THE story of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ begins on a Maundy Thursday and culminates on Easter Sunday. It is a story that has been told for ages, not only as a matter of faith, but as a reflection of human nature itself. On that Maundy Thursday, Judas Iscariot betrayed Christ in exchange for 30 pieces of silver. By Good Friday afternoon, Christ was crucified. And yet, by early Easter Sunday, He rose again — an enduring symbol that betrayal, suffering and injustice do not have the final word.
Judas Iscariot is often portrayed as the most qualified and trusted among the 12 apostles. He was, after all, entrusted with the common purse — the keeper of their funds — which suggests a level of confidence placed in him by Christ and the group. And yet, this same man became the instrument of betrayal. Christ did not select His apostles based on worldly qualifications. He did not require wealth, status or formal education. He simply called them, and they followed. Fishermen, tax collectors and ordinary men were elevated not because of who they were, but because of their willingness to serve and to believe.
The 12 apostles
The 12 apostles were Simon Peter, the bold fisherman who would become the Rock of the early Church; Andrew, his brother, who was the first to follow Christ; James the Greater and John, the sons of Zebedee; Philip, the practical and questioning disciple; Bartholomew, a man of sincere faith; Matthew, the former tax collector who left wealth behind to follow Christ; Thomas, remembered for his honest doubt and eventual profound confession of faith; James the Lesser, the quiet and steadfast son of Alphaeus; Thaddeus, also known as Judas son of James, whose loyalty stood in sharp contrast to his namesake; Simon the Zealot, once a political revolutionary who redirected his passion toward a higher cause; and finally, Judas Iscariot.
They were imperfect men, each with their own weaknesses and struggles, yet they were entrusted with a mission far greater than themselves, which is to spread the teachings of Christ. Among them stood Judas, indistinguishable at first from the rest, a reminder that betrayal often comes not from strangers, but from those within our closest circles.
The Judas Iscariots in our society
God knows who Judas is and sees through him. In contrast, we, in our daily lives, do not possess such clarity. We rely on trust. We trust in leaders, in institutions and in the people we deal with, and it is precisely this trust that makes betrayal so devastating. A Judas is not merely an enemy, but someone who has been given confidence, responsibility and belief — only to violate all three in the end.
In our society today, the Judas Iscariots are not difficult to find. They manifest in corrupt politicians who are elected on promises of public service but instead use their office for personal gain. They appear in law enforcers who are sworn to protect the people but become instruments of abuse and intimidation. They emerge in members of the judiciary who are entrusted with dispensing justice yet allow themselves to be swayed by influence or greed. Even among ordinary government officials, it can be observed that positions meant for service turned into opportunities for self-enrichment.
The common factor is betrayal of trust. Public office, as often said, is a public trust. When that trust is broken, the consequences ripple far beyond individual wrongdoing and eventually erodes confidence in institutions, weakens the rule of law and breeds cynicism among the people. The tragedy is not only in the act of corruption itself, but in the quiet normalization of betrayal, where people begin to expect less, tolerate more and hope little.
Final words
When a politician stands before the people and asks for their vote, he is asking them to entrust their future with him. And when that same politician diverts public funds for personal gain and governs not for the people but for himself, he has done precisely what Judas did — kissed the cheek of the public while leading them to disaster.
The policeman who terrorizes the very citizens he swore to protect, the lawmaker who crafts legislation in service of his patrons rather than the public, the judge who sells his verdict to the highest bidder — each of them has been handed a purse, much like Judas was, and each has made the same fatal choice.
Betrayal often wears a familiar face and that trust, once broken, carries a cost far greater than silver.
Yet, just as Easter follows Good Friday, it also teaches that renewal is always possible. The challenge before us is not only to recognize the Judas Iscariots among us, but to refuse to choose them as our rulers and administrators. Choosing the Judas Iscariots as our rulers makes us Judases ourselves by betraying the next generation of their right to a good future.
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