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The antagonists in the story of salvation history rarely receive recognition in the Christian calendar. No holy day is named for Cain or Jezebel, Herod or Diocletian, Topcliffe or Calles. Judas, however, is the exception. Today is popularly known as Spy Wednesday, named for the renegade disciple who, as today’s Gospel explains, was spying on Jesus, looking for “an opportunity to betray him.” Spy Wednesday, consequently, constitutes something like an anti-feast, a day to remember not a virgin, martyr, or confessor, but a traitor.

But why draw attention to Judas? Is it simply to explain how the arrest and trial of Jesus came about, or is there more we can learn from reflecting on the person of Judas and his disastrous fall?

Judas was truly a disciple of Jesus. Indeed, he was his trusted friend (cf. Ps 41:10; Matt 26:50). He was also an apostle, one of the twelve chosen by the Lord himself “to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message, and to have authority to cast out demons” (Mark 3:14-15).

As such, Judas witnessed Christ’s life and ministry from a privileged vantage point, not as a mere spectator but as an active participant. With his own ears, Judas heard the grunts and squeals of the pigs into whom Christ sent the possessed man’s demons (Luke 8:26-39). With his own hands, he touched the miraculously multiplied bread and fish (Matt 15:32-39). With his own eyes, he looked through the stormy mist to see Jesus and Peter walking on water (Matt 14:22-33).

And yet, after all this, with his own lips, Judas kissed the God-man’s cheek to single him out for his unmerited arrest (Matt 26:47–50).

Judas’s story is tragic, to be sure, but our provident God wastes nothing, not even sins. Saint Thomas Aquinas explains:

Even when God punishes men by permitting them to fall into sin, this is directed to the good of virtue. Sometimes indeed it is for the good of those who are punished, that is to say, when men arise from sin more humble and more cautious. But it is always for the amendment of others, who seeing some men fall from sin to sin, are the more fearful of sinning. (ST I-II, q. 87, a. 2)

Judas could have repented of his sin and arisen more humble and more cautious, but he did not. We, however, seeing how he cascaded from sin to sin, from theft and greed to treachery and despair, can learn from his fall. Judas shows us that it really is possible to be an intimate companion of Christ and to turn away from him, to receive grace, and then reject the gift.

Yet the warning of Spy Wednesday is by no means the last word. Our anti-feast comes just before the Sacred Triduum, the holiest days of the year, when we direct our focus once again to those very mysteries by which we have hope. As Spy Wednesday reminds us that it is possible for us to fall, the Triduum reminds us of the more astonishing truth that it really is possible for us, poor sinners though we are, to be forgiven of all our sins—even the worst transgressions—and to share abundant life with God forever.

May our reflecting on Judas today help us to be ever vigilant in the struggle against sin and ever dependent on Christ and the victory he won for us. By God’s grace, may we persevere to the end and one day be welcomed into heaven by the saints—those with proper feasts.

This article was originally published in dominicanajournal.org and was written by Br. Samuel Trecost, O.P.

This reflection is part of our Holy Week guide, designed to help you walk with Christ in prayer through these sacred days. View the full guide here.

What if Jesus were to win? What if Pilate were to be convinced, wash his hands of the crowd, and release Christ to complete his kingly mission? Even with the Resurrection a week away, I find the prospect tempting. Two thousand years later, John’s Gospel has us on the edge of our seats. Just 20 minutes ago, we were standing in the crowd, crying Hosanna. Surely we will not crucify our king.

The crowd cries out, “Hosanna,” both a cry for salvation and a song of praise. But this is not the praise of the Lord—this is a blessing for a king. The crowd, “in their blindness, have lessened his praise, for the Psalm praises our Lord as God, but they praised him as a temporal king” (Aquinas’ Commentary on John). And should they not? For a battered and oppressed people, this is a sign of hope. After all, the Lord has promised a king on the throne forever (Jer 33:17). Even the disciples, who hung on Christ’s every word, join with the crowd in great expectation. Be it prophecy, piety, or just plain human justice, I’m ready for Pilate to give in. 

Palm Sunday sets a new pitch: in with a bang, and out with a whimper. Holy Week is salvation history, unfolding at a glance. We know the way our God usually works. The barren wife. The humble and lame. The weak shaming the strong. These are our heroes. Our God serves the best wine last. He turns jars of water into wine, a purification rite into merriment (John 2:6). But, as if to try our patience and persistence, Christ presents himself as an earthly king—in with a bang, and out with a whimper. He serves the best wine first, saving the bitter dregs for last. Christ comes clothed in the raiment, as the world would have him—crowned to the satisfaction of Jews, robed in the wisdom of the Gentiles. The Gospel has been calling us to forget our worldly expectations, but now Christ seems to fulfill them. 

Ah, but we know the full story—Christ’s true victory is still to come. But the liturgy demands we stand in the crowd. It demands we cry out for an earthly king. Christ’s entry into Jerusalem is more than dramatic foreshadowing. Palm Sunday brings us back to the early days of our faith when the Lord was our strength. No cross. Just loaves and fish. Yet how quickly it brings us to the cross, as if for the first time. Like the other disciples, Christ continues to set, break, and renew our expectations. Today we regain our earthly hope, only to lose it. 

Palm Sunday takes us on a new turn, but where it is leading us is no mystery. Despite the outward show, we’re making our way to an empty tomb. Christ renews our worldly hope, only to shatter it. We’re reminded that Christ transcends not only death, but even the old life. He calls us to something more than earthly victory. He points us to his true glory—not in the thunder, or the fire. Not with the crowds and courtiers. But in the still small voice. No longer a dying whimper, but the whisper of new life. No longer of agony, but consolation. The hope of a king, not as the world would have it, but as the Lord himself gives it.

This article was originally published in dominicanajournal.org and was written by Br. Augustine Buckner, O.P.

Salve, radix, salve, porta
Ex qua mundo lux est orta

During the solemn months of Lent, the Church honors Mary after Compline with the words above from the Ave Regina Caelorum. They translate to “Hail, root—hail, gate, from which the light of the world has risen.” They honor Mary as the root from which grows Christ, the Fruit of the Tree of Life. She is like a gate, through which shines the first dawn of the Light of the World. The Solemnity of the Annunciation is our worship of the mystery of the Incarnation.

Jesus tells us “I am the Light of the World” (John 8:12). But what is this Light? Inspired by the Church Fathers, Saint Thomas Aquinas says that this Light is the knowledge of God. “By the mystery of the Incarnation are made known at once the goodness, the wisdom, the justice, and the power of God” (ST III, q. 1, a. 1). The Annunciation is the dawning of that Light on earth—the first glimmer of sunrise over dark hills. After years of separation, of flight from before his face, “the people that have walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isa 9:2).

But at first, this Light shines in one alone. Only in a lowly, lovely maiden, upon whom the Holy Spirit has spread his power.

After the dawn of the Annunciation, only a single, radiant soul has received the Word of God. Like the sunrise of nature, the sunrise of the knowledge of God is gradual. The Word, as of yet, does not use words. He only dwells deep in Mary, and rests, and grows. She who was called “full of grace” has the Author of Grace within. Dawn breaks, but the sun is still below the horizon. God first comes in quiet: present, but hidden. 

After some years, after the wonders of the Nativity, the Word would speak—the sun is lighting up the world. In the bubbly murmurs of a babe, he would speak “mama” to his mother. As he grew and played, his words of love and wisdom would grow longer. Perhaps the boy Jesus would look up with Mary to a night sky riddled with stars. He would tug her sleeve and point up, whispering to her their secret names from when he determined their number (Ps 147:4). The stars are wonderful, says he, and yet—how much more does he love her?

After many years, the Word becomes a preacher. His words are strong and dazzling, leading some to wonder: “Is this not the carpenter’s son?” (Matt 13:55). There is something different here. Jesus has “a new teaching with authority” (Mark 1:22). He is no mere speculator, theologian, or prophet, but an eyewitness of the inner life of God. To the crowds, he speaks in parables about the Kingdom—which is like a mustard seed, or like yeast. His works are a sign as well. He heals the sick, and after speaks revelatory words of his identity—“even though you do not believe me, believe the works, that you may know and understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father” (John 10:38).

Finally, the Light of the World shines brightly. Just before the Word’s final trial, he shares the paschal lamb with his disciples. He speaks plainly and says to them “this is eternal life, that they know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent” (John 17:3). God, through Jesus, has revealed his goodness, wisdom, power, and might to a world far from him. He shows power and might such that “he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live” (John 11:25). In his light, we find life. 

Today, on the Solemnity of the Annunciation, we turn our gaze once more to a small home in Nazareth and recall the first light of a brilliant dawn. The light will rise slowly, and at the start, it will shine in one alone. With an angel we hail the root, the gate, the Queen of Heaven from whom that light dawns, and marvel that the child’s name will be Emmanuel—God with us.

This article was originally published in dominicanajournal.org and was written by Br. Barnabas Wilson, O.P.

Holy Thursday. 

The day of the Lord’s Supper. 

On this day, when we liturgically commemorate Christ’s institution of the Eucharist, Catholics from all over the world are unable to attend Mass. Of course, many Catholics will be watching live-streamed liturgies and practicing other prayerful devotions (such as those recommended the other day by Brother Vincent), but it can feel very much as though the Eucharistic chalice has passed us by and we have moved directly to Gethsemane. 

With our Lord, we face the cup of his Passion. Perhaps this year is a time when we should focus especially on this other event that took place during the night of Holy Thursday. What can the Agony in the Garden, this period of unique darkness in the life of our Lord, teach us about this very dark time in our own lives?

Like the disciples we are called by our Lord to watch and pray. Although Christ predicted his Passion to his disciples many times, they had not fully understood. Just like us, they are bidden to watch for they know not what. We do not know how long this pandemic will last. We do not know how many more may lose their jobs, how many more will die, what life will look like after the pandemic. We, like the disciples, find ourselves in an inherently uncertain situation. 

Although our Lord foretold his Passion, he did not give his disciples immediate preparation in the form of step-by-step instructions. He simply told them, and us, to watch and to pray. In particular, we are called to pray that we may not undergo the test. As social distancing and quarantining continues we undergo tests everyday: tests of anxiety, tests of patience, tests of our virtue, tests of our trust. But we need not and we cannot face any of these tests alone with any hope of success. 

As our Lord told St. Peter, the Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. And as he had told them shortly before in the Upper Room, apart from him we can do nothing. If we trust too much in our own strength we will end in the same mistake as St. Peter. As we go through this period of anxiety and trial, this Passion, we have the opportunity to be purified and grow closer to our Lord. 

But we can only be purified and grow closer to him if we rely on him more and more, even when he seems to be allowing things to happen that we find hard or impossible to understand. Imagine the disciples’ shock that Jesus would simply let himself be betrayed by Judas and arrested by the soldiers—Why would he do that? Why would he allow this person to lose their job? Why would he allow a person whom we love to die? Why would he allow the sacraments to become unavailable to us?

We can also identify with our Lord in this hour of darkness. We are all familiar with the injunction to “offer up” our sufferings and inconveniences for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. But perhaps it is helpful in this painful moment to remember that we are only able to do this because Christ has already identified himself with us. The purpose of the Eucharist which Christ instituted today, and of which so many of us are deprived, is to unite us to himself, to make us members of his body. 

In the understanding of the English mystic, Caryll Houselander, Christ lives the mysteries of his life in us. Our loneliness in this time of isolation, our temptations, our struggle to trust, our desire to have this cup of suffering, doubt, and discouragement pass from us, is the loneliness and pain of our Lord. As Houselander says, 

He chose to experience fear, temptation, failure. He suffered loneliness, betrayal, injustice, the spurning of his love, mockery, brutality, utter desolation of spirit, the sense of despair, and death . . . He identified with our suffering because he identified himself with us, and he came not only to lead his own historical life on earth, but to live the life of every man who would receive him into his soul, and to be the way back to joy for every individual.” (Caryll Houselander in Sheed, The Book of the Saviour, 241)

With this confidence, we can pray with Christ the prayer that he taught us, the Our Father, and say with him in Gethsemane: “thy will be done.” Let us pray for one another that we may have the courage to accept his will during this difficult time, a will that “is love and mercy itself.” 

This article was originally published in dominicanajournal.org and was written by Fr. Christopher Daniel, O.P.

This reflection is part of our Holy Week guide, designed to help you walk with Christ in prayer through these sacred days. View the full guide here.

Ite Ad Joseph. “Go to Joseph.”

These were the words of Pharaoh to the people of Egypt during the years of famine (Gen 41:55). These are the words inscribed at the base of the statue of St. Joseph in front of St. Joseph’s Oratory of Mount Royal. This Oratory was founded by St. André Bessette, who obtained many miraculous healings through the intercession of St. Joseph.

By declaring St. Joseph, the husband of Mary, the universal patron of the Catholic Church, the Catholic Church tells us to go to St. Joseph in our times of need as well. We can draw much spiritual fruit from considering the first Joseph, the son of Israel, as a type of Joseph, the husband of Mary. Psalm 105 below summarizes nicely the important facts of the ancient Joseph’s life:

When [the Lord] summoned famine against the land,
       and broke every staff of bread,
he had sent a man ahead of them,
       Joseph, who was sold as a slave.
His feet were hurt with fetters,
      his neck was put in a collar of iron;
until what he had said came to pass,
       the word of the Lord kept testing him.
The king sent and released him;
       the ruler of the peoples set him free.
He made him lord of his house,
       and ruler of all his possessions,
to instruct his officials at his pleasure,
       and to teach his elders wisdom. (Ps 105:16-22)

The first part of the above passage describes a land beset by famine. In the times of Joseph of the Old Testament, people everywhere lacked food, but God provided for them through Joseph. In the Gospels, Jesus Christ is born as an infant who needs to be fed, and just as the people of Egypt sought food from Joseph, the head minister of Pharaoh’s household, so Jesus goes to Joseph, whom God has set over his own household, to receive the necessities of earthly life.

The description of Joseph bound in fetters and an iron collar is evocative of the bonds of sin. However, it has long been the tradition of the Church that St. Joseph, the husband of Mary, never committed a single actual sin; however, unlike Mary he was not immaculately conceived, and he came into being with the fetters of original sin. Yet, just as the king released Joseph, the son of Israel, from his bonds and set him over his household, so also God released Joseph, the husband of Mary, from his bonds of sin and set him over the Holy Family as its head.

And just as through Joseph, the son of Israel, God provided food for the starving people of Egypt and his family, so through Joseph, the husband of Mary, did God the Father provide for the needs of Jesus. In formation houses of the Dominican province of St. Joseph, there is a tradition of singing an antiphon at dinnertime that honors St. Joseph: Ecce fidelis servus et prudens, quem constituit Dominus super familiam suam. It translates to “Behold! A faithful and prudent servant, whom the Lord placed over His household.” This antiphon reminds us of the trust which God placed in St. Joseph to manage His household. Further, since it is prayed at dinner, it reminds us that Joseph, by his prayers, obtains for us those good things we need, such as the food we’ve just eaten. For just as St. Joseph watched over and cared for Mary, St. Joseph similarly watches over and cares for the Church, whom Mary represents, and all Christians belonging to it. If God the Father was pleased to provide for His Son, Jesus, through St. Joseph, then we can be confident that if we turn to St. Joseph as God’s faithful steward we will not lack for anything. In times of distress, go to Joseph.

This article was originally published in dominicanajournal.org and was written by Fr. Bartholomew Calvano, O.P.