It was always an odd collection of people. They collected them from all over - from all sorts of backgrounds; fishermen, businessmen, housewives, someone from the Inland Revenue, a political activist; all sorts and conditions. All finding it hard to get along together because Jesus was the only thing in common really; and from the beginning it's been the same: as soon as we settled into some sort of cohesive group, beginning to work alright together, someone else would come along; and they'd always be in some sort of difficulty; they'd always be hard to get along with; not easy people. None of the disciples - none of us - is what you could call nice . Difficult, scratchy, failures and under-achievers; frightened and proud all at once. Just like all the rest of humanity really.
And they all come vying for Jesus's time. And we want him all to ourselves really, because he understands like no-one else, and gives us the answers to the way we are, and somehow makes it better just by a look. So we try to be like him; and sometimes feel we manage it, and then we haven't the strength to sustain it, and we're just the same underneath as we always have been and still he just accepts it. You'll catch sight of him looking at you, as though he knows where you've been and how you've just made a mess of it all again, and he gives you one of those looks that goes right down into the heart of you and you have to turn away because you can't stand it any more and after a while when you've got control you look up again and he glances at you; a long glance that somehow says it's alright. It is alright to fail.
And the conversations you've had, and the things he says, the stories he tells. You've never heard anyone tell stories like this man; you can see every character he's talking about; you know them, you've met them; and he's so funny, and so serious all at the same time; and yet it's not just a trick; he's not doing it for himself, to get attention, to boost his own ego; he's doing it because he cares.
That's what I used to think anyway. Not that he's always sweetness and light. There was last week when he went in the Temple market and started going mad, throwing the stalls over and shouting at all the weasel-faced little twisters that rip everyone off. All the safe middle-class shopkeepers who rip you off and then go home to their nice comfy little houses on the North side of the city and raise their 2.4 children. I don't know how he got out alive, except there was just too many of us, and the soldiers won't come in the Temple. It was brilliant. That is what the Kingdom should be. That's what he should have done from the start, that's what I've always told him needed to be done.
But he won't get properly organized. I've offered to manage things properly. I took the finances over soon after I joined because it was such a mess. But no-one listens. Not that lot. They just drift on; and he's his own worst enemy in a way. He wastes all his energy in little things; he wastes it on people that are never going to be any different. Not unless they're properly motivated. The country needs to change. He could do it. He could lead it; better than anyone if he just chose to. We need clear, strong leadership, and sometimes I think he can do it, but then he gets diverted by a sick woman or the crowd saying they're hungry or something else.
Peter thought it was a miracle when they all got fed; but I saw them; they had food all the time, they just wanted to keep it for themselves; and you can't blame them; these people have nothing. And they'll always have nothing; it'll always go on as it is with the rich getting richer unless we do something. No-one ever gives anything away. No such thing as a free lunch.
But what really got me was thing with the perfume. This bottle of really expensive stuff. Typical bourgeois frippery; you know, wear this and you will feel like a million dollars; put this on and you'll take over the world; all the tricks of advertising. But this girl. Mary. She takes the whole bottle of it and wastes it. Just pours it over him, and rubs it in; and he lets her. I think he enjoyed it. Hard to say. But it doesn't matter anyway. It's just not the sort of thing you use; it's the sort of thing which is meant to be an investment; something given in trust; it was worth thousands that bottle and she just wasted it.
I didn't say anything at first. I just couldn't believe what she was doing. I just had to stand there, sort of transfixed while she poured it away. And then she starts rubbing it in to him. As though it was a massage parlour. Jesus! Jesus what are you doing? Throwing it away and then letting her maul you about. Oh the pharisees'd have a field-day with that. You're supposed to have some dignity. You're supposed to be leading something. You can do so much and you're just wasting it. And you're wasting us. You're wasting me. But he stays so calm, so drop-dead cool. Then he makes some sort of sick joke about getting ready for his funeral. Like it's embalming fluid or something.
He won't take it seriously. I have worked so hard for that man. Two whole years of my life given up; trailing around the country, up to Jerusalem and then all the way back up to Galilee; two whole years. The hours I've worked; trying to raise funds, trying to keep things in order; trying to get him and the rest of them to see what needs to be done; to seize the moment. Oh I used to slip away to party meetings every now and again so I didn't lose sight of where we were going. I thought he was one of us. But he's a maverick. He'll never work with anyone properly. He's not a realist. He's just a dreamer. And I went along with it for a while. I've been conned all along. But now I've seen it, I'm not falling into that trap again.
So.... I fixed to see the council. They were surprised. My Lord Caiaphas. He is a smarmy, self-righteous little man. But he's a smooth operator, I'll give him that. He knows what to do with power. He couldn't bring himself actually to touch me of course. Yes, yes my Lord, I said. He often goes with his friends to this place after they've eaten. They'll be a few of them and some of them - like Simon, the one they call the Rock - he'll be prepared for a fight so don't go without sufficient men. Then he, my noble Lord Caiphas says to me, "How many men do you think we'll need?" So I say
"Who am I, that my Lord should ask me?" Well he gives what passes for a smile on that urbane and polished face and he turns to one of his minions and says "See that Mr Iscariot is appropriately reimbursed, will you?"
Couple of months wages; price of a slave; who cares. I thought I might give it to charity.
That was yesterday; Wednesday. And today we got ready, and we've just had this meal together, and he starts saying something funny about...never mind what he said. I just slipped away when I had to. They didn't want me there anyway. But as I was going I was stood in the shadows, underneath the window of the room upstairs where they all were; and I hear his voice, as though he's speaking to me, even though I'm not there; and he's saying
"This is my body, given for you."
Alright then. So you've given it to me. Well that's just as well Jesus, because I've sold it. You'll find out.
Why wouldn't you just do what I wanted?
Author: Roger Quick