I’m the reason Christ is dead. I don’t mean that the way you think I do. You should be angry. Some of you are thinking, “We are all the reason why Christ is dead. He died for our sins.”
That’s so not what I mean.
It started off having nothing to do with Jesus. I was at home being a good Jewish boy. I’m about 15. 15 3/4 if you’re a good looking Jewish babe reading this. I can quote the bible front and back and at my Bar Mitzvah I was the only one still standing (just in case there IS a good looking Jewish babe reading.) Anyway, as a good 15 year old, I was sitting around NOT throwing rocks at the Wailing Wall bidding God to smite me.
As it happened, an old begger happened to be walking by. He screamed at me. “Don’t you know what comes of little boys tossing rocks at the Wailing Wall bidding God to smote them?”
“They get smote?”, I answered smartly. I mean, the answer wasn’t smart, but the way I said it – that was smart. I had 10,000 ounces of attitude behind that line.
“No! They get cursed!” Old men are funny the way foreigners are funny. You think they’re hilarious for a while, but then not being able to understand them gets to you and you end up either pushing them into traffic or selling them bad ecstasy. So, I gave the old man my last tainted ‘e’ and hit the road.
“Wait!” he shouted at me. He had already taken the hit. “Um… wow, this is good. Uh, whenever you say a word beginning with ‘H’, someone will die. And I… wow, this really IS good stuff.” He fell over and tried to lick his ears.
I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the old man’s message of warning. I decided to go visit my friend Lazarus. He seemed perfect since he had just been dead and then raised up again. He was an older gent in the city, but we both ran ecstasy routes through Jerusalem. We were business partners, you could say.
“Lazz, buddy.” His ‘e’ pills featured an ‘L’ with an empty tomb behind them. It was a new design he had made up given his recent celebrity. Jesus had no idea what he was helping proliferate.
“Hey, Tee. Can I help you?”
“If you … mysteriously died suddenly, would Jesus bring you back?”
“Oh, no. He left these paddles. He said, ‘I’m not always going to be around, you lazyass.’ You just hit this button and press them to my chest. Then you yell ‘Clear!’ and push these little buttons on top. Pretty handy thing. This damn heart of mine keeps going out.”
“Mind if I kill you for an experiment?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Hebrew.” I waited. That was a pretty good ‘H’ word, if I say so myself. Suddenly Lazz’s eyes started twitching and he fell over. I ran to the paddles, pressed them to his chest, and screamed clear. Nothing happened. I hit the bottons on top and his body jolted up from the ground. He started coughing and turned over.
“Did it work?”
“Better than you could imagine.”
I knew it worked. Now I just needed to use it. I had no victims in mind. No one owed me an abnormal amount of money. There were no rival drug dealers who I had quarrels with. I had this immense power, and I had no beneficial way to use it.
“Hey, Tom. Wanna go up to the mount? They’re doing some crossing.”
“Sure. Why not? Maybe I can help them along.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” I smirk to my friend. He already thinks I’m wierd, but I think pretty soon he is going to quit hanging out with me. Oh, well. His loss, right?
We make it up to the mount but the crossings have already begun. “Go Jesus!” I yell. See, the crossings don’t always end up with someone dead. It’s a lot like a sporting event (of which I am always king – for those good looking Jewish girls who are still reading).
They were having trouble with Jesus. They taunted him, they starved him. They even stabbed him, and nothing was going. Jesus is a helluva fighter.
Two men, from the bottom of the mount, approached us. They called themselves Jude and Bil. “Hello boys. Is one of you Doubting Thomas?” I sheepishly acknowledged this. “I heard that you were throwing some rocks at the Wailing Wall today.”
“Maybe I was.”
“Son, you see Jesus down there? He’s in pain, son. He wants release. You can give it to him.”
“No. I will NOT kill Jesus. I believe him.”
“You’re a good Jewish boy, aren’t you?”
“What did God give the Israelites in the desert?” Manna. “What is the square root of 144?” 12. “Do we serve Caeser?” No. It’s a ploy for us to save up money until we can move out, get our own place, and party all the time instead of study like we said we would. “What is Jesus middle name?” H.
“No!” It was done. The sky became abruptly overcast and the ground quaked. The Son of God died before my eyes.
“Way to go, Tom. You’re going to hell.”