11/10/2012 | Share this article:By Carl S ~
The following is approved for all Roman Catholic readers, text free from dogmatic error.
Imprimatur: Bishop Paul Flannagan, Diocese of E. Salem, Mass.
Nihil Obstat: Jesuit Seminary of Scranton, WI
Mosaic laws one iota, and another time, tell exactly how you've changed them in detail. (Just like a politician.) And, you have to "fulfill” prophesies, because they're there already. That’ll keep you busy. Make sure somebody writes them down for posterity, at least 30 something years after you’re dead.
You’re going to have to convince the followers that their life is worth trash without your message, because the world is coming to an end soon, so nothing else matters. Tell them to give away their possessions, let somebody else bury their dead relatives, even give away the shirts on their backs to thieves - because where they're going, they won‘t need them. Tell them not to make plans for the future, because there won't be any future. Tell them not to return a punch with a punch, or to retaliate, or even seek justice for personal violence against them, because the world’s ending , just-around-the-corner- ending, and those bastards will get hell for being mean to you, “in the end.” Make sure they get this message: Mortal life doesn‘t mean s..t. What counts is eternal life, so live your lives preparing for, and looking forward to, death. Soak their minds in future-life. You're going to show the way by dying soon after relaying those messages, leading the way by example. You, the martyr, will be coming back to life soon after. I’ve got it all planned out.
You will need to criticize constantly the rabbis, scribes, authorities, of your Jewish heritage. Call ’em hypocrites, clean cups outside, filthy inside, whatever. You get them so humiliated, frustrated, so pissed off that they will plan to make you gone. Use your imagination. Push them over the edge, give them enough ammo to take to the Romans to do what they can't - have you crucified. Your ass is gonna be scourged, son. They're gonna nail you up just like they do to thousands of others. You're gonna die of torture.
SON: Wait...wait just a minute, Dad. (What have I gotten into, some kind of sadomasochistic relationship?) Dad, I don't think this is such a desirable plan. Not a good idea. Can’t I just go around saying, "Hey look, you know me. I've done all this miraculous stuff for you, raisin' up your dead, feeding thousands of you, curing blindness, etc., etc. You got the message: trust me, this world's ending, some of you guys standing here will even witness it. Trust me, it’s not over ‘til it‘s over, and I'm telling you to get prepared by tossing out the earthly treasures. Give 'em away; let someone else bury your relatives. You're gonna die, but another kind of world awaits, and it's eternal, where no one can take away your pleasure and joy. Before that, I'm gonna die, but I'll be back a few days after that to prove that I, the miracle-worker, am your redemption from mortal to eternal life. Would I lie to you?” And, Dad, as for that "crucifixion" thing, why can't I opt out of that and go to Egypt (again)? You can get some fanatic to sub for me, you know, like the kind who'll blow himself up for your glory. Then you can have somebody take his body off the cross, put it in a preselected tomb, and come back later to throw it in with some other crucified ones. (Who’s counting?) I could go around for awhile, doing all that good stuff and getting more folks on board for the coming kingdom. What’s wrong with a plan "B"?
FATHER: Son, Son, don‘t be such a pain. (For this I will let infants be slaughtered after his birth?) Don’t you know me yet? I just love the shedding of blood from an innocent victim - the more innocent the better. And don‘t expect you’ll be the only one. Why, millions will be slaughtered in your name, for me.
SON: Somehow, those reasons aren't any consolation. Besides, when I'm an adult, I want to live like an ordinary person: drinking, dancing, cussing, making my own mistakes, finding out I don‘t have all the answers, and telling everyone else how to live their lives. I want to know what it is to be human, to sin, to make mistakes and learn. I want that sexual pleasure which I hear the angels envy. I want to eat ham and sacred cows. I want a full life on earth, and to die peacefully, like most people. And then, come back, after death, go around the world for awhile, so that everybody can see without a doubt, that what I said is true. No questions or debates. Clear as day itself. And, as for that "eternal" life idea, why, it makes human life no more valuable than that of livestock, being born just to die. I don‘t want humans copying such an "example" as you want me to be, “wasting" their lives and others because they believe they’re not really ending lives, but "sending them to another, forever paradise." That very idealism makes life cheap and expendable. The whole “message" is just too perverted and death-oriented. It's fraught with dangers useful to those who will exploit the fearful and gullible.
FATHER: Look kid, you‘re forgetting that the "resurrection" thing depends on MY plan. I won’t allow any other option to my all-loving wisdom. This will get reported, eventually, by my spokesmen who will speak for you, too.
SON: Yeah, right, your "spokesmen." What a record they have. You let them get away with making up that "Moses" character, and that stupid "flood" story. You know these guys; do you really trust those end-justifies-the means bullshitters? They make up anything, and you don‘t say anything to contradict them!
FATHER: Son, you‘re out of order! That's inappropriate and blasphemous!
SON: Come on, Dad. All of a sudden you have a problem with truth-telling? If you follow my alternate plan, be assured, knowing their records, that they'll come up with some "explanations," the more bizarre, the more accepted amongst their followers, for my "resurrection." Why, even if I never go to earth, I wouldn’t put it past them to fabricate ME!
FATHER: Whatever. My plan will prevail, for I AM almighty wisdom.
SON: Screw that. I’m outta here.