Everytime I take part in the Passion of Jesus, I remember this poem by James Wright. I first encountered this poem in 1970 in Poetry class at the College of St. Thomas. It was in that class I developed a great love for poetry. I present here as a reflection for this Holy Week.
SAINT JUDAS
When I went out to kill myself, I caught
A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering,
forgot My name, my number, how my day began,
How soldiers milled around the garden stone
And sang amusing songs; how all that day
Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone
Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.
Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry.
Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh.
Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.
Wright, James (2011-03-01). Collected Poems (Wesleyan Poetry Series) (Kindle Locations 1303-1310). Wesleyan University Press. Kindle Edition.
