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{{info}}For generations without shame<br>Iscariot had been a name<br>In Kirioth that everyone<br>Could trust, until the only son<br>Of Simon came of age and broke<br>His father's heart. The common folk<br>Had thought it strange that Simon stayed<br>Unmarried after Mary laid<br>Her fevered head on Simon's chest<br>And died before her swollen breast<br>Gave one day's milk. He never told<br>His parents why, nor did they scold<br>Or press him for another wife.<br>For thirty years he lived his life<br>A widower with one great goal:<br>To love his son and save his soul.<br>No one but Simon knew what she<br>Had said that night. It was a plea,<br>And full of boding pain. She said,<br>"I fear, my love, that we have bred<br>A child of woe. And I have dreamed<br>A dream this night wherein it seemed<br>That something out of the abyss<br>Is here, and if he should but kiss,<br>It would mean death. O Simon, what<br>Have I brought forth, and we begot?<br>What evil deed and endless blot<br>Upon the name Iscariot?" 

He held her in the candlelight<br>And fearful quietness all night. 

"Dear Simon, can you see the dawn?"<br>"Not yet. The night is not yet gone."<br>"For me it is," she said, "and O,<br>That I could take the boy and go!<br>Or second best: that he had not<br>Been born! O love, no matter what<br>He does . . . or is, do not despair<br>Or sink in utter gloom, or bear<br>What is not yours to bear. Come near.<br>Think not that you have failed, nor fear<br>That God's unworthy of your trust,<br>Or that in this he is unjust." 

And thus she died. And Simon bowed<br>Above her restful face and vowed<br>That he would marry none, but give<br>His love as long as he might live<br>To show his son the path of life<br>And void the warnings of his wife. 

For twenty-seven years he trained<br>His son in righteous ways, and drained<br>The reservoir of love and hope<br>So low at times he scarce could cope<br>With thankless days and brazen face<br>And haughty eyes and sore disgrace.<br>For years the boy stole offerings at<br>The synagogue, and once he spat<br>Into the Rabbi's face when he<br>Was caught. One time he said, "I'll be<br>The keeper of the king's account<br>Someday. You watch. And the amount<br>I steal from him will make this theft<br>Look like a petty thing." And so, bereft<br>Of conscience, Judas mocked the cares<br>And pain of Simon, and his prayers.<br>The young men in the village said,<br>"That Judas-boy would steal the bread<br>And cup right off Messiah's plate."<br>His father never laughed. 

"It's late,<br>My son," he said one night. The men —<br>The older ones — they say, ‘How can<br>A twig, when it is bent, grow straight?'<br>O Judas, Judas, it is late.<br>Come, make with me a brand new start,<br>I love you, son, with all my heart." 

For one last moment Judas stood<br>And looked into his father's good<br>And loving eyes. Then took his sack<br>And headed out the door, looked back<br>And said, "In three years I will own<br>More silver than you've ever known."<br>And he was gone. And Simon wept<br>For weeks, ate nothing, seldom slept,<br>And almost sank in utter gloom<br>But for the words on Mary's tomb:<br>"Sink not in darkness nor despair,<br>Bear not what yours is not to bear:<br>When you have loved and lost then trust;<br>The ways of God are always just." 

And so three years went by until<br>One day, out on the northern hill<br>Of Kirioth, a large man walked<br>Before an ass-drawn cart, and talked<br>To no one on the way. He came<br>And asked, "Is there a man by name<br>Iscariot in town?" They showed<br>Him where the old man lived and bode<br>His days alone in simple trade.<br>"Are you Iscariot?" he laid<br>The rope across his burly frame.<br>"I am, and who are you?" "My name<br>Is Peter." "Yes? What brings you down<br>To Kirioth? We're not a town<br>That people come from Galilee<br>To see; what might your business be?"<br>"I knew your son." Old Simon stared<br>In Peter's face. "I knew you cared<br>About your son, and so I brought<br>Him home for burial. I thought<br>It would be easier to know<br>That he had died than just to go<br>On wondering." The old man stood<br>In silence staring at the wood-<br>Cased cart. "Is that my son?" he said.<br>"Yes sir." "How long has he been dead?"<br>"I'm not quite sure." "How did he die?"<br>"He hanged himself." "Do you know why?"<br>"The question ‘Why?' has many layers,<br>And, Simon, some are the affairs<br>Of men and some of God alone.<br>What we should know we have been shown.<br>The secret things belong to God<br>And there are paths we dare not trod." 

The old man smiled beneath his tears,<br>"You sound like someone many years<br>Ago." "Yes, Simon, she spoke well.<br>My Master sent me here to tell<br>You that her dying words were true.<br>And I can vouch that he like you<br>Has wept beside the mouth of hell.<br>But, Simon, one is not to dwell<br>Forever weeping in that place<br>Nor contemplate the end of grace<br>Too long. Remember what she said,<br>And what you wrote when she was dead:<br>"Sink not in darkness nor despair,<br>Bear not what yours is not to bear:<br>When you have loved and lost then trust;<br>The ways of God are always just." 

And so the light in candle two<br>Cannot suffice to answer you,<br>If you would know before its time<br>The deepest "why?" of every crime.<br>But trust for now what it reveals;<br>The time will come for opened seals.