The Last Supper, Reconsidered as
Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas
(Based on the autobiography,
1 Wise Man, by Judas Iscariot)
As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be an Apostle. To me, being an Apostle was better than being Roman Emperor. Even before I started accompanying them on pilgrimages, I knew I wanted to be part of them. I knew it was there that I belonged. They would walk with the Lord, and everyone would get out of their way. They preached in the Town Square, and nobody ever gave them an unlawful assembly summons. In the summer, they baptized each other in the fountain; nobody ever called the Romans. To me, it meant being somebody in a flock of nobodies.
My name's Judas. The name Judas, or Ioudas, is the Greek form of Judah and literally means "praised" in Hebrew. My surname's Iscariot, which is Hebrew for "a man of Kerioth" which is the city I'm from in Judah…. Now they just call me Judas the Rat, or "the son of perdition." How did it all start? Well--let's see--.
Peter of Aramathea: Peter ran the Apostles, the fishing business, and a few of the Churches he opened up for his Lord, Jesus Christ, whom I betrayed. Jesus might have moved slow, but it was only because He didn't have to move for anybody.
I grew up in Judah, and we moved to Jerusalem at age 13. At first my parents loved that I was interested in religion. My father, Simon Iscariot, was raised as a pagan, and was forced to worship a pig until he was sixteen. He always used to say that kids from Judah were spoiled secular. And my mother was happy after she found out that the Lord, whom I later betrayed, came from the same part of Galilee that she did. I mean, to my mother, that was the answer to all her prayers.
I was the luckiest kid in the world. I could pray anywhere. I could do anything. I knew all the apostles, and all the apostles knew me. Prophets would come from all over, and Peter would have me wash their feet. Here I was, this little kid, and I was washing the feet of prophets. It wasn't long, however, before my parents changed their mind about me hanging around the Apostles. For them, the Apostles was supposed to be a part-time fringe cult, but for me it was definitely full-time.
You see, people like my father could never understand, but I was a part of something, and I belonged. I was treated like a grown-up. Every day I was learning to be Apostolic, a blessing here, a sermon there. I was living in a fantasy.
My father was always pissed off. He was pissed that he made so few drachmas. He was pissed that his brother was stoned to death. He was pissed that my kid brother Leviticus was born lame. He was pissed that there were seven of us living in such a tiny shelter. But after a while he was mostly pissed because I hung around the Apostles. He knew they worshipped God. And every once in a while I had to get flagellated for it. But by then, I didn't care. The way I saw it--everybody gets flagellated sometime.
The day after my beating, I went to Peter and told him I couldn't wash any more feet. He was disconsolate, then he made me accompany him and the Apostles to the river. It's there I saw John the Baptist allow Jesus to baptize him. That did it. How could I go back to school after that, and pledge allegiance to the Roman garrison? From that point on, I was the twelfth Apostle, who later betrayed my Divine Master.
For a guy who sermonized all day long, off the mound, Jesus didn't talk to but 12 people. If there was a miracle to be performed, or a beef in the scriptures, then only the Apostles could meet with him to discuss the issue. Everything was one-on-twelve. He didn't want anyone misquoting him, and He didn't want anyone overhearing Him being misquoting. Dozens of Christians counted on Jesus, and he made sure the Church got everything they made. "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than it is for a rich man to enter into heaven," Jesus would say. It was sacrifice, just like in the Old Testament, except they were doing it here in the present. And all they got from Jesus was the promise of a greater reward awaiting them in Heaven. And that's what it's all about. That's what the Romans, and the Orthodox Jews, could never understand. That what Jesus and the Apostles did is offer reward in the afterlife to those excluded by most religions. That's it. That's all it is. They're like lawyers for the meek.
It was a glorious time. Apostles were all over the place. It was before Spy Wednesday, and before I betrayed my Lord and Savior. It was when I met the world. It was when I first met Simon Peter of Aramathea, but everyone called him Peter. He couldn't have been more than twenty-six at the time, but he already ran his own fishing business with his brother, Andrew. I used to see them down at the docks where I ran the bait shop. Peter was one of the most respected guys in Jerusalem. But what Peter really loved to do was fish, I mean he really enjoyed it. I remember when the Lord, whom I later betrayed, recruited him. Peter said, "Depart from me O Lord, for I am a sinful man." He wanted to keep fishing, but Jesus, whom I later betrayed, finally got to him. He responded, "Do not fear, from now on you will be fishers of men." That was it, I mean Peter just gave it right up. What could he say to that?
By the time I grew up, there were over ten thousand Jews worshipping in Jerusalem, and we tried to convert them all. See, all us Apostles were born Jews. We knew how to appeal to them. How to appeal to their sense of fear. Now if they didn't react to the peaceful teachings, and parables of repentance, we'd hit them with the fear of God stuff. And if any Roman Centurions gave us a beef, we'd hit them with so many miracles they wouldn't complain again. It was beautiful.
There was--Peter "the Rock"; his brother Andrew; and there was James, "the son of Zebedee"; and John, his brother; and there was Fat Phillip; and Bartholomew; there was Doubting Thomas; and Matthew, "the tax collector"; and then there was "James the Less", the son of Alphaeus; and Lebbaeus, who's surname was Thaddeus; then you had Simon, "the Canaanite"; and me, Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Him.
For us to live any other way was nuts. To us those goody goody Samaritans who kept all their earnings in their purses, and talked about salvation, were lost. They had no clue. If we had a good job, we quit it. We didn't even think about it. All our money went to the Divine Master, whom I later betrayed. I was treasurer, the purse man, and I did the job honestly for just over three years--but more about that later.
The recruiting of the twelve of us went well. A few miracles and we were all on board. I remember the day He walked on water. Peter followed, and was doing fine until he looked down, and got nervous. That's when the waves started to overtake him, but Peter looked to Jesus, whom I later betrayed, and begged his way across. There was nothing like it, but what's weird is... I didn't think there was anything strange in any of this. You know, a twenty-one-year-old kid walking on the water. He was an exiting guy. He was really nice. He introduced me to everybody. Everybody wanted to be nice to Him, and He knew how to handle it. There are some people I know, like my friends back in Kerioth, who would have gotten out of there the minute He walked on the water. But I didn't--I've got to admit the truth. It turned me on.
After a while, it all seemed normal. None of them seemed like miracles. It was more like a necessity to grab people's attention. We weren't brain surgeons, we were blue collar guys. None of us had received a higher education. Five of us were fisherman, one was a publican, and I ran the bait shop. The only way we could manage to gain new followers for Him was to go out and cut a few corners, miracle-wise. Jesus blessed us Apostles with special gifts of the spirit, to heal the sick. Not for money--although we could have made a ton, easily--it was out of love for Him. We were all so close. There were never any outsiders around--absolutely never. And being together all the time made everything seem all the more normal.
There was always a little harassment. The Romans were always looking for Him about this or that. They'd come with their subpoenas and warrants and make me sign. But mostly they were just looking for a handout, a little money to keep things quiet, whether they found Him or not. I was in charge of the purse, so I would pay them off. That's when I first learned that nobody was keeping tabs on the money but me. I was the treasurer, the midnight-to-eight man, the commandant. We always did everything together, and we always were in the same crowd, Weddings at Canaan, Birthdays, and Baptisms. We only went to each other's houses. No outsiders--ever. It got to be normal. A little too normal.
So like I said, no one's watching the purse but me. After a while, I started dipping into the till. It started out simple enough, a few drachmas for a little wine on an arid night. Then, a few shekels worth of fish to replenish myself after preaching the gospel. But after that it just got to be a habit. One night on Mount Olive, Jesus, whom I later betrayed, took notice of my new seersucker robes, and matching headband. I had to tell Him that they were a gift from my mother, purchased in her name. That I was wearing the outfit in case she checked up on me and, after a few days, I was going to give it to the poor. I think He bought it, but who knows. Let's face it, the Divine Master was passive aggressive.
After a while all the money was gone. Well, there wasn't much money to start with--then after all that charity. So I had to think of something fast to replace the money. If the other Apostles found out the money was gone I could have been stoned for it. They're a pretty forgiving bunch, but c'mon, I stole from God.
Now, it's at this point that things get a little hazy for me. I don't know why I did it but, where I'm from, if you need money you see the Jews. It all just happened so fast. One minute I'm headed for the loan sharks, the next minute I'm agreeing to rat Him out to the Chief Priests for thirty pieces of silver. Go figure. Some say I reverted to my malicious nature, others say that I was never a real Apostle to begin with. Me--? Me, I like the theory that Satan entered into me. It's simple, but it says it. It also lets me off the hook.
Then, suddenly it comes to me out of the blue--divine inspiration, I assumed--and it seemed to be the solution to all my money problems, "Water Walkers." My cousin, Sol, has a sandal factory in Jericho. All we'd need is the right to use Jesus' name, and likeness, in relation to the sandals and we'd make a fortune. You should have seen the crowds that gathered to see Him walk on water. It's a natural moneymaker. But when I bring it up, He doesn't want to talk about it. He says, "No, Judas. Absolutely not. And by the way, that thou doist, do quickly." That's when I knew. He didn't think of me like the others. I could never really be a made Apostle, because I had Judean blood. It didn't even matter that my mother was from Galilee. To become a member of a crew like the Apostles, you had to be one hundred percent Galilean, so they could trace your family all the way back to humble beginnings. It was among the Galileans, it was real seaside stuff.
Anyway, I knew I had until after dinner to convince Him about the "Water Walkers" idea, so I decided to bide my time. I knew Peter was always up to hear a good idea, and he might chime in on my behalf once he had a little wine. A couple of the other guys might even be swayed by Peter. Well, except for Thomas--that guy never believed in anything. Anyway, they might decide to put it to a vote. Jesus allowed us the occasional illusion of democracy, and this might be one of those nights. Then I could send a message to Sol to get cracking on the sandals, get an advance from him to refill the purse, and then I could give the police their blood money back, so He didn't have to go down after all--dragging me with Him.
Supper was always a big thing. We had a pasta course, and then we had a meat or a fish. This being Friday, we had a fish. Jesus, whom I later betrayed, did the prep work. He had a way of cutting the garlic so thin that it used to liquefy in the pan. We could never figure out how He did it. It was a miracle. Bartholomew was in charge of the tomato sauce. How he got tomatoes in a desert, I'll never know. I've got to believe the Lord had a hand in that too. James the Less did the fish. We used to bully him into it. He was kind of a push over.
When the meal was almost ended, Jesus, whom I was close to betraying, lifted up the bread, said something or other, and ate it. He then gave us each a small piece of bread to eat, which struck me as funny since there were like ten whole loaves left just sitting on the table. I wasn't really paying attention, though. I was just stalling for time. I knew I still had till eight or nine o'clock to talk the boys into my "Water Walkers" sandals idea. When I actually listened to Jesus, though, I realized He knew everything. He starts in about how one of us will betray Him. And He's looking right at me! None of the others pick up on it. Then he says whoever he gives his piece of bread to, after he dips it in the sauce, is the betrayer. And he gives it to me! Still none of the others pick up on it. Then Peter says, "Is it I, Lord?" At that point I realized why I was in charge of the money. These guys were thick.
I also realized that it didn't matter what I said. We all have our "free moral agency" and mine led me to the Chief Priests. The die was cast, and I'm the patsy. He knew I was gonna betray him. He kept telling me how His kingdom was not of this world. That used to burn me up--mean, what the hell were we working towards, anyway. In a way, He made me give Him up. Like I said before, He was real passive aggressive.
Let's face it, I never could've been anything more than a foil. I'm a walking allegory. Yeah, I may be the realJudas but, more importantly, you could be Judas--and it's vexing to know that my whole purpose for existing was simply to illustrate that point. That's when I just threw up my hands, and said "Is it me, Lord?" in a really sarcastic tone. He said, "Thou hast said it." Big surprise...
Long story short, we're in the garden of Gethsemane, trying to walk off some of that heavy pasta dinner. (The stuff is good, but it's like lead, Bah-Boom). The time comes, and I make my move. As I approach Him, I can see the police trying to hide behind some bushes and trees. Their four-foot-high hats give them away, but Jesus, who I'm now betraying, is deep in prayer and doesn't notice. I go up, and do my thing. I say, "Hail, Rabbi," which was an inside joke--long story--before giving him a kiss on the cheek, and the police move in. Now, I've read according to Matthew, Luke, Peter, and others, that Jesus, whom I just betrayed, replied in the form of: "I am," or "Friend, whereto art thou come?" (which didn't make sense even back then), or "Judas, dost thou betray the Son of man with a kiss?" Well let me tell you that He didn't say any of those. Upon my betrayal, He said, and I quote, "Don't make a jerk outta me. Just don't do it…. Just don't do it!" That kind of puts things in perspective, huh?
So here I am. Not hanged, like it says in the book. That was the cover story the Jews gave me. The good book it may be, but an accurate one--occasionally. The Chief Priests relocated me back to Judea. It was easy for me to disappear. Everything I ever had I gave to the poor. Well, almost everything. I've got my own bait shop now. I really am good with money. My baptismal records, and the Bible, that's all you'd ever have to know that I was alive.
I heard that the Apostles replaced me with some guy named Metthias. What the hell kind of name is Metthias, anyway? I'll bet he's Galilean.
Anyway, I'm no longer one of the "chosen," and that's what I miss. I still love the life. And now it's over. That's the hardest part. Today, everything is different. There's no action. I have to wait around for salvation like everyone else. I'm an average nobody--a schnook. Then again, I hear they crucified Peter last week. I may get to live the rest of my life like a schnook, but it's still living.