Yes.

A story goes that a band of soldiers invaded a monastery and demanded information that would lead to the death of innocents. When the head monk refused, the soldier said, “You don’t understand, I have the power to kill you.” The monk replied, “You don’t understand, I have the power to let you.”

I was listening to a Lenten meditation this morning, and it invited me into a thought I had never really considered before. Imagine yourself sitting at the table with Jesus and his disciples at the last supper. Of course they don’t know it’s the last supper; it’s just another supper, the typical Seder with its food and prayers. At some point, Jesus leads across the table and hands a piece of bread to Judas and tells him, “What you are about to do, do quickly.” And Judas leaves, intent on getting his plot rolling.

What was Jesus feeling here? The sting of this dark malice? The pain of being misunderstood? The grief of Judas’ lost potential? Distracted by Jesus’ impending death, I’ve never thought before what it must have felt like to have this colleague of three years turn on him so completely, so callously. Even though Jesus knew it was coming, at least for some amount of time, surely Judas had been a legitimate friend at one time. Surely there had been genuine deep-hearted conversation, laughter and playful banter, perhaps healing of Judas’ body or soul. What went wrong?

Perhaps he got disillusioned or disappointed with Jesus. Envious maybe. A seed got planted in his soul and began to fester. And for reasons beyond comprehension, Judas didn’t just walk away; he colluded with the enemy to have the best person who ever lived killed. And Jesus surrendered to it. He didn’t resist betrayal.

I don’t know any Judases, thank God, but I do know that I can betray myself. The last couple days I betrayed my intention to live “freely and lightly,” ignoring the grace to be led joyfully through my activities. Instead I pushed hard for my own agenda. I was grumpy, impatient, and unloving. I wasn’t saying yes to the invitation of the Spirit. But today I am! Yes, Lord, you know what you’re doing, and your intentions for me (and the world around me) are overwhelmingly good. I will relax and trust you; I don’t need to push. (Pushing doesn’t work anyway.)

Three years earlier, the Father had asked Jesus, in effect, Will you be a container for my power, my blessing, and my purpose? And Jesus said yes. He had a choice, and he said yes. Now the Father is asking him, Will you be a container for loss, betrayal, and suffering? And Jesus again says yes. I struggle to imagine both the glory and the devastation attached to those yeses. The utter thrill of being such a conduit for transformation and the horror of facing such an end. He said yes.

growing the soul

What is God asking you to carry in the container of your soul right now? What glory…or what sacrifice? Are you being called to courageously stand up…or to courageously lay something down? Or perhaps even a version of both of those.

serving the world

What will your yes mean to those around you? What will it mean mystically to the world at large? Alternatively, what would your lack of yes mean to them?

meditation

takeaway

Say yes.