Second Station Jesus betrayed by Judas and arrested Mark 14: 43-46 When we came upon him in the olive grove, I kissed my lord, and his tears tasted sweet; they should have tasted of salt, but instead, they tasted sweet. They will lie when they speak my name; yet it was I, the accursed, who grasped his hand, and forced it into the flame. I, who saw the paradox, by which the worst is the corruption of the best; as he and I, as guilty men should share the blame. Along with her Messiah, I saw that Israel must pass through the fire; as Rome became both the judgement, and the punishment for sin; with no salvation, except in suffering. The cup of humiliation drunk to its bitter dregs; and to save the nation, my hopes, my ideals, were invested in him. They say a prophet begins well; finding a following, seeing it grow. But pride is in a man if not inspired: when all that was once good becomes mired in deceit, or worse, the sin of his conceit; and it was the ride on the donkey, and the ululating crowds, and what I saw as pride. If he only had been true to his promise, I could have kept him straight, via the path of subjection, and through the narrow gate. But then came the sop of favour, and with it the dreadful doubt; was I to be the means of his destruction, and did my rejection only serve my hate? They will say what a good man was Jesus: a prophet – not the son of God. Yet it was I, who, by betraying the prophet instead revealed the god. I walked not by faith but by proof; and too late, I realised the truth about sin: only the untainted priest could ever be truly innocent. Who can save me from the horror of myself? I, who helped to murder the Christ! If I climb to heaven, he is there. If I descend to hell, he is there. I could crawl to the cross to beg forgiveness, but his innocence would sear like a flame. I cannot be saved – I will take the blame. I own my disgrace – I will go to my place.