Revelations (9 page)

What can I say? I’m completely speechless. And for the first time in two thousand years, I suspect there might be more to Judas Iscariot than meets the eye.

And I find myself almost feeling sorry for him.

Is it possible that he…actually…loves…Jesus? That this lust-filled obsession is more than it appears to be on the surface, that his feelings for him are real? To be honest, I would’ve thought the man incapable of any true emotions. But just now, the look in his eyes… It’s shaken me more than I care to admit. Is that what Mary meant with her cryptic remark? What else does she know? And what else is going to happen that we don’t know about yet? I have no choice but to wait and see, don’t I? This must be it, the variable I was speaking of. But I still haven’t quite figured it out.

Dear God, please, please hear my words. Your son needs you. He needs you
very badly. I guess you know that, of course you know that. I don’t doubt you do.

But sometimes it must be hard to answer his pleas when there are so many others.

All I ask is that you help him through this time. I know this is always the hard part
for him. And yes, I’ll do what I can, as well. Yes, I do love him, very much. Amen.

Tonight’s been odd, to say the least. Jesus is singing something he’s never sung before. I’m lucky I even know the words. I probably wouldn’t if it wasn’t for the fact I heard Judas sing it once before. Yeah, Judas sings, hard as that is to believe.

But not in front of anyone, and I only heard him by accident, I think, just that one time—he must’ve thought he was alone. He wasn’t bad, I don’t know why he doesn’t sing with us, but maybe I really do know—they don’t want him to, I guess.

Jesus seems so—agitated, upset, frightened—I’m not sure just what the right word is. I watch him standing there at the front of the stage, singing his heart out, and then I look for Judas. I know where he’ll be. He pretty well always stands in the same spot when Jesus sings. I wonder if maybe he has some idea what’s going on.

Oh mercy, he and Mary are into it again, I can see that from here. And now Judas has run off. Maybe I should find him later, see if he’s okay. See if he needs me.

The other guys seem as confused as I am, but we keep playing. What else would we do? I don’t know who I want to comfort more—Jesus or Judas? There’s something very wrong here. I wish I knew what it was.

The song is ending now. Jesus is beginning to speak. I wonder what he intends to say. Will he follow the script, or will this be different too?

I don’t know what inspired me to sing that particular song, or why I felt the need to break with the program and interject myself into it in that way. No, that’s not being truthful, not at all. I
do
know what inspired me. It’s this confusion that reigns within my brain, this fire that burns incessantly within my heart. This overwhelming feeling of feelings…

Father, have mercy on me, please, help me to understand…so many things…

I must concentrate. I have to concentrate. It is time. I step toward the front of the stage, past the members of my little group, hoping they’ll understand the changes I’m making, and not be upset by them. I try to focus on the message I wish to convey. Tonight will be different. I’m not going to preach my usual first night sermon. There is something else I wish to say. There is something inside me that demands release. I don’t need to think about what I want to say. The thoughts are being born, even as I take my mark. The words enter my head as I speak them, as if they exist on internal cue cards visible to no one else save me. I have so little time, and so much I want to say. So much I
need
to say.

“The greatest gift God gave to the world was the gift of love,” I begin, my eyes scanning the crowd. I’d be lying if I said I don’t know what I’m looking for. Or who. “The most important ability and the most important need he gave to man…

was love.” I know these are not the words of the script, but they are the words which fill my heart, and I must say them, now, before I lose them. I don’t want to lose them. I want them to resonate within the minds and hearts of my listeners, as well as my own. And his. I’m afraid to turn my head toward my apostles. I’m afraid of what I might see—surprise, confusion, doubt? Perhaps I’m simply projecting. Perhaps I’m underestimating them, and in their eyes I’ll see reflected trust and understanding. All I ask is that they have faith in me, in us, in this. That requires I have faith in them, as well.

“Love is the glue that binds us. It is the great equalizer, and there is nothing in the world that can come close to matching the power of love in all of its manifestations. Love of our friends and family, love of nature, love of self, love of the world we live in, and greatest of all, of course, is our deep and abiding love for God, which is returned many fold, and in many ways, and which lives deep within our hearts.” My heart is pounding, my palms are sweaty, but in all honesty it’s not the heat of the stage lights which is having this effect upon me. It is my own inner turmoil, this war I feel is being waged within my soul, and about which I know not what to do. I force myself to concentrate, but it’s hard. I’ve found him, although if I hadn’t been so overwrought I would have done so sooner, as he’s in his usual place. Mary M is with him, though, and I pray they are in harmony, one with the other. That is my devout wish. Even though I probably know better. My eyes are upon them as I continue to speak.

“Love lives within all of us. It’s what makes us unique, our ability to share these feelings with other people, people we don’t even know.” I cross my hands over my chest, as if by doing so I can still the wild beating of my heart. “To share what is in our hearts, to share what this world contains in abundance with everyone in it. There is no reason
why
people should go hungry, no reason
why
there should be poverty,
why
people should hate one another and commit acts of violence upon one another. Wars solve nothing, not even those waged in the name of God. He never asked for them, nor does he condone them…” Oh mercy, what now? It’s obvious to me they’re fighting—what else is new—and now he has disappeared.

Where has he gone? Jude, come back, I want to cry after him. Let me fix what is wrong. But I cannot say the words aloud, coward that I am, and I dare not interrupt my train of thought. Not now. Later, perhaps. If I’m given the chance.

My eyes continue to scan the faces before me, and now they meet those of my mother, rest upon her for a moment. Her smile is encouraging. She is my rock, my anchor, my
petra
. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She has always been there for me, always listened to me when I’ve had my moments of doubt. Yes, even I who am His son have those moments. She encourages me to seek my father’s advice and wisdom, offers her own words as well. And she is invariably right. Of all of those that accompany me, she alone (with the possible exception of Thomas) doesn’t chide me in regard to Judas. She understands everything without being told. Probably understands more than I do, which isn’t hard to do.

“There are those who claim to speak in God’s name, those who claim they invoke His will. They say they know how He thinks and feels. When these people carry messages filled with love and understanding, I say that’s a good thing. But when they choose to speak out against others, against certain groups of people, and they cite the Bible as the source of their hatred, then I must tell you that is not pleasing to God, not at all. Why do you think he would advocate love for all, and then deny it to some simply because of who they are? Did He not make them the way they are? Who are these others to decide that someone is wrong on the basis of the color of their skin, or the religion they believe in, or their sexual orientation?

This is not the sort of love God advocates—a picking and choosing kind of love.

God told us to love each other. Unconditionally. Those who dare to put themselves above the word of God will be very surprised at the Day of Judgment to discover just how wrong they truly are.”

I pause for breath, even as I decide where I wish to go from here, for I find myself walking a fine line here, and I know it. I don’t wish to alienate anyone, and yet I wish to convey the idea that intolerance is…intolerable, for lack of a better word. It’s at this point that instinct begins to guide me, and without pausing to consider what it is I’m doing, I leap lightly from the stage. The crowd, obviously discerning my intent, has moved back slightly to give me room. It’s not much, I admit, but it’s enough. Once I’m safely on the floor, they push closer to me, jostling for position.

I can feel the agitation from my faithful apostles who are still upon the stage, their protective natures coming to the fore. If Judas were here, he’d be the first to take a stand beside me, and I realize it, which only serves to emphasize his absence that much more. I resolutely push the thought aside for later, however, as I continue to address the crowd. “The children are the hope of the future. It is they who shall carry on in the footsteps we leave behind, who will continue to blossom and grow, and work to improve the world in which they live. We must give them the basic building blocks with which to do this. We must instill in them, at an early age, a love for their fellow man which will permit them to live together in harmony.”

I gently touch the hand of a towheaded youngster who stands before me. He looks at me, hope in his eyes, hanging on my very words. I smile at him. He returns it. Ah, the unfettered innocence of youth.

They’re drawn to me, these young ones. They hang on my every utterance as I thread my way through their midst. I gather them to me, my confidence in myself and in my message growing stronger, renewed by their innocence and by their faith and trust in me. As if sensing my mood and my intent, my band begins to play softly in the background. I begin to sway as I move. I’m almost dancing now, a fire flowing through my limbs. I beckon to the young to follow me, to seek the word of God and to take it to heart in their daily lives. They clap their hands together in delight, taking up the beat now, forming a laughing, dancing, clapping caravan of hopeful youth as they follow me about the tent.

As I pass by Lucifer, his eyes and mine lock for a moment. I can see an amused smirk in his, a knowing one, as if he possesses information which I do not. And which I need. I do not allow him to faze me, however. I stand firm within myself and my belief in my Father, and when I glance back, he is already lost to view.

I raise my voice in song, and the young ones join me as I leap back upon the stage, leading this revival, this energetic outpouring of emotion, hosannas sung in the name of our Lord. By the time that the last chorus has faded at last, amid the cries of the cheering children, I’m ready to return to our regularly scheduled program once more.

Have I forgotten Jude? Of course not. I’ll find him when I’m done here. And I will do my best to right whatever is wrong. With him. With me. With us. He is my friend. I shall not forsake him.

The night has relapsed into a sort of silence at last. The crowd has all gone home, back to the little problems that make up the fabric of their lives. I don’t care.

Why should I care? They’re nothing to me, not at this moment. My mind is filled with so many other things I have no thought to spare for them. Perhaps that is callous of me. Selfish even. Normally I have more sympathy for my fellow man.

But not right now. Not at this moment. My thoughts are self-centered ones this night. I cannot get the whore’s words out of my head, no matter how I try. How I hate that woman, how I’ve always hated her. She’s done nothing to endear herself to me in any way throughout the long years since we first began. Why does she not simply leave us alone?

Because there
is
no us? Why are you so delusional when it comes to him?

Normally your vision is clearer than that. You’re more sensible than that. But when it comes to Jesus you cannot see a foot in front of your face. You’re worse than a schoolgirl with a crush. Gah, I’m talking to myself. Again. What purpose does that possibly serve? None that I can see. Might as well be pissing in the wind. What a lovely thought, that. Goes to show where my head is at, eh?

Once I fled the confines of the tent, I walked. That is all, simply walked.

Nowhere in particular. I paid no heed to where I was, or where I was going. But I never strayed very far either. I was always within a radius of a mile or so at all times of the tent. And of him. I tried to walk away the agitation her shrewish words produced, but I found that I couldn’t. I tried to stay away, yet I found myself drawn back. Back toward him, back toward the sound of his very melodic voice. Back toward his very presence—that which I longed for so desperately, yearned for so greatly, but wouldn’t allow myself to have. Even so, I made no move to rejoin them, or to help them with the clean-up of the aftermath of the unwashed masses once everything was over, once the audience was sent along their way, home or wherever. I’m generally on top of that as I’m on top of everything, but not tonight.

Fuck it. Let them do without me. Let them wonder about my absence, maybe worry about my well-being. Foolish idea—what do they care about me? Very little, I know, very little.

Why do I let her get to me in this way? Why do I care what she says or thinks?

Is it because I know she’s right, and I’m the reason for his agitation? Oh dear God, I don’t want to hurt him, and yet lately that seems to be all I’m capable of doing, despite my best efforts to the contrary. I don’t want his last days in this time to be filled with pain that I’ve inflicted upon him. All I wish to do is love him. That’s all.

And that is all I cannot do. Not in the way I would wish, anyway.

Will there ever come a time for us? Even if it does by some miracle of God come to pass, will I even stand a ghost of a chance with him? Or will I lose him to another man? Maybe even to some woman? Perhaps to that whore, Mary M? Is that why I despise her so greatly, above and beyond any provocation she has given me over the years, because I fear their closeness?