On the Spirit of Easter
Pt. 2: Judas, Peter, and the Supremacy of the Soul
[Greetings, friends, from Austin! Flowers are in full bloom, and spring has sprung here in Texas. Life is good despite its tragedies, and today I am heading back to the Midwest for my favorite holiday: Easter.
Last year around this time (in On the Spirit of Easter (Pt. 1)), I reflected on the resurrection as an emblem of renewal and rebirth—how, “only if we are willing to pick up our cross and follow Him” and “only if we’re willing to endure burning can we continue to give light.” This year, I want to explore another theme of the Easter story: the battle between the world and the Spirit. In the words of Solzhenitsyn:
The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts.1
We see the war between flesh and Spirit play out in the decisions of Judas to betray, Peter to deny, and Jesus to sacrifice. Each of them represents, in a way, three stages of affinity and devotion. Judas, to the flesh; Jesus, to the Spirit; and Peter, somewhere between the two.
So it is to the tension between the finite and the infinite, and how it manifests in the lives of Judas, Peter, and Jesus in the Easter story, that we devote the rest of today’s essay.]
The battle between flesh and Spirit, stomach and soul, is eternal in the human heart. The Apostle Paul captures this dilemma in Romans when he writes, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”2 Something about this confession from Paul echoes across time and resonates in chests. Each of us, in our own experience, knows exactly what it is Paul’s talking about here and has seen ourselves torn between what we know is right and what feels immediately rewarding—we constantly find what is best right now working to blind us from what’s best long term.
We see these forces at play in the Easter narrative, where the lives of Jesus and the disciples in the days leading up to the crucifixion offer a window into the cosmic drama of the soul. It is specifically the actions of two disciples that we focus on here: Peter and Judas.
Two Disciples, Two Choices
We start, first, with Judas and his decision to betray Jesus. As contextual background, Judas and the other disciples went with Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Over the days that followed, Jesus spoke to people, answered theological dilemmas, and cleared the temple of the money-changers. Rather than staying in Jerusalem, Jesus spent the nights in Bethany, at the home of his friends Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.
On one of those evenings (Holy Wednesday), Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with ointment. Judas criticized her for not selling the expensive ointment and giving the proceeds to a good cause. “Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and given to poor people?” Judas asks. Jesus defends Mary: “Let her alone, so that she may keep it for the day of My burial. For you always have the poor with you, but you do not always have Me.”3
Later that night, Judas went to see the religious leaders and arranged a deal to get 30 pieces of silver for leading the authorities to Jesus. Here’s Matthew’s account of Judas’ decision to betray Jesus, the Last Supper that followed, and the kiss that completed the act:
[Betrayal Decision]: Then one of the twelve, named Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, “What are you willing to give me to betray Him to you?” And they weighed out thirty pieces of silver to him. From then on he began looking for a good opportunity to betray Jesus.
…
[Last Supper]: Now when evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the twelve disciples. As they were eating, He said, “Truly I say to you that one of you will betray Me.” Being deeply grieved, they each one began to say to Him, “Surely not I, Lord?” And He answered, “He who dipped his hand with Me in the bowl is the one who will betray Me. “The Son of Man is to go, just as it is written of Him; but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been good for that man if he had not been born.” And Judas, who was betraying Him, said, “Surely it is not I, Rabbi?” Jesus said to him, “You have said it yourself.”
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[Kiss Betrayal]: While He was still speaking, behold, Judas, one of the twelve, came up accompanied by a large crowd with swords and clubs, who came from the chief priests and elders of the people. Now he who was betraying Him gave them a sign, saying, “Whomever I kiss, He is the one; seize Him.” Immediately Judas went to Jesus and said, “Hail, Rabbi!” and kissed Him. And Jesus said to him, “Friend, do what you have come for.” Then they came and laid hands on Jesus and seized Him.4
John’s Gospel gives further dramatic details, describing more than once how “Satan” entered Judas throughout the process, saying first that “[d]uring supper, the devil having already put into the heart of Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon, to betray Him,”5 and then saying this when Judas takes the bread from Jesus:
[Peter asked Jesus who would betray him and] Jesus then answered, “That is the one for whom I shall dip the morsel and give it to him.” So when He had dipped the morsel, He took and gave it to Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot. After the morsel, Satan then entered into him. Therefore Jesus said to him, “What you do, do quickly.”6
One of the ways we can understand John’s statement that Satan entered Judas (if we don’t take it to mean literal possession) is that Judas invited the Spirit of Satan in when he tilted himself downward, and yielded to his lower impulses.
After Judas’ betrayal, the story ends tragically for both him and Jesus. Jesus is arrested, condemned, and put to death. Feeling remorse after seeing Jesus condemned, Judas tries to return the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests. When they refuse his return, Jesus’ prophecy of “woe to the man” is realized.
[H]e felt remorse and returned the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders, saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to that yourself!” And he threw the pieces of silver into the temple sanctuary and departed; and he went away and hanged himself.7
The great poet Dante imagines Judas’s everlasting fate for his betrayal in his Inferno, placing Judas in the deepest pit, where he is constantly chewed on by Satan, frozen up to the waist in ice. This is Dante depicting his rule of contrapasso—receiving in death what you give in life—Judas’ eternal reaping of what he sowed on earth.
“That soul up there which has the greatest pain,”
The Master said, “is Judas Iscariot;
With head inside, he plies his legs without.”8
Having looked at Judas’ decision to choose the tangible and material reward of silver over the spiritual reward of right action, we can now look at Peter’s denial and hypocrisy. Just before Judas betrays Jesus in the Garden, Peter tells Jesus, “‘Lord, with You I am ready to go both to prison and to death!’ And [Jesus] said, ‘I say to you, Peter, the rooster will not crow today until you have denied three times that you know Me.’”9 Peter doesn’t want to believe it, doubling down on his commitment to Christ: “Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You.”10
Fast forward to the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane, we see Peter disgusted by Judas’ betrayal, going so far as to unsheath a sword and slice off an ear of one of those who came for Christ. Jesus calls off Peter, allows himself to be taken to a courtyard, and stands before the chief priests. It is in this courtyard that we see the prophecy of Peter’s denial fulfilled:
Now Peter was sitting outside in the courtyard, and a servant-girl came to him and said, “You too were with Jesus the Galilean.” But he denied it before them all, saying, “I do not know what you are talking about.” When he had gone out to the gateway, another servant-girl saw him and said to those who were there, “This man was with Jesus of Nazareth.” And again he denied it with an oath, “I do not know the man.” A little later the bystanders came up and said to Peter, “Surely you too are one of them; for even the way you talk gives you away.” Then he began to curse and swear, “I do not know the man!” And immediately a rooster crowed. And Peter remembered the word which Jesus had said, “Before a rooster crows, you will deny Me three times.” And he went out and wept bitterly.11
The Choice Between Flesh and Spirit
When Paul says that we do what we do not want and do not do what we want, he describes with painful accuracy the tendency of humanity to be a house divided against itself. We are like Plato’s chariot, a meeting place that must intermediate between sometimes competing impulses. We see this at play in Peter, when he says he won’t deny Christ but then does it three times. Or in Judas, who devoted his life to Christ as a disciple, only to betray him in the end.
The story of humanity is the story of selecting, with every choice, between these forces within us—the Light Horse and the Dark Horse; the two wolves; the higher and the lower; the Spirit and the flesh. The story of the Christian Bible, which reaches its culmination in the crucifixion and resurrection, is a call to the higher. As Paul says in Galatians: “Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.”12
We see the benefits of reaping to the Spirit realized in the life of Christ. What sets Jesus apart in the Easter narrative is not that he lacked bodily desires or physical temptations, but that he consistently and flawlessly subordinated them to spiritual purpose. Unlike Judas and Peter, whose moments of weakness reveal the universal human tendency to favor comfort over conviction, Jesus demonstrates an unwavering commitment to spiritual priorities.13
Consider the contrast: Judas chose thirty pieces of silver over loyalty to his teacher. Peter chose physical safety over faithfulness to his friend. Both allowed the immediate demands of the flesh—greed in one case, fear in the other—to override their spiritual commitments.
Jesus, however, provides the counterexample. In the wilderness, when tempted with bread after forty days of fasting, he declared, “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.”14 When tempted with earthly kingdoms and power, he refused. Not even the threat of the most painful death imaginable could convince him to abandon the spiritual integrity of Truth, Beauty, and Goodness.
In his willingness to embrace death, Jesus wasn’t rejecting the body as inherently sinful. If the body alone was defiled then Jesus could have never have entered into it in the first place. In his crucifixion, he demonstrated its proper placement—as a servant to the Spirit, not its master. When the nails pierced his hands, when thirst parched his throat, when every bodily instinct would have screamed for self-preservation, Jesus remained committed to his spiritual mission, concluding even in the ultimate distress, “[y]et not my will, but yours be done.15”
This perfect subordination of flesh to Spirit becomes the model and the means for our own transformation. Where Peter and Judas show us our common failure points, Christ shows us a new way, where temporal concerns yield to eternal ones. Through this perfect alignment—never hating the flesh but never allowing it to rule—Jesus built the bridge between Heaven and Earth that makes our union with God possible.
Looking to Jesus’ example, Paul writes this call to follow it in Romans:
So then, brethren, we are under obligation, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh—for if you are living according to the flesh, you must die; but if by the Spirit you are putting to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are being led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.16
The Invitation of Easter
As Easter returns to us like Chesterton’s boomerang bearing blessings in the form of annual reminders, it is an invitation to consider once again how we might live more of our lives in the Spirit. It is an invitation to remember that the one who gives up their life is the one who gains it. It is a call toward “the better angels of our nature.”
Each of us contains both lower and higher impulses, and our freedom lies in which we choose to follow. We are all Peter and Judas. At different times in our lives, we have all chosen silver over loyalty, safety over courage, convenience over conviction. We have all experienced the painful truth of Paul’s lament that we do not do what we wish to do.
But Easter also proclaims a path to redemption. Jesus shows us the way. The same Jesus who predicted Peter’s denial also foresaw his restoration. The same God who witnessed humanity’s rejection also made a way for our redemption.
Each day presents us with new opportunities to sow to the Spirit—to choose courage over comfort, generosity over self-protection, truth over expediency. These choices rarely feel heroic in the moment. They often look like small acts of kindness, moments of forgiveness, or quiet stands for integrity when compromise would be easier.
When we make these choices, we participate in the resurrection story. We allow something divine to animate our humanity. We become, in our small way, bridges between heaven and earth—just as Jesus was the ultimate bridge.
So I’ll leave you with my hope for all of us: in our moments of decision, when silver is offered in exchange for betraying our better nature or safety is promised in exchange for denial, may we find the courage to stand firm. May we have the strength to reject the safety of a job that slowly corrodes our Spirit, or speak the truth when silence would be more convenient. May we have the faith to take the risk and the love to empty ourselves in service to others.
That, to me, is the Spirit of Easter. “If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.”17
INRI: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews / In fire, all things renewed.
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P.S. The diverging paths of Peter and Judas after their failures also reveal something essential about sowing to the Spirit versus the flesh.
After the cock crowed, Peter “went outside and wept bitterly” (Luke 22:62). His tears reflect not just regret but the Spirit’s lament to what his flesh had done. Later, when the risen Jesus asked him three times, “Do you love me?”, Peter was given the chance to reverse his threefold denial with a threefold affirmation. His restoration came through acknowledging his failure and recommitting to the spiritual path despite his demonstrated weakness.
Judas, too, recognized his mistake. “I have sinned,” he declared, “for I have betrayed innocent blood” (Matthew 27:4). He even returned the silver. But instead of seeking restoration, he succumbed to despair—perhaps the ultimate act of giving flesh the final say over Spirit.
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P.P.S. Whenever I think of Judas, I think of this scene from Braveheart:
Princess Isabella approaches William Wallace (Mel Gibson) with an offer from King Edward Longshanks: title, estates, and a chest of gold in exchange for withdrawing his forces. Wallace’s response invokes the immortalized betrayal of Judas: “A lordship and titles. Gold. That I should become Judas?” When Isabella suggests that “Peace is made in such ways,” Wallace retorts, “Slaves are made in such ways,” recounting how Longshanks once lured Scottish nobles to their deaths under a flag of truce.
This scene gets me every time.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Gulag Archipelago.
Romans 7:15.
John 12:5-8.
See Matthew 26.
John 13:2.
John 13:27. See also Luke 22:2-6, which says:
“Now the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was approaching. The chief priests and the scribes were seeking how they might put Him to death; for they were afraid of the people. And Satan entered into Judas who was called Iscariot, belonging to the number of the twelve. And he went away and discussed with the chief priests and officers how he might betray Him to them. They were glad and agreed to give him money. So he consented, and began seeking a good opportunity to betray Him to them apart from the crowd.”
Matthew 27:3-5.
Dante Alighieri, Inferno, Canto XXXIV.
Luke 22:33-34.
Matthew 26:35.
Matthew 26:69-75.
Galatians 6:8.
Socrates does something similar with his death, although his is less gruesome and painful.
Matthew 4:4.
Luke 22:42.
Romans 8:12-14.
Galatians 5:25.