Gethsemane

This is a work of fiction and is, in no way, intended to serve as a coercion to the reader to question, or change, their religious beliefs. This story also does not reflect the religious beliefs of the author. It is a story built upon the many interpretations and possibilities inherent in the history of modern monotheistic religions and serves as another avenue of "What If?" The focus of this piece is for entertainment purposes only.

Judd’s fingers left the cold, wet chill of his beer mug and back to the silver necklace about his neck. It was a necklace that weighed heavy upon him as the ancient, dangling silver coins jingled with his movement. Tomorrow was Good Friday, but tonight was Judd’s nightmare. He closed his eyes and felt alcohol and memory flow through his veins.

The dipped bread tasted like ash in his mouth. But he chewed it in honor of his Lord and swallowed, the feeling of thorns scratched his throat. It felt like blood entered his belly with the bread, and he suddenly found himself unable to fully control his movements. In his head he heard a terrible voice proclaiming, “I am here.”

He looked up from the ground beneath the table and met the eyes of his Lord.

“What you are about to do, do it swiftly,” He said, voice soft, but firm.

The only company he had as he quickly left the supper room was his gurgling belly.

Even after two thousand years, Judd still could not recall, in detail, his journey to the high priest. No doubt, it was the evil that had seeped into him through the bread. Judd had hoped that the specter of arrest would motivate his Lord to lead a rebellion against the Romans, that was his impetus in taking the silver from Caiaphas before the supper began. Judd took another draught of his beer, then lifted the cigarette to his mouth. Every drag was a remembrance of the taste of the ashen bread.

He reached the high priest’s offices and met the high priest and his soldiers. His heart raced at the thought that his Lord might start a rebellion on the day of the Passover Feast, it would be glorious and fitting, indeed!

“Handle Him gently, Caiaphas, for He is the Messiah! He shall deliver us all from this Roman horde, like unto Moses delivering our people from the grips of Ramesses!”

The soldiers gave each other sideways glances at his words, for likening Yeshua to the Moses of old was high praise. But in the question of the man being their long-awaited Messiah, their minds had been tempered by the priests of Judea in that regard.

For certain, Judd had found out afterwards, Caiaphas, the sniveling weasel that he was, had betrayed him and used his Lord as a peace offering. Where Judd had wanted a rebellion, the priests and the Pharisees only sought to maintain the status quo.

“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, ‘cause sinners are much for fun! ‘Cause darlin’, only the good die young!” sang Billy Joel from the jukebox.

Judd drained the rest of his beer and called the bartender over.

“Set me up with another and give me a double shot of any top shelf whiskey you got.” His expression must’ve betrayed his sadness.

“I reckon it’s a woman, ain’t it?” the barkeep asked in earnest, but he kept his voice low.

“No friend, it’s not,” he answered.

“Suit yerself,” came the retort with a small chuckle. “But I know the look of a man that’s lost his heart to another.”

Turning away, the bartender moved fluidly to get the beer and the liquor.

Caiaphas’ soldiers moved in perfect unison, their movements fluid and silent. The Garden of Gethsemane was not far, and with each step, Judd felt more and more confident in his own plan. He wasn’t sure if the evil was still with him, since the gurgling in his belly had disappeared and his heart pounded out of excitement rather than fear.

“I won’t leave you until the deed is done,” said the voice inside him. “The Son of Man must die twice, and this will be only the first death.”

“No,” he said to the voice, “He will fight for us. I need not your help in committing this deed.”

“As sure as the olives grow in the garden, you will not succeed without me. It has been written, and it will be done.”

Judd couldn’t decide whether the voice was truly evil or not. Would his Lord allow one of His own to be possessed by the Deceiver? Or was this the great Archangel, Michael, who vanquished the Deceiver to his pit of Hell?

“Come now, you know the truth…”

The voice gave him a moment of pause, but then the pungent aroma of olive wood filled his nose. It was time. He stopped short of the garden’s entrance and turned towards those who followed.

“As we agreed, He is the one upon whom I shall praise with a kiss.”

Caiaphas only glared at him with impatience while the soldiers nodded their ascent. In the distance, Judd heard the voice of his Lord.

“My disciples,” Judd heard Him say, “Thou shalt awaken thyselves. My time is at hand, and the betrayal is near. As is my death.”

The voice of Simon Peter followed wearily and warily, “Betrayal? But by who, my Lord?”

“It matters not, for it has been foretold. It is my destiny, from which I shall join our Father in Heaven and be His Lamb.”

“But you are the Son of Man! Surely Yahweh would not leave us without you so soon!” cried John.

Then came James, speaking quickly, “Nay, Lord, you cannot leave us! Lost we shall be…”

Judd butted his cigarette and chuckled to himself. James was always the hothead. He emptied his mug of beer and chased it with the shot of whiskey. Admittedly, modern times were a mild joy in Judd’s grim life, and he had taken to the sinful lifestyle quite naturally. It helped that he seemed to be impervious to inebriation, which allowed him to stand up easily and walk out of the bar, leaving a fifty dollar bill for the barkeep.

The streets of Dallas were subdued on this Thursday night, and he crossed over Canton Street immediately and onto Commerce. There was something about the north Texas air that reminded Judd of the Garden of Gethsemane, and though that memory was the burden of his long and miserable life, it gave him a comfort, too. His memory continued as he passed Exposition Plaza on his left.

“My Lord Yeshua,” he said to Him as he entered the clearing, noticing John and James and Peter. “Have your prayers led you to the answer you seek?”

Judd took his Lord’s hand in his and leaned to his forehead. There, ever so gently and reverently, he laid a kiss upon it.

“Do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” asked Yeshua, no anger found in his words. He looked about the garden and said with slightly more volume, “Do what you are here to do, friends.”

The soldiers of Caiaphas burst into the clearing with clubs and swords drawn. Following only a moment later, Caiaphas, too, entered the scene.

“As the High Priest of Israel, I hereby use my authority to hold thee in contempt of Yahweh. Slanderous are thou claims for your lineage, and blasphemous are your deeds in His name.”

“Thou shalt not lay a hand upon Him!” cried Peter, who drew sword and sliced wildly at the soldier nearest Yeshua.

The soldier’s ear landed on the ground in a puff of dirt, his screams of agony breaking the silence of the garden. All closed in around Judd’s Lord, anger erupting.

“Stay your weapons!” There was no questioning the authority of His words as he turned towards Simon Peter. “Return thy sword to its sheath! This is the cup that my Father his given me, shall I not drink?”

Then Yeshua bent down and picked up the ear of the soldier and bid him come forward. He placed His hand holding the ear to the soldier’s head and closed His eyes. A moment later, when He removed His hand, the ear was as it always had been.

Judd’s dreams were dashed that night. Sure, Yeshua knew that God required His death, but Judd was so hopeful for rebellion. He hated the Romans and their terrible treatment of his people. Freedom from their oppression had always been his driving force, and in Yeshua he thought he had found the answer.

Then he felt a tear roll down his face. He had tried to return the silver pieces to Caiaphas, but he would not accept them. “We agreed!” yelled Judd. “No, my son…,” Caiaphas hissed, “we paid, nothing more.” The whiskey and beer in his belly grew hot and gurgled at the thought of that meeting. He was the betrayer who was betrayed. Not long after the night in Gethsemane, Judd tried to take his life. But it was not to be so.

A noose that should have killed any man had not killed him. He found himself upon the ground in the field, a welt around his neck and a pear in his hand. As he picked himself up to his knees, Judd needed no explanation for the pear, he would have to eat one every day or suffer the pain of living torment. That was over two thousand years ago…

He turned right onto Benson Street and headed towards the door of the Mitchell Lofts where he lived. Not quite to the door, Judd watched a young man crash through it, his expression one of mortal terror and his hand gripping a pear. The young man ran headlong into Judd and stopped.

“I’m… I… sorry!” he said and tried to run the other way.

But Judd had him in a firm grip. “Why do you have that pear?”

“Here, take it!”

Judd rolled his eyes and laughed to himself as he watched the boy run off down the street. A few minutes later and he was inside his apartment on the third floor. Judd’s roommate was still laughing, an older man that appeared to be in his sixties. He was seated in a rocking chair paging through a magazine.

“Carter,” Judd said with annoyance, “you need to stop giving away our pears every time you interview a dumb college kid.”

The old man looked at him and then back to his magazine, unperturbed.

How fitting, Judd thought, Judas the Betrayer, the hater of Roman oppressors, holed up with Cartophilus, the Roman soldier who struck the Son of God. Both doomed to walk the Earth until the Day of Judgement.

Judd took a bite of the pear and walked to his room, he was tired…