Judas Iscariot’s story

We continue our imaginative exploration of the story of Holy Week from the perspective of the people who walked with Jesus in the final days before his crucifixion. Today’s powerful monologue was written by Sam Blakey.

Trigger warning: this post includes references to suicide

My side of the story, shortly after that treacherous kiss

Did Jesus trust me? Well, he gave me the role of treasurer. I guess he considered me trustworthy enough to handle our group’s finances. The fact he did not see through me right away, both amused and disappointed me. If he was who he said he was, how come he could not recognise that I was both dishonest and disloyal, driven by self interest? A liar, a thief, an arch manipulator.

I took money from my fellow disciples, motivated by my greed. Jesus would preach about not needing riches, except the riches in heaven. That in this earthly life we should focus on the poor, help those less able than ourselves and embrace everyone as our brother. I could not get my head around that one. So, I stole the money I was supposed to be safeguarding on behalf of my brothers. Not once, not twice but many times. And still it was not enough.

I suppose I should not be surprised by the speculation surrounding my death. The least I wished for was that the people would know my real reason for killing myself. The guilt I felt after my betrayal of Jesus, took me by complete surprise. I am unsure if it was repentance, but the unbearable shame I felt was too much to bear, even for a thief like me. My heart felt as heavy as the boulder placed at the entrance to a tomb. His tomb.

I returned the 30 pieces of silver. I thought about giving it to the disciples, by way of an apology, but I could not face them and anyway, who would have a heart for that kind of money. So, I gave it back from whence it came and turned away from Satan.

I know there are mixed reports on how I died. Some say I bought a plot of land; a field with the blood money and then hanged myself there, my guts spilling open onto the field.

Whatever, it is not disputed that I killed myself and that it was by hanging. Not a particularly pleasant way to die, but hey, it was way, way quicker and less painful than the way our Lord had to die. Does my change of language just then, suggest a change of heart? I hope so.

I remember when Jesus cursed the barren fig tree for having leaves, but no fruit. “May you never bear fruit again,” he said. And at once the tree withered. I thought it strange that Jesus was angry with the tree, as it was not the season for figs. Now I think his actions were symbolic; a judgement on fruitless, hypocrites like me who were lacking a true, productive faith. Yes, I recognise that was me too. After all, Jesus said we need to be “ready at all times to bear fruit”. And I was not.

In my defence, I had a part to play in the Crucifixion story to fulfil Scripture, to aid God’s plan. You could argue I could not escape; I was chosen for this part. The Old Testament prophesies Jesus’ betrayal in Psalm 41:9:

“Even my close friend, someone I trusted, one who shared my bread, has turned against me.”

In John 13:18 that prediction becomes true. Jesus looked at us during the Passover feast and repeated those words, turning my blood cold, freezing my body where I sat. “I am not referring to all of you; I know those I have chosen. But this is to fulfil this passage of Scripture.”

And yet, still I did not see who it really was I was condemning to certain death. That realisation would come too late, for both me and him.

I may not have reached the heights of wealth I planned with such wickedness, but my infamy has taken me to depths I never wished for, my name synonymous with betrayal throughout the centuries.

“You Judas’, they say now after a betrayal and yes, I was and I am. Do I regret it? Yes. As my brother Matthew was to write (Matthew 27:3-5) I was seized with remorse and returned the silver to the priests, saying “I have sinned… I have betrayed innocent blood.”

Am I too late to ask for forgiveness? I heard that Jesus forgave the robber on the cross moments before he died. If it was not too late for him, maybe it is not too late for me.