You were one I chose, one who was given to me, to be a part of my most inner circle.
For a season of a few years you walked by my side, shared in my home, saw my joy, heard my laughter - experienced my tears.
You were one of an elect few who saw me in my realest moments - the moments of strength, the moments that took all of my faith to keep walking forward, the moments where it seemed like everyone around me pulled my grace from me until I could no longer walk.
You had the greatest amount of access to me, yet you couldn't - or wouldn't - open your eyes to who I am.
Even seeing the depths of my love, peace and compassion - the expanse of the fire that flows through my bones and the explosiveness of my distaste for the abuse of the vulnerable - you still seethed in anger at me, yet I said not a word.
You waited. Maybe you thought I would break. Maybe you thought I wasn't who I said I was. Maybe you thought at any moment I would become the idol you had built in your mind that you desired me to become.
But I didn't live to those expectations. I kept walking the path ahead of me toward the end goal.
And it was there you had enough. When a jar broke open you saw in your greed money stolen from you that you would no longer have access to.
When a man laughed with me after having no breath in his body for days, your lack of faith drove your heart of stone into a furnace that hardened it more than ever.
And when I looked at you and said to do what was in your cold, hard, evil heart to do to me you stopped in your tracks. A mix of surprise and fear washed through your eyes, followed by a smile that dripped the most pure evil the world had seen. You ran as fast as you could. How could you deny that invitation?
You stalked me to my sanctuary. After I had poured my heart out in love and fasted and prayed for even you - you had eyes on my every move -
And you were waiting-
Waiting to let the blood thirsty hunger that had gone without satiety for years see a chance to drink in deep and quench their dry throats when I was snatched in my tired, weakened state.
Waiting to return my grace with you, my love for you, my silence when I knew you had stolen from me and hardened your heart toward me, with false accusations and a gang ready to beat me down and pay for what transgressions? For the transgression of love toward you? Toward the unlovely? Toward the poorest and greatest of sinners?
Waiting for the chance to greet me with a term of endearment and a kiss that should have carried the security and safety of a brother - but instead was saturated with hate and evil and chilled our friends' souls to the core. Even your kindest words became undeniably wicked and odious.
For a moment you danced with Satan. Perhaps this was all your were born for, but perhaps, you chose to take his hand and let him be the lead of your soul for a season.
But you didn't have to die.
My flesh was ripped open for you, too.
My blood spilled on the ground and on the Mercy Seat was to cover your sins, too.
The love I had to save the thief at my side as I suffocated would not have been restrained from you had you only asked for it.
But instead, when Satan let go of your hand and left you alone on the dance floor, exposed to the world for what you were, you saw yourself for the first time for what you were.
A man who traded love for greed. Who traded peace for internal torture in your mind, spirit and soul. Who traded truth for the lies shown through the filter of his soul and all the pain and lies you had lived.
A man who traded forgiveness for Hell. A man that betrayed the greatest, kindest purest friendship that could have ever existed in time and space.
A man who traded the I AM for bitterness and lust.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My salvation was there and available for you, too. You didn't have to take your own life after seeing the man you became. My life in you would have made it all right. Even in what you did my forgiveness would not have been withheld. All it would have taken was you to ask.
But sometimes, no matter how great the love is made visible to their eyes, no matter how great the miracles are in front of them, no matter how many words of truth are given in harsh and soft love - sometimes, death - or being a walking dead man - is the soul's final decision.
You didn't have to die, Judas. My forgiveness was truly for you, too.
(c) Kristen Garcia - 3-30-15
