He lifts his voice, and conviction and peace fall upon them who listen to him. Repentance is hurled to the sinful heart with the words, “His yoke is easy, and His burden light!” while himself is drooping and fainting under the weight of deceit which is upon him. Wherever he goes he proclaims “Peace!” to the children of men—and peace visits all who will hearken to him. But in his own breast—ah, there is warfare and strife, the accusings of conscience, the warnings of wrath to come! In the chambers of sickness, where the dying were restored to health; by the wayside, where the foully diseased were cleansed—before the opened tomb, whence at his call the dead came clothed once again with the garment of life, amid the multitudes who listened with deepest interest to his most forcible words, alone, in the solitude of his own heart, or when in holy communion of thought with the faithful brethren, alike at all times, and in all places, heard he the still small voice of his accusing spirit.
The outward form of grace was his, but the purification had not penetrated into the recesses of his heart! The agonizing knowledge that at each onward step he was plunging deeper and deeper into the sin which could not be forgiven—the continual remembrance that he was dispensing to others the mercy of that God who would forget to be gracious to him, may be easily conjectured; but may Heaven spare us all from such agony of conflicting thoughts and hopes as must have been the daily and nightly companion of Judas Iscariot, long before he came out from the disciples’ ranks to betray his lord into the hands of sinners!
In the magnificent chambers of the High Priest, adorned with so much costliness and luxury, Caiaphas sat in state. Ushered in by menials, a young man enters timidly to the presence of the haughty potentate.
The dignity of mien which once distinguished the ambassador of the Lord, which would not bend to the splendor of court or king, is no longer to be seen in Judas. The meanness of servility speaks in every motion, every word of the man—his self-respect is gone, and with it all the confidence of manhood. But if the craftiness of the stranger’s appearance struck most unfavorably on the High Priest, how much more must he have been startled and amazed, as Judas unfolded the reason of his appearance there; and it was not till his mission was fully revealed that Caiaphas recognized in the craven supplicant one of those far-famed Apostles, with whose names he was already familiar.
The proud man must have shrunk back in horror from the revolting proposal of Judas—for, though it placed within his reach the accomplishment of one of the highest wishes of his life, (the deliverance of Christ into his hands,) yet the means by which he was offered the capture were opposed to all the principles of his creed of manly honor. Could he in all his high mightiness stoop to receive the prisoner at the hands of one who had been his friend—his companion and ministering servant? No—he must certainly at the first have turned away contemptuously from the detail of such consummate villainy; it must surely have been more than even he could countenance—for though not wont to cavil at the means employed, when any wished for end was to be gained, yet Caiaphas must have wondered, as the question burst from the covetous impatient heart of Judas, “What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?” But as the High Priest pondered on that question, gradually his spirit ceased its noble revolting, he began to lose sight of the contemptible, horrible treachery of the man on his knees before his throne, and he felt something like rejoicing in the thought, that the object he had so longed to accomplish, was within his reach at last. Therefore it was not long ere he turned with a more readily listening ear, and began to bargain with the Apostle!
At length the agreement was made—the covenant formed—the price of the Saviour’s life was set, and the thirty pieces of silver were paid into the hands of Judas! And then the traitor arose, and went from the presence-chamber of Caiaphas, but faintness was within his dastard heart, and the flush of shame upon his forehead, and with downcast eyes, and hasty step he went, for in his hands he bore the proofs of his condemning guilt and sordid meanness; knowing also that even the enemies of Christ, gladly as they would receive Him into their power, had shrunk from taking the prisoner from an apostle’s hands. But, the contract was made, the wages of sin were in his hands; for Judas there was no going back; onward—onward—onward he was impelled by the unchained fiend within him, to work out his own eternal ruin.
He must know rest neither day nor night—constantly he must be on the alert, that Jesus should not altogether escape him—and when the favorable moment arrived, he was to deliver Him up to the rulers!
And with that price of the innocent blood in his hands he dared still to labor and associate with the holy Apostles, dared to express submission and reverence for the God who read his every inmost thought. It seems a thing almost incredible—for the paltry sum of money he had dared appoint himself the judge to deliver the prisoner into the executioner’s hands! Already he had been guilty of taking money from the common purse of the disciples, which was entrusted to him, in order that he might gratify his selfish desires—and this guilt was known to Jesus, but the compassionate Saviour had refrained from making it known; it would have brought down dishonor on the holy cause which Judas at the best served so unfaithfully, and would have heaped on the sinful man’s own head shame and condemnation, had the transaction been made known publicly—thus he was still suffered to retain his post of trust and honor.
Were we not daily beholding crimes, only less heinous than those of Judas, it would be difficult indeed for us to conceive his guilt! We could not believe it possibly within the range of human capability to sin, that he would sacrifice even his God for money! The Saviour’s blood—it was indeed a high price to pay for thirty pieces of silver! But, though his crime was such as has placed the name of Judas the very first on the long, long list of human guilt—though, from the very nature, and necessity of things, there never can be another soul stained with sin so deep and dreadful, though now, when as a completed whole we survey our blessed Saviour’s life on earth, we stand aghast as we think on his betrayer, yet, my reader, who among us shall dare to say that had we lived in those days we surely would have been guiltless of the blood of that just man? There is nothing easier than to accuse our “first parents,” Adam and Eve, of an unaccountable transgression—it is very easy to say that nothing could ever have tempted us to the commission of a crime so great—I would assuredly be the last to dare uphold Judas in his deadly sin, or to endeavor to cleanse from his name the terrible blackness of the crime attached to it—it was monstrous guilt of which he through all the ages has stood convicted, but I repeat, by no means was it unaccountable!