I had such hopes, such dreams for this prophet from Nazareth. I had thought that he would make the world a better place for me. And last Sunday, just a few short days ago, I thought my dream was coming true. I followed him into Jerusalem. He was hailed as a king. Palm branches were waved, hosannas rung out on the breeze. I've never experienced anything quite like it.
After three years of wandering from one desert town to the next, finally his hour had arrived. Conquest, power, status, wealth were in his grasp. And I would be there - at his side - reaping the rewards of my faithful service over the last 36 months. I could almost smell the riches in my future.
In fairness, there had been a few riches in my past, if you know what I mean. Nothing substantial - just the odd treat from the coffers here and there - everyone dips into the pot from time to time don't they? But I was sure, so sure, that there was greater wealth to come.
His teaching was so compelling, he swatted the so called wisdom of the religious leaders in a single withering sentence. The fig tree we passed withered even more! He talked of a heavenly banquet, a wedding feast - parables centred around bags of gold. There would be no more struggling for me once he took his rightful sovereign place. A place of plenty was almost within my grasp.
But then the tide started to turn.
"The Son of Man must be crucified?" What kind of rubbish was that! If you make a triumphal entry into Jerusalem as a king you're supposed to head for the palace not the skull. Revolution not rejection. Wealth not empty-handed death. Could this really be his plan?
He seemed intent on shunning all opportunities for self-promotion. I felt as if he were deliberately trying to stir things up with the authorities. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm all for winding up the Romans, humiliating the temple teachers is fine sport, but to cause so much offence that the death threats start to fly is another matter. My dream was ebbing away from me with every passing hour.
And then it happened. The most hideous waste of money imaginable. A whole alabaster jar of perfume poured out in one go. And where? On Jesus' feet. His feet! As it dripped off his toenails and onto the floor I could almost feel my future seeping away. Maybe he was not the source of security, significance and satisfaction that I had imagined.
I had to come up with a plan b. There were potential losses to be recouped. Somehow I had to get the coins that I had been holding out for. And then the penny dropped.
There was no harm in asking the question, was there? No problem with just pushing the door? I'd done OK by Jesus over the last 3 years but his time had clearly come. It was the moment to find some new benefactors. I wondered if they would cut me a decent deal. So I went to the chief priest and asked. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
14 words changed the course of my day - I have a sneaking suspicion they will change the course of my life. "What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you... ?"
Oh, don't look at me like that. I had a choice to make: humiliating death in the footsteps of Jesus or fiscal security coupled with some influential new friends.
You've got to make sure you're secure in this life ... haven't you?
Helen Thorne is Director of Training and Resources at Biblical Counselling UK. She formerly worked with the London City Mission and has written Hope in an Anxious World, Purity Is Possible, Walking with Domestic Abuse Sufferers and 5 Things to Pray for Your City. She attends Dundonald Church in Raynes Park, London.