Judas
Judas
Judas looked pious. Pursing his lips, he complained that Mary was wasting money that should have been given to charity. ‘The poor’ said Judas, ‘were his priority: they should come first.’ Mary was so selfish, spending cash on a perfumed unguent - and for what? She’d basically just tipped it all over the floor - and what a damned mess it had made, too. What a show-off that woman really was: just attention-seeking, hoping to get a pat on the head from the boss by a show of sickly sucking up. It made Judas want to throw up. He was satisfied in his sanctimoniousness: that money should have been given to the poor. And, since he was the treasurer, it was his duty to uphold ethical standards in this group and say so. So he did - and he felt good about it.
He might have persuaded the others, too. Judas was so sincere. His face was a pure mask of gravity: ‘Our mission is to help the needy,’ he said. ‘We must do everything in our power to ensure that the naked are clothed, the hungry are fed and the homeless are homed.’ And, with every word, his voice resonated like a bishop announcing the start of Lent. An hypnotic self-righteousness oozed from him and the disciples nodded with approval.
Sometime later, Judas sat in his office. That woman was becoming a problem and he did not know what to do with her. He had thought he’d solved it last year when he’d tricked her into withdrawing a job application for a job he did not want her to have and then sidelined her into a temporary post. No: he hadn’t told her it would only be temporary. He’d left her to find that out … later. He’d intended to hand her this sop as a way of making a
soft landing into a demoted post. He was sure she’d accept and, when it turned out not to be a proper post, it’d be too late for her to do anything about it. In the end, she’d have to accept the demotion and suck it up. But he could not afford to have this miserable wretch in any position of influence. She was too … infectious. Her misery became everyone’s misery.
The trouble was that he couldn’t keep her sidelined. It hadn’t taken more than a few weeks after being given the temporary post for her to start breaching her boundaries and turning what he’d intended as a narrowly-defined cul-de-sac into a diving board. She was the architect of this new business strategy. And the damnable thing about it was that she was right. All the research said so. All the experts said so.
But Judas didn’t want her to be right. It was … inconvenient that she was right. Damn! He didn’t want her to be right.
‘Let her alone’ said the Lord. His calm and authoritative voice pricked the silky smooth and rainbowed bubble which Judas’ sincerity had been blowing. ‘… against the day of my burying hath she kept this.’ What the hell did he mean by that? What burying? Why would Jesus need to be buried? He was only in his early thirties and as healthy a man as Judas had ever seen. Judas had been banking on that when he’d joined the disciples. Whatever you thought of this Jesus and his pretensions, he seemed able to magic up food or money - or whatever was needed - whenever he wanted. And, in these insecure times, that was worth holding on to - even if you did have to put up with a lot of mumbo-jumbo from time to time.
But this? This was too much! That perfumed stuff that Mary had just wasted could have been sold for a small fortune. Where, he wondered, had she got it from? ‘Our priority’ said Judas in a stentorian tone, ‘is the poor. They must always come first.’ Judas was so very deeply sincere that, momentarily, his eyes filled with tears at the thought that the poor had been deprived by this idiotic woman and her stupid idea that Jesus was going to be buried. And how very inconvenient it was for Judas; he could have done with that money for a certain creditor was pressing him hard.
It wasn’t just inconvenient. It was expensive. Judas stared broodingly at his spreadsheet. Three years he was going to have to pay her. Three years on protected pay after he’d manipulated her out of that management post - and he had nothing for her to do. She really was just in the way. Everything about Mary was just ‘wrong’. And she was ruining it for the man he’d promoted into her old job, and the man he’d chosen instead of her for the job she’d really wanted. There was nothing like a boys’ club to keep things on a ‘sound footing’. Mary knew far too much to be kept on the factory floor, just turning the machines over. She kept popping up where she shouldn’t be and saying things she shouldn’t say. She always knew how to do things better. It was infuriating. There was a ‘right’ way to do things and Mary should shut up and just do it. Worse, people listened to her, like she was some sort of prophet. He needed to rid himself of her … but, how?
Could she be bribed? Judas had possession of the purse. Jesus never checked it. He was too trusting. More than once, Judas had given himself an advance payment and forgotten to put it back. Yes - any payment to Mary would have to be approved by HR - but he was sure he could square it. But - would she take it? She clearly hated this temp job and she certainly wasn’t going to like what he’d got planned for the next business cycle. But could she be persuaded to go voluntarily? Judas was not sure. If not, could he find a way of pushing her out? Could she be … framed?
The thought hung in the air …
Judas leaned across his desk and faced the high priest: ‘What will ye give me, and I will deliver him to you?’ They bargained for a while but Judas settled for thirty pieces of silver. It was a fair price. It’d keep him going for a while and allow him to pay off some of his immediate debts. Besides, he rather thought that some of the other disciples were becoming suspicious of him. He’d spotted that Peter watching him very closely last time he’d counted the coins in the bag. The high priest shook Judas’ hand: they were agreed.
That evening, Judas sat watching Jesus as he served at table. Mary’s disturbing WhatsApp filled his mind and he wasn’t paying too much attention to the conversation. Mary had sounded like she was half-mad. She was clearly stressed out and exhausted: babbling about being broken and having no hope. Was she suicidal? For a fleeting moment, Judas hoped that she was; that’d solve everything. He fantasised about sending a wreath and making a sentimental speech - and then forgetting all about her. Oh fuck! It would be best for everyone if she’d just go!
But … a person in that state of mind could easily make a mistake. If she made just one … he’d have her. If he could find so much as one typo out of place, one anomaly … and he’d have her. Whatever it was, he’d frame it in the worst possible way. There’d be no defence. Whatever it was, he’d ramp it up. If there was any exonerating evidence, he’d suppress it. And she’d be gone, ‘processed out’ in a flash!
What was that? Jesus had just said something about someone betraying him. A vibe of shock rippled through the assembled disciples. Had the Master just hinted that one of them was a traitor? Ever alert to the danger of discovery, Judas put on his most pious expression. Deflection - that was the way. He was sure no-one had seen him with the high priest. ‘Is it I?’ he asked, his eyes widening in innocence. Jesus stared right at him, right through him - and, as their eyes met, Judas knew that he did know. He’d always known.
Mary stared into Judas’ eyes. She saw no sympathy. What had she done? She did not know. But - it didn’t matter - Judas had composed his story in his mind. Mary was negligent. She had failed in her duty. He had found a scrap of paper with her signature on it and he knew he could use it to weave a story good enough to justify firing her. It wasn’t true - she’d just failed to spot an anomalous entry in the ledger and signed it off without checking. It was the sort of mistake anyone might make - but no-one would care. ‘Fraud’, that was how to put it. That sounded really, really bad. ‘Our priority is to help the poor’ said Judas, ‘not to help ourselves.’ ‘The poor and needy must always come first.’
The leaves rustled. Judas strode into the clearing. He walked straight up to Jesus and, with his arms stretched wide, embraced him and planted a kiss on his cheek. That was the agreed signal. Within seconds, Jesus was surrounded by armed guards and swiftly marched away.
A million light years away, Mary was also escorted from the corporate premises.
Judas sighed with satisfaction at a plot well conceived and well executed. And … morally justifiable in every way. A faint pink glow of self-righteousness emanated from Judas as he pressed ‘save’. That was the paperwork sorted - and the processing had begun.
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It was later that the doubts crept in. What had Jesus actually done? Nothing. Judas recalled the miraculous feeding of the 5,000. He saw blind Bartimaeous skipping down the road. He saw the man who had been sick of the palsy carrying his bed out of the door. He watched Lazarus ….
Suddenly, he felt an unendurable pain in his heart. It were as if an invisible hand had punched inside his chest, grabbed it and started to twist it violently, squeezing and pulling and contorting it. The agony was intense. His knees became weak and he began to choke. He was violently sick. He shook as if he’d been doused in ice-water. The thirty pieces of silver lay on the table in front of him. He could not bear to look at them. They seemed to be burning into his retina. He closed his eyes. They were still there - a fiery image etched on the inside of his eyelids. There was no escape! An explosion of anger and he swept those taunting coins onto the floor. But, there, in the candlelight, they still winked accusingly at him.
The words of Mary’s last WhatsApp echoed in Judas’ mind: ‘utterly unwanted for anything, it seems …’ She was clearly at the end of her emotional resources. Her hopelessness seemed pervasive. Good - that meant she’d be unable to put up a fight. Weak and vulnerable, Mary would be helpless: an easy victim. Judas fell into a drowsy sleep.
He lay in a pool of his own blood. His intestines writhed like snakes and his conscience seared like a hot iron. There was no forgiveness possible for such a sin. To have betrayed the Son of God with the deception of a kiss … Judas could not live with himself. He sought only the oblivion of death. But was death really the end? Once more, he thought of Lazarus …
In his delirium, Judas heard a cool and collected HR voice: ‘It’ll be fine, as long as we followed the correct process.’ Process, process, process - the word seemed to reverberate on a repetitive loop. ‘It’s not about truth. We just need to make sure the paperwork tells our story. As long as it labels Jesus as a fraud, we’re in the clear. No-one will ever know what really happened. He’ll be gone and everyone will forget him. Even the disciples will believe it, if it’s in the minutes. Our corporate letterhead carries authority and authority is always believed, unquestioningly … ‘
… except by Mary. She had followed Jesus right up to the cross itself, never doubting his divinity. For an instant, that thought nagged at Judas. But then he remembered that Mary wasn’t there anymore, was she? She, too, had been ‘processed’. No need to worry about the pang of conscience, then.
Judas smiled. He felt relieved. He didn’t need forgiveness. ‘Process’ was sufficient to cover up his sin and the paper trail was complete.