1. As is often the case, one of the master temptations of Judas lay along the lines of his greatest ability. The natural superiority of a Judæan, joined with a keen, practical talent which his colleagues lacked, accounted easily for his promotion to the rank of treasurer, to keep the small store which satisfied the company's scanty needs and enabled them to practise the luxury of giving to those who were even poorer than themselves. But who is there that, in thoughtful moments, has not stood almost in a shuddering awe at the fact that the bag should have been committed to Judas, as it were to evoke and provoke his sin, that sin to which he was tempted the most, and to give him an easy opportunity of indulging it? And yet will any deny that this, too, is only one example more of that which is evermore recurring in that mysterious world in which our lives are being lived? Is it not true that men continually find themselves in conditions especially calculated to call out the master sin of their hearts?
2. Let it not be forgotten that Judas sinned and fell after repeated warnings. The general tone of our Lord's teaching respecting worldliness was one constant warning. To a man like Judas, trying to secure his own interest, and making this the prime object of his thoughts, the words, “Ye cannot serve God and mammon,” would come like a trumpet-note of alarm. But, besides general language like this, there are utterances of our Lord which, in the light of Judas's character, sound like direct and special efforts to awake him from his dream of self. We may, for example, read in the light of Judas's designs the parable of the Unjust Steward. The steward has wasted his master's goods; he has been unfaithful in his trust. Judas has been unfaithful; he has tampered with the bag. The steward is awakened by the danger he is in of losing his position. How does he act? He secures his retreat by making negotiations with the other side. Judas is alarmed by the thought that his position may be insecure. How does he act? He opens up negotiations with the enemies of Christ. It is a clever scheme. As far as worldly and unprincipled sagacity can go, it is shrewd. The actor shows a determination to secure himself at all costs. But does it answer? In this world it may. Unscrupulous smartness does sometimes succeed on earth. The faithless steward may secure for himself a refuge among those partners of his guilt whom he has placed under an obligation-yes, in the world, in earthly habitations, it may be so; but such methods will secure no welcome, when men fail, in eternal habitations. The irony of the warning is an arrow for the heart of Judas.
Or, again, the parable of the Wedding Garment had its message for the traitor. It was one thing to refuse to come to the wedding; it was another to come, and to come in the beggarly array of one's worldliness. To disregard the invitation was a fault; but to accept it without entering into the spirit of it, to be there in hollow and empty form, the mockery of its gladness, a dark shadow upon its brightness-this was to provoke a darker doom than the sin of refusal met. Did the heart and mind of Judas not feel that the picture had familiar touches, and that the message of the parable was for him as well as for others?
Still more emphatic is the warning, given at the time when our Lord had by His action refused the Kingdom, and when, consequently, doubts began to grow strong in the mind of Judas. The disciples were diminishing in numbers; the refusal of the temporal crown followed by the spiritual teaching respecting the bread of life was too much for the carnal-minded among Christ's followers; the signs of disaffection and discontent were easy to read. The heart of Judas was already a traitor's heart; worldliness and self-interest were slowly and surely vanquishing every loyal obligation. Then it is that our Lord speaks the words which reveal in one moment the schemer's heart in all its hideousness, “Did not I choose you the twelve, and one of you is a devil?” Must not the soul of Judas have whispered to itself, “It is I. To this image must I come if I allow this thing to gain the mastery over me”?
Christ's effort to save His disciple from sinking into such an abyss of baseness did not end here. As the crisis draws near, He puts forth fresh and final attempts to save him. “Ye are not all clean,” He said, at the time when it was not yet too late for the traitor to cleanse his fault. Christ still stood near at hand in the garb of service, stooping to wash the earth stains from His disciples' feet. “Ye are not all clean.” He had washed Judas's feet when He said it; but the cleansing of the feet was not enough for one whose heart was still foul. Yet it was not then too late. The foulest might yet be bathed in the stream of the cleansing love of Christ. But the words of Christ wake no softening thoughts in the traitor's mind.
One more effort Christ will make. At the supper-table He quotes the words, “He that eateth my bread lifted up his heel against me” (Joh_13:18). Later, still more explicitly, “One of you shall betray me” (Joh_13:21). Even then it was not too late. The last step had not been taken by Judas. But, as with a man sliding down a steep place, the impetus of temptation was too strong. He takes the food from the hand of Christ. With treason in his heart, he does not hesitate to take that pledge of affection and loyalty. There is treachery in doing so; the Nemesis of base acts is further baseness. “After the sop, then Satan entered into him” (Joh_13:27). The crisis is passed at that moment. He will not turn back now. “That thou doest, do quickly” (Joh_13:27). He “went out straightway; and it was night.” An hour later, his treason was an accomplished fact.
The inward story of Judas's life is a story of help refused and warning disregarded. The tender efforts of his Lord and Master to save him are put away.
We should wonder the less perhaps if we only reflected what a blinding, hardening power, one fixed idea, one set purpose, one dominant passion in the full flush and fervour of its ascendancy exerts upon the human spirit, how it blinds to consequences that are staring us in the very face, how it deadens the remonstrances to which in other circumstances we should have at once yielded, how it carries us over obstacles that at other times would at once have stopped us; nay, more-and what perhaps is the most striking feature of the whole-how the very interferences for which otherwise we should have been grateful are resented, how the very appeals intended and fitted to arrest become as so many goads driving us the more determinedly down the path.
June 25, 1826.-Lord Chief-Baron told us a story of the ruling passion strong in death. A Master in Chancery was on his death-bed-a very wealthy man. Some occasion of great urgency occurred in which it was necessary to make an affidavit, and the attorney, missing one or two other Masters, whom he inquired after, ventured to ask if Mr.-would be able to receive the deposition. The proposal seemed to give him momentary strength; his clerk sent for, and the oath taken in due form, the Master was lifted up in bed, and with difficulty subscribed the paper; as he sank down again, he made a signal to his clerk,-“Wallace.”-“Sir?”-“Your ear-lower-lower. Have you got the half-crown?” He was dead before morning.1 [Note: The Journal of Sir Walter Scott, 216.]
