There is an icon my wife gave me years ago of Jesus being betrayed by Judas in the garden (Matt. 26:47-56). Judas looking quite boyish, almost more terrified than angry, wraps both arms around Christ and moves to give his Rabbi the kiss of death.
The whole scene is a torpor of movement and action: swords drawn, Malchus’ ear being severed, torches being raised, arms lifted, hands gripping bodies in the background, two men wave cudgels, and everyone’s legs and cloaks seem in a tangle. Two frightened on-lookers peek from behind a rock face —have they just woken from slumber?
In the midst of it all is the unshakable Jesus. Neither hurried nor passive. One has the sense of “Oh I’ve seen this before…. but where?” And then it hits you: this is the way Jesus looked when he calmed the wind and the waves (Mk. 4:35-41). In total command amidst total chaos. A true commander of men and master of self. There has never been a rival. He is altogether preeminent.
This betrayal scene is striking: here the whole world has turned on him. “Crucify him!” They demand his death, or they fade in the crowd and lock doors for fear of the mob. Heaven will darken against him. He will be forsaken. And yet there he stands! both feet planted on the firmness of the earth, the only solid thing in the sea of scrambling catastrophe. Everyone is frustrated and furious, but not him. Everyone scurrying, he remains unmoved, save by pity and obedience.
Who is this Son of Man? What gives this hovel-born heir of David this kind of monstrous confidence in the face of total discouragement and utter rejection? It is almost hideous the way he stands there secure in his footing, a sorrowful joy (or is it a joyful sorrow?) teasing the edge of his lips and the corners of his eyes.
He is the Beloved Son. And he remains here, as all things fall apart, confident like this because he is the God of Hope Incarnate, and the Son hopes perfectly on the Father.
I look at this image, this work of art from the hands of an unnamed monastic, and I consider the large-scale pity-parties I have thrown for myself when things don’t go the way I feel I have deserved. “But I’ve done all the right things!” I so often think. But this is empty. I, indeed, have not. No, not like Him. He has truly done all things well (Mk. 7:37), and this happens to him. “Why is this happening to me?” I ask when I feel betrayed by those I love. But my love has in fact not been perfect. But here in the scene before me is One whose ways are all love, who is Himself Love (1 Jn. 4:8).
And when He, this Jesus of Nazareth, suffers all the rejection and kisses of death and betrayal and utter abandonment, such as all my sufferings can raise no candle against, he throws no tantrum, he coddles no self-absorptive sentiment. He cries-out to the Father, and then, when that cry goes unanswered, commends his spirit, trusting Himself to the Hands of God (Lk. 23:46; cf. Ps. 31:5).
O! To be like Him!