Why I cannot stop hoping for Judas

A note before you read: This one is a little longer than my usual blogs and speaks openly about some heavy things, including despair, shame, spiritual darkness, and suicide. Some of the darkness in this post is personal. But it is not without hope. If those are tender subjects for you right now, please skip this blog or read with care.

When you were a kid, did you ever do something wrong, get caught, and immediately think, ‘My mom or dad is going to kill me when they find out?’

That kind of fear is awful. Your stomach drops. Your mind starts racing. You feel trapped before anyone even says a word.

Now take that feeling and make it darker.

Have you ever felt like you were not loved, or not lovable? Like you had done so much wrong that there was no way back? Like you were beyond fixing, beyond reconciling, beyond mercy? Have you ever been so buried in shame that you started wondering if your life even still had meaning?

That kind of despair is a horrible place to be.

I know that place better than I wish I did.

Years ago, I was involved in an accident where someone else died. Even though it was not my fault, I carried guilt that felt crushing. I thought I was unforgivable. I thought no one would ever love me if they knew. I thought this one thing marked me forever.

Everyone I spoke to told me the same thing. It was not my fault. It was an accident. I was not to blame. Even in confession I was told that I had not sinned, that I did not need to confess it. But the evil one would not let up.

He kept whispering that I was guilty. He kept pressing shame into my mind. He kept telling me I was worthless, that I had ruined everything, that I was beyond peace. Those lies can wreck you if you let them sit in your head long enough. They isolate you. They wear you down. They make you pull away from people. They make you stop wanting to be around anyone at all. They make you think that there is only one way out.

So, when I think about Judas, I do not only think about the betrayal. I think about what the devil does to a man after sin. I think about the loneliness, the shame, the mental torment, the lies, the feeling that there is no way back. And from that place, I can understand why Judas returned the silver and then gave in to despair. That does not make the betrayal small. It does not excuse it. But it does make me stop and look at him differently, because I know what it is like when the evil one keeps talking long after everyone else has told you the truth.

Most people look at Judas and stop at betrayal. That is fair. It changed the course of that night and helped set the Cross in motion. And if it were not for Judas, it would have been someone, because the Cross was always going to happen. It was written. It was foretold. The Son of Man was always going to be handed over. I am not trying to make Judas’ part insignificant. But I also cannot stop looking at what happened to him after, when the devil left him, because Scripture tells us more than people sometimes admit.

John says, “The devil had already induced Judas, son of Simon the Iscariot, to hand him over,” and later, “After he took the morsel, Satan entered him.” Then Jesus says, “What you are going to do, do quickly.” (John 13:2, 27)

I cannot help but think Jesus is speaking to Satan there, not Judas.

That matters to me. It is not some random demon. It’s Satan. The accuser. The enemy. The one who tempted Jesus in the desert and who loves to lie, shame, twist, and destroy. Judas was not just having a bad day. He was caught in a real spiritual darkness. To me, the devil was not standing on the sidelines. He got the whole thing moving, and when Judas could have turned back, he stepped in harder. That is how I read it. That is my interpretation. I see Satan pushing this all the way through and then leaving Judas alone with the horror of what he had done. And when he left, Jesus was already arrested and led away. No chance to see Him again.

And that is the part that breaks my heart, because Judas did not walk away smiling. He did not celebrate. He did not enjoy the silver. Matthew says he “deeply regretted what he had done” and returned the thirty pieces of silver, saying, “I have sinned in betraying innocent blood.” (Matthew 27:3-4)

That sounds different to me than a man who hates Jesus. That sounds like a man who cannot survive what he has done.

That is why that line from Jesus hits me differently than it does for some people. When Jesus says, “The Son of Man indeed goes, as it is written of him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed. It would be better for that man if he had never been born” (Matthew 26:24), I do not hear only condemnation. I hear sorrow. I hear Jesus seeing what this betrayal is going to do to Judas. I hear Him seeing the torment, the shame, the loneliness, the mental collapse, the despair. I hear Jesus grieving that this man is about to go into a darkness so deep that he will not think he can come back from it.

That is how I hear it. Not as Jesus saying, “I am done with him,” but as Jesus saying, “The pain this man is about to carry is unbearable.”

And once you start hearing it that way, the difference between Peter and Judas gets even heavier. Peter failed Jesus too, but not in the same way. Peter denied Jesus on his own fear, his own weakness, his own panic. Scripture does not say Satan entered Peter and drove him to it the way it says of Judas. Peter still failed badly. Jesus had warned him, “Before the cock crows, you will deny me three times” (Matthew 26:34), and that is exactly what Peter did.

But Peter got something Judas never seems to get. He got one more look from Jesus. Luke says, “the Lord turned and looked at Peter,” and then Peter remembered and “began to weep bitterly.” (Luke 22:61-62)

That moment has always hit me hard. I cannot prove exactly what was in that look, but I know enough about Jesus to know it was not empty hatred. I do not think it was a look that said, “You are not the Rock I am going to build my Church on anymore.” I think it was a look that broke Peter open. A look that held truth and love at the same time. A look that said, “You failed. You sinned. I know. I still love you. Come back.”

Peter’s sorrow had somewhere to go. Judas never got that moment, at least not that we can see, and I think that matters more than we realize. Because when a person thinks there is no way to ask for forgiveness, or no chance they will receive it, the demons have room to work. The mind becomes a battlefield. Shame gets louder. Accusation gets bolder. Regret stops leading you toward repentance and starts driving you into a hole. You become restless, unsettled, cut off, alone. And when you are alone in that kind of darkness, the lies start sounding true.

I know that feeling. Maybe that is why I understand Judas more than I want to. I understand why he returned the silver. I understand why he could not stand himself. I understand why the guilt became too heavy to carry. I understand what it is like when everyone around you says one thing, but the evil one keeps saying another. I understand what it is like to be told you are not guilty and still feel stained. I understand what it is like to feel so buried under shame that you no longer know how to receive love.

That is part of why I do not consider Judas first as a monster. I see him as a man destroyed by despair, and that is why I cannot help hoping for him. I know many people are convinced they know exactly where he is. Fine. They can believe that. But I cannot get there myself. I cannot look at everything Scripture says, at Satan entering him, at his remorse, at his confession, at his collapse, and then speak about him like mercy had no chance.

In my mind Jesus forgave him. Not because Judas earned it. Not because betrayal is small. Not because I want to twist Scripture into something soft. But because Jesus is Jesus. From the Cross He prays, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,” and to the criminal beside Him He says, “Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:34, 43)

And when I hear them, I cannot help but think of all of them. Those who mocked Him. Those who beat Him. Those who condemned Him to death. Those who nailed Him to the Cross. Those who betrayed Him. I believe Judas was one of them. I have to think that prayer reached farther than the crowd standing at Calvary. I cannot shake the thought it reached into the whole darkness of that Passion. Which is why I think Judas is in Paradise too.

He forgave Peter. He forgives those in prison. He forgives sinners. Real sinners. Broken sinners. Ashamed sinners. People who did not just stumble a little but fell hard. People who believed lies in the dark. People who were manipulated, tempted, attacked, and still bear the wreckage of what they did. He forgave me too. All sinners.

If Jesus can forgive me, then I have to believe He can forgive Judas. And maybe that is the deepest point of this whole reflection. Because if my theory has no room to stand, then what hope do I have? If the devil can push someone deep into darkness, twist their mind, fill them with shame, wreck them from the inside, and then Jesus says, “Sorry, too late,” then what are any of us supposed to do? If mercy only works for clean sinners, then I am in trouble. If mercy only works for people who fail in easier ways, then a lot of us are doomed.

But I cannot believe that. The whole point of Jesus is that mercy goes deeper than sin. The whole point of the Cross is that He came for people in darkness. The whole point of the Resurrection is that even death does not get the final word.

So yes, this is my opinion. Yes, this is my interpretation. Yes, I know some people will disagree. That is fine. But when I hear Judas’ story, I see a spiritual attack. I see remorse. I see despair. I see a man who never got the look Peter got. And I think Jesus gave him that look anyway.

Maybe not in the garden. Maybe not before the rope. Maybe not in a moment Scripture records for us. But I think He gave it to him. I think Jesus met him in that darkness the same way He meets all of us in ours. Not to call evil good. Not to pretend sin does not matter. But to say that the devil does not get the last word.

Mercy does.

That is what I come back to. Maybe because I need to. Maybe because I know what it is like to sit in shame and hear the enemy whisper that you are beyond love. Maybe because I know what it is like to need Jesus to speak louder than the lies. Maybe because if Judas is only a story about damnation, then I do not know what to do with the darker chapters of my own life.

But if Judas is also a story about how brutal despair can be, and how necessary mercy is, then I understand why judgment belongs to God. So this Holy Week, I am not looking at Judas with anger nearly as much as I am looking at him with sorrow. Not because his sin was small, but because despair is savage, and because I still believe Jesus is merciful enough to reach even there.

So after all that, did your mom or dad kill you for that thing you did? No. You are still here, and Jesus still loves you. He always will.