I once took revenge on a near neighbour, whose cat attacked my daughter, by mowing her lawn for three years. I’m not sure that she actually knew what her cat had done, but nor did she ever come out of the house to acknowledge that her grass was cut. To be honest, I can’t be certain that the cat was actually hers. It may well have been something that leapt out of someone else’s yard. Which would make a funny twist in the tale.

This morning, I read of love for an enemy that blew me away. Not a story with doubts about the details, but one that played out in those well-attested events of that first Easter. Judas Iscariot had cut a deal with the religious authorities to arrange for Jesus’ arrest. He thought that no one knew, and that he was master of the secret. But the One he intended to betray was completely in the know, and could have blown his cover publicly.

Yet at the Last Supper, Jesus seated Judas in an honoured place, beside him – at least within reach of passing him some wine-dipped bread. And after announcing that a betrayer was at the table, instead of standing and pointing and exposing the traitor, he washed his feet, while whispering that not all at the table were clean in heart.  So many warnings and pleadings and callings to repentance. It was not for lack of Jesus’ love that Judas failed to come to his senses.