The Gospel According to the Son

49

In the lifetime of those who came after me, pious scrolls were written by those who had known me. Gospels were set down by those who had not. (And they were more pious!) These later scribesùnow they were called Christiansùhad heard of my journeys. They added much. They spoke of angels arising at my death. Others gave a description of lightning that broke the great lintel of the Temple that day. They told of rocks splitting apart and graves opening. They claimed that when the spikes were pulled from my wrists and my ankles, and I was set on the ground, the earth began to shudder. Some even wrote how prophets arose, came out of their tombs, and marched into the holy city offering their appearance to many. And the people said: "Truly, this was the Son of God."

Many of those who had been near me were given to exaggeration; not one had believed in the Son or in the Father sufficiently to say no more than the truth, which, as you have seen, was much. Therefore I, like Daniel, would now seal my gospel and hope that its truth is everlasting.

Yet I cannot. For I must speak of what was said after I was gone. I have been told many tales, and a few are close to events I knew. Indeed, it is true that I rose on the third day. Yet my disciples added fables to their accounts. When a man sees a wonder, Satan will enter his tale and multiply the wonder.

This much is true: On the afternoon of my death a man named Joseph of Arimathea, who was one of my followers and a rich man, went in secret to Pontius Pilate and asked for permission to take my body. For a good sum, Pilate agreed. Thereupon, Joseph of Arimathea dressed the body which had once been mine, and with him was a man named Nicodemus. They brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundredpound weight, and washed me and wound me with new clothes and put me in a linen shroud together with their spices, which is how we Jews bury the dead. And near where I had been crucified was a garden with a sepulchre, newly hewn from the rock, and this was the place that Joseph of Arimathea had prepared for himself. But such was his generosity that he laid me there.

So I was placed in a rich man's tomb. And they rolled a large stone before the door, and left.

Now, Caiaphas and some of his priests had grave thoughts. They could not be certain that what they had done was wise. By the night of my death, many good Jews were beating their breasts in the streets of Jerusalem and saying, "Our sins will bring woe upon us." The priests of Caiaphas were now concerned that no ill consequences befall their people and themselves. So on the morning after my death, they came back to Pilate and told him that I had said to many: "After three days, I will rise again." They asked the Procurator to safeguard the sepulchre for the same three days. "Otherwise," they said, "disciples of Jesus could steal him away at night, then say to the people, 'He is risen from the dead.' Should that happen, every disruption will multiply."

Pilate said to them, "Keep your own watch." For they would not pay him what he asked. Pilate then said, "I am clean of this man's blood. It is all your doing." Those words they took as a threat, and so they decided to pay him after all. Pilate gave them Petronius the centurion and his Roman soldiers to stand guard by the tomb. And these Romans put seven seals against the large stone at the entrance and set their watch.

There are some who say that there was an earthquake and the angel of the Lord descended from heaven to roll back the stone from the door. Since the raiment of this angel was as white as snow, the guards fled.

Others say that very early on the morning of the third day, even as death can bring together the harlot and the woman who is virtuous, so did Mary Magdalene come to the sepulchre, where she met Mary my mother. And they agreed to perform proper rites for me. But now that they were there, who would roll away the stone?

Yet when they looked, they saw that the tomb was open. They could enter. Inside, they met a young man who wore a long white garment, and he said: "You seek Jesus of Nazareth, but he is risen. Tell his disciples that he goes before you into Galilee and there you shall see him."

This may be close to the truth. For I know that I rose on the third day. And I also recall that I left the sepulchre to wander through the city and the countryside, and there came an hour when I appeared among my disciples. I said to them: "Why are you sad?" And they did not recognize me. They thought I was a stranger in Jerusalem and did not know what had happened. They even said to me, "Our sorrow is for Jesus of Nazareth, who was a mighty prophet. But our rulers have crucified him."

I said to them: "Behold my hands and my feet!" And Thomas looked and, seeing the holes, he asked to feel them (which is why he is known to this day as Doubting Thomas). But the sight of these wounds allowed them to believe. Soon, all who were there began to say that I had been received in heaven and was seated on the right hand of God. In any case, I had by then wandered away and they could no longer see me. All the same, my disciples went forth and preached that the Lord was with them. And they came at last to believe that they had the power to cast out devils. They spoke with new tongues, and when they laid hands on the sick, a few recovered.

But the Jews were much divided by my death. Many went forth with my disciples and became new followers, calling themselves Christian; others remained close to the Temple and argued among themselves for a hundred years over whether I was or was not the Messiah.

The rich among them, and the pious, prevailed; how could the Messiah be a poor man with a crude accent? God would not allow it!

Still, it must also be said that many of those who now call themselves Christian are rich and pious themselves, and are no better, I fear, than the Pharisees. Indeed, they are often greater in their hypocrisy than those who condemned me then.

There are many churches in my name and in the name of my apostles. The greatest and holiest is named after Peter; it is a place of great splendor in Rome. Nowhere can be found more gold.

God and Mammon still grapple for the hearts of all men and all women. As yet, since the contest remains so equal, neither the Lord nor Satan can triumph. I remain on the right hand of God, and look for greater wisdom than I had before, and I think of many with love. My mother is much honored. Many churches are named for her, perhaps more than for me. And she is pleased with her son.

My Father, however, does not often speak to me. Nonetheless, I honor Him. Surely He sends forth as much love as He can offer, but His love is not without limit. For His wars with the Devil grow worse. Great battles have been lost. In the last century of this second millennium were holocausts, conflagrations, and plagues worse than any that had come before.

Yet it is believed by most that God gained a great victory through me. And it may be that the Devil was not clever enough to comprehend the extent of my Father's wisdom. For my Father knew how to recover from debacle and disaster. Some fifty or more years after my death, the Gospel According to John was composed, and the work of this John (unknown to me) may have been illumined by my Father, because John's words proved unforgettable. They said: "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that whosoever believed in him should not perish but have eternal life." So powerful is the force of this message that no other prophet has ever been followed by as many who were ready to die in his name. Of course, I was not only a prophet but His son.

Nonetheless, the truth is more valuable even than the heavens. Thereby, let it be understood: My Father may not have vanquished the Devil. Less than forty years after I died on the cross, a million Jews were killed in a war against Rome. The Great Temple was left with no more than one wall. Still, the Lord proved as cunning as Satan. Indeed, He understood men and women better than did the Devil. For my Father saw how to gain much from defeat by calling it victory. Now, in these days, many Christians believe that all has been won for them. They believe it was already won before they were born. They believe that this victory belongs to them because of my suffering on the cross. Thereby does my Father still find much purpose for me. It is even by way of my blessing that the Lord sends what love He can muster down to that creature who is man and that other creature who is woman, and I try to remain the source of love that is tender.

Yet I must also remind myself of Pontius Pilate, who said that in peace there was no truth, and in truth, no peace. For that reason I do not bring peace but a sword. I would wage war on all that makes us less than we ought to be, less generous. I would not want the Devil to convince me that the quarries of our greed are a noble pit and he is the spirit of freedom. But then, who but Satan would wish to tell us that our way should be easy? For love is not the sure path that will take us to our good end, but is instead the reward we receive at the end of the hard road that is our life and the days of our life. So I think often of the hope that is hidden in the faces of the poor. Then from the depth of my sorrow wells up an immutable compassion, and I find the will to live again and rejoice.

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