Perspective

The following is a fictitious monologue written from the perspective of Judas Iscariot in the hours after he betrayed Jesus and before he committed suicide.

I don’t understand. It should have worked. I was so sure.

He was the one. There is no other explanation. The things He said. The stuff He did. I mean, I guess He never raised an army. He never attacked a Roman garrison. But He fed five thousand with just those few loaves and a couple fish. He walked on water, healed the sick and lame. He raised Lazarus from the dead. I was there. I saw it all.

He was the one. And on Sunday, when we were waving the branches and the crowds were cheering, and the Pharisees told Him to make us stop, He said that if we didn’t do it, the rocks would cry out. Surely, that meant that we were right to call Him king. Didn’t it?

We were on our way to the temple. He had been talking about it for weeks. And I was so sure that, when we got there, He would step up on the porch and dare the Romans to come. Challenge Him. If they dared. And when they came - they always come - we would have fought them. All of Jerusalem, all of Israel would have fought them. For Him.

But instead, He pulled out a whip and started driving people - His own people - out of the temple courts. He called it a den of thieves. And then He left.

He just left.

I guess that’s where it all began. I mean, as soon as He did that, things changed. The people still came on Monday, of course, but there weren’t as many of them. And there was some murmuring in the crowd. I saw them. The way they tipped their heads toward Him and whispered amongst themselves as He taught. But I said to myself, “It’ll be okay. This is Jesus. He’s said and done weird things before.”

Like the we were in Nazareth. The people - His own friends and neighbors - were ready to stone Him. Frankly, I’m still amazed we got out of there alive. But the crowd came back.

Or the time He told the rich young ruler he would have to sell all his stuff and give the money to the poor. We were all horrified that he would say such a thing, but the crowd came back.

Or the time He decided to walk through Samaria. It was crazy. Those halfbreeds don’t like us, and to be honest, I’m really not all that fond of them, either. And then He started talking to that woman. We all knew she was a whore! Why would He talk to someone like her? But the crowd still came back.

But things weren’t okay. He needed to say something - to do something - to get the crowd back. I tried to tell Him. I pulled Him aside, “Hey, if you don’t move quickly, the people are going to lose interest.” He just put his hand on my shoulder and walked away. He didn’t care.

In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say He actually wanted them to lose interest, even turn on Him.

That sounds crazy, doesn’t it.

But how else can you explain all the stuff He did - all the stuff He didn’t do - all week long?

So I knew it was up to me. I mean, I’ve played the bad guy before, right? I admit it. I took a little out of the budget for myself. It wasn’t a lot. It’s not like you’ve never done that before. It was a test. Why would He have miraculously fed the five thousand - or the four thousand, for that matter - if there was money in the purse to just go out and buy the stuff?

So you see, my test worked. I got Jesus to tip His hand so we could see. So we could know.

That He was the one.

And I knew that was what I needed to do again.

I thought about it all the rest of the day Tuesday. Wednesday, when I got a chance, I paid a little visit to the chief priest. He said he’d give me thirty pieces of silver if I handed Jesus over to them. I said to myself, “Perfect. I give Jesus the chance to reclaim the crowd and do the whole messiah thing, and I’ll get a little something for myself.”

It was a win-win.

And all I had to do was lead them to Jesus and give Him a kiss. The guards would try to seize Him, and He would throw them off and proclaim Himself king.

But He didn’t.

And what’s more, Peter tried. He pulled out that silly little dagger he called a sword and swung it wildly in the air. Even caught the chief priest’s servant - what was name? Malchus - in the ear. But then Jesus stopped him. He actually went to Malchus and healed the ear. And then He just let them take Him, bound and gagged.

You know, I stood there for a long time after they left. They all left. The mob took Jesus, and the other disciples, they just ran away like scared school children. But not me. I stood there. Waiting.

I mean, I don’t really know what I expected to happen in the garden. And when it was clear that nothing would happen, at least not there, I hurried back into town and made my way to the temple gate.

I thought I could meet Jesus when He arrived there to assume the throne.

And I waited there. Must have been a several hours at least. And then I overheard some temple guards talking about beating someone up over at the high priest’s house. And I noticed that one of them had a cut on his hand that was bleeding. The kind of cut you get when you punch someone in the face and your knuckle catches one of their teeth. And I just knew.

I ran all the way there. I don’t know that I’ve ever run that fast before. When I got there, I thought I saw Peter running away. It looked like he was crying, but it was hard to tell in the dark. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have wanted to see me anyway. So I tried to get in. To stop them. To tell them it was all a big mistake. He clearly wasn’t the messiah, or He would have ended all this hours before. He would have been King by now.

But the guards wouldn’t let me. They said the priest was in conference and could not be disturbed.

Didn’t they know who I was? I was the one who made this “conference” possible!

And then I saw a bunch of people come out the side entrance. It was just starting to get light, and there in the middle of them, I could see them virtually dragging Jesus - it had to be Jesus - along. So I followed them to the governor’s palace. And I watched as they took Him into the courtyard. I saw Pilate come out, and I watched Him pull Jesus inside. And I actually thought to myself that this was good. I mean, Pilate has a reputation for being brutal, but surely, even he could see that Jesus had done nothing wrong.

When he came back out, he asked the crowd which prisoner they wanted to see set free: Jesus or Barrabbas. But even as he asked, I knew. Most of the people in that courtyard were the same people who had brought Jesus in the first place. And while I cried at the top of my lungs, “Jesus! Jesus! Set Jesus free! Jesus!” I must have been the only one. It seemed everyone else was shouting for Barrabbas.

And then Pilate washed his hands and passed the sentence, and they took Jesus away.

You know, I tried to give the money back. I ran after the priests and all their henchmen and essentially forced my way in to meet with them. I told them that Jesus was innocent. He had done nothing to deserve the beating they had given them, let alone crucifixion, and that it was all a big mistake. My mistake.

But they wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t even take the money from me. They said it was “blood money.”

Blood money they gave me!

So I just threw it at them and ran out.

And now I’m here.

And Jesus is on the cross.

Because of me.