The night of Passover, the thirteen of us gathered together to celebrate in an upper room of the home of a wealthy friend who was secretly a disciple. Jesus had told us that, afterward, we would be going out to Gethsemane to pray in the garden. It seemed to be the best opportunity to…never mind that now.
It was the most unusual Passover Seder I had ever attended. Peter, James, and John (the teacher’s pets) had spent much of supper whispering to each other.
Then Jesus surprised us by announcing, “Truly, truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.”
I thought my heart would stop. How could he know? Had Caleb betrayed me? We all looked to each other in consternation and to Jesus in askance.
“Surely, it’s not me?” I said, quaking inside. And the others all said the same. John whispered something to Jesus. Then Jesus dipped a morsel of bread into the sauce and gave it to me. As he looked into my eyes, I felt naked and I wanted to hide.
With everybody else in the room talking over each other, Jesus leaned toward me and said softly, “What you are going to do, do quickly.”
Heat rose in my face. I quickly swallowed the morsel, but it got stuck in my throat, so I washed it down with a little wine. A dark resentment entered into me. I got to my feet and walked out into the night. I was angry. Well, fine. He said to do it, I’ll do it. He can’t threaten me without consequences.
Walking alone in the dark, with only my thoughts for company, I began to fear. Jesus is so powerful and unlike anybody else. Was he really a man or was he a god? I looked up at the stars nervously. He could probably call down fire from heaven upon me right now if he wanted. But he wouldn’t do that, right? There were times when he seemed to read minds, or souls. He probably knows what I’m doing right now. Although, if he knew, if he really cared, he could have stopped me. So, deep down, he must know that I’m right. Or he doesn’t know. I shook my head to clear it. I was doing the right thing. He needs help. This way he’ll get the help he needs.
I knocked on the back door of the palace. “I am Judas Iscariot,” I said to the one who opened. “I was told to show you where you can find the man Jesus.”
“Show us,” he said.
“I know where he will be very soon.”
“How will we know which one he is?”
“The one I kiss is the man. You are to lead him away safely.” As we moved out, I could see by the light of the torches, that many in the group were armed with swords and clubs. And what were Roman soldiers doing here? “Weapons will not be necessary,” I objected. “I tell you; the rabbi will come peacefully.”
“And what about the others?” they answered.
One of the guardsmen looked familiar to me. “Didn’t I see you in the temple a few days ago, listening to Jesus teach?” I asked him.
“I was there. I had been sent with orders to arrest him.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I asked.
“I couldn’t. Never before has anyone spoken like this man.”
As we followed down the zigzagging road, it occurred to me that Jesus should easily be able to see our line of torches coming his way. Maybe he would have the good sense to go over the ridge of the Mount of Olives and slip away down the other side. This whole thing was not feeling right.
As it happened, both the guardsman and I were correct. Jesus came along peacefully, and someone did draw a sword. But Jesus rebuked him, and all the disciples ran off. I didn’t blame them. I wanted to run, too. During the chaos, the chief guard took up a defensive position in front of me and Jesus. But the whole time, I kept my eyes down and didn’t dare glance up. On the way back, I maintained a spot toward the back of the crowd, as far away as I could from Jesus, who had been placed in shackles. At the palace door, the guard shoved a bag into my hand.
“Caiaphas thanks you for your service. Now go.”
I had done what was right; why did I feel so bad?
I slept in my cloak outside the wall the rest of the night, waiting around for some news. By morning, word had spread everywhere; Jesus was going to be tried before Pilate. Woe to those scribes and Pharisees, those hypocrites! Whitewashed tombs, he had rightly called them. They probably told Pilate about the waving palm procession and the shouts of “Hail to the king! Hosannah!” The emperor was an old sod, but he was a paranoid old sod who took potential rivals very seriously.
I followed from a safe distance as Roman soldiers escorted Jesus to the Praetorium. I hung around the edge of the crowd in the courtyard. Pilate was a savvy politician. Hopefully, he would be able to see Jesus as some mystic or philosopher, but certainly no threat to Rome. The crowd listened attentively, but from where I stood, I could not hear what Pilate said under the portico, and Jesus was not speaking. Pilate did not seem impressed. He could certainly see the Nazarene was no military man. I was relieved when Pilate came out and declared that Jesus was innocent.
But the Pharisees protested loudly, and they managed to stir up the crowd to demand crucifixion. Then Pilate had an idea. Every Passover, we Jews could petition to have one prisoner released. So, he brought out this particularly notorious murderer and insurrectionist and gave the crowd a choice—Barabbas or Jesus, called Christ? I shouted “Give us Christ!” over and over. But Caiaphas had stirred the mob into a frenzy, loudly demanding Barabbas be released. How could our people have turned on their Messiah so fast?
Now, the last thing Pilate wanted was to release an actual revolutionary. So, he ordered Jesus to be flogged, hoping to placate the crowd. When Jesus was returned, he was covered in blood. He had been brutally beaten. A mockery of a crown made of thorns had been thrust onto his head. Pilate pointed to Jesus and shouted, “Behold, the man!”
I felt sick. O Lord, let this be enough to satisfy their bloodlust! Let it be the end! I had been deceived. How could I have put my trust in these jackals? No. This was not my fault. They are the traitors. Listen to them shouting “We have no king but Caesar!”
When Pilate reluctantly caved in to mob justice, I escaped as fast as my shaky legs could carry me, and took refuge in the shadow of an alley. This was my moment of truth, I realized. Pilate had condemned an innocent man, yes. But I had turned him over to the chief priests, and they had turned him over to Pilate. I saw the priests pass by where I was hidden, and I followed them to the temple. There I approached them.
“Take your blood money!” I cried out. “I have betrayed an innocent man.” I threw the bag of silver at their feet and tore at my garments.
They shrugged. “That’s no concern of ours,” they said.
(If you think you know what happens next, you don’t.. Wait until you read the finale coming in a few days.)