Meanwhile, Judas does not stop handing him over, but not for money. Perhaps out of obedience, perhaps out of despair, perhaps out of love, perhaps. Judas hands himself over to ambiguity; the human heart remains obscure. And so it shall be forever.
First, there are instructions and codes, mysterious is the hidden game of being a disciple: colts to untie, cloaks to spread, olive branches to wave. The life that awaits us eems like child’s play, if it weren’t for the death that will render incomprehensible—even with ancient scriptures—the enthusiasm of the entrance into Jerusalem.
Then a supper that is a handing over—sealing friendship, because only friends can betray and be betrayed.
I think of betrayal as the seal of a bond.
To take, to bless, to break, like to be born, to bless, to die. It seems to me that I need to learn nothing more than the art of blessing.
And we do not pray except in the heart of scandal. There is no prayer except in fear and anguish. There is no prayer except in a soul sorrowful unto death.
I would spend my life following the destiny of breath, which from a kiss chokes into a knot suspendedforever in remorse. Judas. But also Peter, who finally understands that he has not yet understood.
And finally, the cross. There is nothing left but to walk toward it, to pass through it, and hope that the Light raises us again.
