I see the waves splash up the sides of the small, almost toy-like, boat. The scent of salt and fish hanging in the air. 

There's a peace and calm among the men that's foreign to the typical sailers who traverse these mythically haunted waters at night. 

They've just seen this man they are following calm the storm around them with a single word and now they are about to dock among the cliffs and rocks of the notorious Alcatraz of their time. 

They've gotten exceptionally good at silently questioning the intentions of their adventures with Him. 

He shakes off the little rest He found in the back of the boat and climbs out onto the rocky terrain. They watch Him stand for a minute as if He's waiting on something they are clearly unaware of.

Out of the corner of their eye they see him. A shadow of a man leaping in the darkness of the catacombs. Half eaten shackles trail behind him and eyes so dark you can feel the haunting of night in them. How anything but death can emerge from there they are uncertain. And yet they aren't even sure it's the evidence of life they are seeing.

He shrieks and lets out an other-worldly sound that sends the birds scattering through the air. Even the rats cower in their hiding places as he groans and scurries across the abandoned tombs toward them. 

He looks in their direction and their hearts freeze with terror. Some of them still clinging to the edge of the boat, ready for a quick escape. They look at Jesus and see a calm much like that of the night before, when faced with the monsters of the deep. These monsters however, are more than an old story that has been passed around to scare children and was adopted by superstitious fishermen. 

These monsters are real and even the most religious who have been trained to battle darkness have fled after being leapt upon by the very same creatures they were called on to cast out. 

They look at Jesus and wait for His cue to head back into the safety of the little boat. But he doesn't even hint at retreat. Instead He stands and waits as this half-man, half-nightmare, rips through the sand toward them at an inhuman pace. 

His hair is so matted you can't tell where the threads begin and his own waste ends. There is no more white to his eyes and as he breathes you can hear a rasp in his chest that is clearly not human.

The monster man drops to his knees before Jesus and begins to let out an anguishing chant that must be worship, only in the language of what sounds like satan himself. 

The men's eyes shoot from one another as they stand shocked and horrified by this melody of darkness. The monsters in him begin to tremble. The men have never witnessed a sight so terrifying and confusing, and they remain frozen on the shore. 

The voices join in together and beg Jesus not to harm them. To hear so many voices come from the cracked lips of one man is more than these meagre fisherman can bear.

Jesus asks the man's name but He gets the demons name instead. Was He intimately trying to touch this long hidden man through the recognition of His long lost identity or was He crippling and humanizing the darkness to show His authority? Maybe a bit of both.

In his periphery He notices they are being watched. A man, with jaw dropped so low its uncanny, stands next to a herd of pigs that he'd just brought out to walk among the cliffs. Not many venture out this far in fear of the walking dead. 

Jesus glimpses the pig farmer and for a minute sees right into his mind. He sees recognition and terror on his face. Jesus' heart filled with compassion and knowing looks into his remembrance. Did he know the tormented man? Did they share a childhood? Did they come to these very cliffs to watch the boats bounce around the waves? Does he feel the sting of watching his old companion, maybe even brother, succumb to the darkness? Is he one of the men who frequently has to refasten the chains and drive this madman back to shadows?

Jesus in a few short minutes can see into the entire story and this moves him to deep compassion and love. In the same instant Jesus looks upon the imposters in front of him with anger and straight past them into the lost man with warmth and love.

With one word He sends this legion, these thousand tormentors, fleeing into the flock of unsuspecting swine. Within seconds, in the blink of an eye, the pigs are sent into a flurry of madness and begin to throw themselves over the steep cliffs to their deaths. 

No one speaks, no one can hardly breath from the shock of what's unfolding around them. The pig farmer falls to his knees in terror and then finds enough courage to run into town to warn everyone of the dangerous zealots.

 The disciples gawk at the red painted landscape below them where the pics made their final decent. 

All the while Jesus is fixed on the shackled man. The man begins to slump to the ground and Jesus seamlessly catches him and lowers him to rest. Jesus looks into the now almost hollow brown eyes of this free man and sits down beside him. 

He removes His own outer garment and covers the man's scarred body. The man begins to weep and presses himself into Jesus' shoulder. His body racks with sobs. A new clearness in his chest, a sign that the darkness has left for good, fills the air. As he cries, Jesus gently removes what's left of the chains and wipes away the mud from his cheeks. 

He lets him cry for a while then lifts him to his feet and carries him to the cold lapping waves. He takes him in and begins to wash away all the residue of his past life. The filth of anger and shame gets swept away in the salty waves. A baptism of love and remission.

 A rebirth. 

The disciples meet them on the shore with an extra pair of clothes for the man. It's been years since he's had even the dignity of clothing. Once he is dried and clothed he looks around to see colors he only remembered from his childhood and a silence that almost feels eery in his mind. 

He begs Jesus to take him into the boat. The thought of being apart from his saviour twists his insides. He knows he has nothing waiting for him beyond those caves. Everyone stopped waiting for a miracle long ago. 

Jesus takes this man's marred hands in his own, a strange reminder of a time yet to come, as he runs his fingers over the cracks and bruises. He must stay. The people here have built their walls and defences so high only this man can traverse them now. 

A foretelling of how our own stories of freedom and salvation may be the only thing to conquer some people's walls of unbelief and apathy. 

So Jesus sends him home to tell his story. He won't even need words and he will light up this dark coastal town. His life will bring Jesus to those shores and into those homes and around their fires at night. Jesus will no longer need a boat to get here but instead will be carried in the testimony of one man who was once a thousand. 

 I see Him again, this time standing in a court yard. Catching accusatory questions and glances with an abundance of patience and truth. 

He sees out of the corner of His eye, men dressed from head to toe in a years worth of salary. In their hands, as though she were just plucked out of last nights garbage, is a small woman. 

I see her tattered and barren body thrust across the cold stone pavement. There's evidence of rough handling across her face. Not sure if it was only at the hands of these pious men or the one from last night. 

I see terror and shame plastered across her face. It screams louder of her indiscretions than the men yanking her to her death. 

The court yard is filled with hungry eyes. I can feel the darkness converge in this place. The heavy and bitter scent of jealousy, hatred, and lust fills the atmosphere. 

Every eye is on her exposed shame as they toss her to the ground. Damaged goods. A spectacle. A tool. I can see the smirks and knowing grins on their faces. She will do the trick. 

I see Jesus kneel down. He slides to his knees and his eyes catch the dust in his fingertips. He doesn't look away because of weakness or disgust as some do but because He won't bring her anymore pain. What He writes in the dirt I can't even imagine. It's probably not as significant right now as the gesture, the pause, the plea He silently sends up on her behalf. 

He can feel them. In this moment He must be filled with righteous anger over the careless and cruel disregard for this precious life. But even in this, He doesn't have misguided anger. He knows the true culprit lies in wait among the shadows. In the lure of pride and status. 

I see Him lift up two small stones. I wonder if in this moment He can feel the weight of those stones against His own skin. If He can feel her shame, adultery, and fear flash before Him as His own on the cross. Guilt He's never tasted but will one day adopt as His own for her.

I wonder if he can see these same men setting Him on trial and then eventually being cut to the heart when reminded that they killed their messiah as they gaze toward that upper room. 

What compassion to see ahead to that day for them.

I see Him invite these men to throw their stones. The lust for murder in their eyes. They want Him but she will do for now. 

But first, He brings an eye opening reminder of their own status before God. As they gawk and hunger after the same woman they are so willing to stone, Jesus's words bring a shockwave to their consciences. They feel the same sin they are about to murder her for bounce around in their minds.

"Him without sin, throw the first stone." 

They flee before they have to admit to their false religiosity, that their hunger for sin is greater than for truth and justice. 

Not one remains. They retreat at the sound of their backfired condemnation. 

I see her still laying there. Mud, shame, and blood cover her face. Her arms trying to wrap up any dignity that's left. 

Then Jesus looks up and straight into her eyes. Her entire life she has been gazed upon and exposed by the eyes of men. But for the first time in her life she is seen. He sees into the pain and trauma. His gaze penetrates all her shame and brokenness with a love so deep and pure she forgets her nakedness completely. 

I see him gently remove His outer garment and cover her bruised and mishandled body. He tells her, like He tells us all, that there is no one left to accuse. No one to judge how she got here and the choices she made.

If He doesn't then no one else can.

He lifts her off the ground and in an instant, in one encounter with Him, she is forever changed. He doesn't condemn her but He doesn't leave her as she was.

There would be no love in that. That would only call back the darkness in her life. Change is the language of love. He can see it in her eyes. 

"Don't leave me in the dust." 

The cry of her heart saying if He doesn't change her she will wake up in that same dark room, in those same dark hands. In the clutches of sin. If He leaves her like this He might as well pick up the stones and place them in her accusers hands. 

He looks into her eyes and says "Go on and sin no more." 

It's not permission but it's Him imparting His very power into her being to accomplish the impossible. 

Infused with His love the past fades away. The darkness is lit up and blinded in that moment and she is made new. 

She will follow Him. No matter where He goes, she will go with Him. Because she now knows He is life itself. And to not be with Him would be worse than the world she knew before this day. 

As she looks down one more time she sees her name written in the dust. The whole time they saw her guilt, He saw her name. 

 I see Him at the table as He's surrounded by men. Men who have listened and followed. Men, brothers, whom He's loved deeper than any human could fathom. I see Jesus is beginning to feel the weight and bitterness of the cross hanging in His periphery. I can see Him start to feel the distance He must walk from His brothers at this table and yet toward them at one to come. 

I can see Him recall the days of great joy and laughter with this ragtag family of His. Sadness and then great joy as He reminds Himself that He has not lost one whom the Father has given Him. He savers this moment with the Father. The closeness and tenderness even in the midst of loud clamouring men. He can feel the stillness of The Spirit loving and comforting Him. He wants to cling to this and not think of the moment when the distance of being a criminal will be His to know. 

I can see His heart for these men as He scans the room and sees glimpses of them in their future selfs, laying down everything for Him. How they will love not their lives even unto death. How they will one day rejoice in the great gift of partnering with Him in this suffering. 

He sees past the fleeing in the garden, the rooster crows, and looks of betrayal on their faces. Just for a moment He sees what they soon will be instead of who they are now. 

Then His eyes still on one man. His heart sinks and great sorrow bites the corners of His eyes. He sees the money bag being carelessly tossed to and fro beneath the wooden table that is not only a reminder of tomorrow but of even greater tomorrow yet to come. 

How bittersweet. 

I see the intense love and remorse that He feels as He looks into the eyes of His betrayer. And the realization that soon looking into those eyes will mean gazing into the eyes of satan himself. 

Realizing that nothing He's touched before has led to the ignition of pure darkness until tonight. The power in His hands has always brought life and now He will be imparting His own death through them. Death in the shape of a harmless piece of wine soaked bread. 

In His heart I hear Him thank His Father for this man. I hear Him thank Him for the short moments He got to love this lost man. And I feel His heart break. He's never had misguided anger. The depths of His love are too great for that. 

I see Him stand to His feet and wrap a towel around His waste. I see the part of the story we never read. Where He kneels before this man, unstraps his sandals, and begins to wash his feet. The feet of the only one whom He knows will never be clean. It's not a demonstration. He's not setting an example with him. Jesus is actually saying His deepest and truest "I love you" and "goodbye" to the one who's already chosen the other side.

The words, "I will serve you until the end," echoes from His heart. 

As He washes his feet I hear the jingling of coins in this man's hands. Even in this sacred moment the melody of self and pride hums louder in Judas' ears than the cascading echoes of love and sacrifice washing over his feet. And still Jesus washes. Knowing every thought and intent of the heart, He continues to make one of the greatest gestures of love to someone who will never love in return. 

Fast forward to the table, where Jesus is reclining with His most beloved brothers. Some laying upon His breast even. The love and intimacy of this moment isn't even painted accurately in our imaginations. 

I see Jesus hand the bread to Judas and feel the final goodbye hanging in the air as that serpent of old, the accuser of the brethren, steals away the heart and soul of His friend. There is a sadness over the loss of even this one. Not because it wasn't planned or that it was unexpected but because He loved him. 

But we know what Sunday brings. 

We laugh at the ignorance of that serpent as he breaks away into the night. Sauntering off, with a grin only pure evil can muster, he truly believes he has somehow crafted this plan and could now win. But it's Jesus who lets him slip out the door with money bag in hand, knowing He has set in motion the greatest act of love this world will ever see. 

The Great Rescue. 

As we sit and envision this moment in our imaginations it's so easy to hang Judas in our minds. To be filled with anger and maybe even betrayal over what he's done. To see his graphic death that we have read about and applaud the gruesome details of it all. But how many of us have sat and seen ourselves in the same chair Judas once sat?

Sit there now and imagine that money bag in hand. Heavy and warm. Imagine the promise of success, comfort, and security Judas was fed. The same promise offered to Jesus in the desert, that He refused, and yet Judas succumbed too. 

Imagine for a moment how each step Judas took led him to this chair. Every little lie he believed. Every inch he gave to greed. How much different are we really? Are we brave enough to ask what our price would have been? What it is now even? The pursuit of happiness and what it will cost us?

We've all handed that money bag over to those eager and willing to crucify our King. We've all played the same part of betrayal. We've all been the mockers and the soldiers bidding for His garments. We've all pressed the vinegar into His wounds. To compare our lives and place ourselves any higher than Judas is a cruel deception. We've all stood on the mountains tops of this world and have been enticed with self. We are placed here everyday. The difference between us and Judas is that the cross has passed. We have a choice now to no longer choose self, to throw down the money bag, and to take up our own cross and follow the only One worth following. Not for gain in this life but for eternal gain in the next. Not because we are better than Judas but because we are the same. And Jesus still chose that cross for us. So that we can no longer be Judas but so that we can be HIS. 

Washed not by the dusty water of Jerusalem but the purifying blood of our Saviour Jesus Christ.