I've never met a person named Judas, never heard of a pregnant mother mulling that name over for her expectant child.

Judas is a name that has been permanently stained.

He's the obvious villain, slipped away from the original communion table to sell out the one

breaking the bread and pouring the wine.

How could he?

After all he's seen, all he's heard, What misconception must he have carried silently all these years?

What seething resentment must he have fostered?

What moment did he feel so forgotten, so excluded, so unloved that it had come to this?

What lie had the deceiver contorted in his imagination until it grew into distrust this demonstrable?

When Judas abruptly left in the middle of the meal, they assumed he'd gone out to make an

offering to the poor. After all, he was the treasurer. He'd always run the books, and on the first night

of Passover, it's tradition

to make an offering to the poor. It made sense he'd go to give to make sure that all the rituals

were observed. In reality, he went out to collect money for the life of the rabbi, the life of the

Savior, the king of kings disguised in peasant rags, sold for a handful of shekels.

Judas may be the obvious villain, but he is certainly not the only villain.

Couldn't you stay awake with me?

Even for an hour?

In anguish, presence speaks so much louder than words. When we are grieving,

hurting, dreading, the presence of a friend speaks louder than the most eloquent consolation.

And it was just that, the presence of a friend that Jesus lacked. When Jesus prayed for the strength to surrender

his will, Peter sharpened his sword for the assumed battle. John snooze, James' distracted mind,

...