Mission (61 page)

‘Ask me anything you want, Leo,' he said.

‘There must have been over two hundred people on board that plane. Are they all dead?'

‘Yes,' he replied. ‘But don't worry. They'll be back.'

‘Maybe,' I said. ‘But was it necessary to kill two hundred men, women and children just to get me here?'

‘Of course not,' he said. ‘That wasn't my doing. Boats sink, cars crash, trains collide, planes fall out of the sky, cities are levelled by earthquakes every day of the week. I don't make that happen and I can't stop it. When your time comes, that's it. Your name was already on that passenger list from the moment you were born. If more people realised that, it might make them love those nearest to them while they are alive instead of weeping over their coffins crippled by remorse.'

‘Does Miriam know I'm here?' I asked.

He shook his head. ‘No. She thinks you died when the plane blew up.'

‘But that's going to make her feel terrible,' I said. ‘She is going to blame herself for the rest of her life.'

He smiled. ‘I hope not. Otherwise it means I've been wasting my time. Don't worry. She's a very strong lady.'

I imagine he thought that would make me feel better, but let's face it everybody likes to be missed. It was only fair that Miriam should miss me. Desperately. Later on, of course, I mellowed. But at that moment, I could only cling on to the past, which had yet to happen, and think of what had been taken away from me. Instead of what I had been given.

My flight had taken off on the 12th of May, 1981. Somewhere along the line I appeared to have lost two weeks of my life because I eventually found that I had landed, if one can use that phrase, on a Wednesday sometime in early June. Preparations were already
underway for
Shavout,
the Feast of the Pentecost, which meant that his disciples had not yet been given the mind-blowing injection of power that, in the following weeks was to amaze and alarm the inhabitants of Jerusalem and provide an unknown student from Tarsus with the opportunity to make a lasting name for himself.

Why had he brought me here? The answer was simple. I, too, had a mission. To tell his story in the words and images of my generation. I was to be the voice of the future, reaching out from the past. Proof of the Empire's mastery over Time and Space. To transmit through my feeble glimmer of awareness, the Light of The Word.

And now I can give you the final chapter in the story of The Man's crucifixion. But first, a small technical point that film-makers keep overlooking. The Man did not drag his whole cross through the city. He and the two thieves had their out-stretched arms bound under and over the transverse beam placed across their shoulders.

When Joshua started his journey from the Fortress Antonia to Golgotha, Ya'el came back to him. They were together every step of the way as their host-body stumbled along the route through the Second Quarter to the Joppa Gate. Joshua-Ya'el fell several times and finally, the execution squad pulled a man out of the crowd to carry the beam for him. Not as an act of mercy, but to keep themselves out of trouble. When the governor sentenced a man to be crucified he was expected to die on the cross, not in the street. Joshua was doused with water, hauled upright, and frog-marched the rest of the way.

The streets along the route were lined with silent ranks of spectators, many of whom had been part of the joyous procession that Joshua had led into the city six short days ago. Regardless of the disappointment and the temporary hatred they might have felt for The Man for what they saw as a betrayal of their hopes, the sight of any Jew struggling under a Roman cross was no cause for celebration. It was a cruel reminder that they were an occupied nation. What was happening to Joshua and the two luckless thieves could just as easily happen to other Jews tomorrow.

It is not hard to imagine that to hang by the arms for any length of time soon causes excruciating muscular pains. To which are added the circulatory cramps caused by the ropes bound round the upper arms and chest and, in the case of The Man, the nails driven through the wrists and feet. But that was not all. An additional layer of suffering came from the flies swarming over the open wounds caused by the scourging.

If you were strong, it could take two, three, even four days to die, especially if you managed to take the weight off your arms by getting a temporary purchase on the upright beam with the soles of your feet. To stop you from doing this, in the case of judicial as opposed to punitive crucifixions, the execution squad usually broke your legs sometime during the first day.

In spite of the screaming pain that came from having your shinbones shattered with a heavy cudgel, the
crucifragum
was regarded by the Romans as an act of mercy. And, since the soldiers had to guard the victims until they died to prevent any rescue attempt, it also cut down the time they had to spend on the job.

The Man's death on the cross served a three-fold purpose. First, the crucifixion meant sure and certain, officially certified death before dozens, if not hundreds, of witnesses. In rising again, three days later, The Man demonstrated to the world the absolute power of The Presence over life and death. Second, he was sentenced and executed by Romans under Roman law with the full might of the Roman state behind it. His resurrection proved that even the mightiest empire on earth, the greatest power which, up to that time, the world had ever known, was helpless against the power of the Celestial Empire.

And third, through his suffering on the cross, Ya'el reaffirmed the bond between God, or The Presence and Man. But the magnified pain that pierced his spirit-being was not his alone. Every Celestial spirit had been created from and was part of the Infinite Being of The Presence. The
corpus dei.
And because of this, they possessed a unique, interlocking sensory system. As Ya'el took Joshua's pain upon himself, it was transmitted through him from the World Below to the World Above.

Imagine, if you can, the pain radiating out from Joshua's crucified body in the form of a spherical shock-wave, like you've seen in the film footage of nuclear bomb tests. Except that this shock-wave doesn't lose momentum. It builds up as it goes on travelling. Spreading outwards in every direction, engulfing Michael and Gabriel in the orbiting longship, and going on out of the solar system, through and beyond the galaxy to fill the whole universe. Bursting through the Time Gate like a great tidal wave; flooding the Celestial Empire; reaching the heart of The Presence; filling it with limitless, soul-searing pain that only ceased when Joshua and Ya'el were freed by the death of their host-body.

It was not the sins of the world but the pain of existence that God, or The Presence took upon him/her/it-self through The Man. In sharing our suffering, The Presence showed that it had not abandoned us. Our true selves. The trapped Ain-folk. The spirit within us that was the spark of our humanity. That was the reason The Man died on the cross and not on a bed of roses. The darkness that the writers of
Mark
and
Luke
mention, and which hung over the earth from the sixth to the ninth hour was the poisonous ‘Braxian darkness that The Presence drew out of the soul of the world and into itself through the crucified body of Joshua-Ya'el.

For the next few days, I stayed at the house of Nicodemus while I adjusted to the cultural jet-lag that came from being catapulted backwards through two millennia. I didn't see much of The Man, but I spoke often with Mary of Magdala. And you'll find this hard to believe, but do you know who she reminded me of? Joe Gutzman's daughter, Joanna, whom I'd successfully kept at arm's length. There was another lesson there too for, as I got to know her better, I realised that she was beautiful in a totally different way. And in the end, it's the only way that counts.

It was Mary who explained to me the concept of ‘raying back' the Power of The Presence. It's something I feel you should think about so let me run it by you, as the saying is some two thousand years from now. According to Mary, the power of God shines forth like the rays of, let's say, the sun. The reservoir is, in theory, inexhaustible but, in order to keep everything on an even keel, the power, the force, the love of God has to be recycled. It needs to be rayed back, reflected by the mirror of the soul but, as must be obvious, nothing can shine forth if, to put it bluntly, your head is full of shit. The only way to put a shine on your soul is through the power of The Word. In plain language that means opening your heart and mind to God's love.

Yes. I know that's the kind of phrase that makes people cringe.
Oh, jeezuss, they think. How embarrassing.
And if anyone had said something like that to me before I got into this, I'd have felt like throwing up. It's little wonder that the word ‘Love' sticks in people's throats. ‘Brax not only hog-tied us with language; he has made us frightened to use it as well. It has become sectioned off, with separate vocabularies for separate occasions. Like baby language, we have a language that politicians use, and another finger-tips-together language for talking about God and tut-tutting about the decline in moral standards. I've never understood why the good guys are
constrained to use only the politer half of the dictionary. The good time that ‘Brax is offering you doesn't come for free. He's out to fuck your mind, folks. So for God's sake, don't just lie there and let him do it to you. Stand up and fight for what's right.

Don't let yourself get side-tracked by the semantics. Whoever, or Whatever this power comes from; God, The Presence, Allah, You-Name-It, by the time it reaches us, it's called Love. And it's the only thing that can revive our real self which is suffocating inside us. If everybody lets it flood in, and starts beaming it back out, the world would come alive again.

Being me, I naturally asked what might happen if we all turned our backs and just didn't bother. As you can see, despite my sudden transfer to the first century I was stubbornly ignoring the facts of predestination that were staring me in the face.

Mary's answer was this: by raying back the Power of The Presence we were helping to restore the vital equilibrium of the the World Above and the World Below; holding the line between the Empire and ‘Brax. It we didn't ray it back, more and more of the good stuff would be trapped in the fabric of the physical universe which, as it got increasingly out of balance, would gradually get sucked in through the Black Holes into the Netherworld. Only none of us – sentient life – would survive the trip.

Those students of logic I addressed earlier will be quick to realise that this opens up yet another new ball game. The Man left me guessing on this one, so I hereby bequeath you the problem.

Mary also told me about Judas's death. For reasons best known to himself, Judas hung around Jerusalem after The Man's arrest and was spotted by Peter and several other disciples on the terraced roof of a merchant's house. It appears that the merchant in question was not at home but, as he owned several cargo boats, Mary was convinced that Judas must have been trying to arrange his passage out of the country. According to a stall-owner who'd been opposite the house, Judas appeared on the terrace and walked to and fro, constantly returning to the parapet, giving the stall owner the impression he might be preparing to leap over it. Suddenly, without any warning, he threw several handfuls of silver coins into the street. Where, somewhat naturally, it was regarded as manna from heaven.

By sheer chance, Shimon, Johan, Matthew, Nathan and Thaddeus were only a couple of streets away. Attracted by the noise, they hurried to see what was happening. Shimon hauled the stall-owner
out of the frenzied heap of treasure-seekers and learned that a crazy man had thrown money from a roof. They looked up and there was Judas. Bursting into the house, Shimon and the other four disciples pushed aside the startled servants and found their way on to the roof where they discovered that Judas had fled into a two-storey tower that rose from one corner of the terrace. As they battered down the door, he leapt out of an upper window, arms outstretched, falling head-first on to the flagstones of the courtyard below. Judas died instantly, and the impact ruptured his intestines. He didn't, as reported in
Acts,
1:18, have time to buy a farm, but the author got the rest of it right when he spoke of Judas ‘
falling headlong
' and ‘
bursting asunder'. Matthew,
28 begins with Judas's attempt to give back the money after which he hanged himself. It could be argued that by accepting the assignment, Judas sentenced himself to death and that by remaining in Jerusalem he hung himself. So in a sense, both versions of his death are true.

Either way it was a sad loss because, from what Mary told me, he sounded like a good man to have around. But then, as I myself had come to learn, the Empire moves in mysterious ways.

On the day before the Feast of the Pentecost, The Man came to say goodbye. I had been moved to a house a few miles from Jerusalem owned by Joseph of Arimathea. The Good Samaritan. It seemed ironical that apart from The Man, and possibly Mary, I was the only one who knew what was going to happen the next day and for some time after that. I would have swapped the knowledge gladly for news of my own future, but it was not to be. By this time, Mary had introduced me to all the disciples, including Matthias, the new twelfth man and I was feeling a little left out.

‘Is everything set?' I said, as we walked out into the garden.

He nodded. ‘Yes. We're going to make the power-transfer tomorrow. The Empire is setting up a big move to decoy ‘Brax out of the relevant time-frames.'

I shook my head. ‘I don't think I'm ever going to understand how all of this really works.'

‘You will one day,' he replied.

‘The Twelve are due to find out tomorrow,' I said. ‘Don't you think I deserve to be included?'

He treated me to his last smile but one. ‘I like you just the way you are, Leo. When you start putting this down I don't want you getting lyrical over me.'