The Traitor Inside - (Campfire Conversations)

Part 3 - The Relationship

'I wonder why Jesus chose Judas Iscariot to be one of the twelve.' Martha said after some more silence, because the night was too silent and she worried Lucius would hear the growling of her stomach: she had given her portion of the stew to him, knowing he would need it after so many hours up in the mountains. She did not regret it: watching her husband savour her cooking always satisfied her more than any meal could.
'Every time I think we are done speaking of this man,' Lucius groaned, picking up his stick to poke the fire again, 'you mention his name again. Why can you think of nothing else?'
'I cannot tell, Lucius.' Martha sighed, trying not to exasperate her husband. 'I believe God has put him on my heart, for it is made heavy with thoughts of him. I want to understand why he was allowed to continue, fully.'
'I have told you! It was because God is just, and will not strike down one sinner over another while there is still hope for them to choose to do good. Why does this answer not satisfy you?'
'I, I cannot tell.' Martha said again. She moved onto her knees because her back was beginning to ache. The sandy ground was hard, and her son's head growing heavy. 'Perhaps there is something else God desires me to realise. Something we are missing.'
'Then you must pray for an answer, Martha. I can give you no more. I am going to bed.'
               Lucius stood up with a tired groan and started towards their tent. Martha closed her eyes sadly.

*

There once was a very special day in what is now called Israel, when a young man with dark hair and plain clothes decided it was time to start his ministry. As a child he had preached on the streets near his house, and he had conversed with the doctors in the temple each year when his mother and Joseph took him to offer their sacrifices, both listening and asking them questions: both of which are notable parts of ministry: but as he grew in stature and favour with God and man, he became ready for something bigger. Something extraordinary. Something that changed the world.
               All that had heard him as a child were astonished at his understanding and answers, and it was always evident that he was special. He was strong in spirit, filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was upon him: the boy had a relationship with the Father such as no man had ever had before him, and yet, every man could have after him. That is the gift he gave us when he died.
               Being such a special person brought The Preacher grief not only in his death, but in his life too. His brothers mostly reverenced him, for he was the firstborn, but they did not love him. When he was not in the room they mocked his strange speeches and inability to do wrong and desire to serve the Lord. The child never let it hurt him, for if they were his siblings' only qualms then he had nothing to be ashamed of. At times his younger brothers had lied to get him in trouble, claiming that he had neglected his chores or smitten one of them or stolen something. His mother, Mary, would then hesitate, shake her head and send them all to bed early to avoid having to repeat to the younger children that 'Jesus is special, I know he has not done the things you accuse him of', for that always made for more arguing in the house.
               The child and his mother always had a close relationship. He would often sit up with her after the littler ones had fallen asleep, holding the candle while she sewed and ministering to her of the things of God. She loved to listen, as did Joseph when he returned home late each night from his carpentry shed. However, one night this cosy meeting was witnessed by the second eldest brother, James, and out of bitter envy he smote the firstborn the next morning. He was left with a terrible bruise on his eye, and another on his jaw because when he refused to retaliate, but rather, turned his other cheek to James, James smote him a second time.
               'You fool, Jesus!' James had yelled at him. 'You think yourself so special because you know the scriptures! I could know them too if I so desired!'
               The older boy, in response, simply straightened up, clasping his swollen eye. The other pierced James' heart with such conviction that he cursed his brother and ran away. (When James returned that night, Joseph had not even had to fetch the rod for him: his broken spirit was obvious and his guilt inescapable. The firstborn forgave him eagerly.)
               While this situation unfolded there was a spectator in the shadows, watching. He had black hair, brown eyes and a few stolen shekels in his hand. Once he had seen the innocent boy fall down the second time, he stepped back further out of sight, smiling to himself. He was only a few years older than the boy who had just been knocked down, but he hated him with the heart of a grown man. This child preached to the other children as if he was something special: as if he was not simply another Galilaean from a line of carpenters.
               'He is no better than I,' the boy in the shadows thought to himself. 'If Jesus does not cease to preach, or make a show of his good deeds, I too shall knock him down one day - only, when I do it he shall not get back up.'
                His satisfied smile froze, however, when the other boy watched his brother flee, then turned and looked at the shadows, straight in his direction.