The Scripture Must Be Fulfilled
Understandably, the prophecy of the betrayal produces agitation and curiosity among the disciples. “One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was lying close to the breast of Jesus: so Simon Peter beckoned to him and said, ‘Tell us who it is of whom he speaks.’ So lying thus, close to the breast of Jesus, he said to him: ‘Lord, who is it?’ Jesus answered: ‘It is he to whom I shall give this morsel when I have dipped it’” (13:23–26). . . .
Jesus’ answer, as given here, is quite unambiguous. Yet the evangelist says that the disciples still did not understand whom he meant. So we must assume that John retrospectively attributed a clarity to the Lord’s answer that it lacked at the time for those present. John 13:18 brings us onto the right track. Here Jesus says, “The Scripture must be fulfilled: ‘He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me’” (cf. Ps 41:9; Ps 55:13). This is Jesus’ classic way of speaking: he alludes to his destiny using words from Scripture, thereby locating it directly within God’s logic, within the logic of salvation history. . . .
John gives a new depth to the psalm verse with which Jesus spoke prophetically of what lay ahead, since instead of the expression given in the Greek Bible for “eating”, he chooses the verb trogein, the word used by Jesus in the great “bread of life” discourse for “eating” his flesh and blood, that is, receiving the sacrament of the Eucharist ( Jn. 6:54–58). So the psalm verse casts a prophetic shadow over the Church of the evangelist’s own day, in which the Eucharist was celebrated, and indeed over the Church of all times: Judas’ betrayal was not the last breach of fidelity that Jesus would suffer. “Even my bosom friend, in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me” (Ps 41:9). The breach of friendship extends into the sacramental community of the Church, where people continue to take “his bread” and to betray him.
Jesus’ agony, his struggle against death, continues until the end of the world, as Blaise Pascal said on the basis of similar considerations (cf. Pensées VII, 553). We could also put it the other way around: at this hour, Jesus took upon himself the betrayal of all ages, the pain caused by betrayal in every era, and he endured the anguish of history to the bitter end.
The Mystery of the Betrayer
John does not offer any psychological interpretation of Judas’ conduct. The only clue he gives is a hint that Judas had helped himself to the contents of the disciples’ money box, of which he had charge (12:6). In the context of chapter 13, the evangelist merely says laconically: “Then after the morsel, Satan entered into him” (13:27).
For John, what happened to Judas is beyond psychological explanation. He has come under the dominion of another. Anyone who breaks off friendship with Jesus, casting off his “easy yoke”, does not attain liberty, does not become free, but succumbs to other powers. To put it another way, he betrays this friendship because he is in the grip of another power to which he has opened himself.
True, the light shed by Jesus into Judas’ soul was not completely extinguished. He does take a step toward conversion: “I have sinned”, he says to those who commissioned him. He tries to save Jesus, and he gives the money back (Mt 27:3–5). Everything pure and great that he had received from Jesus remained inscribed on his soul—he could not forget it.
His second tragedy—after the betrayal—is that he can no longer believe in forgiveness. His remorse turns into despair. Now he sees only himself and his darkness; he no longer sees the light of Jesus, which can illumine and overcome the darkness. He shows us the wrong type of remorse: the type that is unable to hope, that sees only its own darkness, the type that is destructive and in no way authentic. Genuine remorse is marked by the certainty of hope born of faith in the superior power of the light that was made flesh in Jesus.
John concludes the passage about Judas with these dramatic words: “After receiving the morsel, he immediately went out; and it was night” (13:30). Judas goes out—in a deeper sense. He goes into the night; he moves out of light into darkness: the “power of darkness” has taken hold of him (cf. Jn 3:19; Lk 22:53).
The Dating of the Last Supper
Thursday evening—Jesus’ Last Supper with the disciples, but not a Passover meal; Friday, the vigil of the feast, not the feast itself—trial and execution; Saturday—rest in the tomb; Sunday—Resurrection. According to this chronology, Jesus dies at the moment when the Passover lambs are being slaughtered in the Temple. Jesus dies as the real lamb, merely prefigured by those slain in the Temple.
This theologically significant connection, that Jesus’ death coincides with the slaughter of the Passover lambs, has led many scholars to dismiss John’s presentation as a theological chronology. John, they claim, altered the chronology in order to create this theological connection, which admittedly is not made explicit in the Gospel. Today, though, it is becoming increasingly clear that John’s chronology is more probable historically than the Synoptic chronology. . . .
We have to ask, though, what Jesus’ Last Supper actually was. And how did it acquire its undoubtedly early attribution of Passover character? The answer given by Meier is astonishingly simple and in many respects convincing: Jesus knew that he was about to die. He knew that he would not be able to eat the Passover again. Fully aware of this, he invited his disciples to a Last Supper of a very special kind, one that followed no specific Jewish ritual but, rather, constituted his farewell; during the meal he gave them something new: he gave them himself as the true Lamb and thereby instituted his Passover. . . .
One thing emerges clearly from the entire tradition: essentially, this farewell meal was not the old Passover, but the new one, which Jesus accomplished in this context. Even though the meal that Jesus shared with the Twelve was not a Passover meal according to the ritual prescriptions of Judaism, nevertheless, in retrospect, the inner connection of the whole event with Jesus’ death and Resurrection stood out clearly. It was Jesus’ Passover. And in this sense he both did and did not celebrate the Passover: the old rituals could not be carried out—when their time came, Jesus had already died. But he had given himself, and thus he had truly celebrated the Passover with them. The old was not abolished; it was simply brought to its full meaning.
Jesus before Pilate
In John 18:34–35 it is clearly stated that, on the basis of the information in his possession, Pilate had nothing that would incriminate Jesus. Nothing had come to the knowledge of the Roman authority that could in any way have posed a risk to law and order. The charge came from Jesus’ own people, from the Temple authority. It must have astonished Pilate that Jesus’ own people presented themselves to him as defenders of Rome, when the information at his disposal did not suggest the need for any action on his part.
Yet during the interrogation we suddenly arrive at a dramatic moment: Jesus’ confession. To Pilate’s question: “So you are a king?” he answers: “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth. Every one who is of the truth hears my voice” (Jn 18:37). Previously Jesus had said: “My kingship is not of this world; if my kingship were of this world, my servants would fight, that I might not be handed over to the Jews; but my kingship is not from the world” (18:36). . . .
With these words Jesus created a thoroughly new concept of kingship and kingdom, and he held it up to Pilate, the representative of classical worldly power. What is Pilate to make of it, and what are we to make of it, this concept of kingdom and kingship? Is it unreal, is it sheer fantasy that can be safely ignored? Or does it somehow affect us?
In addition to the clear delimitation of his concept of kingdom (no fighting, earthly powerlessness), Jesus had introduced a positive idea, in order to explain the nature and particular character of the power of this kingship: namely, truth. Pilate brought another idea into play as the dialogue proceeded, one that came from his own world and was normally connected with “kingdom”: namely, power—authority ( exousía). Dominion demands power; it even defines it. Jesus, however, defines as the essence of his kingship witness to the truth. Is truth a political category? Or has Jesus’ “kingdom” nothing to do with politics? To which order does it belong? If Jesus bases his concept of kingship and kingdom on truth as the fundamental category, then it is entirely understandable that the pragmatic Pilate asks him: “What is truth?” (18:38).
It is the question that is also asked by modern political theory: Can politics accept truth as a structural category? Or must truth, as something unattainable, be relegated to the subjective sphere, its place taken by an attempt to build peace and justice using whatever instruments are available to power? By relying on truth, does not politics, in view of the impossibility of attaining consensus on truth, make itself a tool of particular traditions that in reality are merely forms of holding on to power?
And yet, on the other hand, what happens when truth counts for nothing? What kind of justice is then possible? Must there not be common criteria that guarantee real justice for all—criteria that are independent of the arbitrariness of changing opinions and powerful lobbies? Is it not true that the great dictatorships were fed by the power of the ideological lie and that only truth was capable of bringing freedom? . . .
Again and again in the world, truth and error, truth and untruth, are almost inseparably mixed together. The truth in all its grandeur and purity does not appear. The world is “true” to the extent that it reflects God: the creative logic, the eternal reason that brought it to birth. And it becomes more and more true the closer it draws to God. Man becomes true, he becomes himself, when he grows in God’s likeness. Then he attains to his proper nature. God is the reality that gives being and intelligibility. . . .
In Christ, God entered the world and set up the criterion of truth in the midst of history. Truth is outwardly powerless in the world, just as Christ is powerless by the world’s standards: he has no legions; he is crucified. Yet in his very powerlessness, he is powerful: only thus, again and again, does truth become power. . . .
The Messianic Figure Barabbas
Barabbas (“Son of the Father”) is a kind of Messianic figure. Two interpretations of Messianic hope are juxtaposed here in the offer of the Passover amnesty. In terms of Roman law, it is a case of two criminals convicted of the same offense—two rebels against the Pax Romana. It is clear that Pilate prefers the nonviolent “fanatic” that he sees in Jesus. Yet the crowd and the Temple authorities have different categories. If the Temple aristocracy felt constrained to declare: “We have no king but Caesar” (Jn 19:15), this only appears to be a renunciation of Israel’s Messianic hope: “We do not want this king” is what they mean. They would like to see a different solution to the problem. Again and again, mankind will be faced with this same choice: to say yes to the God who works only through the power of truth and love, or to build on something tangible and concrete—on violence.
Jesus’ followers are absent from the place of judgment, absent through fear. But they are also absent in the sense that they fail to step forward en masse. Their voice will make itself heard on the day of Pentecost in Peter’s preaching, which cuts “to the heart” the very people who had earlier supported Barabbas. In answer to the question “Brethren, what shall we do?” they receive the answer: “Repent”—renew and transform your thinking, your being (cf. Acts 2:37–38). This is the summons which, in view of the Barabbas scene and its many recurrences throughout history, should tear open our hearts and change our lives.
These excerpts from the second volume of Pope Benedict XVI’s Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week are taken from chapter 3, Section 4: “The Mystery of the Betrayer”; Chapter 5, Section 1: “The Dating of the Last Supper”; and Chapter 7, Section 3: “Jesus Before Pilate.”
Comments:
First, reread the quoted section and it is clear that for this part of his essay, the Pope is using the Gospel of St. John as the primary text upon which he is commenting. As such, his translation “Lord, who is it?” is the more proper rendering of the best Greek manuscripts. Therefore it is only proper that Pope Benedict XVI would use that as the basis of his teaching. The “Is it I?” that you insist upon, is only found in the parallel passages of the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Mark, in both older translations such as the Douay-Rheims and King James as well as the more modern ones like the New Living Translation. As an aside, it is interesting to note that other modern translations of Matthew and Mark give an even more self-assured response of the twelve disciples as, “Surely not I, Lord? (NIV)”, a setup for a fall if ever I heard one.
Second, all commentaries, even Roman Catholic ones, are quite open about Peter’s failures, especially after his supposed “successes” where he gets anointed as the “Rock” which you point out. Never has the Church, nor Pope Benedict, ever claimed that the popes are sinless.
Finally, however, all that aside, you do make a good point about the “betray” comment being broader than most people have traditionally interpreted this prophecy, so that it includes all those twelve with Him. But you seem to miss that Pope Benedict XVI also makes that point. In fact, he even expands the passage to the inclusion of those living today, “The breach of friendship extends into the sacramental community of the Church, where people continue to take “his bread” and to betray him.” Obviously, he intends this to include you, me, and even the Pope, himself.
Still, I would have felt more comfortable, if our present Pope had inserted "mia culpa" statement in his statements. Without that, the average reader might well still read this as yet another perfect - or say, "holy"? - Pope, chastising other Catholics. And not the Pope himself.
Indeed, I guess my point was: why didn't the Pope use the more humble texts? Why didn't he use the parallel texts that you mentioned? The texts that would have led even the Pope to far more clearly, "look for the beam in his own eye," after all.
Do Catholics really notice imperfections in their Pope? Technically, in the fine print, they do. But it seems to me that the vast bulk of ordinary Catholics still think of their popes as being entirely perfect, or at last, "holy."
In any case? If our Popes can often fail - even in major doctrinal matters, like Peter denying the necessity of the crucifixion (in Mat. 16.23) - then how much criticism should Joe Ratzinger be bringing, against say, secular governments?
Shouldn't he and all Catholics, be looking ever harder, for the "beam in their own eye"? Like the molestation scandal? And the lack of miracles, say?
Shahbaz Bhatti, the 42-year-old minster for minority affairs, was targeted by militants [i. e., Muslims] for his vocal opposition to Pakistan's anti-blasphemy laws, which carry the death penalty for insulting Islam."
It's not clearly what blasphemy Mr. Bhatti was accused of. He often spoke of Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior — in Pakistan, apparently, that is blasphemy.
You ask why the pope didn't write a book about his own personal shortcomings. I believe his previous interview book is a bit more personal and it does address the sex abuse issue. Aside from that, this book which is excerpted here is more narrowly focused. It's not about the pope himself, he just wrote it.
But I'm sure you knew that. The real problem with your post is that the whole "look at the beam in your own eye" angle is a bit trickier than you seem to realize. If you're Jesus then you can without irony or self-incrimination say things like that. At the risk of falling into this trap myself, I would humbly suggest that if you're not Jesus then you not lecture people about looking for beams in their eyes. Does that make sense...?
It would help if our Popes themselves, when speaking of evils in even those taking communion, would use texts, phrasing, that would make it clear that Papal "Infalliblity," extends at most, to a very, very narrow range of papal duties. And proncouncements "ex cathedra."While indeed, there are those who suggest that perhaps no prounoucements by any Pope, ever quite met the criterion of "perfect" or fully "ex cathedra."
Joe Ratzinger made a healthy start on "confessing the sins of Church," already to be sure (c. 1998, "Memory and Reconciliation," Internat. Theological Comm.). Perhaps though, it would be helpful for him to continue and extend that.
Should only Jesus himself be allowed to quote the part of the holy texts, that ask us to "look for the beam in their own eye"? Is no one on earth good enough to deliver that line? So it must never be delivered at all?
You ask, "Do Catholics really notice imperfections in their Pope?"
Why, yes, we do; I hear it rather frequently said by Catholics that Pope Benedict goes to confession weekly or so. He wouldn't confess regularly if he didn't sin regularly. Please realize that you are stereotyping us unfairly.
"...how much criticism should Joe Ratzinger be bringing, against say, secular governments?" -- Pope Benedict XVI is a sinner, as are you, as am I. It does not follow that we all cannot condemn sin when we see it. For example, Henry, you're issuing some stern condemnations. Does it follow that you are sinless?
The Pope has acknowledged his (and other Popes') failings many times; I'd be surprised if there isn't such an acknowledgment elsewhere in the book. But you judge him based on a few excerpts without caring to see if he has recognized his sinful nature. Please channel your anger in a better direction, my friend. If the Pope is your enemy, you are under Jesus' orders to love and pray for him.
I ask also that you pray for us Catholics, too, that we might come closer to the heart of Jesus. "The effectual fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much," as they say.
The language of the Vatican, is normally very systematically equivocal at best. The statements above for example? These statements, from the pope's latest book, could be taken to be 1) confessing personal sins; or 2) not. As 1) the pope confessing his own inadequacies as a communicant ... or 2) calling everyone else a sinner.
I confess my own sins, publicly hereby; I hope our popes would too. But so far? I have not seen any 1) PUBLIC, 2) UNEQUIVOCAL statement from any pope, publicly - not privately in the confessional - confessing his own sins.
Perhaps there are some. If you know of any, feel free to quote them here.
Pay very careful attention to the nuances of language. Things are often not what they appear to be, on the surface, particularly in religion. A promise of a loaf of "bread" might be a promise of an eatable piece of literal bread; or it might be only "hope of" bread, after all.
I would like to start by asking you two questions. One: Can you can give an accurate definition of the phrase: "Lamb of God"? We all know that this is one of the names used for Jesus, like Messiah, Savior, Son of Man, or Christ. But exactly what is the importance of the name "Lamb of God"?
And why is it important to me as a Catholic? The second question I would like to ask you is: Why the Catholic Church would offer The Holy Eucharist every day at every Mass throughout the world in over 3000 languages. What knowledge do they have that would make them feel compelled to do this for thousands of years?
In answering this question, we'll see why the Catechism of the Catholic Church states that "The Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christian life.'" (CC 1324) For more information on Jesus New Covenant and how everything ties together -- Passover Meal -> Manna -> Prophecy of the New Covenant -> Bread of Life Meaning -- go to The 4th Cup.com and watch the video! You can also read along while the video is playing.
Indeed, in fact, the line is a bit more open than Ratzinger reads it; Jesus more broadly is saying perhaps, that even those who share holy communion/wine and bread with him, will betray him. And not just Judas.
In fact Peter himself, the first Pope, turned on Jesus in Mat. 16; and after calling him the "rock" on which his Church was to be based, Jesus next effectively retracted that endorsement. After Peter's attacks on Jesus, Jesus finallly called Peter "Satan" in Mat. 16.23.
Can any of our Popes, really face the critical side of the Bible; that does not endorse even disciples and popes? That does not really assure us that even those in holiest communion with Jesus, eating his flesh and drinking his blood, will not betary Jesus?
Why didn't the Pope say, after all, "Is it I?" Can a Pope be humble enough to face his own sins? And the sins of the very highest and earliest founders, of the "Church of St. Peter"?