Judas to Jesus
Dear Jesus,
I have wanted to write this letter for some time now. You see, I have this burning, puzzling question that I can never get my head around. It’s a complex thing and I’m hoping that by writing this letter I can clarify a few things in my mind, but especially in my heart.
It all has to do with our rather awkward and bizarre relationship, especially about the issue of control.
You see, I had always assumed that you were the Master and in complete control of absolutely everything. You were the leader, the boss, the guru, the chairman of the board. It was you who had the power over all of us. Especially over me. Hec! You could have asked me to jump off the temple and I would have done it for you cheerfully if that’s what you had wanted.
You called me and I followed you. I watched with awe, surprise and glee as you drove out demons, healed the sick, fed the hungry and said the wise, hard things graciously.
You even ticked off the powerful Scribes and Pharisees. Surely you had it all there at your fingertips. And so the question eventually came bubbling up in my mind … Is there anything you couldn’t do? Surely that was a better place to start. I was completely enthralled by you and so it seemed was everyone else, even though they may not have liked you or gone away tittering, mumbling and irritable. Even raising Lazarus’ corpse after a few days in a tomb was not beyond you. I listened and I obeyed. I was even the treasurer which is the most tiresome job of all. ‘The poor we always have with us’ You said so yourself.
So here’s the thing. That if you could do all those things and they were wild and whacky and indescribably astounding…how come ….how come you didn’t stop me when I went to the chief priests to sell you down the Jordan.
You knew what I was up to. ‘What you must do .. do it quickly’
So I did and I believed with all my heart that that was what you wanted of me. The directive was simple as it was clear.
I knew where to find you that night and it’s almost as if you were waiting and expecting us.
And when I led them to you in this black night, with blazing torches and fearsome eyes in the dark, you did not run away, although I sort of wanted you to, hoping that the confrontation would not happen and that it could be avoided. That you could mysteriously evaporate all the angst and anger. Just quietly slip through the crowd.
But you just simply stood there turned to greet us and then in a gesture that flipped my heart, you offered me your cheek to kiss.
What you must do ... do it swiftly. So I did. Is this what you wanted all along?
Where were your power and authority when the crowds turned nasty and you plummeted in the polls before Pilate in a matter of hours? Where was your influence and control as you fell heavily, bleeding out onto the dusty, rocky road?
I stood there watching you. The ferocious din of the crowds rang in my ears… thinking… any moment now… he’s going to get up and make all this stop. It’s all going to be sweetness and light and honey. But No… you just staggered on like some crazed loon with that hideous glazed look in your eyes. The life ebbing out of them.
And in a hideous twist, there was a moment when it was as if everything stopped. The memory is always before me every time I close my eyes. There you were, sprawled in the dust like a beautiful insect pinned for heinous amusement. Never, ever,.. have I felt so powerless.
So here are my questions to you Jesus.
Who was in control? Was it you? For a while there it certainly looked like you had all the answers and were supreme over all things. Or did I have all the power, because I made it all happen?
And on a more personal level which is why I’m writing this wretched letter anyway, did you really have power and authority and control over me or not? That’s what I’d really like to know. Need to know.
Because if you did, then surely the most loving thing you could have done was to stop me. Call me out publicly or privately, wouldn’t have mattered and said the hard, hard things graciously which was of course what you always did.
And afterwards.. when the noise had stopped and the crowds had gone back home to their bread and olives for the Passover…if you were/are God almighty, could you not have washed away my guilt and stopped me from taking my own life? Wouldn't that have been the compassionate, caring, loving thing to do? Aren’t you here to save me, to save us all?
I await your prompt and courteous reply
Your servant (I think)
Judas.