had this to say:

"Right now, I don't know whether to be angry, sad or both. But if the Lewinsky charges are valid, I know this: I'm livid. It's a terrible waste of years of work by thousands of people with the support of millions more."

Then, of course, this last August the other shoe did drop. And George Stephanopoulos wrote again for Newsweek magazine, with a shorter, but very similar two-word headline. "The Betrayal." That was all.
And then we travel back to the year 31 A.D. What we have here, as you and I think about that long-ago Thursday evening with Jesus and His 12 disciples, is an exact reversal of this . . . but still betrayal. An aide, or disciple, works with a leader for three-and-a-half years. He believes in the agenda. He pushes the Messiah's platform, attends all the meetings, organizes the crowds. But then, as he finally realizes that they've come to a crossroads, that Jesus is going one way while he wants to go another, then HE leaves the room. HE calls the reporters; HE sells out the campaign. And for the next 2,000 years the name of Judas Iscariot is forever linked with the word betrayal.

We've been mentioning the wonderful book The Jesus I Never Knew, authored by evangelical writer Philip Yancey. And he comments that while the name Jesus is still very popular today, especially in Latin American countries, you don't find very many moms and dads picking the name of Judas to give their kids.
"The name ‘Judas,' once common, has all but disappeared," he writes. "No parent wants to name a child after the most notorious traitor in history."

In fact, the word "judas" has even made it into the dictionary as a regular old noun. Did you know that?

"Judas: one who betrays another under the guise of friendship."

So let me ask you this: what can we learn from this guy, this villain? We've been saying this week that we're studying a "Must-See" Thursday night. Everything that happened that evening wasn't just an act of treachery or a moment of heroism, but also a huge, vital, life-changing lesson for people like you and me living 20 centuries later. What can we learn from Judas? Is there more of a lesson than: "Don't betray the leader"?

We can look for a long time at this man's life — and then peek in the mirror at the same time, trying to spot some Judas-like traits in our own hearts. Was it a desire for 30 pieces of silver? Apparently not, because he threw that money back in the priests' faces. The book of John does say in chapter 12 that Judas was a thief, but I don't think we find the deepest layers of his sin, his betrayal, here. It wasn't really about money.

Was it power, then? Yes, in a way. We've been discovering that all 12 disciples wanted power; they all were eager for political influence, both for the movement but especially for themselves personally.

But the bottom line was simply this: Judas' road went one way, and Jesus' another. That's all. Judas had political ambitions; Christ did not. Judas wanted to rule men's lives; Christ only wanted to win their hearts. For three-and-a-half years, Judas and his 11 friends had been thinking about thrones right there in Jerusalem; and finally, right around this time and especially on Thursday night, Jesus made it absolutely clear to them that it wasn't going to be. He was going to the Cross, not to the White House or to the Knesset.

And out of 12 frail, human, mixed-motived men, one decided to do his U-turn right then. "I'm getting out," he said to himself. Actually, the betrayal and the money were one final effort, one last-ditch political maneuver to get Jesus back onto HIS road. And when that didn't work, it was over. It's interesting that the name "Iscariot" might well have indicated Judas' involvement with an anti-Roman sect, the Sicarii. One dictionary makes this simple observation:

"[Judas] may have betrayed Jesus out of disappointment that Jesus was not the political Messiah he had longed for."

And you know, friend, that's what makes this so chilling for us; that's why this is a "must-see" situation. You and I must look at this man, this story . . . because if there was ever a time where the expression, "There but for the grace of God go I" — this is that time.
There was nothing that unusual about Judas. He was proud; so were the others. He wanted power; so did they. He liked money; well, don't we all? In fact, Yancey makes this frightening observation about this most infamous of betrayers:

"Judas' disenchantment differed, again, only in degree from what other disciples had felt. When it became clear that Jesus' kind of kingdom led to a cross, not a throne, EACH ONE OF THEM slunk away into the darkness."

Have you ever thought about that? On that Thursday night, if you talk about "taking the other road," they all did it, not just Judas. They all fled. They all turned away from Jesus and His plans. "Pray with Me," He begged them. "Nope. Too sleepy." And when they heard the clanking of the swords, they found eleven different roads out of that darkened garden. Jesus really had 12 betrayers, not just the one.

And this brings it right down to today. If betrayal means to sense that Christ is on one road, and you want to be on another one . . . how many of us have done that? First of all, we think of the person who comes face to face with the Christian message, the invitation. It looks good, it sounds good, it feels right. BUT . . . And there's always that "but." Which has led so many to turn away.

But what about me? A born-again believer. A Christian minister. Maybe you've been sitting in the pews for many years too. You and I are followers; we're the George Stephanopouloses of the faith. Does any form of disenchantment ever creep into our lives? A doctrine we struggle with, a quiet, unnoticed sin we cherish. Or we feel God calling us to something that seems hard or unreasonable: forgiving an enemy, being kind to those who hurt us, giving money we'd rather keep. Surrendering pride. We see that Jesus and His kingdom are on this road, and, maybe subconsciously, we'd rather be over here or over there. And we don't leave the camp, perhaps . . . or perhaps we do. But slowly, imperceptibly, we pull back from Him. "I'm not ready for that yet," we say. "I'm a follower, but not that KIND of follower. Not yet. Not now." And friend, I look into my own heart and know that this is a judas moment. It really is.

But as we gaze back through our time telescopes, there's one other picture we need to see in this Judas story. Philip Yancey notices it for us:

"Shusako Endo, the Christian novelist in Japan, centered many of his novels on the theme of betrayal," he writes. "Silence, his best known, tells of Japanese Christians who recanted their faith under persecution by the shoguns. Endo had read many thrilling stories about the Christian martyrs, but none about the Christian traitors. How could he? None had been written." Which is true, isn't it? But he goes on. "Yet, to Endo, the most powerful message of Jesus was his unquenchable love even for — especially for — people who betrayed Him. When Judas led a lynch mob into the garden, Jesus addressed him as ‘Friend.' The other disciples deserted Him but still He loved them. His nation had Him executed; yet while stretched out naked in the position of ultimate disgrace, Jesus roused Himself for the cry, ‘Father, forgive them. . . .'"

Let me ask you something. When we realize that Jesus loves a Judas, does that make this moment of self-examination less important, or more so? Friend, the more Christ loves us, the more devastating and tragic the decision to sell Him out. The Bible tells us that "(quote) Satan entered into Judas"; the betraying of Jesus is no small, innocent, trivial thing. In the great war of all wars, we are either with this Leader or not with Him; we're either saved or lost. It really scares me to peek into that small group of 13 men at the table that Thursday night and hear Jesus quietly say — this is Luke 22:21:

"But for the one who turns Him in, turns traitor to the Son of Man, this is doomsday." The Living Bible says: "But, oh, the horror awaiting that man."

And it was horror for Judas Iscariot, who would not walk on Jesus' road. Friend, how will it be for you and for me?