James Tipp

Rookie - 408 Points (20-06-1945 / East London)

Easter Thoughts Of Judas - Poem by James Tipp

The purse keeper, who ever likes the purse keeper,
Always suspicious these people for whom money
Is of no importance an irrelevance to Gods mission.
They soon moaned when there was nothing for food
Or to give to the many beggars who came our way.
Jesus never made it easy, always saying blessed are the poor
Leave home and friends and come and follow me.
My heart went out to the young man with all that money
Would I have been here if I had possessed so much I asked myself
As it was I was here because of Barabbas and the other zealots
We thought he might be the one, the Messiah, who would set us free
I still don’t know, I have dipped my hand in the bowl with him
Seen miracles that shout to all he is chosen of God.
Yet his teaching, his attitude is so naive, so un-Jewish.
We who aspire to usher in the Kingdom of God are scandalised
Fancy curing the servant of that odious Roman centurion
Then proclaiming to all around that his faith was greater
Greater than those of the house of Israel, madness, I tell you.
Then there was that Samaritan whore who gave him water
He treated her and her people as equals before God, unbelievable.
It is time to speak to the zealots in the Temple, we must find a way
Get the Romans to move against him and in so doing
He will have to act to call down legions of angels show them who he is.
They offered me money, even here the purse bearer has no honour
I tell them I am insulted but they insist, it must look right for the Romans
It must not appear to be a set up job, some hope I say, but nobody listens
Supper was a strange affair, he knows, I feel sick but he really does know
He let me go without telling the others I have betrayed him, he is a madman.
I had to go with them, nobody knows what he looks like accept me.
I’ll give the kiss of peace I say, this is for his good I tell myself.
I looked into his eyes and I knew that I had got it all wrong,
He would do nothing, in that one moment I knew, I knew without doubt
He would go to his death, and I would have betrayed him for nothing.
I would have betrayed innocent blood, the purse weighed me down
As I ran to the Temple and threw their money at them and called it off.
Too late they said, the action has a mind of its own now, go away
I watched from afar as if time had slowed down, everything so clear
Precise and real so very real, the blood, the cross, the crying,
He is dead by my hand, the Sanhedrin’s hand and the Romans hand
So I stand beneath this tree in the Potters Field ashamed, so ashamed
God forgive me this final act of blasphemy


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, December 15, 2009



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