just call me judas

A few days ago, a friend and I were discussing that fact that although all of the rosary mysteries are meaningful and worthy of much meditation, the most profound for us are the Sorrowful Mysteries. I think perhaps that just happens when one’s relationship not just with God but with the world has been rocky from the get-go. Last year, I posted a vision I had on the mystery of The Agony in the Garden, that was personal. I knew that it was going to be a very significant vision for me, that something huge would come from seeing that, and it did.

Lots of evil things happened in that park in my time. I saw Jesus going through the agony in that park instead of the Garden of Gethsemane, because this was about my personal relationship with him. He wanted me to pay attention, and do some hard work. In my vision, I got up, and I went to Jesus, pretended to be his friend, kissed him, and turned away. Just call me Judas, I suppose.

I’m glad that things turned out better for me than they did for Judas. The Gospels tell us that Judas was repentant, but that he went out and died by his own hand anyway. I too was repentant, and instead of walking out and hanging myself in despair, I turned to Jesus with tears in my eyes, unable to look into his face, and probably muttered something similar to what the Prodigal Son did. I remember telling Jesus that I wasn’t worthy of him, but Jesus said that I was of great worth to him.

I said that I didn’t deserve forgiveness, but Jesus told me that not only did I have his forgiveness, that I needed to forgive myself, that it was part of the process of repentance (well, Jesus used a priest to tell me that part, but I have it on good authority that it came from that dude Jesus Christ himself). What I had not realized until very recently was that God wanted to take these sins from me, that he wanted me to have peace.

That day, when I kissed Jesus just as Judas did and saw him be taken away, I was crushed with the weight of it all. I saw Jesus in that park on that day as he went to die personally for the things I had done to him, because he wanted me. He wanted me to be his disciple, his friend, his follower, despite everything that ever happened.

The Garden of Gethsemane, the park I hung out in, those should have been places of rest and relaxation, perhaps meditation and prayer and close communication with God. Instead, it was a place for Jesus to feel the weight of what was about to happen to him, to accept his mission, and to get up, and walk into the events of the passion. For me. Jesus wept, and Jesus grieved, and Jesus chose to sacrifice himself anyway.

Jesus loves me, this I know…

Published by MaryClare StFrancis

MaryClare StFrancis is a writer who sounds as boring as hell but who is intimately acquainted with the horrific and the sacred. For a long time, darkness has been her friend, but she now walks in the light of Christ. As a committed Episcopalian, her main contribution to the church is her ability to make the priests facepalm or swear, depending on the day and context. MaryClare has a Master of Arts in English and Creative Writing and lives in Mississippi with her four children.

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