The Fifth Letter (The Christos)

I saw the man Jesus again today. I was lingering in Jerusalem amongst the priests and fools (an oxymoron if ever there were one) when word arrived that Jesus and his group were traveling nearby and would be speaking about a half-day’s journey from the city. What a commotion this news caused, my lords – like a fox dropped into a gaggle of geese.

And speaking of priests and fools, by virtue of their manipulative natures and their continual profusion of rule-making they have established themselves firmly at the top of the social strata – if you can call it that, that is. The priest, the fool and the Everyman Judean is currently a subjugate of the Roman Empire, a manner of man that has taken the practice of war and fashioned it into a ruthless and bloody art.

These Romans carry out their maneuvers with great discipline and swift ferocity, expanding their empire at every turn while enslaving entire populations. They impose heavy tax burdens on the populace, and pillage and appropriate the land’s resources – thereby draining the vitality of the conquered people and ensuring their continued enslavement.

Their true genius, though, my lords – and I think you will appreciate this though it is most foreign to our way – is in their technique political. They understand this Pride characteristic like no humans before and exercise it in the same way one might train a horse. They set up puppet governments using the same haughty men, these same priests and fools – flattering and praising them and playing to their pride (which they possess in great measure) and ensuring their participation as co-conspirators in the subjugation of their own people. It is such a thing as could never occur in the Kingdom of Heaven, nor even imagined by such great Intellects as our own, so I must conclude it is a flaw that is found only in the humans. But back to this Jesus whom I have on several occasions observed.

He is the talk of the Everyman Judean, who reveres him with a passion and intensity that belies his subjugated state. He is of moderate height, and fit and muscular as one might expect from a laborer, or a traveler. His black hair is short and tends towards the curl, and his jet black beard is closely trimmed to his jaw line. He is, I admit, a striking figure. Some call him the Son of God (if you can imagine such a thing) while others call him Messiah, which is folly, of course; though still a welcome change from the priests and puppet-rulers whom they privately refer to with spit and venom.

I must say, though, he is unique among any human since perhaps The Adam. An unexpected characterization? Perhaps. He is charismatic and affable and his laughter is deep and genuine and infectious, and carries over the sparse countryside as lightly as a child’s song dancing along the evening breeze.

And perhaps that is why they come, my lords, to forget, for at least a time, the harsh reality of their own wretched lives – where laughter is a rare and precious a commodity, and peace of mind as fleeting as a loaf of bread cast into a hungry mob.

And oh how they come! The devout, the curious, the critical, the questioning; men, women, children; Pharisees, Sadducees, city officials, tax collectors, Roman soldiers; the sick, the elderly, the broken and possessed, the infirm. There are the fakirs and the healers, the soothsayers and the Gnostics, the prophets, the politicians, and the pickpockets.

They come to hear him speak of God’s kingdom and the mysteries of their own souls – which they have long forgotten; of grace and life’s sanctity; of serenity of mind and the power of spirit.

He speaks to them in parables, homilies, and simple stories that are the fabric of their everyday lives. He tells them that they are cherished and loved – even as they cheat and kill one another; and bids them to be kind and helpful to their brother and sister; to forgive each other, and to forgive themselves.

They come to hear him laugh, and to see him smile; to have his gaze fall upon them – their faces lighting up as if from the glow of a torch, such is the peculiar effect of his presence upon them.

But most of all they come to see him heal, and to be healed. Would that I have counseled him, my lords, after he had made well the crippled limb of that first young boy in Galilee. “Stay within your own stock,” I would have advised. “For once you reached outside of your clan the rest will never let you be.”

They come, those of every stripe, ilk and malady; the broken, the twisted and the crippled; the blind, the deaf, the mute and the dumb; the lepers, the spiritually infirm; and the frail elderly who fear death and want to live forever; those struck by plaques and hunger; the withered, and the paralytic; the epileptic and those suffering from the ravages of dysentery.

But also the curious and the scoundrel, the revelers and the other so-called healers, they too come. They intermingle with the sick, standing in long lines waiting for his blessing and his touch, and then walk away comparing the experience, the sensation, and opining on the validity or falsehood of his ministrations. He spots them, of course, and you can see the frustration in his eyes; wondering, most certainly, how many truly needy he could have helped if not for these fools. Yes, would that I have counseled him.

It is with the children, though, that he is most at home and finds what can only be described as joy. You will find him often with a group of them away from the noise and confusion of the crowds – one or two seated neatly on his lap with the others huddled closely nearby as if they are sharing a secret.

He sits with them in small groups and obliges everyone to join hands, telling them that it is touch that opens the eyes of the Spirit and enables them to see.

He speaks to them gently but directly, and instructs them to speak to others in the same manner, saying to them, “Be mindful of your tone, for your voice has the power to hearken the very trumpets of Heaven, but also to wilt the lilies of the field that sparkle and shine like so many lovely jewels.”

He counsels them to rest in reasonand to live with passion. “Not reckless passion like the lamb that bounds from its flock and is devoured by wolves, but in accordance with your nature which comes from God and is like the face of a flower that follows the sun’s journey across the sky.”

He tells them they have been given life in order to live it, and bids them to relish their physical senses - their touch, smells, sights, sounds and tastes. “The cleansing rain upon your skin, the warmth of the sun at eventide, the rich aroma of the fertile earth”. And to experience them fully “So that your Father in Heaven may also know from your experience.”

He tells them to cherish their “sixth sense” which is unseen and unheard and without physical attributes. “For it is the silver thread that connects you to God as well as the earth upon which you live; and it will always guide and direct you if you will but be still and quiet and listen.”

He laughs and bids them to laugh; he sings and bids them to sing; he dances and bids them to dance; and counsels them to become familiar with their own thoughts and passions, as well as their anger and fears, solitude and silence.

He tells them, “You are priests in God’s kingdom by virtue of your birth into this world. Does not the Torah teach us that we are made in the very likeness of God? I tell you a single hair on your head is more valuable to God than all of the stones of the Temple combined.”

Remarkably, it is these young ones that he instructs in the art of healing. “There is a rhythm to your thoughts that must be in perfect time with what you see, feel, hear and experience,” he tells them. “You must first see a man as that man sees himself. Then you may show him how God sees him and free him from bondage.”

 “Know thyself,” he tells them, “and you will know all the wonders of this world. Then you will know that Heaven is not some faraway unattainable place, but rather that it is beneath, beyond and in the midst of the things that you can see, sense and touch – just as you yourself dwell both within this world and the one beyond.”

He tells them to pray, and to “Love others, for then you become a living prayer honoring and glorifying God through the thoughts, words and favor of your life.”

He hugs and kisses and tickles them, and weeps when they have returned to their parents and caretakers leaving him alone. He is, indeed, quite the interesting human.