Chapter 7 of 15
The next morning, shortly after sunrise, a detachment of temple guards went to retrieve Jesus from his cell so that he could be delivered to Pontius Pilate. The chief priests were gathering in a temple courtyard when a man ran up to them, alternately shouting incomprehensibly and crying inconsolably. He was a large man, and he did not seem to be in control of his words or his actions. I feared for the safety of the priests, and I hoped that some of the temple guards had remained behind. I was about to run off and look for them, when I was stunned to realize that this piteous wretch was actually the same man who had betrayed Jesus on the previous evening.
But this was not the Judas Iscariot we had seen yesterday. The brash confidence had fled, the haughty countenance was gone. To the surprise of everyone assembled, he sank to his knees and began to beg for the life of his master! "I did not understand," he moaned. "I thought that Jesus would summon the wrath of the Lord. I thought that we would finally be free of priests and Romans alike."
The priests returned Judas' passionate words with cold stares. It occurred to me that the mind of Judas must be muddled indeed if he thought that expressing his hostility toward the priests was a way to gain their sympathy.
"He speaks in riddles," Judas said plaintively, as if he were trying to explain to the priests his failure to understand his own master. "I thought that he meant for me to turn him over to you so that he could reveal his power. But now I see that he means to die!" With trembling hands, he held out the purse that Caiaphas had tossed to him. "You must take this back," he wailed, as the emotion rose in his voice. "Jesus is a prophet of the Lord, you cannot allow him to die!"
My master appeared to be moved by the words of Judas, but he knew that the fate of Jesus was sealed. "Your change of heart has come too late," he said, waving Judas away. "Your teacher has already been condemned."
Judas' wailing grew louder and more terrible, but after a time he realized that the priests would not be swayed. With a final cry, he flung down the purse and ran from the temple. I watched as the silver coins scattered and rolled in circles on the cold, stone floor.
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©2004 Henry Charles Mishkoff