NOTES for Mat 26:6-16

Jesus' words about the poor, who will always exist, make us think. Today, when the fight against poverty, at least in words, is becoming one of the main priorities, they can certainly be somewhat disconcerting. But Jesus says them for a reason, and in the context of a specific situation, when voices are heard calling for those poor people, who according to His word are "always with us," to be preferred over Him. And here the question of choice arises, the question of the priorities that define our life.

Historically, Christianity has always supported every kind of social ministry: help for the poor, the sick, the rejected, charity both individual and collective - in short, everything that can in any way ease the condition of those for whom life is hard. And here, sooner or later, both individuals carrying out such ministries and entire communities inevitably face the question: who is first for us? Christ or the poor?

It would seem that there is no need to choose here: social ministry, at first glance, cannot possibly hinder spiritual life. But that is only how it looks at first glance, because social ministry is a ministry like any other. The Kingdom came into the world not with the poor, but with Christ, and it exists in the world because the Church is, in the apostle's words, the Body of Christ, not because it is a charitable organization. And social ministry, like any outward activity, takes on a life of its own and seeks to swallow a person whole. If it is allowed to do so, that person can easily forget the Kingdom, devoting himself entirely to the poor. And then he will no longer be able to help those to whom he devotes himself, because, in the Savior's words, man does not live by bread alone.

It is perfectly clear that the main thing in the Gospel text we read during these days is the events themselves, the events the evangelists are speaking about. They tell us about them not so that we may enjoy the literary style or enter into the depth of their thoughts and judgments. The events of Passion Week, like no others, must above all be seen.

The Creed, filled with depth and expressing the inexpressible mysteries of God, gives a somewhat unexpected and very concrete indication when it speaks of the Passion: "crucified for us under Pontius Pilate." Why? What does Pilate have to do with it? This mention is necessary so that we remember that the suffering of the Lord Jesus Christ for us is not an abstract theological category, but real events that happened at a definite time and in a definite place.

When we remember Judas' betrayal, the anointing with myrrh at the supper in Bethany, and Caiaphas' involuntary prophecy, we ourselves become, to some extent, not only spectators but participants in these events. For when we see Christ's Way of the Cross, we cannot help thinking that the Lord endures all this because of us, in our place, and for our sake.

In today's passage from the Gospel according to Matthew, two things are striking. First, Judas Iscariot, having decided to betray Jesus, came to the chief priests without knowing what reward they would give him. He was driven not only by a desire for money, or more precisely for some definite sum, but also by something else.

Who knows what it was? A rejection of Christ's teaching and the understanding that his own heart was closed to the Teacher? Perhaps annoyance that the Messiah did not want to seize power by force, and therefore that Judas himself could not fight while supporting Him? We can only wonder, but one thing is clear: at that moment everything had gathered into one great lump that needed only the slightest push... And the considerable sum, thirty pieces of silver (later a plot of land was bought with them; see Matt 27:3-7), plays the role of that push.

And the second thing that is surprising in the account of the Last Supper is that Jesus says almost directly who will betray Him. It would seem that anyone could have followed whose hand was in the dish at that moment and tried to stop the evildoer. And Judas himself, realizing that Jesus knew everything, could have stopped. But the lump is no longer simply rolling; it is flying down the mountain, carrying out what was written by the prophets.

Symbolically anointed with fragrant oil even before His burial, the Lord, on the night before His death, at the Passover supper, gives Himself as food to the disciples in bread and wine. In this way He shows them and us that His death is not accidental and not in vain. Even during His public ministry He speaks terrible words to the disciples, words that troubled many who followed Him: "Whoever eats (literally - gnaws, chews, a very expressive verb) My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him." His embodiment, His bodily existence, became the inseparable bond between God and humanity, and on this last night the disciples become participants in this bond, receiving in bread and wine the divinity and new humanity of Christ.

From this moment on, the Gospel narrative begins to move steadily toward its center of meaning - the story of Jesus' death and Resurrection. Christians have always understood these events as the accomplishment of a new sacrifice, which Christ offers for the whole world. The word "sacrifice" has long since fallen out of everyday speech in its original, religious sense. Yet the difficulty lies not only in ancient religious realities, but also in the very character of this self-giving. Christ gives Himself, as it were, in response to the gesture of the disciple who poured precious fragrant oil over Him.

For an outside observer, represented here by Judas, giving the most valuable thing for another is absurd and wild. He would be more satisfied with the "sacrifice" of alms to the poor, when only an insignificant part of what one has is given away. To give everything, to give oneself, is a reality "beyond the limits" for Judas and, perhaps, for many of us.

But an even greater mystery is that the suffering and dying Christ becomes bread and wine for the disciples - food that nourishes their life, which is now inseparably bound to the Teacher.