The Judas Gospel

My name is Judas, and I am damned.
     I was damned before I was born, before my father was born, or yet even his father. I was damned in the scriptures, by the prophets of Israel. My sin was pre-ordained by the Name of Names. My guilt was proven at the separation of the Firmament, for if the legend is right, and the Word was in the beginning, then so was his dying and rising, and so then was his betrayal. And if this- this- who is this late comer, this Saul turned Paul, this persecutor turned patriarch, this myopic Cileasian? Well whoever he is, I do hear that his clarion call is ‘believe in Jesus, the Christ, and be saved’. Well must not such belief depend on me too, and so salvation?
     It is almost two score years since I committed my crime; yes- two score years, and still I live! These so-called evangelists have both¹ written my sin across the sky for all men to read for all time, and still I live, but only for a little while, now.
     Yes, as the Lord lives, I was given time to witness the bloodless scratchings of my two brothers in Christ. Their stories, most convincing, if not a little at variance, do bear much weight, though little accord with my own memory. Still, though a disciple of the Rabbi, I was but a peasant, while they were scholars, late scholars coming after, but scholars still.
     No, I give some injustice to the boy, John-Mark, but how much of his account is his, and how much is Peter’s, or the idle chatter of his mother’s house?²  But in this other, this Greek  herbalist, this Luke, My indignation is justified, for he merely repeats the second hand ramblings of his half-blind patient, his decrepit patron.  I marvel the old man has the time to recount his tale, he spends so much time thickening the air with his letters of instruction flying hither and yon, all propounding his interpretation of our Master’s teaching, all establishing his seniority. I do not question his sincerity, but from whence comes his knowledge, his authority? But I forget: his letter writing is over. I believe his fellow Roman citizens recently took an axe to his neck³ and despatched him to where he may know the truth.
     When I was a young man, the Roman eagle always darkened our sky, always obscured our sun, but not for always. This was our truth. Now I am an old man, and still the eagle hovers, but seems no longer a bird- more a winged reptile, not feathered but scaly, and with each flap of wing it beats down a foul gust of corruption, destruction, and stench of death, which threatens more and more to devour poor Jerusalem, and destroy her utterly.⁴ I must make my last journey before then.
     One thing I must do before I journey, is to record an account of my days with the Son of Man. Not that my scroll will may hap be read, much less believed if read, but I have the right! Even though it change not one jot or tittle the forever burnished, never questioned decree of my damnation, I have a right to speak! I do not ask that any listen. I do not ask that I speak aloud, but I do demand this last night watch alone, this lamp, this scroll, this desert silence.



₁ Matthew and John’s Gospels  not yet appeared- see chart on first page.
₂ The house of John-Mark’s mother, Mary, in Jerusalem, was an early meeting place for Christians.
₃ Paul died 67 A.D.
₄ Fall of Jerusalem- 70 A.D. Hence Judas Gospel nicely dated 68-69 A.D.