Sermon preached by John A. Huffman, Jr.

April 1, 2007

PERSONS AT CALVARY: THE HEARTLESS PERSON

He said, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.”

(Matthew 27:4)

It’s a terrible story. It’s actually a story within a story.

Perhaps you’ve never thought about it before. I’ve never heard a message on it.

Oh, yes, you and I have met all the characters before. We’ve already looked at two of those persons at Calvary.

One is the steadfast person, Jesus. He set His face steadfast toward Jerusalem, knowing the betrayal, denial, torture and alienation from all that was good, as He would bear the weight of the sins of all humanity in His crucifixion.

We’ve seen the overconfident person, Peter. Though all others would desert Jesus, he knew he would be faithful to the end. Within the next few hours, he denied his Lord three times.

Today, we look at this story within a story. On the surface, it looks like it’s a story of Judas. In a way, he is the main character. In another way, there are characters surrounding him who, for a moment, take center stage. It is their words that startle us.

Let’s look at this story.

First we see Judas. There have been many viewpoints as to his role in the crucifixion of Jesus.

Some take a strong predestinarian viewpoint. By the time they are done describing Judas, he appears to be a mechanical person, the kind of puppet whose strings are being pulled. He’s manipulated behind the scenes, and there is no way that he could have avoided betraying his Savior. I don’t happen to share that viewpoint.

The composers of the musical Jesus Christ Superstar portray him as a misguided hero. He is the Judas who is determined to see his master bring in the Kingdom of God. Jesus had to be put in a difficult situation. He had to act supernaturally. Judas the Zealot, determined to see the Old Testament Scriptures fulfilled, is convinced that, when faced with death, Jesus would call forth the hosts of heaven. Jesus would be victorious. When the crowds would jeer and taunt, He would then come down from the cross and establish the Kingdom of God on earth. Judas is portrayed as simply misguided in his understanding of what the Old Testament Scriptures said.

There are others who would say that Judas was fully responsible for what he did. He was money hungry. He had a basic moral flaw. He was a fair-weather friend. When things didn’t turn out the way he thought they would, he was simply willing to sell his Lord for thirty pieces of silver. A quick over-reading of Matthew 26:14-16, Mark 14:10-11, and Luke 22:3-6 tends to give this impression. How cold, how calculating he was as he went to the chief priests and negotiated his price.

Whatever the case may be, Judas has done it. He’s excused himself from the Upper Room after he hears Jesus’ words, “‘But see, the one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table. For the Son of Man is going as it has been determined, but woe to that one by whom he is betrayed!’” (Luke 22:21-22). He has gone and done his thing, leading the religious leaders to Gethsemane. He has kissed his Master. The signal is given. The guards seize Jesus.

Even as Peter follows at a distance, his feelings of overconfidence blending into ultimate cowardice, Judas, too, followed at a distance. Now, his action of betrayal turns to remorse, as he follows that religious trial at the house of Caiaphas. Suddenly, it sweeps over him. In his inner being, he cries out, "What have I done? What have I done! What have I done!!" Those thirty pieces of silver, that small fortune that once felt so good in his hands no longer has the same importance. The long night ends. The morning comes. Jesus is condemned by the religious leaders. Again, at a distance, Judas watches them as they bind Jesus, jostling him through the crowd toward the Antonia where Pilate would hold court.

Have you ever stayed up all night? I am sure you have. Remember the mood changes you experienced? The song and dance, the wine and laughter, often turned to hangover and, in some cases, remorse. The passions of midnight faced the cold realities made clear by the rising sun. The “good time” passes. The tongue feels dry and thick. The heart is heavy with guilt, as you think back to the principles compromised and the vows betrayed.

Take all those feelings that you may have experienced or observed in others then multiply them and feel for Judas. Feel for Judas as you listen to Matthew tell the story.

When morning came, all the chief priests and the elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor. When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders. He said, "I have sinned by betraying innocent blood." But they said, "What is that to us? See to it yourself." Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself. But the chief priests, taking the pieces of silver, said, "It is not lawful to put them into the treasury, since they are blood money." After conferring together, they used them to buy the potter’s field as a place to bury foreigners. For this reason that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day. (Matthew 27:1-8)

It is at this point that the story changes. No longer is it the story of Judas. For our purposes this morning, it is a story within a story. It is the story of some heartless persons.

Judas is a man who has been overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. He sees his tragic mistake. He has sinned desperately, but he is a man, a sensitive person, touched and anguished by what he has done. He returns to the site of the crime. No, the site of the crime was not the place of betrayal in the garden. It was the temple. It was the place of the priests, where he stands before them holding in his hands a bag with the thirty pieces of silver. His Master has been condemned. He repents of what he has done wrong. He no longer wants the thirty pieces of silver. He cries out, “‘I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.’”

Here they are, the main characters of today’s narrative. These are cold, cynical, heartless creatures who spit back these words, "‘What is that to us? See to it yourself.’" Or to put it in other words, "Listen, buddy, it’s your affair, not ours. Don’t blame us for what you’ve done."

We encounter these heartless persons, not actually at the scene of Calvary, but not too far away in the Temple area. They are major persons in that drama. They are persons who had no relief for a broken sinner. They are persons who, as religious as they were, could offer no comfort. These were persons who were masters at giving a straight arm, pushing broken people away to protect their own innocence. These were persons who didn’t want anything to do with blood money, so they contributed it to charity. And what happens to Judas? Matthew says, "Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself."

Now, in a way, these men told the truth. There is no way that you and I can divide our guilt. I am convinced that Judas, in his anguish and in his guilt, rushed back there with a sense that some of us have when we do something that is wrong. You’ve all read enough crime novels and seen enough episodes of CSI to know that there is a built-in magnet within a person who has done something wrong that makes that person want to return to the scene of the crime. In Judas’ case, he wanted to see if somehow he could divide his guilt by as many people as had been originally involved in the plot. If there were ten people involved, that would mean that he would have one tenth of the guilt. Now we don’t know that for certain, but there is that tendency, is there not, on the part of each of us? Misery wants company. We do something wrong, so we try to pick out a few other people and say that they are to blame too. We try to halve the guilt or divide it by the number of people involved.

Let’s be clear. There is no way that you and I can get rid of our guilt by the division process.

In a southern town some years ago, a man committed a crime. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big. He deserved some punishment rendered through due process. Instead, the lynch mob went to work. The gang committed a crime much greater, the crime of murder. Then, they melted back into the community, remaining anonymous. They had taken righteousness and justice into their own hands. They assumed that, in their numbers, there was freedom from responsibility. Yet, one member of that lynch mob had an especially sensitive conscience. He knew that he could not divide the guilt, but he didn’t know where to look for forgiveness. He didn’t know where to go for help. Driven in his despair, he ended up committing suicide. He knew he had done wrong. There was no one with whom he could share the blame. He was a modern-day Judas.

Judas was wrong. Judas was guilty. I personally believe Judas could have said “no” to the initial offer of the thirty pieces of silver. Even though this was predicted by the prophet Jeremiah hundreds of years in advance, it didn’t mean that Judas was forced to do it. God, in His divine plan, could have somehow seen that His act of atonement at Calvary would be accomplished. God, in His foreknowledge, knew that Judas would do it. Yet, Judas bears a responsibility. So, in a way, what the men said was true. “It is your fault, Judas.”

But, in another way, they told a lie. This lie has two aspects to it.

Aspect one: If you are a person who actively encourages another to do wrong, you must share in the responsibility, even though you may not be the person who actually does the evil deed.

For example, Charles Manson today is incarcerated, not because he performed a crime but because he planned that which resulted in others committing those terrible murders.

Lady Macbeth, when she saw the sleeping Duncan, could not bring herself to kill him. So Macbeth did it. That does not relieve her of responsibility, does it? They were “co-conspirators.”

The priests, who were actively involved with getting Judas to betray his Lord, have to bear responsibility equal with his for the betrayal.

Just because we don’t do the deed doesn’t mean that we are innocent.

The priests were liars. Their “What is that to us?” sounded good. Nonetheless, the blood of Jesus was on their hands too. Let me add a parenthetical statement. To say that is not to make an antisemitic statement. Gurus of political correctness have, in recent decades, tried to sanitize history, because of some who have used the involvement of the Jewish leaders in the death of Jesus as a pretext for antisemitic actions. The facts are that almost all the characters in this narrative were Jewish, with the exception of the Romans. And the facts are, also, that all of us, from Adam and Eve all the way down to you and me, are also implicated in responsibility.

Aspect two: If you are a person who passively encourages another to sin, you also bear responsibility.

I am certain that there were some priests who realized that what was going on just wasn’t right. When they heard about the initial offer to Judas, they knew this was wrong. They didn’t have the courage to buck the crowd. They didn’t have the strength of character to go against the co-conspiracy of their colleagues. By their quietness, by their refusal to speak, they, too, bear responsibility.

Pilate was that way. Pilate actively tried to get Jesus freed. His wife had had a dream and had actually warned him. So he figured out a clever way to exempt Jesus from crucifixion by offering up a notorious criminal by the name of Barabbas, and Jesus has options for a magnanimous pardon. Take your pick. Any intelligent person would see that Jesus was a good man in contrast to Barabbas. That didn’t fly with the crowd. When Pilate saw he couldn’t carry it off, he tried to wash clean the blood from his hands. You and I know that history has not let his hands be cleansed. Wash as he may wash, the stains remain. You and I bear responsibility, even in our passive involvement, in allowing things to go on that are wrong.

We stand, as did Saul of Tarshis, at the edge of the crowd when the first martyr Stephen was being stoned. This man, who later became the Apostle Paul, didn’t throw any stones. He was too sophisticated for that. Stephen died declaring his faith in Jesus Christ. Luke describes Saul standing in the crowd with these words, “And Saul approved of their killing him” (Acts 8:1). You and I bear responsibility when we are passive, when we refuse to stand up for what is right, no matter what it costs.

Heartless persons are sometimes unwilling to get our hands dirty, unwilling to be persons of courage, unwilling to expose ourselves to misunderstanding and controversy, unwilling to join the Martin Luthers of this world in nailing our theses to the door of the Wittenberg Cathedral, unwilling to say, “Here I stand.”

Instead, we huddle with the priests. When we see the results of our active or passive participation, we, with a shrug, declare, “What is that to us? See to it yourself. It’s your affair, not ours.”

So someone burdened down with guilt shovels off in despair. He is broken. He is bent on self-destruction.

Why do we do it? Why do we say this? Why is it that we distance ourselves, saying, “It’s your affair, not ours”?

We do it because of our indifference.

We are saying, "Judas, we just don’t care. Judas, you know what you did. You did it. It’s your fault. We are interested in getting our goals accomplished, but we don’t care about you as a person. You had your agenda. We had ours. For a moment in time, they came together. But now, Judas, we just don’t care."

Update it a bit. What do you say and what do I say to a hungry world? Do we really care? Are we touched by the world in which we live? Do we feel as it feels? What are your feelings today, as you’re asked to give to the Easter offering for micro-enterprise loans to the poor through World Vision in Malawi or to releasing children from forced prostitution in so many countries through International Justice Mission. After all, I’ve got a mortgage to pay down. The price of gas has gone up. So it’s nice that our young people are down in Tecate building housing for the poor, but I don’t have time for that. Show me a dramatic picture of a little child with a bloated belly, and, on some days, I’ll turn away and say that it is despicable to exploit that child in such graphic pictures in order to raise money. And, another day, I might even give fifty dollars or even a hundred, wiping a few crumbs off my table in the direction of that poverty-stricken person and say, "Here, here are a few of the leftovers."

But wait a minute. What if that child were your child? What if that child were your grandchild? What if that child was your brother’s or sister’s child? The fact is, that child is your brother’s, your sister’s child. Distance creates indifference, doesn’t it? “I don’t care. It’s your affair. World out there, it’s not mine!” Indifference.

Why do we say, "It’s your affair, not ours"?

Because of our contempt.

How many of us pastors have been confronted by a teenage girl who, as the study door closes behind her, bursts into tears announcing that she is pregnant? She doesn’t know how to say it to her parents. She doesn’t feel that abortion is the right route to go. Yet, she’s scared to have the baby. You ask about the fellow. So often the refrain is identical. “He holds me in utter contempt now, although he used to talk about marrying me. It was on that basis that I gave in to his advances. I loved him. He made promises about the future. I looked forward to a life with him. Now he can’t stand me. He actually holds me in contempt.”

We tend to hold in contempt those who bear the obvious results of what we may have encouraged, actively or passively.

Why do we say, "It’s your affair, not ours"?

Because of our superiority.

In a way, we’re sort of like the Pharisee who stood in the temple area beating his breast and saying, "I thank my God I’m not like that fellow." Then he went on and on and told God all the good things he did in contrast to that other person. Jesus commended him for his good works. Then He denounced his attitude of superiority. He went on to give the real honor to the person who saw himself as a sinner in need of repentance.

Some years ago, in the heyday of a corrupt political machine, a cartoon appeared in a newspaper showing the way blame is passed on to others. A number of men were grouped as if walking around and around in a circle. One was an editor, another a politician, another a businessman, another John Doe, and another the voter. Each one was carrying himself in an attitude of superiority, pointing his thumb accusingly over his shoulder at the person behind him.

The religious leaders in the temple built themselves up in their own sense of self-righteousness by observing religious proprieties. They could take money out of the temple treasury to pay Judas to betray his Lord. They could not take the money back and replace it in the treasury, after he had done this despicable thing. It was "blood money." They had kept the letter of the law. Their conscience was clean. They had blamed Judas. They had hidden behind their self-righteous institutionalism. The forms of religion protected them. I, frankly, don’t think they felt any guilt. Their sin had been institutionalized.

Halford E. Luccock writes, "One of the acute problems of an age of huge organizations--in business, politics, war, and the church--is that conscience is spread so thin it disappears. Every one of us must constantly ask, ‘How much am I an accessory before the fact?’"

Why do we say, "It’s your affair, not ours"?

Because of our self-protectiveness.

That woman caught in adultery was dragged to Jesus and thrown before Him. That self-protective crowd had a way of distancing themselves from her and her sin. They refused to identify with it. They had that self-righteous attitude. Jesus didn’t deny the Old Testament law, which said, “Stone the one caught in adultery.” He basically agreed with Moses. But He added words which implicated everyone in that crowd, as He challenged the one without sin to cast the first stone. With that kind of a direct challenge, the crowd melted away. The Holy Spirit had brought to mind the things done that should not have been done and the things left undone that should have been done. Jesus wasn’t endorsing adultery. In fact, He went so far as to say that anyone who has a lustful thought, imagining himself in the act, is guilty of it. It may not have destroyed another persons life--their family and yours--but there is the inner corruption where the lustful thoughts could lead to that. Jesus points out our imperfections to us and makes us a bit kinder toward others.

Richard Mouw, the president of Fuller Theological Seminary, in the November 2006 issue of Christianity Today magazine, makes this point in a poignant manner. He writes about the late Walter Martin, who became famous for his 1965 much-reprinted book titled Kingdom of the Cults, and was for many years known as "The Bible Answer Man." Walter Martin, not particularly known for his generosity of spirit toward those with whom he disagreed, in a moment of self-effacing candor, shared some advice he had received from his mentor, Dr. Donald Grey Barnhouse, for thirty-three years the pastor of the historic Tenth Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia, national radio teacher of The Bible Study Hour, and the editor of Eternity magazine.

several months after Barnhouse died in 1960, Eternity devoted an entire issue to his life and ministry, with several evangelical leaders testifying to Dr. Barnhouse’s influence. One of the leaders who wrote was Walter Martin, whose tribute left a permanent impression on me.

Martin told of a time when he had been asked to lead a theological discussion on apologetics at a staff retreat held at Barnhouse’s farm in rural Pennsylvania. During a lengthy break, Barnhouse and Martin strolled the grounds. Barnhouse carried a shotgun on the walk, which he used to shoot at scavenger birds like crows and grackles, who bothered his favorites, the bluebirds.

At one point, Barnhouse interrupted the conversation to fell a bird in the distance. When he saw that he had hit his target, he exclaimed, "That’s one grackle less to bother my bluebirds."

When the two of them got closer to the fallen bird, however, Barnhouse saw that he had actually killed a bluebird. He was obviously distraught. But after a few minutes, he observed to Martin that there was a spiritual lesson in what had just happened. He had been searching for a way, Barnhouse said, of warning Martin about jumping too quickly to the conclusion that someone is an enemy of the gospel.

[Barnhouse said to Martin] "You are right in defending the faith against its enemies, but you are too inclined to ‘shoot from the hip,’ even as I was when I fired at this bird. In the excitement of the moment, it looked like a grackle, but a closer examination would have saved its life and my feelings. It is not wrong to contend for the gospel, but it is wrong to shoot first and ask questions later. What you think might be a grackle, an apostate or an Antichrist might well be a bluebird you looked at in a hurry."

Then Barnhouse placed his hand on Martin’s shoulder and added: "Never forget this. Better to pass up an occasional grackle in theology and leave him with the Lord than to shoot a bluebird and have to answer for it at the Judgment Seat of Christ."

Jesus articulated that there’s a word for those of us who are self-protective, pointing our fingers at others, being overly severe in criticizing them while trying to distance ourselves from them and their sin, saying, "It’s your affair, not ours." His word is one that says, "For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God." It is then and only then that we can be set free, when we let go of our self-protectiveness that emerges from our desire to be superior to others. The good news of God’s salvation is that Jesus Christ died for sinners. You and I can declare, along with the Apostle Paul, "of whom I am the chief."

Yes, you and I want to distance ourselves. We want to live antiseptic existences. We don’t want to be hurt. We don’t want to be bloodied. We tend to be like those religious leaders, heartless in our condemnation of others, while oblivious to our own need of a Savior.

I’m so impressed by the Roman Catholic pastor/scholar, the late Henri J.M. Nouwen, who calls us to be “wounded healers.” He described the person who is best prepared to minister not as one who claims perfection, not as one who has a beautiful image, not as one who promises to solve another’s problems. Instead, in his book titled The Wounded Healer, he wrote:

A minister is not a doctor whose primary task is to take away pain. Rather, he deepens the pain to a level where it can be shared. When someone comes with his loneliness to the minister, he can only expect that his loneliness will be understood and felt, so that he no longer has to run away from it but can accept it as an expression of his basic human condition. . . .

Perhaps the main task of the minister is to prevent people from suffering for the wrong reasons. Many people suffer because of the false supposition on which they have based their lives. That supposition is that there should be no fear or loneliness, no confusion or doubt. But these sufferings can only be dealt with creatively when they are understood as wounds integral to our human condition. Therefore ministry is a very confronting service. It does not allow people to live with illusions of immortality and wholeness. It keeps reminding others that they are mortal and broke, but also that with the recognition of this condition, liberation starts.

The heartless person at Calvary is the person who distances himself from the sin and despair of another. You and I are ministers. You and I are called to get our hands dirty, to identify, to feel, to be gathered people who admit our need, who acknowledge our common sin.

And in our mutual relationship as sinners, saved by the blood of Jesus Christ, there is healing. In our mutual relationship, there is power from God. We are "sinners anonymous." We dare not push the Judas out of our midst.

No, we don’t wink at his sin. We hold him accountable. But, at the same time, we hold ourselves accountable for our active and passive encouragement, for our indifference, our contempt, our superiority, and our own self-protectiveness.

How quickly we become heartless persons, when instead we are called to be wounded healers. Instead of distancing ourselves from others in their need, we are called to pause and open ourselves to God and His Holy Spirit. We are called to be persons willing to be touched by the needs of others. We are called to identify with them in their sin, in their need. We are called to feel what they feel. We are called to bleed where they bleed, and to be healed, and share that healing in our healing touch!