Judas Christ

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Judas Christ Copyright© C. Sean McGee CSM Publishing Araraquara, São Paulo, Brazil 2022 First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, scanning or digital information storage and retrieval without permission from the author.

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Artwork, words and other obscenities by C. Sean McGee

Disclaimer: At the time of writing, C. Sean McGee was possessed by God. Although entirely true, the words in this text in no way represent the thoughts and opinions of the writer who is, in fact, a staunch atheist.

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“It’s so wonderful to see you,” said God. “Thank you,” said Judas. “You, too.”

Judas was nervous, as he rightfully should be. It wasn’t every day that one found themselves in the presence of a deity, let alone one whose quill was as renowned and revered. Sit, he did, in a jittery stew, as if he didn’t belong there, as if he hadn’t earned this chance.

“I wanted to talk to you about your role.”

You see, God already had the script in its hands, and oh, was it a wonderful tale; it was one for the ages. Every word had been meticulously poured over. Every twist and turn had been imagined with passion and conviction. It was a story that all writers longed for; one that God needn’t be ashamed of, one that would allow it to put down its quill and walk away for good.

“Tell me,” it said. “What is love?”

God knew what love was. It had invented it. It had written about it a thousand times before. Love wasn’t any one thing, and it was neither good nor bad. But it was in everything, it was the compound from which all things were made, and it could do as much good as it could, wicked and bad. What God didn’t know, though, even being all-seeing and all-knowing, was what the man in front of him thought love was.

“Love,” said Judas, taking a deep breath.

Instantly he thought of his friend. He didn’t, though, have any one word to describe him. None, it seemed, would suffice. But when he heard the word ‘LOVE,’ there was no doubt or indecision whatsoever, and only one person came to mind.

“Two things in this world,” he said, “which one cannot find no matter how hard they look – or dare I say, the more intently one looks, the more ardent they pursue it, the less likely they are to find it.”

He had God’s divine attention. Enraptured, the deity was, in the man’s every word.

“Love and Sleep,” said Judas.

God clapped its hands in thunderous applause. It was, though, not the kind of applause that one gave for a rousing speech 4

or a well-played game of chess. No. This was the kind of restrained madness that a young girl gave when her favourite pop star strutted onto the television, gyrating his hips and she had been barred by her mother from screaming or squealing. God, at this moment, was an eleven-year-old girl.

“Love and sleep are two things that one cannot choose willingly. They are two acts that are not in one’s hands. And one only fools themselves when they persist in assuming that they are. Were one to pursue sleep, they will only find exhaustion and maddened thoughts. Just like love too. In the pursuit of it, one only finds gloom and desperation.”

God was giddy on the edge of its seat. It was no stranger to the metaphor, that is true. Each word, though, that came out of Judas’ mouth was like a piece of a secret puzzle, a sacred puzzle mind you, one that had been broken up into a trillion pieces and then scattered about the house – little truths that could easily have been overlooked as much as they could have been swept up and discarded. And here he was, Judas, with all the pieces, fit so neatly together.

“Please, go on,” said God. It had a balloon in its hands now, and an ice-cream too.

“One cannot choose whom they love,” said Judas. “One finds themselves in love. Love is like a gaping hole in the ground, and in the pursuit of curious wonder, one cannot see the danger they are in. And like sleep, one falls in love. They fall into that gaping hole, and now their world is smaller. It wraps around them like a womb. It keeps them safe, and it won’t let them go. One falls asleep and one falls in love. One cannot help it, especially if both are what one wishes to avoid.”

“You wished to avoid love?”

“I’m scared by it,” said Judas.

“Because of what it can do?”

“Because of what it asks of me.”

“You’re scared of being in love?”

“I’m scared of what I become,” said Judas. “I’m scared that 5

I’ll let him down. I’m scared that love is not enough. I’m scared that I am not enough. I’m scared that he deserves better. I know he deserves better. He does. He deserves the world, a thousand worlds, all revolving around him. He deserves the fabric of space and time, sewn with an infinite array of twinkling stars, just so that he may never feel alone. He deserves more than I can give him.

And I’m scared that I will fail him somehow. I’m scared that I will let him down. I’m scared that he will hurt because of me.”

It was clear that God had chosen the right protagonist.

There could have been no other. None were as compassionate.

None were as honest. None were as loyal. There was no man who loved its son as much as Judas. And, though the man before him shook and wept without end, God merely sat there and smiled.

Like a proud father, it was now, seeing the love that was bestowed upon its son and knowing that he was in safe and sure hands.

“I love your name,” said God. Judas wiped his eyes and stared at God. “So, do I,” he said.

“JUDAS. It’s a beautiful name.”

“It is,” said Judas, smiling.

“I named you after a flower that grows only in Heaven,” said God. “My mother named me,” said Judas.

“And it was I that whispered your name in her ear.”

Who was he to argue with God? “You love him?”

“I do,” said Judas. “He is more than a friend. He is more than a brother. I would lay my life down for him.”

“Would you give your name?” asked God. “I would give him my heart and soul,” said Judas.

God smiled.

“That, which is to happen,” said God. “Has already been written.”

It had, in its hands, the script.

“What is magical,” said God, “being a GOD, is that even I, 6

the writer and director of this play, am not in control of the performance. Even I am subject to fate. How the script reads in my mind and how I hear you read it are two wildly different performances.

Even I, as God, have to render control.”

It calmed Judas hearing that. Even gods could worry.

“Your role is the most important,” said God. “I chose you specifically.”

Gods could worry, yes, but they also could inspire like none other.

“There were many who loved my son,” said God. “And for all the time that shall unfold, there will be nothing but love and devotion for and to him. But none, not even his own mother, could love him as much as you.”

Judas wished he were here now. He wished he could hear how God spoke of him. How his own father revered him as if he himself were the deity – as if he were more than just a mere man; something of course, which Judas always knew was true. He was more than a mere mortal. He was bound in mortal flesh, yes, and caged in fragile bones, but there was no denying his spirit.

Judas had felt this from the first time they had met; from the first time, he stared into his eyes and felt, not a stranger looking back, but instead, compassion, understanding, and forgiveness. He knew it from the first time they touched, and he knew it too, from the first time they kissed.

“He has to die,” said God. “Tomorrow eve.”

Judas’ heart sank. His whole chest turned ice cold, then started to crumble, until eventually, it collapsed in on itself. He felt as if there were a gaping black hole inside that was ripping his soul apart, particle by particle, and pulling it towards an inescapable nothingness.

“I understand,” said Judas.

He didn’t, though. Why couldn’t God choose another son?

Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with another man? Why couldn’t God have written this play another way? How could God be so meaningful? How could its meaning be so cruel?

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“There’s more,” said God. It, itself, took a gulping breath. It had read this script a hundred times before, and each time it wept. It wept for its son, he who would be tortured and murdered mercilessly, he who would bleed alone on the cross. But it wept more for Judas. It wept for them both, for their love. For, to do what had to be done, their love would have to be torn in two.

“Jesus must suffer,” said God. “The kind of suffering that cannot be emulated. The kind of suffering that one defines as a limit of cruelty, one which mankind can only ever once achieve. A kind of cruelty that mankind can never again repeat.”

Tears poured from Judas’ eyes.

“Can it be me instead?” he asked.

It was pointless. It was futile. He knew so, he wasn’t naïve.

But still, he had to ask.

“You will suffer too,” said God. “There can be no other way.”

Judas exhaled, and as he did, he tremoured and shook.

“I love you,” said God. “Not as much as you love Jesus, and not as much as he loves you.”

Hearing his name, especially uttered by God, Judas felt less alone.

“He is the sun and the moon,” said Judas. “He gives me passion and warmth. He gives me meaning and direction. His heart is my compass. His love is the wind that steadies my sails. But he is the moon too. He revolves around my thoughts, as much as I revolve around his. He pulls on the tide of my emotions. He takes away my fear of the darkness. He helps me see when there is no light. Because of him, I have no fear of tomorrow. I have no fear of what lies out in the shadows and lurks about in the darkness, that which lingers out of my sight. I have no fear because he watches over me, even when he is far, for he lives inside of me. His love is the light that bursts from my chest.”

Now it was God who wept. It hadn’t written this. As much as Judas was admitting it for the first time, so too was God hearing it.

It both wept and smiled at the very same moment.

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“There will never be another love like yours,” said God. “Nothing as pure. I will try, though. For the rest of time, I will try to write as love as pure. Thank you, Judas,” said God. “Thank you for loving my son. It could never have been anyone else. I’m proud of him, and I’m ever so proud of you.”

Again, Judas wished that Jesus was here. He wished he could hold his hand. He wished he could hear this. He wished he could hear how proud his father was, in spite of how secretive their love had to be.

“There is only one thing,” said God. Its voice was profound and heavy.

“For his death to have meaning, for it to echo throughout all time, he cannot die on his own command. He cannot will it. Just as a child cannot tickle themself, a person cannot flatter themself, and a fire cannot burn itself, neither too then can Jesus know about his impending death, nor too can he be sure that he is, in fact, the son of God.” Judas was still for a moment.

“I keep nothing from my love. We have no secrets. We share everything – our hopes, our dreams, our fears as much as we do, our bed. You cannot ask me to lie to the man that I love.”

“It is written,” said God. It said so sternly and coldly, but it did so as if it were trying to contain its own emotion and its own resistance to what must come, as much as Judas himself.

“I understand,” said Judas.

Again, though, he did not. Or…. he wished he did not.

“It’s not only this,” said God. Now, Judas was embossed in fear. He was because he could see that God was too.

“Jesus must be rife with fear. He must feel alone and abandoned. And his heart must be torn in two. The crucifixion must pale in comparison. The spikes hammered into his wrist must be comfort. The blood that pours from his tattered skin must, in some way, be bliss. For his broken heart must be worse. He must 9

question his broken heart. And he must find a way to forgive.”

Again, Judas begged.

“Cannot I take his place? Cannot I suffer?”

“You have your place,” said God. “And you will suffer too.

You will both suffer.”

It wept inconsolably.

“It pains me to say this,” it said. “And believe me, if there was any other way, I would have written that story.”

Judas nodded. His love for Jesus was beyond measure. It healed all his worry. It made him brave. It gave him strength. It made his heart impenetrable to lies and misgivings.

“I’ll do anything,” he said. “I’ll suffer more than you can imagine. I’ll take his suffering if I can.”

God smiled once more. It took Judas in its arms and hugged him tightly.

“There has to be a betrayal,” said God. Judas sighed. He hurt for his lover. He hurt for his best friend “Who?” he said. “Who will betray him?”

He had a thousand names in mind, most of whom sat with Jesus and broke bread on a daily occurrence. Surrounded, they were, by scoundrels, most of whom, if not all, would take any side, and were motivated only by power and greed.

“You,” said God. The shock was like a slap in the face.

“What?”

“You,” said God again.

“I don’t get it,” said Judas.

“You, Judas, you will betray my son. You will betray your lover. You will betray the saviour of mankind.”

“I won’t,” said Judas. “I will do no such thing.”

“You will,” said God. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. I love him. I don’t care what’s right or wrong. Our love is true. I will never abandon him. I will never let him down.”

“That’s why you will,” said God. “Because of how much you 10

love him. Because of how true that love is. That is why I know you will.”

Judas sat for a moment, a moment, though, inside which a thousand lives could have been lived – so momentous was it, to have to reckon with such a provocative and visceral truth.

“If I do this….”

“You will,” said God. It said so, not as a threat, but as an act of compassion and understanding. As if it knew, wholeheartedly, even if it hadn’t written the script itself, that only Judas could play this role. For only Judas carried love that was strong enough.

“If I do this,” said Judas, continuing. “What does it mean?

I know it’s required of me, but is it required of Jesus? Is there any other way?”

“No,” said God. “Ok,” said Judas. “I will do what you ask.”

Again, God hugged the man before it.

“There is something else,” it said.

What more could God ask of him?

“Jesus cannot know,” it said.

Instantly, Judas felt as if the sun and the moon had been smeared in black paint and covered over with a thick black curtain.

Snuffed, they had become, of their warmth and their light.

“Humanity depends upon it,” said God. “He must question us both. To do that, his heart must be ripped in two. Not even I can do that. For his love to spill like blood, it is a wound that only his lover can give.”

Judas was as white as a ghost. Fever struck his blood, but it didn’t boil – it was ice cold.

“Ok,” he replied again, for bereft he was, of better words.

“But there is more,” said God. Nothing could be worse. Knowing what he knew, what was asked of him, what he would have to do, nothing at all, no matter how dire or despicable, nothing at all could compare.

“Your name,” said God. “Your beautiful name….”

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It wept as it spoke, for it thought, not only of the love that it knew gleamed in its own son’s heart every time he spoke to or of the man that he loved, but it wept too, for the flower that grew only in Heaven, the flower that would forever be spoiled.

“To all of mankind, your name shall be uttered in vile disgust. When the worst of humanity is ever revealed, they shall refer to you, Judas. Your name…. your beautiful name will forever be spoken only in vulgarity. It shall be shouted and screamed, and like stones and mud, it will be thrown in callous judgement – it will be a mark of insult. For the rest of time, your name shall be a curse, and you….”

It took a moment for God to measure itself.

“You shall be cursed,” it said. “There can be no other way.”

It was not the will of others that bothered Judas, nor was it how they would curse and utter his name. It was not the will of all men that swayed him one way or another. It was the will of one man. The only man he had ever loved. And this was a curse on its own.

“You will be offered money,” said God. “Take the money.”

“I’ll take the money,” said Judas. “And I’ll throw it at their feet.”

Which he did.

“And you will betray Jesus with a kiss,” said God. Which he did.

Oh, was it the most pained kiss he had ever laid upon another person, let alone the man that he loved. It was a kiss that undid every other kiss. As impassioned, it was, as their first, but embossed too, was it, in perfidy and treason. Worse still, it would be their last.

“Jesus will never know the truth,” said God. “Not even in his death and his ascension. You will suffer in hell for eternity. He will see to that. Your skin will be peeled from your bones and salt pushed into your eyes. You will be pricked with barbs and pecked by ravens. Your teeth will be pulled from your gums, one by one, for all of eternity. The pain will be constant and unforgiving. Worse, though, than the torture that you will endure, will be the memory 12

that will never leave your mind of the hurt you have caused. You will watch him be tortured….”

Which he did.

“And you will watch as he drags his cross through the market square. You shall not look away,” said God. Which he didn’t.

“You will be hidden, but he will find you. He’ll turn and see you, crouched in the shadows like some meandering thief. He will look at you and you will look at him. And you’ll never get that look out of your mind. It will haunt you for the rest of time. There is no torture that any demon or devil could conjure up that could ever compare. You will look at him and he will look at you…”

Which they did.

“And it’s in that moment, that his heart will split in two.”

Which it did.

“I trust you,” said God. Judas was on his knees.

“I know what I’m asking of you. I know how horrible it seems. But you have to understand, this is an incredible story – the best I have ever written. I may never need to write again. You will suffer as Jesus suffers. He, in Heaven, for all eternity so that no man may suffer to such extent; and you, in hell, such that no man would ever want to. As above, so below. And it’s true, what I am asking of you, I ask of no man. For that, I apologise. But this story cannot be without a villain. I wish it could be any other way. But you, my dear Judas, you are the true martyr. And nobody will know it except you and I.” “I’ll do anything for him,” said Judas, feeling the love he had for Jesus, again warming his blood, strengthening his bones, and making his spirit impenetrable.

“Sacrifice,” said God. “This is what love is.”

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