There’s an old story of an artist who was hired to paint a mural in a Sicilian cathedral showing the life of Jesus. The painter made it his life’s work. He began by searching for people to be his models for what was to be a huge picture and one of the first he discovered was an innocent looking twelve-year-old boy, he was a perfect model for Jesus as child.
Over the decades he found all the models for the various scenes, till it
came to the picture of the night Jesus was betrayed. The only model he couldn’t
find was a model for Judas.
Then one afternoon he saw a seedy corrupt, looking
bloke lurching around half drunk outside the cathedral. Instantly he thought
that’s him, that’s my model for Judas; he approached him and led him into the
cathedral and pointed out the bare patch on the wall, and asked him to pose for
Judas. But the man stood silently and wept hiding his face in his hands and he
said, Don’t you remember me, Maestro? Pointing to the innocent picture of Jesus
aged 12, he said, forty years ago I was your model for Him.