Do you ever wonder
what would have happened
if Judas had waited two more days?

If he hadn’t let the guilt
and shame get the best of him?

The coins returned,
the confession made,
the remorse raw and heavy.

But what if
instead of grabbing for a rope,
he cried out, “Forgive me! I have sinned!”

I picture him in the darkest place,
overcome with anguish and regret:

“This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!
What have I just done?

Despair is now my closest friend,
I’m desperate to forget.

I’m haunted by His memory,
the promised One now gone.

I remember the Voice
that called me to follow,
the Voice of compassion and love.
Will He call out to me again?

I remember the Word
that silenced the sea,
and the wind and waves grew still.
Could He calm the storm that rages inside me?

I remember the Shepherd
who went after the sheep,
the one that was lost and alone.
Will the Shepherd come for me?

I remember the Father
embracing His wayward son,
the one who had squandered it all.
Could the Father still embrace me?

I remember the hands
that washed my feet,
knowing what I was about to do.
Could those hands reach back out to me?

What a wretched man I am!

The Son of God was here with us,
the salvation for all the world.

And I’m the traitor who ruined it all,
who turned against my friend.”

And on the darkest Saturday
the world has known,
he’d wrestle with the mercy
he’d witnessed all along.

He’d wonder if it was still for him,
or if he’d gone to far…

Then whispers would fill the air
that early Sunday morning.
The stone had been rolled away,
no body to be found.

“Could it be?
Is He alive?
Did death not keep Him down?

What will he think
of my betrayal,
my kiss that left Him
mocked and scorned?

Could He forgive me,
the chief of sinners?
I can’t imagine how.”

I wonder what would have happened
if he’d stayed through the hardest part.
If instead of rushing to the end,
he’d lingered in the dark.

For even when the end seems certain,
when all hope seems gone,
the mercy of Jesus is greater
than anything we have done.