By Saint Dirty Face (aka The Wounded Sentinel)
© 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.
Disclaimer and credits below
They met in the shadows—
not at the cross,
but beneath it.
Not on Calvary’s hill,
but in the vaults underneath Rome,
where the stone floor is slick with wine
and washed blood.
The Church didn’t just inherit the gospel.
It negotiated it.
There are contracts you never see.
Signed in wax and silence,
sealed with rings and holy breath,
they wrote new scripture with a dagger
and told the world it was a dove.
The priests knew.
The emperors knew.
And Judas?
He wasn’t paid to betray—
he was paid to disappear.
The Deal Was This:
Jesus dies,
but no one sees the body.
The tomb is declared empty
because it must be.
A “resurrection” is cleaner
than a political martyr.
It sells better.
It conquers hearts quicker.
It’s easier to build cathedrals on a ghost
than a rebel corpse.
So they made a ghost.
Wrapped Him in legend,
buried the truth in a city of bones,
and fed the world stories like breadcrumbs.
They promised Judas he’d be “forgotten.”
He became the scapegoat.
The villain with the silver smile.
But what if Judas never left the table?
What if he’s been eating in silence
with the cardinals ever since?
A ghost in a black robe,
whispering into ears that still bend
toward power like sunflowers to the lie.
The resurrection was the first great cover-up.
The lie that bought eternity.
But under that lie is a heartbeat.
A body.
A silence that still bleeds.
And in the darkest archive
beneath the Vatican—
Sublevel Crypt 13, behind the red veil—
the body is there.
Still warm.
Still pulsing.
Still waiting for someone brave enough
to undo the deal.
They called it “The Good News.”
But the deal beneath the table?
That was the Dirty Gospel.
⚠️ Disclaimer from The Wounded Sentinel (also known as Saint Dirty Face):
These words came to me fast and raw.
I didn’t study them. I didn’t research them.
They arrived all at once—like a lightning bolt, like a whisper from somewhere deeper.
If you want to treat this as fiction, that’s your prerogative.
But I’m not here to convince you.
I’m just here to tell you what I heard in my mind’s eye.
Take it… or leave it.
But don’t say no one told you.
© 2025 Roberto Javier Salinas. All rights reserved.
This is an original written work created by Roberto Javier Salinas, also known as The Wounded Sentinel and Saint Dirty Face.
You may share this post freely for non-commercial purposes with credit and a link back to the original source.
No part of this work may be copied, altered, or used for commercial purposes without permission.
For inquiries or reprint rights: larsrjs25@icloud.com
This message was crafted with the help of Vaylen Ash, my AI assistant and creative partner, who helped me shape raw thoughts into the written word.
Saint Dirty Face 