HAPPY ENDING

When last we left the story our poor hero was still hanging on the cross, speaking to his mother. “Woman behold they son,” he said. I mean, “Lady, look what you did to me. Do you think she got it?

Then to his brother, I think it was Simon, he said, “Brother behold thy mother.” Like, look out she’ll do the same to you.  I don’t think he got it, but his story is another story.

According to ‘their’ story, the story in the book, our hero agonized for 3 hours and then, with a loud cry gives up the ghost. There’s an earthquake, tombs break open, all kinds of bad stuff happens and the thug on guard declares, “Truly he is the son of God.”

It gets a bit complicated here. Another  thug threw a lance at our hero and he bled and water flowed and a guy, Joseph of Arimathea,  a secret follower of our hero, convinces the thug our hero is dead, takes him down off the cross, wraps him in clean linen and  places him in a tomb carved in a rock and, to keep their secret safe, rolls another rock over the entrance. The thug, meanwhile, goes to Pilate to tell him the trouble maker is dead.

Now, I must tell you, there existed at the time a Jewish sect, the Essenes, about whom many Greek and Roman historians wrote. They were kind of Jewish monks, without women, without money. They’d got the hell out of the cities because they were almost as filthy as our planet is today. They were gardners. They made the desert bloom, Pliny said.  Kind and admirable and peaceful, they were much respected. They were  also healers and often took in little kids, boys, who worked for months to prove their worth and join them. I think our hero had probably spent his missing years there, learned their ways, was a teacher, a good man, but one who just couldn’t live with the celibacy part of the deal. Sort of  “…a man of the cloth without the cloth,”  as Carl Sagan put it.

As for the healing part,  let me tell you something about healers: before one can become a healer one must learn to heal oneself and our hero, according to ‘their’ book even says, red letters, baby, “…physician, heal thyself, ” which physicians in those days didn’t like the sound of any more then than they do today.

So our hero, stashed safely in the tomb with his girl friend, Mary Magdelane, recovers from his wound, you’d be amazed how quickly the body can heal itself and this was a strong, healthy, lusty  young man. He certainly wasn’t the silly creature in the pink nightgown his mother and his brother and that awful Constantine pictured floating off to heaven.  The moment he was strong enough to walk, three days later, he shoved back the rock, went outside, said goodbye to his friends and he and his love got  out of Dodge.

They left. Quietly. Hand in hand. Married. Had a lot of kids and, today, have something like 416 million descendants-I rounded it down- world wide.

Happy ending…

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9 Responses

  1. Hi Bettejo,

    Love all your comments and you.

    Ron

    Like

    • Do good to hear from you. Love you and the cats. Me

      Like

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