St. Judas
by James Wright
When I went out to kill myself, I caught
A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering, I forgot
My name, my number, how my day began,
How soldiers milled around the garden stone
And sang amusing songs; how all that day
Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone
Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.
Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.
I like the primal aspects of this poem. Flesh and blood responding to flesh and blood. As a human being, I feel what you feel. There is no hope for Judas--no reward, no motive, nothing--and, yet, he holds this man in his arms. Empathy? Love? What reason could there be?
Judas is misread and misunderstood. Perhaps that is another reason why I appreciate this poem. I cannot judge Judas. The Bible does not. I do not believe that Judas is a villain.
We are human beings, and we are so delicate and flawed. Maybe it's the fact that Judas has given up hope and intends to kill himself. I am touched by this. I had a brother who was too fragile, much too fragile; maybe I see Judas as a brother.
All I know is that when I read this poem, I am deeply affected. Maybe because Judas himself is like the man in the poem, and I just want to hold him in my arms, like so many others who have been cast aside and disregarded and perceived as something they are not.
Somehow, I think, this is what Jesus would do.
I get so tired of reading my Bible and not hearing its words in Church. Church pews are cold; the stories too rote.
The only way to hear God, these days it seems, is to wrestle with His angels...
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