The Easter Resurrection – the true story.
“Well, how did that go, son?”
“That was bloody awful, Dad! I know you said ‘die for people’s sins’ and all, but really, letting them crucify me? Why couldn’t they just shoot me with an arrow, or bash me over the head?”
“Look, Jesus,” said God, “you had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Suffer a bit.”
“You’ve obviously never been crucified in your life,” said Jesus. “In addition to the agony and humiliation, it’s just so boring, hanging there for hours.”
“I only left you up there for three hours,” said God. “Some people last for days.”
“Well, I’m never doing that again,” said Jesus. “No more suffering and dying. What’s the point of being a god if you let people go around flogging and crucifying you?”
“Lots of gods die and get resurrected,” said God. “Look at Odin/Wotan, or whatever he’s calling himself these days. Look at your Uncle Osiris. They both died and came back. Fine family tradition here in the Jehovah family.”
“I’m going to hang out on a celestial beach for a while,” said Jesus. “I’m done with Messaiahering for a while.”
“Er…”
“Now what?”
“You can’t leave yet. You have to go back and finish the job.”
“Dad! I’m stone dead down there. Crucified, and stuck with a spear. You made me human there, and that body is done, dude.”
“Well,” said God, “yes and no. I agree that in normal circumstances a person would not come alive again, but look at Lazarus – you brought him back to life.”
“He just had a heart attack or something. He hadn’t had ¾ of his skin flayed off with a flagellum and then been crucified and speared. All I had to do was fix the heart valve and get him to start breathing again. Oh, and a bath to wash off the mould, maggots and bacteria to stop him decomposing after coming back to life. Easy.”
“Well,” said God, “I’m the creator of it all. Odin/Wotan/Whatsisname may be the All Father and wise as hell…”
“And let’s talk about Hell. Why did I have to go there? You know I hate the heat.”
“Lucifer/Satan/Beelzebub…dammit can’t these guys stick to one name! Anyway Luci seems to like it.”
“He’s from the tropics,” said Jesus. “He’s used to it.”
“The creed says you descended into Hell.”
“I certainly did,” said Jesus. “Three days of sweating and listening to people scream.”
“There are a lot of rock musicians there. People were probably excited by the music.”
“At least the room service was okay. Lucifer puts on a good spread.”
“Anyway,” said God, “what I was going to say was that I built the thing. Odin might be wise and all, but I know how this all works, so I can retrofit your body a bit, and down you go to rise and wow them with your coming back to life glory.”
“And how does that work?”
“Same way as Lazarus. We reinsert your spirit into the shell.”
“I’m a Saviour, Dad, not an anime character from Ghost in the Shell.”
“And you’re not as good looking as Scarlett Johansen either, but that’s beside the point. It can be done.”
“So no beach with a couple of cute angels, eh?”
“You can do that in a couple of weeks. I’m not sending you back for long. Just time to say “ciao” or whatever the Aramaic word for that is. You can take a nice walk to Emmaus or something.”
“Where’s Emmaus?” asked Jesus.
“No idea,” said God. “Look, leave Jerusalem through the Damascus Gate and then ask someone. If you meet anyone you know, you can wow them with how alive you are.”
“This is just a big April fools joke to you, isn’t it? Those bastards crucified me!”
“Yeah,” said God, “and you did a good job. Looked good there. Artists will be painting you for centuries. That’s a lot of street cred there. You gotta forgive them, kid.”
“Oh, alright,” said Jesus. “It’s over now anyway. I guess I can hang around Jerusalem for a few days, and maybe do a fish barbecue in Galilee with those fishermen I hung out with.”
“They can take over from you,” said God. “Start a church or something in your name. Get themselves martyred.”
“You’re just going to get them all killed,” said Jesus. “You really are perverse, you know.”
“I’m a god,” said God. “Anyway, everyone dies sooner or later…except that one jellyfish that I made immortal, of course.”
“You kill off your sentient followers, but you made a jellyfish immortal.”
“It seemed like an amusing thing to do. The only immortal creature on Earth is a jelly that lives in a completely dark, cold, boring environment. Wow, did I laugh! Lucifer thought it was cruel.”
“Really.”
“Oh yes. We got into a row about it. In the end I banished him to Hell.”
“So that’s why he doesn’t come for holidays anymore.”
“Nah. He just doesn’t like Gabriel. And face it, that archangel is a bit of an arrogant git. If he wasn’t so good at messages, I’d banish him to Hell too. But I owe him. He set me up with your mum.”
“Let’s not even go there, please.”
“Okay, so you were down in Hell. All good, and now you’re ready to go back. We’ll send you down on Monday morning. Work for you?”
“Sure, Dad,” as long as you promise I don’t have to stay long.”
“Jesus, it’ll be a couple of weeks tops – no, wait, the ascension stuff is being worked on. Won’t be done until later in spring. Say 40 days – nice round figure.”
“Okay, I suppose I can do 40 days.”
“Good. Now for the resurrection, I have a couple of people you need to meet who will help you with that.”
“You have resurrection consultants?”
“Not as such,” said God. “These are sort of experts. They have experience. And you said yourself that I haven’t been flogged and crucified…hah! That’s a good one! As if, eh?”
“Experts at being crucified and rising again,” said Jesus skeptically.
“You wouldn’t believe.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh ye of little faith.”
“That’s my line, Dad.”
God ignored him and pressed a button on his intercom that had just mysteriously been created.
“Gentlemen and Lady, will you please come in now? I think we’re ready.”
A man in regal Elizabethan clothing, a young woman in a little black dress and heels, and a tall skeleton in a black robe appeared in the room.
“Introductions,” said God. “May I present my son, Jesus. He’s a saviour. Jesus, I would like to introduce you to Jollyrei, the Angel of Death, Lord Renfield Wragg, deceased of course, and Ms Barbara Moore.”
“What sort of name is Jollyrei?” asked Jesus.
“IT’S MY NAME,” said the Angel of Death. “I, ER, SORT OF MADE IT UP. I THINK EULALIA TOLD ME TO GIVE MYSELF A NAME AT ONE POINT.”
“Who is Eulalia?” asked Jesus.
“She’s a former martyr,” said God. “She was crucified…at least in one account, anyway. She’s an editor or linguist or poet or something now.”
“And these people will help me to resurrect?” asked Jesus.
“Lord Wragg has tremendous experience crucifying people,” said God. “You crucified an entire household staff once, didn’t you?”
“Well, I had to really, didn’t I,” said Wragg. “I mean, they had tried to burn down the Abbey. Now, as I see it, the main issue is the flogging. Gotta get that skin back together. No problem for a solid creator chap like The Almighty here. Nail wounds are a doddle. They practically heal themselves. The spear in the side is a bit tricky, perhaps. Would have been nice if they hadn’t poked internal organs full of holes, but we take what we get.”
“I still don’t know what you do, Lord Wragg,” said Jesus. “You seem to be relying on Dad here to do the work.”
“Oh, I’m the expert in crucifying people, but for your resurrection, lad, I’m just a second set of eyes.”
“And quality control,” said God.
“And Jollyrei?” asked Jesus.
“Well, he’s the guy in charge of making sure dead people actually die and move on. Only in your case, we need him to sort of reverse the process and open the doors, so to speak, to send you back in.”
“THIS IS NOT A PROBLEM,” said Jollyrei. “I HAVE DONE THIS A FEW TIMES…WELL…ACTUALLY QUITE A LOT.”
“Why does he talk in purple capital letters?” asked Jesus.
“STYLE,” said Jollyrei. “WHEN I FIRST MET YOUR DAD, HE TALKED ONLY IN LARGE STONE LETTERS THAT BURST INTO FLAMES. CONVERSATIONS TOOK BLOODY FOREVER. WE FINALLY GOT HIM TO BE A BIT LESS FORMAL AFTER THAT BURNING BUSH EPISODE. NEARLY IMMOLATED A PERFECTLY GOOD PROPHET THERE.”
“So you’ve facilitated a lot of resurrections?” asked Jesus. “I only know about Lazarus.”
“YES, WELL, ER, MOST OF THE OTHERS HAVE BEEN…”
“Me,” said Barb cheerfully.
“Ms. Moore,” said God, “is the reigning world record holder for being crucified and coming back to do it all over again.”
“Why?” asked Jesus. “I did it once and that was really enough.”
“It’s not really my choice,” said Barb. “I have a strong sense of injustice, and apparently no sense of self-preservation, and wherever I go I find either Wragg or TheHangingTree waiting to crucify me, hang me, guillotine me, etc.”
“Can’t you just stay dead and come and live in Heaven?” asked Jesus. “Now that I’ve done the saving thing, I think it sort of means Heaven is having a kind of “open house”.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Barb. “One of these days, my rebellions will work out, or I’ll find the ultimate bottle of Riesling in Wragg’s wine cellar, or I’ll make it out of the red states in Tree’s mustang. It’s not my fault that I run afoul of all these sadists. I keep saying that one of these lives, I’m going to find one that doesn’t get me killed.”
“YOU DON’T GET OUT OF LIFE ALIVE, YOU KNOW, BUT I DO ADMIRE THIS SORT OF MISGUIDED OPTIMISM,” said Jollyrei.
“Anyway, I had Barb drop in as a sort of re-life counsellor. She knows what it’s like to go back and have to do that life thing all over. And as an academic at the University of Virgin Martyrs, she will take a professional approach.”
“And is she?” asked Jesus.
“Is she what?” asked God.
“A virgin!” said Jesus. Wragg looked a bit uncomfortable. Barb just smiled prettily.
“I don’t think that’s a helpful question right now,” said God. “After all your own mother…”
“Right,” said Barb brightly, “so we’re going to do this resurrection thing. Anything you need me to explain before we begin. It’s actually not that hard. You get used to being that new you pretty quickly.”
“I expect so,” said Jesus.
“This is how it goes," said Barb. You’re crucified, you’re dead. A couple of days at Jolly’s place (the food is pretty good), and you’re back in your body, somewhere new, looking over your shoulder to see where the next trouble is coming from.”
“We’re doing it now?” asked Jesus. “The prophesy said ‘after three days’. I was crucified on Friday morning, so if you count Friday, that’s Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. After Sunday is Monday. Today is Sunday.
“MONDAY ISN’T GOOD FOR ME,” said Jollyrei. "I HAVE TO BE...PLACES."
“Look, nobody is going to notice,” said God. “They’ll rattle on about ‘after three days he rose again’, and nobody will even care.”
“They certainly won’t catch it in the Anglcan Church,” said Wragg. “They’ll be too busy trying to get to the after service coffee and hot cross buns before the kids from the church school eat them all.”
“My advice,” said Barb, “is to try to keep your clothes on, and stay away from people in yellow straw hats.”
“You have a problem keeping clothes on?” asked Jesus, going a bit pink in the face.
“Another question we don’t have time for,” said God, as Barb smiled again. “I’ve managed to fix the flogged skin, and I’ve sorted out the spear wound. Sorry, kid, you’re just going to have to have holes in your hands and feet. Only for 40 days, and it’s a quick job. Not like we’ll need that body for much longer.”
“I think we’re ready then,” said Wragg. Jollyrei snapped his fingerbones and Barb suddenly disappeared.
“SO, MR. CHRIST, IF YOU’LL JUST RELAX. THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS. YOU’LL WAKE UP IN A TOMB, WHICH CAN BE DISORIENTING. DON’T WORRY. I’VE SENT MS BARBARA DOWN AHEAD TO GATHER HER REBELS AND REMOVE THE STONE. DON’T WORRY ABOUT HER, SHE’S A PROFESSIONAL AND IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HER, I’LL PICK HER UP…AFTER CENTURION ARBORIUS CRUCIFIES HER…TOMORROW. DAMN IT, CAN’T SHE EVER ACCOMPLISH A MISSION WITHOUT GETTING KILLED?
“She’ll get the stone rolled away from the tomb though,” asked Jesus.
“ALMOST CERTAINLY,” said Jollyrei. He and Jesus faded out.
“You think this will work, do you?” asked Wragg.
“Oh, yes,” said God. “Bound to. Even so, let’s make sure the ascension is set up in 40 days.”
“Right,” said Wragg. “Is that done with helicopters?”
“Clouds I think,” said God.
“Oh, right.”
“Happy Easter, by the way,” said God.
“What do eggs and bunnies have to do with this?” asked Wragg.
“Don’t ask me,” said God. Maybe Odin/Wotan/whoever knows.”
FIN.
