Wednesday of Holy Week
The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, That I may know how to sustain with words him who is weary. He awakens morning by morning, He awakens my ear to hear as those who are taught. The Lord God has opened my ear. I was not rebellious. I have not turned back. I gave my back to those who beat me, And my cheeks to those who plucked off the hair. I didn't hide my face from shame and spitting. For the Lord God will help me. Therefore I have not been confounded. Therefore I have set my face like a flint, And I know that I won't be disappointed. He who justifies me is near. Who will bring charges against me? Let us stand up together. Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me. Behold, the Lord God will help me! Who is he who will condemn me? Behold, they will all grow old like a garment. The moths will eat them up.
I have become a stranger to my brothers, An alien to my mother's children. For the zeal of your house consumes me. The reproaches of those who reproach you have fallen on me. When I wept and I fasted, That was to my reproach.
They also gave me poison for my food. In my thirst, they gave me vinegar to drink. Let their table before them become a snare. May it become a retribution and a trap.
Then one of the twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, "What are you willing to give me if I deliver him to you?" So they weighed out for him thirty pieces of silver. From that time he sought opportunity to betray him.
Now on the first day of unleavened bread, the disciples came to Jesus, saying to him, "Where do you want us to prepare for you to eat the Passover?"
He said, "Go into the city to a certain person, and tell him, 'The Teacher says, "My time is at hand. I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples."'"
The disciples did as Jesus commanded them, and they prepared the Passover.
Now when evening had come, he was reclining at the table with the twelve disciples. As they were eating, he said, "Most certainly I tell you that one of you will betray me."
They were exceedingly sorrowful, and each began to ask him, "It isn't me, is it, Lord?"
He answered, "He who dipped his hand with me in the dish will betray me. The Son of Man goes even as it is written of him, but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would be better for that man if he had not been born."
Judas, who betrayed him, answered, "It isn't me, is it, Rabbi?"
He said to him, "You said it."
The servant in Isaiah sets his face like flint, knowing that suffering lies ahead but trusting completely in God's vindication. This same resolute determination echoes through the Passion account, where Jesus moves deliberately toward his hour, even as betrayal unfolds at the very table where he shares bread with his friends.
Notice how Judas asks the same question as the other disciples—"It isn't me, is it?"—yet something fundamentally different drives his inquiry. The others ask from genuine self-examination, that holy fear of recognizing our own capacity for failure. Judas asks from calculation, already knowing his answer. The tragedy isn't that he was predestined to betray Jesus, but that he chose to close his heart even while sitting in the presence of Love itself.
This dynamic plays out in our own lives more often than we'd like to admit. We find ourselves asking "It isn't me, is it?" when we know we've already chosen compromise over faithfulness, comfort over courage. The question becomes whether we're asking from genuine contrition or from a desire to maintain appearances.
The servant's trust in Isaiah offers another path: the willingness to endure difficulty without turning back, confident that God's help is near. This doesn't mean seeking out suffering, but rather maintaining fidelity when the cost becomes clear. Whether facing criticism for standing up for what's right, choosing honesty when it's inconvenient, or simply persevering through ordinary struggles, we're invited into that same flint-like resolve.
The difference between Peter's eventual denial and Judas's betrayal wasn't the severity of their failures, but their response afterward. One returned to mercy; the other couldn't imagine forgiveness was possible.
When you examine your conscience today, what motivates the question? How might you cultivate the servant's trust that God's vindication is certain, even when the path forward feels uncertain?