Party’s End

He’d had a rough night.

Actually, to be more accurate, he’d had two rough nights and an even rougher day between them. As he lay on his bunk, his head was pounding. There was still music coming from somewhere. You’d have thought they’d all be hung over. But no, it seemed just as one partygoer passed out, five more rose to take his place. All he wanted was a quiet room, alone, to sit and think. But in this place, there was no such thing as “alone” and never a peaceful sort of quiet. He’d never before realized how many peaceless kinds of quiet there were. Now he knew.

The party had started on Friday afternoon, and oh! Such a party the world had never seen. Indeed, he thought, it may have been the biggest celebration of all time. Then again, maybe not. He wasn’t one to know much about celebrations. He was more of a do-er than an enjoy-er.

First there had been the announcement of the victory. The king had stood up on the table in the largest banquet hall in the palace, and he had lifted his cup to the greatest victory of all time. Oh, there had been major victories before, and many minor ones as well. Millions of people over the years had been slain, all for the glory of the king. Soldiers on both sides had lived, fought, and died. But this, this was different. This was the ultimate victory. If the king was right, this victory would mean the end of the war. There  may be more skirmishes and small uprisings, perhaps, but the end was determined. And the king had won.

He groaned and wished his head would stop pounding. There had been a huge feast, dancing, drinking, and revelry. He couldn’t even count the number of women who had approached him with overflowing cups of wine and other intoxicating drinks. Grasses had been passed around for smoking. It seemed as though the entire kingdom were relishing the delights of victory.

He himself had not enjoyed a moment. Ever since he had woken in his bunk on Friday afternoon, he had been miserable, utterly miserable. Throughout the announcement and the celebration, he had been wracked by all sorts of uncomfortable emotions: guilt, shame, despair, regret, self-pity, and—yes—even penitence. He had tried to slip away from the bright lights and noise, but everywhere he went, it followed him. He got high-fives in the corridor, handshakes in the dormitory, and congratulatory grins in the dining hall. Even in the lavatory, other men would wink and give him a thumbs-up as he relieved himself. It was totally out of hand. Every remark and gesture made him sick to his stomach.

Oh, his head! What he would have given for a healer with some herbs to make his pain go away. Yet even as the thought came to him, he dismissed it. He knew that the pain was not mainly from his head. No, the pain was from the depths of his being. For he had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable, the worst deed in history.

Then suddenly, the noise stopped. It didn’t fade away into the distance or lose volume gradually; it just stopped all at once. He rolled over and sat up on the edge of his bunk. Every muscle in his body was sore, but he stood in spite of the aches and pains. Why had the music stopped? Why were there no longer shouts of victory and happiness?

He slipped on his shoes and made his way out of the dormitory and down the long, twisting corridor, to the great banqueting hall. It was full of people, still, but they all lay prostrate on the warm stone floor. Every single man, woman, and child had his eyes tightly shut and his face pressed as firmly to the floor as the forces of nature would allow. For a moment, he was puzzled. And then he saw the dazzling white light exiting the room behind the king. Curious, he followed as quickly sa he could, tripping over the stiff forms on the ground. Oh, they were not dead. No, they only seethed with shock and dismay. What had happened? He dared not speak to any of these, for he knew he was a foreigner. He had known that since he had found himself in this place only two days previously.

He crossed the hall haltingly and tip-toed down the hallway, following the king and the light. He turned the corner just in time to see the king shutting the door into the private royal advising chamber. Feeling no shame at all, he crept up to the door and put his ear to the crack between it and the wall. He was surprised at how well he could hear. Everything else was so still.

“Why are you here?” the king spat. “You don’t belong here. This is my realm to do with what I please.”

“You know why I’m here,” came the reply. The voice was deep, gentle, yet authoritative. He knew that voice. And suddenly his knees felt weak. He collapsed onto the floor in grief and shame.

“You can’t have him,” answered the king in a growl. “He’s mine. He betrayed you, and those who betray you all belong to me.”

“And yet I would redeem him if he confessed and sought forgiveness and repented.” The other voice was firm. “It is my right to take him back. I have paid his ransom. You know the rules. He is free.”

“We’ll see about that,” hissed the king.

“Indeed,” replied the other voice. Then, more loudly, the voice called out, “Judas!”

He staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on the door.

“Judas!” the voice came again. He set his shoulders, turned the door handle, and entered the king’s chamber. All in an instant, he was overcome by all things good—warmth, light, peace, joy, and love. He fell to his knees again, weeping tears he knew not of shame or joy. Perhaps there were some of each. His chest heaved with sobs.

“Judas,” came the voice in light. He looked up into the brilliant face of his lord, the man whom he had loved and the man he had handed over to suffering and death. The man he had betrayed.

“My Lord?” he whispered. The Lord reached out his hand and touched Judas’ shoulder.

“Have you anything to say to me, Judas?” he asked.

The betrayer hung his head. “Lord, forgive me for I have sinned. It was I who led the chief priests to find you. It was I who sentenced you to suffering and death. It was I who caused you to be crucified.”

“Yes, it was,” the Lord responded.

Judas gulped back a sob. “I am responsible, and I am sorry. I cannot imagine how you could ever forgive me, Lord, but I want to change my ways. I want to serve you again as I once did.”

The Lord lifted Judas’ chin to look him full in the face.

“Death has no dominion over me. I have risen, and so shall you. I have paid the price for your sin by my death, and in my resurrection, I choose to free you to eternal life in glory with me.” He smiled. “Judas, oh, Judas! Once upon a time, you were a man close to my heart who devoted his life to serving me. It is my will that you should do so again.”

From across the room, the king let out a sharp cry.

“This isn’t fair! We had an agreement!”

The Lord turned to the king with burning eyes and said, “And as I have conquered death, so have I conquered you. Be gone!”

The Lord took Judas’ hand and gave it a squeeze. “I have redeemed you by my grace. Enter into my rest.”

And so Judas left the dominion of Satan, amid the weeping and gnashing of teeth as the others discovered that in fact, they had lost the greatest battle of all time and eternity.

He is Risen! Alleluia!

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I don’t claim that this is at all theologically sound. I’m not trying to cause unrest, and I certainly am not interested in being burned at the stake as a heretic. This is just a literary interpretation of some of my own private thoughts of what may have happened to Judas Iscariot after his death. Please take it with a grain of salt.