MODERN JUDASES The story of Judas casts a dark shadow through the sunlight of twenty centuries. His deed was more than a betrayal of friendship. Lady Macbeth, coming from the chamber of death into the candlelight and beholding her lily-white hands stained ruby red with the blood of murdered friendship, and fearing to wash them, lest the ocean’s flood should tell to every rock-bound coast the blushing secret of her guilt, was not half so bad as Judas. This deed was more than the betrayal of friendship; it was the dark hand of villainy, reaching from behind the dark curtains of selfishness, that with the keen blade of greed he might pierce the unprotected breast of innocence. It was a tragedy that, with each decade’s growth in love, becomes more atrocious in the eyes of men. Named after Judas Maccabæus, one of the most illustrious characters of Jewish history, good enough and gifted enough to be chosen as a disciple, and possessing such integrity of character that he was chosen treasurer of the group, Judas began his public career auspiciously. For three years he had been associated with Christ in the most intimate manner. He had entered cities and passed through country places, preaching and performing miracles, until returning with radiant face he said with the other disciples, “Even the devils are subject unto us.” Having been lifted out of his old self, he rejoiced in the delights of noble living. Within a few weeks he would have been able to stand with Peter at Pentecost and take his place among the world’s beloved immortals. Then came the awakening. He had followed Christ through the fragrant fields of the Beatitudes and under the clear sky of the Sermon on the Mount; he had seen Christ, at the sacrifice of rest and comfort, change barren lives into beauty, as the sun adorns barren branches with clustered fruit; and now, as his life was approaching the crisis, Judas could see where the road was leading, and he became frightened. He saw that the end of the Christ-journey was not toward worldly triumph, but toward sorrow, not to a palace, but a bleak mountainside, not toward a throne, but a cross; and he began to think of himself. “What shall I do?” Like one facing a panic he stood petrified with terror. Seeing the investment of three long years trembling in the balance, he did not think it businesslike to follow Christ any further. His love for money so blinded his eyes that he could not see the moral grandeur of Christ’s program. Angered and disappointed, he deserted his post, sought the seclusion of the night-time shadows to complete his plans. Well does the inspired writer add, “And it was night.” Of course it was night; dark, starless, moonless night, for he had allowed his love for money to eclipse the Light of Life.