A Different Narrative

  To Whom this May Concern:

     Around this hour, millions are gathering their memories to recognize the person of Jesus.  Perhaps you know the story. Maybe you know the Man. That is all well and good, but I am here to tell a different narrative.  One, you might be tempted to call fiction. Before you run - I promise - it will be worth your time. No need for my name. If I were to mention it, you would listen no more.  But I assure you. What I have to say is worth pondering.      

     I was one of the disciples.  A key player, if you will. Traveled with Jesus for three years.  I saw His miracles. I heard His teachings. I walked in His wonders, and came to profess that He was the coming Messiah.  For three years, He preached a new kingdom was to come. And for three years, we waited for this coming redemption. Our hearts burned with anticipation, as we waited to see our enemies overthrown; justice from our God on high come into reality.  For three years, He challenged all that we knew. He underscored all that our rabbis had taught us when we were boys. Aimed not at the work of our hands, but the motives of our hearts.

     Before I get ahead of myself, I would like to share where I came from.  I was a true Israelite. A boy raised in the Judaian faith; a scholar of the Holy Scriptures.  I knew my way backward and front what YAWH wanted of us. I was dutiful in the sacraments, and faithfully honored all the offerings that were required of us.  I was a good boy. As I became a man, I acquired a skill in accounting; money lending was my game. Throughout my life, I made good use of it. I was also aware of the social and political atmosphere of my country.  It was no news that Gentiles from the west came and demanded our allegiance. Their history was one of conquering, and we were next on the list. I, as many of my peers, wished to deny them of this “right.” Some decided to become political rebels, silent sympathizers, others out-right terrorists.  All justified in my book. When Jesus came onto the scene, I hoped - as any other honest Jewish man would admit - that He would be the answer to our long-awaited prayers of freedom. 

     We all claimed Him to be the coming Savior.  Some openly said that they would die with Him, if He were to be killed.  But on that fateful night, none of us stood the temptation to stand with Him in His suffering.  Every one of us deserted Him. Every one of us...in our own ways... betrayed Him. You can’t point your fingers at only a few.  We were all guilty. When His body was given over to be abused, we ran. When He took His final breath, we looked on from afar. And until Sunday morning, we lived in fear of Rome's and the religious rulers’ retribution. 

     Sunday came, nonetheless.  I am ashamed to say that I was not eager to jump at the message of Jesus’ return.  I believed my ears had failed me hearing these news. I thought with His death, that was the end of His kingdom.

     Yet, there was Jesus!  In front of us!  

     He beckoned to feed His sheep.  He charged us to share the message of His salvation; not one of earthly glory, but a catechism of the soul, based on His death for our humanity.  I admit, after all that had happened, I saw myself inadequate. Who was I - one who denied Jesus my heart just a few days before - to share the gospel?  Could I really be of any good in sharing my story?

     There was a dormant darkness that no one discerned.  It was only revealed on that night. The weight of what I had done...You can only imagine.  He called me friend, and I betrayed Him.  He wanted me to know Him, and I ran away from all that I confessed as true.  However...it is because of this darkness, that I now know who I honestly was.  It didn’t matter now how well I kept the Law...the desires of my heart spoke other than who I claimed to worship.  

     And yet...after Easter morn, Jesus sought me out.  He sought ME out. He knew my grave sin, and yet, He still loved me.  How could He? My face could not hide my remorse, and yet, His eyes were filled with grace.  “I forgive you.” Me?  

     Yes.  

     For this was the reason for which the Son of Man was turned over to be crucified.  That the weight of all sin could be laid upon Him. The righteousness of God could be made manifest in our souls, if we would just believe, and receive His grace in His name.  Jesus. Immanuel. God with us. Messiah. Savior for all.  

     Every justification I made of my own person was shattered in the glory of Jesus’ sacrifice.  Every ounce of goodness was - as Isaiah stated - filthy rags. I had nothing, nor was I anyone when Jesus came to me after His resurrection.  But His forgiveness set me free. I was no longer bound to who I once was, or what I had done. It no longer defined me. I was a changed man.

     The other disciples called me zealous.  A bit radical. Perhaps it’s because of my violent past.  But if you carried the guilt that I had, would you suffice for any other grace than the one that God gives?  How could you?  

     I traveled the seas, and shared my story with different groups of people.  That was slightly out of my comfort zone, as I realized my hatred toward Romans, politically, had developed a racist belief subsequently. Where I once was judgmental, I learned to extend mercy. God had healed my wounds, hallelujah.   I had the most opportunities with Jewish people, however, who highly depended on the Law of the Old Covenant to restore their souls.   

     Many religious leaders knew of my past.  After all, many were allies of mine in my former life.  I walked with them. Prayed with them and plotted with them.  The change they saw in me perplexed few; angered most. I was often hunted down by those I once called brothers, because they could not understand why I would forsake everything for a man who claimed to God.  How could I believe in such a blasphemous statement?

     I wasn’t a great speaker or writer.  I was only a man with a prideful past and scarring sin that proved I no longer could trust in my own efforts and goodness.  Studying the Scriptures, I knew that what Jesus had only fulfilled every prophecy declared; not to make mockery. He is the Messiah! And His forgiveness freed me! I knew His love to be genuine.  If He could forgive me of my sin, I knew the world, too, could be redeemed.

      My life was threatened.  But I did not care. It had been threatened before...If you had done what I did, wouldn’t you have tried to seek death’s hope?  But by the amazing wonder of God…

     By now, you probably are wondering who I am, or if my story is true.  Sadly, I was not restored, as I could only yearn. This letter serves as a memento of what I wish could have been.  It is true all the disciples betrayed Jesus, that night. It just so happened, I was the first. (If you were still wondering who I am, I think I have made it very clear, by now.)  

     I betrayed Him.  I was the reason for which Jesus was whipped and bloodied.  Beaten beyond recognition. I was the reason why He was sold for pride.  What was an exchange of a few coins worth? I believed that Jesus failed me.  He did not save Israel in the way I expected. However, the cost of momentary justification proved a consequence too much to bear.  Not even the priests offered intercession.

     I sold out a Man’s life, when He had done nothing wrong.

     And there, I stood facing the reality that any goodness of myself assured was shattered in the moment my wickedness was revealed.  All this time, I sought out hatred toward a human enemy, not knowing there was an enemy far greater than men dressed in metal. And that enemy made his home within me.  My miserable soul was in turmoil, and the only rest I could find was in a field of blood; and worse…

     It has been recorded that it would have been better if I had never been born.  I wonder, if Jesus said this, not because I couldn’t be saved, but He knew beforehand, I wouldn’t.  You see, in the hour of my dissoluteness, I succumbed to my grief. So stuck on justifying myself, I did so.  When my true nature had manifested, I knew the sin had to be ransomed. I made sure that happened.

     Unaware to my soul, God meant for Jesus to die.  The prophet not only mentions the filthiness of our righteousness, but he mentioned that a Messiah would come...beaten and bruised.  It would be for our healing and all of history’s iniquity would be laid upon Him. The sacrifices of old would be no more, because God was interweaving a new covenant bound on His own righteousness and merit, rather than our own.  Oh, how I wished I would’ve known! Simultaneous to the hour of my depravity, Jesus was at work for my salvation. MY salvation! He wanted and loved me just as any human. I couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t believe His grace was enough for a wretch like me!   Christ’s sacrifice; God’s love and forgiveness was available for the taking, if only I had grasped onto the truth!    

     Alas, it was not so.  

     Do not mourn for me.  Nothing more can be done.  However, there is time for you, if you will heed.  In the presence of Holiness, all virtue that you may hold will shrivel into nothingness.  Nevertheless, do not be swayed to continue striving for heaven’s gates. Redemption is not yours to make.  Mentioned thus, in your repentance, do not sink into condemnation. The price of your sin has already been paid.  If only you would believe and receive. Truth is, it may have been my hand that turned Jesus over to be crucified, but all of us had a cause for His death.  Yet, it delighted the Father to put Jesus to death, so that He could be the firstborn Son of many.

     It is too late for me.  But, I implore...do what I failed to do. Believe in Jesus’ sacrifice.  Seize onto the love God has for you, and receive His forgiveness. Become a child of the Most High.  

     Change your narrative.

-Judas Iscariot