#HomilyfromthePew

“Before Judas, there was Brutus. Before Brutus, there was Lucifer.” That sequence has stayed with me because it exposes a sobering pattern: the deepest wounds often come from the closest circles.

Lucifer was described as privileged in proximity, yet he plotted rebellion. Brutus stood near Caesar and oversaw his demise. Judas walked with Jesus and still betrayed Him. Across history and across lives, one truth repeats itself: betrayal is rarely a stranger’s work. It is often an inside job.

A picture helps me hold this truth with clarity.

Water is the fish’s closest ally, its natural environment, its covering, its constant companion. Yet water can also become the fish’s deadliest instrument. The water does not need to change its identity to become dangerous; it only needs to change its temperature. Too hot, too cold, and the fish is no longer swimming, it is on a board.

That is how proximity works. The closer people are, the more they know. The more they know, the more precise the harm can be if loyalty breaks. Not because everyone close will betray, but because closeness increases capacity, capacity to help, and capacity to hurt.

This is where the scripture that shaped my thinking becomes relevant, and it deserves to be quoted accurately:

“But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man.”
(John 2:24–25, NKJV)

Some read that and assume it means: do not trust anyone, never open up, keep everyone at arm’s length. That is not what it means to me. If it meant that, Jesus would not have lived the way He lived, He gathered people, mentored them, sent them, prayed with them, ate with them, entrusted assignments to them, and loved them.

So what does it mean to “know all men” and “commit Himself to none”?

To me, it means this: relate fully, love genuinely, serve faithfully, yet refuse to hand the custody of your peace and destiny to human hands. It means people can be included without becoming the foundation. People can be trusted appropriately without becoming the final security. People can be loved deeply without being made the source of stability.

This mindset is not cynicism. It is spiritual clarity.

I learned something similar by observing how “kings” move.

Early in life, I spent time around a prominent figure and watched how power thinks, how leaders organize their lives, plan, strategize, choose allies, and build circles. One lesson stood out: a wise leader is not naïve about the possibility of rebellion. It is not paranoia; it is realism. Rebellion is not always expected, but it is always considered. The best leaders do not live in fear of betrayal; they simply do not build their entire stability on the assumption that betrayal is impossible.

That is the posture I find in John 2:24–25.

It does not cancel trust. It disciplines trust. It does not destroy relationships. It orders relationships.

Because in real life, betrayal comes in many forms.

A spouse can betray a spouse. A friend can betray a friend. A child can betray a parent. A brother can betray a brother. A sister can betray a sister. Even those bound by blood can break faith. There is a Yoruba proverb that captures this soberly:

“Ẹni ọ̀rẹ́ dà kò máa fi ṣe ìbínú; ẹni àbíni bí ń dà ni.”
Meaning: One who is betrayed by a friend should not despair, because even one’s own blood can betray.

If betrayal is possible across every human relationship, then a life anchored on human consistency alone will always be vulnerable. Not because humans are worthless, but because humans are human, limited, complex, influenced, tempted, pressured, sometimes fearful, sometimes selfish, sometimes confused.

This is where the second part of the lesson becomes personal: it is possible to be betrayed and yet refuse to live “betrayed.” Two things can happen after betrayal.

If betrayal destroys a person, those coming behind may study the story and learn. But if betrayal does not destroy a person, the person can pick up the lesson without losing the soul. That is my focus.

“Knowing all men” means expecting enough complexity in human nature that when disappointment comes, it does not collapse the inner world. It means understanding ahead of time that people may turn, sometimes without warning, sometimes for reasons that will never fully make sense. And when it happens, the goal is not to become cold, suspicious, and hardened. The goal is to become wiser, clearer, and more anchored.

This is why I find comfort in how Jesus structured His circles. He had the multitude. He had the twelve. He had the three. He had the one. He shared at different depths, with different responsibilities, without confusing access with ownership. Even then, He still faced betrayal. That alone teaches me that doing everything “right” does not eliminate the risk of being hurt. It only helps us respond rightly when it happens.

So I do not want betrayal to define my existence.

I do not want betrayal to make me cancel humanity.

I do not want betrayal to make me vow: “never again.”
Never trust again. Never love again. Never marry again. Never have friends again. Never open up again.

That response is understandable, but it can quietly turn pain into a lifelong prison.

For me, the point of “He knew all men and committed Himself to none” is that my peace, joy, stability, identity, and destiny are not handed over to people as if people are God. People matter. People help. People can be destiny partners. But people are not destiny owners.

So I will relate. I will love. I will build community. I will choose friends. I will commit to those I should commit to spouse, children, covenant relationships, trusted collaborators. But I will do so with a clear inner boundary:

✅I will not surrender my peace to their approval.
✅I will not surrender my stability to their loyalty.
✅I will not surrender my purpose to their changing moods.
✅I will not surrender my joy to their behavior.

If betrayal happens, I will review. I will learn. I will refine my discernment. I will adjust access where needed. I will not pretend nothing happened. But I will also refuse bitterness as a lifestyle.

That is the “immortality” of this scripture to me: the ability to live fully among people while remaining internally governed by God.

To know all men is to understand that human nature is complex.

To give oneself to none is to understand that divine anchoring is non-negotiable.

So the prayer that rises from this reflection is simple:

Lord, help us to know people truly, love people wisely, and trust You finally, so that when betrayal comes, it teaches us, but it does not own us.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.