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Jesus is afraid.
Every waking hour, every moment of rest, all Jesus can see and hear and feel is him.
The distinct lack of the man who makes him feel alive makes Jesus wish he were dead.
Yet Judas lurks in every corner, his mouth downturned, his eyes burning with a rage that masks his fear.
“Are you satisfied, Christ?” he sneers.
Jesus closes his eyes, blocking out the eleven faces that are seated before him.
There should be twelve.
“Did you truly save them?” Judas taunts. “Or have you doomed them all, like you doomed me?”
“No,” Jesus whimpers.
“Rabbi?”
He opens his eyes again, and Peter is looking at him worriedly. It takes almost everything Jesus has to not shut them again.
Peter’s dark curly hair reminds him a little too much of the dark curls he loves to thread his hands through.
Loved to thread his hands through. It was in the past tense, now.
It always would be.
“I must pray,” Jesus says, rising from the table, sweeping out of the room.
The disciples don’t question him anymore. It wasn’t like they really did before; that task always fell to Judas.
Would anyone ever question him again?
Would anyone ever make him feel human again?
———
Jesus stands in the vineyard, a gentle breeze tousling his hair as he gazes up into the heavens.
Despite Mary’s kind words, fragrant oils, and soothing hands, he is awake.
He’d lain down beside her, but Jesus had feigned sleep until he was sure she was no longer in the world of the waking. Then, he’d gotten up and left.
He needed a moment of peace.
This week will be the most difficult week of his life.
It will be the final week of his life.
Jesus doesn’t notice the shadowy blue approach. But Judas is supplicating before him, clutching at the hem of Jesus’ robe.
“Forgive me,” he begs. “I was wrong to let my anxieties take hold of me. I was wrong to take them out upon you and upon Mary. I shall apologise to her come morning, but I saw that you were still awake. I am so sorry, Jesus. Truly, I am.”
Jesus gently removes Judas’ hands from his clothing, and raises his chin up.
Judas stands.
“I know,” Jesus says softly. “I know.”
He takes Judas into his arms, frowning slightly. His voluminous robes mask it, but Judas is thinner than before.
The stress of the ministry and of the last few months has been weighing on Judas more than Jesus had thought.
“Beloved…”
He pulls away, and meets Judas’ eyes.
They are terrified. Yet they are hungry.
Jesus knows that expression.
It isn’t a hunger for bread, or a thirst for drink.
It is a hunger for companionship. For affection. For intimacy.
He feels it flicker within him too.
“Judas… Can you please remind me?” he whispers.
Judas’ brow furrows, his head tilting in confusion. “Remind you of what, Jesus?”
“Remind me of what it is to be human,” Jesus breathes. “Remind me of what it is to love… and to be loved.”
“You’re saying…”
“Tonight, I am yours. You may do whatever it is you wish to do with me,” Jesus affirms, nodding.
Judas’ mouth is on his, sharp and biting, as he pushes Jesus up against a nearby olive, yanking the cream robe from his shoulders.
They pause for breath momentarily, and Jesus whispers to him. “But we must be quiet.”
It isn’t the first time their bodies become one.
It isn’t the first time Jesus entrusts Judas with his entire being in such a way.
And it certainly isn’t the first time that Jesus feels like a man and nothing more.
But it is the last time.
He knows that in less than a week, he will be dead.
———
“I’m sorry, Judas,” Jesus rasps, sinking against the cold ground. “I am so sorry.”
A familiar shade of blue appears in his periphery. “It’s too late for that,” says Judas.
Jesus knows that Judas can’t be here.
Judas is buried beneath a fig tree in Jerusalem.
That’s all Jesus had been told.
He doesn’t even know how Judas died.
“Why are you here?” Jesus whispers.
“Why are you here?” is Judas’ response.
Jesus blinks, tears falling freely. “I don’t know.”
Judas crosses his arms. “That’s not an answer. Try again.”
“I don’t know why my Father made me die only to bring me back.”
“Think harder.”
Jesus pauses, but doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears collecting in his beard.
He stares at his hands instead.
They’re red and angry, with great gaping holes in them.
They tremble.
They didn’t do that before.
“God needed to prove Its power… for the sake of humanity. To save humanity.”
“Yes, and?”
“…And It needed to sacrifice something It loved.”
Judas scoffs. “Does your Father really even love you? To put you through that? To refer to you as the Lamb of God?”
God loves him. God said so.
“This is My beloved son, with whom I am well pleased,” Jesus recites.
But God had only ever said anything like that once.
And that was long ago, now.
“Why did It make me suffer so much?” Jesus sobs softly. “Why did It take you from me? Why won’t anyone tell me what happened?”
Despite Judas haunting him for days now, he hasn’t found the courage to gaze upon this apparition of his beloved for more than a few seconds.
Until now.
Jesus looks at him.
Judas looks like himself, but all the light he once carried is gone. His skin is sallow and pale, his hair flat and almost greasy. Even his clothes look faded.
He meets Judas’ eyes. The twinkle in them had begun to fade as they approached Jerusalem, but now they are dark, anger and fear lurking within them.
But the chestnut irises are also unseeing and clouded.
Judas is lifeless.
His beautiful Judas, his heart, is a corpse.
Judas doesn’t sneer or snarl at him now. He just looks sad. “If God won’t answer you, perhaps Mary will.”
Jesus hasn’t wanted to talk to Mary. He hasn’t even wanted to see her.
She’s what reminds him most of what he’s lost.
———
Mary finds him stumbling about the gardens, clothed in his burial shroud, the linen casting shadows upon his features.
“Where is he? The tomb is open, and his body is gone! I have lost so much, I cannot lose him again. I cannot mourn a body that is missing,” she sobs.
Jesus takes her hands.
“Mary.”
He watches her face transform from grief, to wonder, and then to joy.
“Jesus.”
They hold onto each other, and she guides him to the closest thing they have to home.
In the house of Simon the Leper, where they are lying low, Jesus greets the Twelve, and their closest companions.
He combs their faces.
His mother. His siblings. Peter. John. James. Matthew. Thaddeus. Simon. James. Thomas. Bartholomew. Philip. Andrew. Mary. Martha. Veronica. Salome. An assortment of their family members.
He can’t help but notice that a significant member of their group is missing.
“Judas?”
Mary’s face crumples, and she buries her head in Peter’s shoulder.
“Where is Judas?”
Peter confirms Jesus’ worst fears.
“He’s dead.”
Jesus falls apart.
———
“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil. For you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
That old psalm brings Jesus no comfort now.
He isn’t brave.
He is a coward.
Days pass, yet he doesn’t seek out Mary, and he barely even speaks to the Twelve.
He doesn’t stop seeing Judas.
Judas doesn’t speak much. He mostly just watches, a frown upon his face.
If Judas was actually here, he’d be tutting as Jesus pushes away yet another meal.
He’d be holding Jesus’ hands, trying to take away his anxieties.
He’d be holding Jesus as he cries.
Even though he is surrounded by people, Jesus has never felt so alone.
———
Judas loved him first, careful and reverent. Admiration and affection shone from behind Judas’ eyes, but he always maintained a mask of near indifference while in the company of others.
He still does.
Yet behind closed doors, Judas’ inhibitions disappeared. His cheeks would become rosy as they took care of one another.
Judas would smile.
He would laugh.
He would whisper Jesus’ name as if it were the most holy of hymns.
At Judas’ insistence, their relationship is not an exclusive one. Still, Jesus never asks why; he trusts that Judas has his reasons.
However, he suspects it is not because Judas chooses to take other lovers, but rather a fear of commitment.
That is something Jesus understands now, more than ever.
Jesus has known for a long time that he won’t live until he is old and grey. He now knows he has one year left until he is to complete the impossible task his Father set for him.
He’d always been reluctant to share so much of himself with other people. It scared him enough that he’s already shared so much with Judas; he couldn’t bear bringing anyone else into the chaos that would become his life.
That changed when Mary joined them.
Jesus found himself drawn to her. Her wit, her compassion, and her cleverness astounded him, and he was intoxicated by her mere presence.
They grew close, finding comfort in each other. She trusted him with her secrets, and in time, her body and her soul.
But something about their closeness has Judas jealous, and he’s growing distant. He retreats into himself, and when he is a little more present, there are cold shoulders and heavy amounts of contention.
Mary and Judas bicker incessantly, her hopeful eyes and soft exterior meeting his weary ones and hard edges.
It pains Jesus.
Judas doesn’t come to Jesus’ tent anymore.
Jesus fears that he’s lost him.
The camp is dark, the vast majority of its occupants fast asleep. Tent canvases ripple in the slight breeze as Jesus stares at the sky, unable to sleep yet again.
He begins to walk, no real destination in mind, just hopeful he can tire himself out and find himself close to slumber.
Jesus nears the edge of the scraggly wood that borders the field when a sound makes him stop in his tracks.
It’s the sound of a man lost in his own pleasure.
And it’s a sound Jesus knows so well.
It is Judas.
Jesus makes to turn away; it isn’t his business as to what Judas gets up to in private. He is perfectly entitled to do whatever he wishes, whether it is to lay with another, or to have a moment alone.
Before Jesus can leave, he hears a second, higher pitched noise, almost like a sigh.
He recognises it too.
Mary.
Mary is here.
Mary is with Judas.
He really should leave. This is not meant for him to be a part of.
But his feet move of their own accord, leading him forward until he is peering through foliage.
The unlikely pair are in an impossibly close embrace. Items of clothing are discarded, their fair skin almost glowing in the moonlight. They hold each other tightly, hands roaming both exposed and clothed flesh. Little puffs of breath dissolve into the night air.
He watches as Mary presses her lips to Judas’ neck, just below his ear. It’s a spot that Jesus knows to be very ticklish.
Judas laughs, and Jesus’ heart aches. It has been too long since he’d last heard such a noise from him.
They are beautiful.
He lets out a tiny sound.
Two pairs of brown eyes met his own blue ones.
“Jesus?” Mary whispers, while Judas all but pushes her away, blushing furiously as he scrambles for his shirt.
Judas is going to make a run for it.
“Don’t,” Jesus says, joining them in the clearing.
Judas freezes, anxious. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
He turns to Mary. “We shouldn’t have done this, I shouldn’t have let you tempt me this way!” Judas says sharply.
“Tempt you?” Mary retorts. “I seem to recall you being the one to initiate this. I offered to bring you comfort, you’re the one who took it further.”
“And that was a mistake,” Judas says, his voice dropping to something like a whimper. “This isn’t right. It’s wrong of us to do this.”
Before Mary can reply, Jesus sinks to his knees, taking Judas’ hand. “It’s not. While I’m sure this isn’t the way either of you would have liked me to find out, and I apologise for intruding… but what could possibly be wrong about the two people I love finding comfort in one another?”
Mary blinks. “You… you love both of us?”
Jesus nods.
“We… we thought you didn’t…” she confesses. “That’s what brought us together. We thought you didn’t truly love either of us.”
Jesus meets her gaze. “That could never happen. I adore you both, with my entire being.”
Judas still looks as if he wants to flee, and Jesus swears he can hear Judas’ heart hammering. He squeezes his hand gently as he looks between them both.
“I love you.”
Judas’ lips are suddenly on Jesus’, his hands clawing at Jesus’ robe, while Mary wraps herself around Judas’ torso, placing gentle kisses upon Jesus’ neck.
It doesn’t take long for Jesus’ clothes to be set aside, as the three of them give each other every facet of themselves.
———
It takes Jesus several more days to gather the strength to speak with Mary.
“Mary?” Jesus calls into the room, his voice timid and small.
Judas is the one who turns.
Jesus blinks, and Judas is replaced by Mary. She’s wearing one of Judas’ shawls.
Even from several feet away, Jesus can smell the lavender soap Judas uses.
Used.
Mary’s voice is quiet as she approaches. “What is it, Rabbi?”
She’s always been careful around the others, not wanting them to know the extent of their relationship.
Jesus shakes his head. “I am not your Rabbi today, Mary. I am just Jesus.”
“What is it, Jesus?” Mary corrects.
“Can we talk privately?”
Mary pulls the shawl close, and nods, exiting the room, and then the house. She stops near the gate, a short distance from the vineyard.
Jesus sees Judas lingering in the near distance, leaning against an olive tree on the edge of a row of vines; it is the very same one Judas had shoved him against on that Friday night, before they had spent one final evening in each others’ embrace.
“You want to talk about him, don’t you?”
Mary’s wide eyes are full of tears and so scared.
It’s just how Judas looked that night.
It breaks Jesus, a howl ripping from his throat.
Mary pulls Jesus to her chest, and the smell of the lavender and her own spicy scent overwhelms him.
He sobs, tears splashing onto her gown and the shawl she wears. She combs through his hair with a hand, and he can feel her own tears falling against his crown.
“Why?” Jesus whispers.
“Why?” Judas echoes, voice clear as day. “Why are you alive? Why did It bring you back? Why am I dead?”
Jesus wants to clamp his hands over his ears, and drown out Judas’ questions.
He knows they’re not Judas’ questions.
They’re his own.
And he has to be the one to ask them.
“Why am I alive? Why isn’t he?”
Mary’s hand pauses in his hair. “He was hurting. He was hurting so much.”
Jesus looks up at her; her face is stained with tears just like his.
“Who hurt him?”
Mary shakes her head.
“Mary, who hurt Judas? Who killed him?”
“Jesus… did nobody tell you?”
Jesus shakes his head, terrified.
“Oh, Jesus,” Mary whispers, her voice quivering. She takes his hands in her own, both pairs trembling.
“He did.”
Jesus could swear his heart stops.
“What?”
Mary’s lip trembles. “Judas… Judas took his own life.”
“No… no. That can’t be right, someone must have killed him for what he did, for who he is,” Jesus insists. “He would never—”
Mary interrupts him. “I know what I saw.”
Jesus’ heart drops, and he feels himself wobble, unsteady on his knees. He’s scared.
“…What you saw?”
She steels herself, her small shoulders shaking, her usually strong voice stumbling over words. “I went looking for him, and I found him, but I was seconds too late. He let go of the branch, and I… and I watched him fall. He saw me after he let go… he looked so frightened, Jesus… He was so scared. I couldn’t do anything. I just had to stand there and watch.”
Jesus feels more tears make their way down his face.
“I watched him die, and then I watched you die. I buried you both,” she sobs. “Yet you are back, but Judas is still dead.”
He hangs his head.
“I am so sorry, Mary.”
“Did you know what would happen?” It’s quiet, but it’s a demand, buried within a question.
“No,” confesses Jesus. “I knew I would die. That is all. I thought the only blood that would be shed in my Father’s name would be my own… I never expected… I never wanted anyone else to suffer… least of all you.”
“Judas suffered the most… that’s why he’s not here.”
Jesus wrings his hands, anxious. “Was… was it quick?”
“He was gone in an instant,” Mary says quietly. “His pain is over.”
“Is it, though?” Judas asks, and to Jesus’ horror, an angry purple mark now sullies his throat. “Or have I been damned, destined for an eternity of suffering?”
Jesus blinks back tears frantically, as he tries to focus on Mary’s mumbles.
“—I thought you knew how he died, which is why I thought you weren’t in mourning… I thought you’d shunned him. I was angry, which is why I didn’t seek you out. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Jesus says firmly. “I mourn for him. I miss him so much. Everything reminds me of him. I keep seeing him… I see him in Peter’s hair, in some of Matthew’s mannerisms… I see him most of all in you.”
Mary sniffs. “He’s been in your dreams, hasn’t he?”
Jesus nods. “And in my waking hours. This image of him… it’s asking the questions I’m too scared to ask.”
“What are those questions?”
Judas feeds them to him.
“Why me? Why us? Why did I have to be given this task? What was it all for? What was the point of this happening here and now? Did you even save them? If your Father is a kind God, why is there suffering?”
Jesus shudders, but repeats them.
Judas leans close, and whispers in Jesus’ ear.
“Where am I now?”
Jesus doesn’t repeat that one.
Mary squeezes his hand.
“I don’t have any of these answers.”
“I know,” Jesus whimpers. “But I know who does.”
———
God doesn’t answer him.
No matter how hard Jesus prays, no matter how much he begs and cries, God is silent.
Just like It was in the Garden.
He knows what he must do.
“I want to visit him,” Jesus whispers to Mary.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Mary replies. “The Romans… they’ll surely try to kill you again.”
Part of Jesus says to let them try. Let them kill him again. He welcomes death if it means being with Judas right now.
He knows it’s irresponsible to go back to Jerusalem.
But he needs answers.
———
He hides his face beneath Judas’ shawl. It still smells like him, and it makes tears prick uncomfortably in Jesus’ eyes.
His arms are swathed in green; the sleeves of James’ robe are long, almost reaching the tips of his fingers.
The borrowed shoes he wears are sturdy boots, not unlike the ones Judas favours.
Favoured.
The clothing he wears hides the stigmata, his hair, and any other sign of who he is.
Mary has gone to the effort of blending in too, her usual yellow replaced with a dull grey, layered with a teal robe Jesus recognises as John’s.
The streets of Jerusalem are quiet. Dawn only broke recently; most are asleep.
Only Peter, John, and James know they’re here. Two of the trio are lingering on the city outskirts, ready to run to them if they hear of any trouble.
Jesus knows there won’t be.
They crest the hill to the tree, and Jesus sees a memory he knows isn’t his own.
“Jesus, I know you can’t hear me, but I only did what you wanted!” Judas shouts, tears streaming down his face. “I’d sell out the nation not to be saddled with your murder!”
Judas clutches frantically at the ropes he is carrying. “I’ve been spattered with innocent blood… I’ll be dragged through Hell… God, I deserve to be dragged through Hell!”
He sinks down onto the dusty ground, his breaths erratic, hair sticking to his face with perspiration. He sobs.
“I love him, and I don’t know how to! I don’t know why he makes me feel so much! Jesus is a man, he’s not a king, he’s not a God! He’s just the same as anyone else!”
Judas is shaking like a leaf, terrified. “Once he’s dead, will he leave me alone, or will he haunt me forever? Does he— does he actually love me… like I love him?”
He looks a mess, his eyes wild, and his carefully applied kohl streaming down his face in a river of tears.
Judas buries his face in his hands, the heels of them pressing against his eyes, then notices a weight upon his hip.
The leather purse is heavy, full of shiny coins.
He looks like he is going to be ill.
“My mind is in darkness now… I— I’ve been used… and God, You knew! You always did!”
He stands, stumbling, tripping over his robes, his feet, and the ropes he still carries.
“Why did You choose me? Why? Why did You make it so I had to do Your crimes?”
The fig tree looms over him, tall, gnarled, and completely barren. Judas begins to climb, and it is with purpose.
He’s up in the highest branches, lit by the faint glow of the approaching sunrise.
“If You kill him, You kill me!” he cries, tying one end of the length of rope around a branch.
“God, You have murdered me!”
The other end is tied into a noose.
Judas’ breath is heavy as he lowers the cruel knot over his head.
He glances down. It’s a long way to the rocky ground below. If the branch or the rope fails him, the fall will still probably kill him.
“His blood and mine are on Your hands.”
He lets go.
In the first second, he sees Mary, cloaked in gold, horror written across her face.
The next second never comes.
The woman on the ground screams as the body of Judas Iscariot hangs suspended before her, his eyes open and unseeing.
Dawn breaks, and Mary screams again.
Jesus is on his knees, ugly sobs making him shake.
Neither Judas or Mary deserved that. Judas should still be here, holding their hands.
“It is your Father’s fault,” Judas says, his voice cold. “All of it. My death, your death… the trauma Mary has experienced, the Twelve’s grief.”
Something softens, and it almost feels like Judas is actually beside him. “It’s not your fault.”
Jesus shakes his head in disbelief.
“It’s not your fault, Jesus.”
Mary is the one speaking, her hand on his arm, but Jesus swears Judas is there.
Jesus stumbles to his feet, dragging them along the ground towards a freshly turned patch of earth.
Tiny sprouts of green are already poking through, and a singular stone sits atop.
The body of his beloved Judas is beneath it.
Jesus closes his eyes.
“Where are you, Judas?” he whimpers.
For once, Judas is silent.
But his Father is not.
“The son of Simon Iscariot is awaiting judgement.”
“Where?” Jesus asks.
“That is not yet for you to know.”
“Am I not You in human form?” Jesus challenges.
“You are,” is the reply.
“Therefore, I should know all that You know,” says Jesus.
“If that is what you want, My son.”
“I want to know where he is.”
“You will not like knowing.”
“Show me,” Jesus demands.
Jesus is shown a vast nothingness, the only thing within his field of vision is a lone tree. And hanging beneath the tree is Judas, swinging, as if he has just fallen.
Jesus cannot look away, and no matter how long he stares, Judas does not stop swaying.
“Judas…”
Judas’ eyes appear to meet his.
“Waiting…” Judas wheezes. The beautiful baritone is no more, replaced by a broken rasp. “I am waiting.”
It takes everything Jesus has to not scream.
“Father, why is this Judas’ fate?”
“His true fate is yet to be determined.”
“And when will that be?”
“When you are seated at My right hand.”
“I tire of Your riddles, Father!” Jesus shouts. “I did everything You asked! I was beaten and betrayed! They killed me, only for me to be brought back! I don’t understand! Why did You choose my dearest companion to lead me to those horrors?”
“An instrument was required.”
“An instrument? Judas is a good man! He is one of Your creations, is he not? Why must he have suffered so much for Your plan? You have damned him! Why?” Jesus snaps.
“He is not damned yet.”
“Making someone swing from a tree for an undetermined period of time seems an awful lot like damnation,” Jesus snarls.
“He is awaiting judgement.”
Jesus holds himself back from rolling his eyes. “From whom?”
As soon as he asks it, he knows the answer.
He would be the one to judge Judas.
Jesus curls his hands into fists.
“You are going to have him waiting like this until I return to You?” Jesus asks, angry and incredulous. “Let me speak with him, let me bring him comfort, let me free him.”
“It is not yet your time.”
Jesus inhales deeply. “Then You free him. All Judas did was what You asked of him! He is a good man, a charitable and generous man! I will not damn him! He will join me in the Kingdom; he will be my right hand!”
“He has sinned.”
Jesus scoffs. “Who hasn’t? I certainly have! I was a rebellious child! I was disrespectful in your temple! I touch those who are deemed impure! I have given myself to the people I love, despite the laws saying I should not! Would You damn me, then?” he shouts.
His Father is silent once again.
“I will not damn Judas. If You and I are indeed one, then I command that he be released from this hellish interim and be granted the peace he is rightfully owed.”
“Are you certain that this is what you wish?”
Jesus hasn’t been more certain of anything.
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
“So, where is Judas now?”
Jesus is granted one more vision. Judas is sitting beneath the tree now. He looks peaceful. There’s no rope in sight.
“He waits. In forty years, Judas Iscariot will be the one to bring you to me.”
Jesus stifles a sob, surprised that his Father even listened.
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you wish to ask of Me?”
“Did Your plan work? Or was the suffering You put us through all for nothing?”
“You died for the sins of humanity, My Son. You have saved them. You did well.”
Jesus opens his eyes again. He stares at the tiny blades of grass that are forcing their way through Judas’ grave.
Mary’s hand is still resting upon his arm.
“He’s okay,” he whispers.
Mary’s hand clutches his wrist tightly.
“Judas is okay,” he says, louder, and looks at her.
She looks confused. “Jesus… Judas is dead. We are kneeling at his grave. There’s nothing we can do.”
Jesus shakes his head. “I spoke with my Father. He answered me. Judas isn’t damned. Judas is okay.”
“Damned?” Mary whimpers. “Damned for how he died, or what he did?”
“I don’t know. But he’s okay. He’s waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“For us,” Jesus whispers. “One day, we will be with him.”
Mary clearly doesn’t know whether she wants to laugh or cry, and Jesus doesn’t give her the opportunity to. He simply takes her into his arms, and holds her tight.
Once he understands it all himself, he'll explain everything to her one day.
———
Jesus eventually falls asleep.
He dreams.
“Jesus.”
Judas looks like he did before Jerusalem, before things got out of hand. He looks healthy.
He sees Jesus, and he smiles.
“Let go, alright?”
Jesus’ lip trembles. “I don’t want to.”
“Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. I will always be with you, you know that,” Judas says.
“Not physically,” Jesus mumbles.
Judas sighs sadly. “No… but I am in your heart. I am a part of you, and a part of Mary. We shaped each other.”
“It’s not the same… I wish that I had died, and stayed that way. At least you wouldn’t be alone,” Jesus whispers.
Judas takes his hands. They’re warm, and Jesus’ trembles cease.
“And then Mary would be alone,” Judas says gently. “She’s already gone through so much. You both have. Be there for her. Love her as you always have, love her like you love me.”
“But now you’re alone,” Jesus replies, and Judas shakes his head.
“Time is different here. In the blink of an eye, I will be with you. I will be far from alone.”
“Are you… are you happy?”
Judas wipes away a tear from Jesus’ cheek. “I will be."
Jesus leans into the touch. "I wish I was more like you, Judas. You were so brave."
Judas' lips purse in disagreement. "I took the coward's way out, Jesus. I wish I had been more like you. You and Mary... you're the brave ones. And it is time for you to be even braver."
"How?" Jesus asks.
"You have to keep living. For yourself, and for Mary.”
“Do I have to?” Jesus whimpers, and he feels like he’s in that Garden again, only with the opposite fate this time.
“You do. I died for you, Jesus. Don’t let my death be in vain. You must live, and you must use the rest of your life to love.”
Jesus nods.
“Look after Mary. Look after each other. I will see you again, and until then I will wait,” Judas says.
He presses his lips to Jesus’.
“I love you.”
———
Jesus and Mary part ways with the Twelve.
The Twelve continue the ministry, and his Father’s word continues to spread.
Most believe that Jesus ascended into Heaven after forty days.
Only he and Mary know the truth.
They are given a chance at a normal life. Judas would want that for them.
His Father doesn’t speak to him anymore, but It blesses them, allowing them to become two ordinary people.
There’s no more Messiah, no more Son of God. Nor is there a Magdalene.
There’s just Jesus and Mary.
The years pass. Scars fade, both the visible and the hidden. Jesus and Mary find solace in each other.
He dreams of before every now and then.
The nightmares of ropes and crosses make appearances occasionally, especially when news of the Twelve reach them. They discover that no news is good news, and that any news is bad.
But on the whole, the nightmares become less frequent, replaced by fond memories.
“I enjoyed your lesson,” a soft voice calls. Its owner has a head of messy curls, a hand hovering over a small silver pendant.
He looks haggard and tired, yet there is something that draws Jesus to him.
“What did you enjoy about it?” Jesus asks him.
“I like how you speak of hope. Of how there is a chance for everyone. How no matter who we are, or what we’ve been, there is something special for us, that we can find our place with God.”
Jesus feels a smile spread across his face. This young man may be exactly what he is looking for.
“What is your name, my friend?” he asks.
“Judas. Judas Iscariot.”
“Join me, Judas Iscariot,” Jesus says, extending his hand.
“But I’m nothing but an account-keeper,” Judas mumbles.
“Yet you understood my lesson more than most others,” Jesus says. “I see that you want to learn all you can.”
Judas nods. “I do.”
“I cannot promise you a strong roof over your head, but I can offer you a canvas one. Your meals may not be of a fine quality, but they will sustain you. It may be dangerous, but I will do all I can to keep you safe. It’s not a lot, but it is what’s right. I feel as though there is a space in my ministry created specifically for you, Judas.”
“I think anything is better than here,” Judas says, and he takes Jesus’ hand.
A feeling of warmth spreads through Jesus’ body.
This is right.
This poor young man from Kerioth is meant to be a part of his life.
Judas smiles for the first time, and Jesus commits it to his memory forever.
———
The Judas-shaped gap is never completely filled, but Jesus and Mary surround themselves with people. The village is small, and they are able to obtain anonymity here. Judas would have loved it.
They make sure to talk about him.
They don’t talk about Jerusalem.
But they look back on how he would give everything he had to those who needed it more. They reminisce about the way his brow would furrow when presented with a problem to solve, and his face would light up when he succeeded. They talk about how kind and how passionate he was.
And they remember how much Judas loved them.
They miss Judas, but Jesus keeps his promise.
He continues to live.
———
Jesus’ hands shake, but it’s not from the stigmata, nor from anxiety.
It’s from age.
He’s over seventy years old now.
Jesus and Mary have seen generations come and go in this little village.
They have a fig tree in the corner of their property. It’s small, but fruitful.
Mary spends a lot of time beneath it, letting the breeze dance across her face.
Jesus knows they will both be spending the rest of eternity beneath it very soon.
He’s sitting there, eyes closed, listening to the world around him when he hears a voice.
“Jesus.”
It’s a voice he knows very well.
Judas hasn’t haunted him for forty years now.
Yet he’s here.
“Judas,” Jesus breathes, and opens his eyes.
Judas is standing opposite him, looking just as he did the last time they spoke.
Judas’ lips quirk in a smile. “You got old.”
Jesus laughs, taken completely by surprise. “I did.”
Judas chuckles. “I’m glad you listened.”
“Me too,” Jesus says quietly. “I missed you more than words can say.”
“I know,” Judas replies. “But you kept going. I’m proud of you for doing that.”
Jesus nods, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
“This is the end, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.”
Judas nods. “It’s been forty years, as your Father said.”
“What of Mary, and everyone else in our lives?” Jesus asks.
“This is the way of things. You know how this works,” Judas answers.
“But Mary… she buried you, she buried me… it’s not fair for her to do that again,” Jesus whispers.
“She won’t be,” says Judas, nodding towards a familiar figure.
She still wears yellow, and she’s carrying Judas’ old shawl, as she tends to do when she comes to sit out here.
Mary stops a few feet away, her eyes widening.
“Jesus, please tell me I’m not imagining things,” she breathes.
He shakes his head.
“Hello, Mary,” Judas says.
Mary’s eyes immediately flood with tears, and she stumbles over to Jesus, clutching at him.
“What’s happening?” she whispers. “Why is he here? Why after all this time?”
Jesus runs his hand through Mary’s hair, and meets Judas’ eyes.
Jesus knows why Judas is here.
“Remember what I said all those years ago?"
She nods.
"Judas is here to take us home with him.”
Mary sniffs. “Home?”
“To Heaven. Our own piece of paradise… like we have here, but with Judas,” Jesus says, and Judas nods.
“It’s time for us to go,” Jesus whispers.
“What will happen to us?” Mary asks timidly.
“A peaceful death. A gift from God,” Judas says.
“I wish you got that,” Mary mumbles.
Judas looks ashamed. “I wish you didn’t see it. I am so sorry.”
“It’s in the past. I’m just glad to see you now,” Mary replies.
“My Father didn’t say much other than that you would be the one to fetch me. Our souls will go with you, but our bodies remain, I assume?” Jesus asks.
Judas shrugs. “I’m not sure, to be honest. All I was told was that once you take my hand, your life here will cease, and you’ll be in the Kingdom. You’ll be with me… if you still want that, of course.”
“Of course,” Mary says without hesitation. “Judas, we missed you so much. Of course we want to be with you.”
Jesus looks at Judas, and he is frightened. He’s experienced death before. “Will this hurt?”
He shakes his head. “It will be like falling asleep.”
Jesus takes Judas’ shawl from Mary’s hands, and wraps it around both their shoulders.
Their community know the significance of this piece of cloth. Jesus knows that it will be buried with them.
Mary presses a kiss to Jesus’ lips, then turns to Judas. “I’m ready,” she says, and Jesus nods.
“Take my hands,” Judas tells them.
They do.
They’re warm.
Judas speaks again. “Do not be afraid.”
———
“Are you happy, Jesus?” Judas asks, and Mary squeezes both their hands.
Judas and Mary are both by his side. They’re youthful and they’re happy. He is too. His partners smile, their eyes crinkling with a joy that brings peace.
The man who died for him and the woman who fought for him are no longer in the land of the living, and neither is he.
All Jesus can see and hear and feel is them.
Jesus is no longer afraid.