He Made His Bed in Hell
What first strikes us here is the utter loneliness of Judas.
No word-painting, however vivid, could give a deeper impression of that than these few words of John: "He ... went immediately out: and it was night."
Within, there was light and gladness, and the richest fellowship this world had ever known.
For Christ was there, and John was leaning upon Jesus' bosom, and the talk was on high and holy themes that evening.
Outside was fierce hostility.
Outside was dark.
And no man drove out Judas.
No push and curse hurried him to the door.
It was the momentum of his own heart and life that impelled him to choose the darkness rather than the light.
Shall we follow Judas into the dark street?
He turns and looks, and the light is gleaming from the window of the upper chamber.
He hurries on, and the streets are not empty yet.
A band of young men, like himself, goes singing by.
The sounds of evening worship come stealing from the houses.
And everything that tells of love, and breathes of fellowship, and speaks of home, falls like a fiery rain on Judas' heart.
The loneliness of Judas was intolerable.
He had made his bed in hell.
A friend of mine was once preaching on that text in the Assembly Hall in Edinburgh.
And when he left the hall and was stepping homewards, a young man rushed across the street and grasped him by the arm and cried, "Minister, minister, I have made my bed in hell," and disappeared.
And the lonely misery of that cry will ring in my friend's ears till his dying day.
There was a loneliness in it like that in Judas.
He was estranged, apart. "He then having received the sop went immediately out: and it was night."
~George H. Morrison~