If Tuesday was explosive, Wednesday was eerily quiet. The calm before the storm.
After back-to-back days of bold moves and public conflict—first the triumphant parade into Jerusalem, then flipping tables in the temple courts, followed by non-stop confrontations with religious leaders—you’d expect the momentum to keep surging forward.
But instead, the Gospels go mostly silent about this day. Biblically speaking, Wednesday of Holy Week isn’t filled with public events like the days before. Nothing flashy. No public teaching. No dramatic miracles. Just… quiet.
But don’t mistake the silence for peace. Beneath the stillness, a dark plot is unfolding.
The Quiet Before the Cross
Behind the scenes, the stage was being set for the greatest act of betrayal history has ever known.
This is the day Judas Iscariot went to the chief priests to cut a deal.
This is the day thirty pieces of silver sealed Jesus’ fate. Thirty pieces of silver, the price that was customarily paid for a wounded slave.
Luke 22:3 says, “Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, one of the Twelve. And Judas went to the chief priests and the officers of the temple guard and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus.”
Just sit with that for a second.
This wasn’t just a random outsider. This was a trusted friend. A man who had spent years with Jesus. Shared meals with Jesus. Witnessed miracles performed by Jesus. He had even been entrusted with the group’s finances. Judas was on the inside. He’d seen it all. And yet, he’s the one who chose to betray Him.
Sometimes your worst enemies turn out to be your brothers.
What’s wild is that Jesus knew it was coming. And he didn’t stop it. Imagine knowing one of your best friends was going to betray you, and just letting it all unfold, not saying a word, not ending the relationship, not calling out the betrayer.
What’s most fascinating about Wednesday is that while the religious leaders are plotting and Judas is scheming, Jesus seems still. There’s no record of any public appearances. It’s possible He spent the day in Bethany, a small village just outside Jerusalem, staying with his close friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. Maybe he was resting. Maybe he was preparing. Maybe he was praying.
But make no mistake—He was aware. He could feel the tension. He knew the cross was coming.
And yet, while there was plenty of time to walk away unnoticed and avoid all that was to come, he didn’t. His silence wasn’t apathy, it was resolve. His stillness wasn’t weakness, it was strength under control.
While others plotted in secret, Jesus stayed anchored in purpose. While betrayal brewed in the shadows, Jesus held His ground in the light.
The Judas in All of Us
This is where things get uncomfortably real.
We love to villainize Judas. We make him the obvious bad guy, the one who completely missed the point, the guy with the snake eyes and sinister grin. But let’s be honest—that’s not how he looked to anyone else. When Jesus finally calls him out at the Last Supper, none of the other disciples even suspect him.
Judas didn’t look like a betrayer. No, he looked like a believer. And that’s what makes Wednesday so convicting. Because you and I? We’ve got a little bit of Judas in us, too.
We know what it’s like to walk with Jesus… and still wrestle with doubt.
To believe in His power… and still cling to control.
To say the right things… and still feel tempted to sell out when things get hard.
Betrayal doesn’t always start with some big, dramatic rebellion. Sometimes it starts small. In compromise. In frustration. In unmet expectations. In disappointment that God didn’t do things your way, on your timeline.
Sometimes we don’t sell Jesus out for silver. We sell Him out for influence. For comfort. For approval. For the illusion of control.
Judas is no more responsible for Jesus going to the cross than I am.
Wednesday reminds us how thin the line is between devotion and defection.
Grace Is Still on the Table
Here’s the part that blows my mind: Jesus knew Judas would betray Him, yet he still washed his feet. He knew what was unfolding, as corrupt men with impure hearts and evil intentions met to form a sinister plan, But he still walked toward the cross. He knew silence would give way to suffering, and still stayed the course.
That’s not weakness. That’s love.
The kind of love that doesn’t run when you’re unfaithful. The kind of love that doesn’t flinch when you’re doubting. The kind of love that lets you come back—even after you’ve wandered.
So if you’re reading this and you feel like Judas—if you’ve been pretending, drifting, compromising, hiding behind a religious mask—Jesus isn’t finished with you.
You don’t have to keep playing the part. You don’t have to live a divided life.
You can come home.
In the silence of Wednesday, grace was being written into the story. The cross was coming, not to condemn us, but to redeem us.
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