No one knows who I really am. Everyone thinks me to be Judas, the greedy; Judas, the selfish; Judas, the coward; or most notably, Judas, the betrayer. But no one looks to understand. No one can understand, can know my struggle.
Yes, it was foretold that our Lord would die for our sins. Without me, that wouldn’t have happened. But that wasn’t why I sold Jesus of Nazareth out. No. The reason I betrayed my beloved Jesus is simply because, I loved him. I loved him so much, I could not bear it. I tried to stop loving him, but I could not. We all loved him, but my love for him was different.
When Peter looked at Jesus, he didn’t see him as the talented, kind man he was. He saw him as God. When Matthew saw Jesus, he didn’t see him as the ever understanding man. He saw him as the Redeemer. To Bartholomew, James, Simon, and Thomas, all he could ever be was Rabbi, teacher, and Lord. They all acknowledged him as God and Mighty, but they all failed to take into account that he was also a man. Not some being who could not live and eat and breath and be with us. Not someone who was far out of reach, and unable to relate. To them, he was He. To them, he was not human. Of course he was not like us, but Jesus was still a person, and a wonderful person at that.
The only one whom could understand my love was John, the beloved. Jesus loved him very much, and he loved Jesus just as well. But they were cousins, so their love was not like the love I had for my Jesus. At first, my feelings were not like this. At first, I came to Jesus for the same reasons that the other Apostles did. He called me to action, and I answered. And I learned, and I grew. Oh, did I grow.
I had given up my lecherous ways. I had stopped thieving, and my itch to take what was not mine was replaced by a need to make my Jesus happy. Yet, as I learned more and more, I came to love him more and more. But my love was not like the others’. My love made me want to be close to my Jesus. It made me want to always be by his side. It made the thought of his death unbearable. And when I saw him talking to the Samaritan woman at the well, and one of my Brothers asked if he was looking for a bride, a hate I had never known towards a stranger overcame my senses, and made me barely able to walk. But my Jesus was not of this Earth, and would not look for a wife, though he could have anyone he wanted.
No, my Jesus was a saint, and will always be. So when he shared his message, and would emphasize that all of the teachings we were taught prior to his arrival were correct, but just emphasized, the Spirit would nudge my heart and make me think of the way it reacted towards my teacher. When he would tell us we had to became slaves to others so that we may lead, my mind would imagine things it should not. And when he would talk to us in private, and the messages he would direct to me would leave it clear he could see in which way my feelings leaned, I found that I had to start pulling away.
But then, as he neared the end of his ministry, his demeanor started to change, and what he pointed out to me was no longer said with a reproachful warning. No, his words started to string more and more. He constantly let me know that I was to betray him; that I was a devil that would lead to his death. I was in pain. I had not done anything wrong, yet he accused me. I had done nothing but love him, yet he saw me as wicked. And yes, I was wicked. Yes, I was “unclean” as he called me. But my only sin until I finally betrayed him was loving him in a way His father told our forefathers was unnatural.
What was I to do? I was unloved, unwanted, and unclean. I was wicked, though I tried not to be. I did everything I could to be his faithful servant. So when I had the opportunity to finally do the one thing he needed, I took that opportunity. Yes, I did not want to, but I helped my Jesus. I did what he asked of me, and helped him fulfill his mission. You all may hate me for bringing such pain and torture to my Jesus, but believe me, I hate myself just as much for it. I did not want that for him. I only wanted to help him. I only wanted him to see that I was faithful to him, even if he didn’t believe it be so.
When it came time to say my goodbye, I had to let him know my feelings. He must have known, he must have! But I could not tell him outright. And especially not with all those Pharisees and guards that night. But if that woman who touched him and got healed was able to let him know of her struggles with just a single touch, so would he be able to understand mine with the one touch I had been dying to give him for three years.
A kiss to say whom was the true Messiah.
A kiss to let these murderous evil men know whom was my true love.
I love my Jesus, and not one of you can say anything to make me say otherwise. Yes, I took those thirty pieces of silver. Yes, I betrayed my teacher. But I helped my Jesus take all your sin. He was so strong, so brave… I would never have been able to take the weight of the world’s sin. Nor would have I been able to stand the torture.
That is why I killed myself. Because of what I caused my Jesus to endure. Because of the unjust circumstances thrust upon him. He was an innocent man with too much heart. He was too compassionate, and would only do what his Father asked of him.
Oh, my Jesus was a saint. And I loved him. I loved him! I was in love with my Rabbi, and I don’t care that I am damned. My Jesus is at the right hand side of his father, and one day I will see him yet again. It will brief, and it will be unintentional, but I long for the day that I get to see my Lord in all his glory, safe and unharmed as he finishes his holy mission.
I am Judas Iscariot, and my betrayal was only done out of love.