A few years ago I read to my kids the first few volumes of the The Green Ember series, written by S.D. Smith, and immediately I was struck by one of its central themes: betrayal. It stood out pretty starkly for a kid’s book. The rabbit kingdom, Natalia, collapsed and the main characters, Pickett and Heather, are being hunted down ruthlessly as the first book, The Green Ember, opens. Why? Because, their own uncle, Garten Longtreader, betrayed Jupiter the king to his death to an enemy kingdom comprised of birds of prey and wolves. Betrayals continue as the book unfolds, particularly through their friend Kyle. Because such dramatic betrayals are not very common in children’s literature, I thought to myself, is S.D. Smith obsessed with betrayal?
The more I thought about it, however, the more I saw that he was highlighting a central theme in human life, brought out in other works of literature, history, and even in our salvation.
Dante portrays betrayal with the utmost seriousness, placing it at the frozen center of hell! Although we think of fire in that desolate place, Dante replaces it with ice, the absence of life and love to indicate the very lack of devotion and fidelity that causes betrayal.
And within Lucifer’s mouth, the great traitor incessantly chews the greatest traitors of history in his three jaws: Caesar’s betrayers Brutus and Cassius, and, by far the greatest traitor of all, Judas Iscariot. And why does Dante place betrayal at the center of hell? All sin is a betrayal of God, an imitation of Lucifer’s rebellion to place oneself before the proper order of justice and charity to others, especially God.
Graham Greene also reflects deeply on betrayal in The Power and the Glory, not only introducing a Judas figure, the half-caste, but, even more importantly, in the whiskey priest’s willingness to accept betrayal at his hands in a priestly sacrifice. Shusaku Endo’s novel, Silence, steals the half-caste betrayer from Greene, although he takes the theme of betrayal to whole new level. Rather than having the flawed priest accept betrayal to his death, Endo has the priest betray Christ himself as a twisted way of loving his fellow Christians. Both books, however, point to the complexity of betrayal and the way in which God can use it to bring about a greater good.
Even if God can bring a greater good out of betrayal, we can’t excuse sin. It does point us, however, to fragility of the Christian life on earth, and the inability to express its perfection in this life. We are weakened from within and attacked from without. The Church has witnessed much betrayal, particularly in the popes, bishops, and priests who have undermined their office and the trust of the faithful. The laity too largely have abandoned the faith and receive the sacraments outside of a state of grace. Catholic public figures repeatedly betray the truth and advocate for evil. And for those who strive for virtue and holiness, there is still an inner rebellion that keeps us from doing what would we would (as Paul expresses it). Betrayal arises either as a kind of weakness of giving into the easier path, selling out higher goods for lesser ones, or, something that’s harder to come to terms with, a malice that deliberately betrays the good to advance the cause of evil.
In Lent we reflect on the temptations of Christ throughout our own forty days of prayers and fasting that are meant to unite us with his own time in the desert. The three temptations offer a security gained by seizing things on one’s own terms, rather than surrendering to God’s will. They challenge us to reflect on whether or not we are living for earthly bread, honor, and security or are willing to abandon it all for something greater. We betray God when we seek these things above him. Jesus embraces his role as Messiah not in establishing an earthly kingdom but by embracing death at the hands of a betrayer. He shows us that God’s power comes not from any form of earthly security or the avoidance of suffering but from surrendering one’s own will and even one’s own life for the sake of what matters most.
Although we can’t get away from betrayal in this life–whether our own internal failings or the disappointments that surround us in the Church and society–enduring it becomes the means to reigning with Christ, embracing the failure of realizing the kingdom in this life to inherit it in the next. Perhaps we need betrayal as a source of purification and spiritual trial. It may have a central role in the spiritual battle of this life, but it does not have the last word.
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