Reliving Good Friday Morning
The night of the last supper was long and harrowing for Jesus as the Jewish leaders pulled him from the house of Annas to Caiaphas for illegal meetings, beat him, plucked his beard, mocked him, and finally, knowing they did not have the political power to kill him themselves, took him to Pilate in the early morning. A morning such as this morning.
Pilate realizes Jesus is innocent. He is further frightened to think that Jesus is royalty. Pilate doesn’t want the responsibility and because Jesus is from Nazareth, shuffles him off to Herod, who also is in Jerusalem. Herod has been curious about the miracle-working man, but loses interest when Jesus doesn’t perform for him. Herod doesn’t want the responsibility either. He sees through the thin lies. He sends Jesus back to Pilate.
The city wakes as Jesus is shoved pas an ever growing crowd
Down the street to Pilate’s place where the priest makes demands aloud.
Pilate passes the buck.
Herod is unimpressed.
Caiaphas demands Jesus’ death and the release of Barabbas
Pilate seeing injustice seeks to divert the travesty, appeals for sympathy to the crowd with orders to whip and bloody. The crowd has no conscience, coerced to a vicious state. Pilate fears a riot, control wielded by those who hate.
Crucify! Crucify! Crucify!
Against dreams and wishes Pilate washes hands that inscribe KING OF JEWS for all to see from many lands.
Crucify! Crucify! Crucify!
While Jesus is being bullied and driven from one place to another, the traitor realizes the choices he’s made are a big mistake. Judas seeks out the high priests, the ones who paid for his betrayal, but what he started cannot be un-done.
“This didn’t go down as I had planned. I thought that he’d be king. I thought I was doing my part to create its happening. I accepted thirty silver pieces as any job’s commission, but they are thirty dirty betrayals of a man who is totally innocent. Take them back! I don’t want the filthy things! Take them back!”
“Judas, it won’t change a thing. Stop your infernal whining. Money has been your life. As usual, you had good timing. You played the market right. Didn’t you hear his fan base? They turned upon him fierce. Why regret what you can’t erase? Get a grip. Dry misguided tears.”
Coins bounce and roll across the floor like glory-shattered dreams, pieces of my twisted heart that cannot be reclaimed. Choices can’t be taken back. Words can’t be unsaid; concessions hidden in my heart causing friendly blood to shed.
Where can I go once friendships are sold, traded for worthless aspirations? Even co-conspirators turn up their nose contemptuous of one seduced by temptation. What land is home when a lost soul’s un-peace can never be changed or reversed? I can’t forgive myself. I won’t let God forgive. By my own bad choices I’ll be forever cursed.
It’s Judas Iscariot’s Final Choice. And the result is A Horrible Death With No Redeeming Features
The earth groans and retches, strains to spit me out, ground shakes and itches to cast a flea from a cur’s coat. Iron sky is pitch-tar, clouds a boiling pot, air solid as a smothering-cloth seeking to udo my lot. Knots in fumbling fingers, rope prickles skin, squeezing tight my neck stopping breath from drawing in. Even the tree rejects me creak-creak-creak-sssSNAP! Loud as a pulse in my ears loud as a thunder clap. Down, down, down upon a splintered tree-jut. Impaled innards spill from a deeply severed gut blood and bowels and bile red, green-yellow, and black. Pain, sulfur, yawn of darkness I can never turn back. My cries stretch through eternal starkness where demons shriek and howl. Satan claims my soul forever, in a Forever forever foul.