30 Pieces of Silver

30 pieces of silver. Most church folks recognize this phrase as the price Judas took to betray Jesus. But when I really sat with it, what I discovered really gave me a different perspective. Over time, that phrase has come to mean anything you take in exchange for betrayal, treachery, or selling someone out. But here’s something I’ve come to understand:
It wasn’t just about betrayal; it was also the going rate for a slave. In other words, it was the value someone decided a person was worth. Thirty pieces of silver. That’s it. That’s all. In today’s money, that would be somewhere between $90 and $486. Not even five hundred dollars… depending on the type of coin and how much silver was in it. It makes you think... about how cheap people can make you feel, or how easily some people are willing to cash you out for something temporary.

But recently, I started looking at this differently. I actually found something beautiful in it that struck me like a jailhouse shank. I’ve seen that the beauty of betrayal can refer to a few different concepts, but for me, I connected it to the idea of finding growth and positive change in the aftermath of disloyalty. For me, this new revelation suggests that while betrayal is painful and damaging, it was also the catalyst for personal transformation, self-discovery, and a deeper understanding of myself and others. After a painful departure from my former church, in the aftermath of hurt, loneliness, and bitterness, I was found and lost at the same time. I was confused. I used to think the miracles were the purpose. The church full of people, the platform, and the anointing. The favor. The alignment. The opportunities. The ministry. I thought that was the story. I thought that was the win. But it wasn’t until I got betrayed… that the real story started.

Jesus healed the blind, fed thousands, walked on water… but it wasn’t until Judas dipped his hand in the bowl that the cross came into focus. Mr. Iscariot HAD to do what he did so Jesus could DO what he had to do. His betrayal wasn’t a mistake. It was a mirror. A moment that said: “It starts now.” And for me… it wasn’t until I was betrayed by the very ones who said they saw me, affirmed me, walked with me… that I discovered what I was really called to do. Sidekicks & Stoolz wasn’t born out of applause. It was born out of abandonment.

See, I had to lose the place I called home to finally find the home I was called to build. It didn’t start with a vision board. It started with a heartbreak. And I’m not Jesus… but like him, my betrayal unlocked my assignment. During this process, what I realized is that the reason for this betrayal or the reason that I had to experience it goes all the way back to me feeling rejected as a child and deep down this betrayal from the man who I looked up to as my spiritual father was sort of like a reenactment of my childhood growing up with my dad not really being around. This time, while this betrayal cut even deeper because it really, I believe, brought to the forefront the spirit of rejection that I had within me, I had to experience it again because this, to me, uprooted and helped me have to face and deal with forgiveness. Because I had buried it so deep from my childhood and not having my dad around, the second man who I kind of took on as a spiritual father when that happened, I guess deep down and this is just how I feel, deep down this situation forced me to address the underlying problem of forgiveness and going through it again. So the betrayal actually led to me learning how to forgive, that I needed to forgive in order to move forward, if that makes sense.

I didn’t realize it at the time… but the betrayal I went through wasn’t just about church. It wasn’t just about leadership… or control… or loyalty. It was about something deeper. Something older. It was about rejection. A spirit that had followed me since I was a child.

See, I grew up learning how to smile while carrying silence. How to keep moving while never feeling seen. My father wasn’t there like I needed him to be, and I never really processed it. I buried it. Covered it. Pushed it down and kept it moving. And then many years later… I found a place. A calling. A pastor. A father figure. Someone I thought would speak to the boy in me who never heard the words, “I see you.” But that man betrayed me too.

And that betrayal? It wasn’t just a wound… it was a mirror. It was a reenactment. A repeat of a childhood pain I never fully confronted. And for the first time, I realized: this wasn’t about church, it was about healing. This wasn’t about a broken ministry… it was about a broken memory. God didn’t allow that betrayal to break me. He allowed it to free me, from the grip of rejection, from the need for approval, from the silence I wrapped myself in as a child.

Because this time… I didn’t just cry. I forgave. I forgave the man. I forgave my father. I forgave the silence. And in forgiving… I found my voice. It wasn’t the betrayal that destroyed me. It was the betrayal that delivered me. Sometimes, God lets it happen again, not to punish you, but to finally heal you.