I wandered the streets of Jerusalem blindly, anywhere just to get away. Like my ancestor Judah had sold his brother Joseph, I had sold my brother, my savior, my king—he who had chosen me and loved me, even though he had known me as I had never known myself. Now he couldn’t possible love me. I, who thought he didn’t understand politics, I had been the blind one. I could see now, he was the Son of God, and I had killed him. I stumbled on. A formless shadow went with me.
I passed a stable where a donkey was tied, and I stole its rope. I would hang myself. But I thought, “Maybe I should go back to the upper room and try to explain to Peter and the others.”
But the shadow whispered, “There is no going back. Nothing you can do can atone.” That was true. I had betrayed them, too. If any of them saw me, they would surely kill me. I was the one who deserved to be hanged on a tree, not him. Well, I would rectify that.
All the while the voice kept taunting me. “That’s right—you treasonous, backstabbing, disgusting worm. You are accursed. Just get it over with. Find the nearest tree, and hang yourself.” The smell of death was palpable in the air; it filled my nostrils and surrounded me.
There was no further need to fear someone would see me. There was no living soul around. The entire city must have gone to Golgotha outside the city walls to watch the death of the Lord of Life. Yes, I finally got it. Too late, but I finally understood the magnitude of what I had done.
I slowly shuffled along, unintentionally finding my way back to the Garden of Gethsemane. It seemed a suitable enough place to end it all. I fashioned a noose from the rope and looped it over my head. Then I selected a sturdy old olive tree and climbed the gnarled, twisted trunk up into the silver canopy. I attached the other end of the rope to a strong branch. No hope.
“Yes. No hope,” the spirit of darkness echoed, and laughed with wicked glee at the prospect of my imminent damnation. “Go ahead and jump,” he cackled in triumph. “You are mine now.”
The sky growled. Darkness covered the land. The shadow withdrew from me. I had served his purpose. Now he had more important business to tend to elsewhere.
I leaned forward straddling two limbs, and prepared to jump. But a strange thing happened. A Psalm of David that I had learned as a boy in yeshiva came to my spirit. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your merciful love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin! For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you only have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight, that you are justified in your sentence and blameless in your judgment.” tears washed down my face in rivulets. From the depths of my anguish, I cried out, “I have sinned against you, O Lord. Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
And behold, the earth began to quake. It shook the tree I clung to until it shook me off. I was falling until the noose jerked me tight. In unbearable pain, I hung between heaven and earth, my sandals only inches from the ground, clawing at my throat. Suddenly, I wanted desperately to live, but the jaws of death were closing around me.
The air crackled and snapped. All the hairs on my body stood at attention. Suddenly, all was light and sound, the tree exploded…and I was thrown onto the still-trembling ground. Slowly I rose, coughing and gasping for air, to a seated position, pulling at the smoldering rope hanging loosely around my bloodied and bruised neck. What remained of the tree blazed. As I stared into the flames, the heavens poured forth its waters, as if the Eternal One were crying. More wondrous still, from deep within, a soft warmth of love beyond anything I had ever known began filling my body, starting in my heart. And from deep within that heart, I heard a voice. It was the voice of Jesus.
What did he say?
“I was hoping you would survive. Welcome back.”
EASTER SUNDAY, ABOUT 2000 YEARS LATER
The parishioners of Saint Judas Iscariot Catholic Church greet their friends and neighbors in the parking lot as they make their way into the Romanesque-style church building for Easter morning Mass. The stark Lenten purple drapery and the rugged wooden cross that stood by the altar on Good Friday are gone, replaced by multitudes of fragrant spring bouquets of flowers. Old timers know enough to arrive early and stake out their seats in the pews because the building will soon be packed with visitors. Ushers greet newcomers warmly, and help them to find a seat, urging the congregation to scootch in and make room. Because here at Saint Judas Iscariot Parish, all are welcome—especially lost sheep.
Across the world and throughout the centuries, many Catholic parishes and missionary orders have chosen Saint Judas as their patron. Countless children bear the venerated saint’s name. So do many suicide-prevention programs and outreach ministries—especially those reaching out to inner-city gangs and to prisoners. These apostolates do much good by loving the unlovable and seeking out the lost.
Yet, the name of Judas could easily have become a curse word—a shorthand for “traitor”. He could very easily have gone down in history simply as the one who betrayed the Lord, burning in hell for eternity for committing the unforgiveable sin.
Instead, by grace alone, Judas the betrayer became Saint Judas the penitent. Tradition has it that, in the years leading up to his martyr’s death, no person—not even the hardest of sinners—could listen to his words and not be moved to tears, so heartrending and eloquent was his story of God’s mercy towards him. He claimed if anyone should have been predestined to damnation, it was him. The story of Judas Iscariot is certainly a cautionary tale of what can happen when you flirt with the devil and let him enter in. but it also demonstrates that mercy is available to all—even at the last second—to all who call upon the name of the Lord. Judas had discovered that, on his own, he was no match against the powers of darkness. But as the Apostle John used to repeat to him, “If we confess our sins, Jesus is faithful and just, and will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness”.
Happily for our story, God’s perfect will prevailed. What if Judas had died without repenting—for indeed, how would we ever know today if he had?—imagine how different the world would be.
What if?
