I awoke early, before the servants. The excitement of last night’s
Passover feast eluded me this morning. Concerned over rumored plots by the Pharisees against the life of Jesus, my husband Simon abruptly left for the Temple the minute the celebration ended. Neither Simon nor Judas had come home last night. My heart raced with fear. Where in the world could they be?

            To avoid apprehension, I busied myself with needlework. Eager to try new bone needles purchased from a street vender, I started work on embellishing a girdle for Judas. The fine needles easily worked the fabric. The intricate embroidery lessened my anxiety as I anticipated Judas’ delight when I presented it to him.
            Startled, I looked up, greatly relieved to see Judas. Somehow, he appeared much taller than his actual height with thick, dark curly hair and beard completely disheveled. Just having him home gave me comfort and I immediately anticipated the news about where Jesus would be teaching, but then I saw his eyes -- eyes glistening with inexpressible sorrow.
            As he drew near, his deep voice trembled, "I am the one.”
             "What do you mean, Judas?"
            "I am the one who did it."
             "Did what?" I shouted, my heart pounding with fear.
            "I'm the one who surrendered Jesus to the Pharisees."
            My heart seemed to leap into my throat, choking me. Unbidden tears blurred my sight as I sought the meaning of Judas’ words.
            "No, you didn’t!"
            "Yes! I turned him over to the priests."       
            "Judas! Why are you saying this? I've been sleepless and worried
 without word from you or from your father. I don't want to hear this! This must be too much wine talking. I will hear no more lies.”
            My hand flashed out. I can still hear the sound it made as it struck his face.
            He looked stunned, but mumbled, "Yes, I did."
            Clasping my hands over my ears, I closed my eyes tightly to shut out his tortured features. My body flinched as he tried to grasp my hand. I spun away and stumbled toward the wall. I could not bear to hear the words Judas kept repeating. Gasping, I stared at him in disbelief. His eyes rested upon my horror-stricken face and stiffened body. After gazing at me in agony and longing, he turned away. Without another word, he left the house. From my window, I could see him on the walk outside the house. Turning slowly, Judas took one last look at the home where he had grown up and the garden he loved so well; then listlessly he walked away.
            My heart pounded. In my confusion and desperation, I tore at my hair and cried out. I slowly wandered through the house, into the garden and sank onto the nearest bench. I sat staring at nothing in stunned silence. My mind searched for some semblance of reason for Judas’ incomprehensible behavior. Finally, I convinced myself this horrible encounter held no truth. Surely, he was drunk.
            Even so, I still tried to make sense of my son's declaration. I thought, He simply must have suffered too much strain and worry about Jesus’ safety. His devotion to Jesus caused him to fear betrayal and the new wine tricked him into thinking he did the deed Jesus had spoken of earlier in the upper room.
            Fear crept deeper into my mind. Last night Jesus did say someone would betray him. For a moment, I considered Judas knew something of what he said. I dismissed the possibility immediately.
            My thoughts darted like frightened birds seeking a safe haven. I sat in the no longer peaceful garden, and pondered, who among the twelve could really be the betrayer? Each one of them voiced self-doubt.
             “It cannot be Judas!" I whispered aloud to the silent garden; yet Jesus’ words from the night before rang in my ears -- “but one of you is consumed by a burning obsession.” Even I used those words to describe my son on many occasions. Had Judas’ passion been misled?
            My restless gaze fell upon the now useless sewing lying crumpled in the doorway. Slowly, I rose, gathered the fabric to my breast, and drifted into the house. The fabric fell from my fingers onto the nearest chest. Staring at it, I vowed never to touch it again. I sat in numbed silence for what seemed like hours.
            With relief, I heard my dearest friend, Amashia, calling my name as she neared the door.
            "Amashia, I'm so glad to see you! Judas came home this morning. He told me he turned Jesus over to the Pharisees. Of course, I did not believe him. I do not know why he would say such a thing unless he drank too much wine. The worry and concern he has for our Master has left him confused. It just couldn’t be!"
            Full of distress and heavy sorrow, I tried to convince Amashia and myself of the truth of my words.
            Amashia put her hand on my shoulder to console me.  “My precious friend Mary, we both know Judas’s dedication to Jesus. I have watched him grow into a man and into his faith. You are right to suspect Judas drank too much. We have all been under a great strain with the unrest in the city.”
      Uneasily, she said, "Of course, Peter can't be the one. Peter and his brother Andrew are devoted to Jesus. Rumors have it John the Baptist’s teachings influenced both Peter and Andrew even before they met Jesus. Peter is always among the inner circle, and Andrew, one of the first called to follow Jesus."
  "I've heard both Simon and Judas report many good things about the two of them. You know, it's said James and John have sought special positions of honor with Jesus. They are both fiery fanatics. Perhaps one of them is acting out of jealousy."
            "Perhaps! But I cannot imagine either of them doing this. They are both zealous when it comes to discussing Jesus and his teachings. You know, Thomas seems the most doubtful of all the disciples. His perpetual questioning might lead him to do it."
            “Yes! It has to be Thomas. Do you remember all the times Judas talked about how Thomas forever required more explanation? He seemed to need proof of Jesus’ claims; as if miracles were not enough.”
            Amashia said, "Maybe so, but perhaps it's Matthew. After all, how could a tax collector be trusted? Maybe he is a spy for the Romans."
            Before I could lay further blame on Thomas, an ominous knock on the door thudded through the hall. I looked at my friend, eyes fearful. I sensed something wrong, and I slowly rose from my chair. Zilpah opened the door to Seth, our physician, neighbor, and good friend. He is much taller than most men are. On this day, he looked huge. As I looked into his normally compassionate eyes, I saw great pain.
            "Mary,” he hesitated, “May I come in?"
            "It's Judas, isn't it?" I cried.
            "Yes, Mary, it is. There is no easy way to tell you this. Judas hanged himself." His eyes did not meet mine; instead, they studied the spiral pattern on the tile floor, as if hopefully, it would spin him out of the room.
            "No, no, no! This cannot be! This cannot be! Take me to him immediately!"
            My scream of despair rang throughout my home.
       Any thoughts of Amashia or concern for anything else were gone. I raced along following Seth, sobbing, swallowed up in agony over my last conversation with Judas. Seth and Amashia exchanged no words between them as they accompanied me. Tension wrapped like a tight woolen mantle around our hearts and strangled all conversation.
        Finally, we arrived at the hateful site where Judas hanged himself. Judas chose the most desolate place at the edge of the city to end his life. He sought escape in the Hinnom Valley, a remote, rocky, and infertile area located outside the city. Citizens of Jerusalem avoided this tract of wasteland for fear of sliding down the steep walls of the valley onto the jagged rocks below.
        I approached the spot where a frayed length of rope hung near the edge of a ravine. Judas’ broken and contorted body lay far below, among the rocks at the bottom, the rest of the rope knotted around his neck. No one touched him because they did not want to go through a ritual of purification after attending to a dead body.
        Seth said, “I need to leave you now and go to find your Simon. You need your husband here with you. Amashia, you take care of Mary, and I will return with Simon as soon as possible.”
         Frantically, I scrambled my way down the ravine to my son’s body, dreadfully disfigured by the fall. Seeing his mangled body and the horrifying burns on his neck, I physically recoiled as my soul cried out in agony.
         "Judas! Oh, my precious Judas! Why? Why?" My cries pierced the hideous sleeve of this awful place of damnation, and my wrenching sobs threatened to smother me. In the madness of my inconsolable grief, I wished myself dead also.
         Yet, only then did I seriously consider the possibility Judas wasn’t distraught or drunk, but telling me the truth when he spoke of betraying Jesus. My body collapsed in pain. My soul wailed, and my voice echoed it. Amashia told me later I sounded so painfully distraught any words I might have spoken were not discernible to her.
         Sobbing uncontrollably, I mumbled, “Judas, Judas, I failed you when you came to me. I am so sorry. I could not bear to hear it. I did not listen. Forgive me! Forgive me!”  Brokenly, I muttered, “I failed you miserably my son, Oh Judas, forgive me for not believing you! What have I done?”   
          With trembling hands, I brushed his curls from his face. My heart wrenched as I looked at his hair and beard matted with blood and debris. Gently, as if he could still feel my touch, I cleaned his face with my mantle. As I gazed upon his face, I noticed all the deep sadness had vanished. He found the peace in death he had not found in our last meeting. My tears fell upon his gentle face as I held him in my arms. My body bent over him, protecting him from the angry gazes from above. I wanted to shield and shelter him from what could not be undone.
            The realization of Judas’ crime and the consequences of my unwillingness to listen to him earlier were too much for me to hear. As I let the reality of what happened creep into my thoughts, something new occurred to me.
            I cried out to God, "My Lord, my Lord. What has happened to Jesus?"
            In panic, I shouted to no one, “What has happened to Jesus?"
            “We don’t know yet, Mary,” Amashia replied.
            Weeping, I knelt down beside the cold, grotesquely battered body of Judas. I cradled him in my arms and began to rock him back and forth, as if he were still a child.  Stroking his forehead and hair, I whispered, "Judas, you didn't have to do this. Don't you know I still love you? I don’t know why you chose to do what you did. I do know it will never change my love for you.”
            I heard a sound and looked up to see a small party approaching. Recognizing my husband, I mustered all the strength I possessed and reluctantly laid Judas’ head on the harsh ground. I reached out to Simon, collapsing into his arms, but I received no comfort from him. His body containing no warmth, he became as cold and unfeeling as Judas’ body.
            "Simon . . . what are we going to do? Judas came to me at an early hour and confessed he enabled the priest to take Jesus. I refused to believe him, Simon. I thought it drunken prattle."
            Simon became enraged and flung me to the ground in front of him. I looked up feeling the same fear I felt when Judas left the upper room during the Passover meal the evening before. The father of our son and the loving husband I knew now gazed with loathing at our son.      
           Refusing to look at me, he said in a cold, callous voice, "Woman, you have failed as a mother. Your son has brought shame and disgrace to my house."
            His words pierced my heart and an involuntary cry escaped my lips. “Must I lose both men I love so much this day?”
            Simon, disgraced by his son’s actions, spat at the corpse of his son. He raged at Judas; screaming, “How could you do this?"
             Seth, and the men with him, glanced at each other, shook their heads knowingly, and acknowledged their friend's anger and grief as an expected reaction.
            Seth reminded Simon, “You know Judas was repentant because he tried to return the thirty pieces of silver the Pharisees gave him. The priests refused to take the silver back. He must have realized what he had done could not be undone, or he would not have ended his life.”
            Simon, ignoring his friend’s words of comfort, shouted, “Bury him right here, out of my sight and out of my memory! This act deserves no commemoration. I am going to find a gentile to dig his grave and lay him in it. None of us will go through the ritual of purification.”
            After his emphatic statement, Simon strode angrily away from us.
            Seth said tenderly, “Mary, pay no attention to Simon’s cruel words. He’s not thinking about you. He is fearful about how he will face what Judas has done. He realizes he may not be accepted by either the priests or the followers of Jesus.”
            “But Seth, I have failed my son and my Lord. Simon is right.”
            Clearing his throat, Seth said, “Mary, as you know Simon and Judas went to the Temple last evening after they left the Passover celebration at Amashia’s. I met up with them at the Temple. He knew Judas received the customary thirty pieces of silver for turning in a fellow Jew who had broken the law. Distraught, Simon tried to convince the Pharisees not to further break Jewish law by turning Jesus over to the Romans; gentiles no less! When Simon showed them their hypocrisy by breaking their own law of never turning a Jew over to a gentile, he ignited their vengeance. When Judas learned of the lawmakers’ intentions, he went into deep remorse and bolted from the Temple knowing he was instrumental in breaking Jewish law. I don’t think he expected this.”
            Amashia knelt beside me and said very softly, “Mary, Judas came to you out of remorse for what he had done. Nothing you could have done would change anything.”
             Her warm hand on my shoulder did not provide reassurance. Neither Amashia nor Seth’s consoling words gave me comfort.
            Simon returned with another man in tow, obviously a gentile. Without words, Simon pointed to the body of our son. The gentile began at a furious pace to dig a grave near Judas’ remains. 
           With the grave barely opened, Simon ordered, "Throw the betrayer’s body in the grave and cover him up.”
           After a pause, Simon began to speak again in a detached voice: “There will be no closing of the eyes, no washing of the body, no wrappings of perfumed cloth for this shameful act. There will be no wailings or flute players for you, Judas."
          Simon grasped the left side of his garment and rent it across his body according to our custom. Without ceremony or public mourning, we buried our son. 

Copyright © 2004-05 by Bobbi Sims