Today is Spy Wednesday, the quiet, often ignored, shadowed middle of Holy Week. It’s a day to reflect on betrayal.
The Gospel writers tell us that Judas Iscariot—one of the chosen twelve, a man who ate with Jesus, traveled with Jesus, laughed with Jesus—went to the chief priests and sold him out. Thirty silver coins.
Apparently, that’s what it took.
That’s all it takes.
Follow the money.
Let’s not forget: the first act that set the crucifixion in motion didn’t come from Roman soldiers or an angry mob. It came from someone in his inner circle. Someone who knew him. Someone close enough to kiss him.
Betrayal always comes with intimacy. It requires nearness. And this is where it hits home.
It seems to me that the American church—especially those who wave the flag in one hand and grab for power with the other, sanctifying violence and calling it “just,” merging nationalism with theology and equating political access with faithfulness—has become Judas. And I wonder if those of us who stand by, wringing our hands and wishing it weren’t happening, are just as complicit.
Not because we delivered the kiss of death, but because of our deafening silence in the face of suffering.
We are betraying Jesus in the poor.
We are betraying Jesus in the immigrant child.
We are betraying Jesus in the unhoused, the hungry, the addicted, the uninsured.
And still, we amen sermons and sing songs as if we are the faithful ones.
Surely we remember what Jesus said:
“Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.”
To me.
Jesus. What have we done?
What does it mean that we’ve built systems that punish the poor for being poor? That we preach “family values” while mothers are caged and children cry behind barbed wire? That we claim to love justice and yet deny due process, ignore human dignity, and refuse hospitality?
We have pledged allegiance to empire while claiming false loyalty to love. Betrayal. We’ve become fluent in the words of worship—but illiterate in practice. Betrayal.
Spy Wednesday is not about remembering a single historical traitor.
It’s about recognizing the Judas in ourselves. It’s about confessing and confronting the ways we bend toward self-preservation rather than sacrificial love. The ways we pray in Jesus’ name but refuse to practice His way.
This holy day in Holy Week invites a holy confrontation:
What have I sold out for a few coins?
What comforts have I chosen over compassion?
What version of Jesus have I created to avoid following the real one?
Holy Week is not a sentimental reenactment of seder meals, seven last words, and a basket of Easter flowers. It is a mirror. And this time, Judas is standing before us, holding it up.
May we have the courage to examine ourselves.
Shane Ash 