"Not I," Said the Blogger

In one of my favorite childhood stories, the Little Red Hen wants to make some bread (or pizza, as is the case in my kids' newer, hipper version). At every step, that motivated hen is looking for some help, and at every step, every barnyard animal says one at a time, "Not I." The Little Red Hen presses on, unflappable, and makes the bread anyway. She doesn't complain or anything. I would have laid a serious guilt trip on the cat and duck who were too busy, but that Little Red Hen just does her thing. Pretty inspirational, if you ask me.

I came across another place where the phrase, "Not I," plays a prominent role. When Jesus is sitting at the Last Supper, he mentions to the disciples that not only will he be betrayed, it will be by one of them. They each respond, "Surely not I, Lord?" (Matt. 26:22)

A recent sermon (Scott Davis) got me to see this passage in a new light. I never really recognized the doubt in their voices until now. These are his disciples, the ones who have spent the most time with him, the ones he has groomed to work after His death, and they're not entirely sure it won't be them that does the betraying. Each didn't think it was them. Each didn't want it to be them. But each still had to ask the question. What they seem to be saying is, "I wouldn't do that. Would I?" And perhaps they realize, deep down in the corners of their sin that they've suppressed in public but not in private, that they are each indeed capable of a betrayal of that scale.

Later in Matthew (26 & 27) we see the sins and failures of three prominent figures as the events of the crucifixion pass. It is easy to sit back and judge their failures, pointing out their weaknesses as instruction for "the lost."

The first is Caiphas, the high priest. This dude asks Jesus if He is the Messiah. Jesus responds that he is, and Caiphas screams out in disbelief. He asked a question that he had already decided the answer to. His sin is that of a closed heart. He already has his mind made up about Jesus, and he stands in firm unbelief, his only goal to affirm what he already had decided was true. Surely not I, Lord? says the blogger. Or perhaps I am capable. Haven't I chosen to hold to aspects of faith and only afterward attempted to find "proof" that I was right? Haven't I at times sought people I knew would agree with me, who would not challenge my belief? Haven't I at times stood confident in my "knowledge" of Jesus, ceasing to seek to know and understand more?

Then there's poor Judas, the one who did betray. Judas' failure in this passage is not, however, the betrayal. By this point he has realized what he has done and is remorseful, attempting to "fix" it by throwing the 30 pieces of silver into the temple. What does this show us? A man with a self-consumed heart, who looked only at his own appearance and at his own action. He attempted to hide the external evidence (the silver) and then hanged himself, effectively trying to take his own action to fix the unfixable. Surely not I, Lord? says the blogger. But wasn't that me trying to "atone" for mistakes, trying to behave my way out of the guilt of my sin? Or hiding the external evidence of my heart with a smile and proper behavior? Or being so consumed with fixing me through self-improvement and effort that I forgot to focus on God?

And let's not forget Peter, he of the weak heart, of the triple denial. Peter, the one with great confidence in safe places, crumbles under pressure. Who would possibly deny Christ mere hours after being with him, after years of walking with him? Surely not I, Lord? says the blogger. But wasn't that me, who when asked why I moved out to Sutherland, Nebraska, was hesitant to explain that it was because God said so? Or my weak faith that didn't really believe God was capable of healing my friend's body and heart, chalking it up to too ridiculous to pray for? Or my thoughtful words in Sunday School class that crumbled into angry epithets under the pressure of coaching?

In every miscue made by every figure in the Bible, I want it to not be true of me. Yet there I am. Lest I make Judas' mistake of self-focus once again, however, I take this Lent season to look to the cross, to the One who washed away all that Caiphas, Judas, Peter, and I did out of weakness in one terrible, wonderful day.

He died? For me? Surely not I, Lord? Yes, absolutely, 100% for me.