CHAPTER 8
A few hundred miles south of the mansion, a lonely and troubled man sat in what is known as the Chair of Peter. For over thirty years Father Russo had craftily manipulated the Vatican. He had gained great support for his cloned messiah among the other members of the Catholic clergy. It was hard to stop Russo’s climb to Monsignor and then Bishop. Stopping the young Bishop would have been more like stopping a runaway train. The Pope sat, according to his memoirs, agonizing over the events that continued to unfold in front of him. These were events that he could not control and could not squash even in their earliest stages. He felt powerless against a force that he was unable to identify.
The Pope had held the clone at a distance. He was always afraid to embrace him or to meet with him because it would give credence and support to Jesus’ ministry. He wasn’t about to do that. With a quill pen and an inkwell he scratched this prayer across paper.
My Lord, I do not understand Your ways and yet I seek them. I have come to you begging on my knees, on my face, in fasting, in repentance and yet no answer has come. I have felt no peace about this man who bears the name and genetics of your true Son.
I have no peace about his deity. I have no peace about his purpose. I have no peace about his companions. Even scripture says in the Mark’s gospel, ‘And if any man shall say to you, Lo, here is Christ; or, lo, he is there; believe him not.’ If he is the Messiah, reveal this to me. Do not let me or the world be deceived. I cry unto You. I beg.
I still do not understand Your ways. They are higher than mine. In all of this, I feel no peace but I know that you control every aspect, every twist and the final outcome. I submit my will to Yours.”
On the same night that Maria confessed her confusion, the Holy Father wrote his prayer of confession and confusion. It was on the same night that Jesus started his ministry from a celebrity laden party that filled a mansion designed for monarchs. There was no John the Baptist. There was no baptism with a descending dove and no pronouncement of him being God’s son by a heavenly voice. There was no declaration that he was the lamb of God. No one ate locust or honey. Instead, champagne and martinis flowed and tiny sandwiches were fed into mouths.
I walked back inside through the garden doors and into the large dining area. Bishop Russo was standing on a chair to get the attention of the crowd. I looked around me at a sea of dignitaries, movie starts, world leaders and economic powers. They had come to meet, to be with, to celebrate with Jesus of Nazareth. How strange that the same type of powers that had crucified the body of Jesus barely more than two thousand years before stood at attention waiting for his entrance and blessing. If there had been palm fronds, I think they would have cast them down for Jesus to walk on.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, for thirty years, my friend Tom…excuse me, you know him as the Prophet Thompson and I have celebrated birthdays with our Lord Jesus. Tom and I laughed that only twenty-eight years ago, we had a group of clowns here to entertain him. Today, this room is filled with the world’s greatest politicians.”
A voice heckled from the crowd, “It hasn’t changed much, has it?”
Russo smiled. The comment was funny but inappropriate. They had come to celebrate the birthday of the Prince of Peace. “I’m sorry for that interruption. Tonight, we are going to do more than celebrate his thirty years of life. Tonight, Jesus is announcing his entrance into public ministry.”
Thompson and Russo never missed a chance for media coverage. The major cable news networks beamed Russo’s comments and Christ’s announcement around the world but not everyone considered Jesus the darling of their parties.
In the United States, a group of conservative pastors voiced their concerns in writing, in their churches and in media settings. The Protestant church was dividing over following the Messiah clone or rejecting him. The new Prince of Peace didn’t bring peace to the churches. Then again, I would have suspected that. They had such little unity to begin with. Most people blamed it on the fringe radical right.
It was the words of Christianity Today editor, Ken Sidee, that struck the hardest but had the greatest wisdom. He wrote in one of his editorials, “We are confronted with a new faith. For the first time, evangelicals who have said that faith is believing in the unseen not the seen, must deal with a Jesus that can be seen. We are left with two camps. Those who say, ‘To deny him is to be a Pharisee.’ And those who preach out, ‘To accept him is to be a fool.’ As yet, we have seen no sign that he is genuine but we have seen no sign that he is a charlatan either. As Jesus launches into his public ministry, we may see the truth. I believe, rather than the truth setting us free, it will polarize us even further. I pray, my prophecy does not come true.”
The conservative camps grew stronger over the thirty years. Yet with time even those divided and split. One group wanted to prepare for the coming “tribulation” spoken of in the Book of Revelation. They gave up homes, stopped using any traceable form of money or credit. Some groups moved into secret dwellings in the mountains.
I wasn’t aware of the battles that raged. In Zurich, Beth and I were quite comfortable. Only major news stories filtered into our home. Evangelical battles didn’t seem major to the media in Switzerland. Russo and Thompson never mentioned them either. It wasn’t until I began my research into the truth behind the messiah clone that I discovered the other factors.
I wandered through the crowd at the birthday party. Beth caught me from behind. She was still with Laura.
“How does Laura stay with that bag of wind Thompson?” I whispered into my wife’s ear next to her teardrop black pearl Tahitian earring. Then I turned my attention to our old friend. “Hello, Laura. It is really good to see you again.”
“Matthew, this is quite a night, isn’t it? I can’t believe the people who are here,” she rattled off as she shot her eyes from side to side. She was afraid to miss any one of the famous guests. “Tom would like you and Beth to come to breakfast tomorrow morning. The Bishop and Jesus will be joining us as well. Can you make it?”
Beth butted in, “I told her it was okay. We aren’t leaving till the afternoon, I believe.”
“Sure, Laura, it would be wonderful just to sit and talk with you. Have you talked to Maria tonight?” I asked.
“She seemed troubled about something. I think it’s hard for her to see her little boy grow up,” Laura answered.
What a stupid answer! Jesus was never her little boy. She was the vehicle for his birth. Russo had her stay around more like a wet nurse than a mother. The Bishop was mother, father and teacher to Jesus. I was glad to hear that Laura had no idea what was bothering Maria. I would have feared for Maria had she been talking further beyond me. I didn’t know why but I would have.
I heard applause and turned my head. Jesus had entered the room. It wasn’t quite palm branches but the clapping would have to do. I was surprised. It had been several months since I saw him last. The monthly visits were suspended a few years back. Jesus had let his hair grow out. It was a dark brown with a wave to it. His brown eyes were piercing. It was as if they looked into your soul. I don’t mean that in a trite way. It was really like that. He wasn’t quite six foot tall but the build of his body was solid. The personal trainers strict health and fitness routine was bearing strong fruit. As I entered I noticed he had, and not surprisingly, started a beard. It wasn’t filled in as spots of skin peaked through.
He raised his hands and everyone cheered. There was a euphoria in the room. I forgot even my own deep questions. I forgot Maria’s questioning. I was lifted with the moment. He dropped his hands and the room’s decibel level dropped. Even the sound of an ice cube clinking against a glass was overpowering. It was absolute silence. I thought back to the story of Jesus calming the storm. He told the sea to “shut up.” The waters obeyed and became placid. In the same way this modern day messiah commanded us to silence with a mere dropping of his hands. The crowd became placid.
“Blessed are the peacemakers. In my first incarnation, I spoke those words. But peace did not come instead the religious leaders of that age, the Jews, who will despise you, rejected my peaceful presence. They took my body and they nailed it to a cross. No peace was had. The world continued to wage war as it does even today. I have come again. This time, I have come to bring peace to the world.”
Applause rose as if timed for the cameras. It thundered. My head was hurting from the sound. It was also hurting from trying to understand what was going on around me. Russo’s face glowed like an attending angel slapping his hands together as if they were cherub’s wings. He was flying tonight. Jesus raised his hands and the audience hushed.
“In my daily time of prayer, the Father has led me to this day to make my announcement concerning my entrance into the ministry. In my first incarnation, I stood in the temple and read from the book of Isaiah. That announcement brought me ridicule and a near stoning, as it would most likely bring today. I do hope tonight my words fall on more receptive ears,” he said with a well-placed smile that reflected his well-placed tongue-in-cheek remark.
“Yes, yes,” the crowd screamed back. They erupted again into a clapping only this time the words “yes” and “amen” joined the swelling noises. I felt like I was trapped in the sea. The gentle swaying of the crowd made me nauseous but I didn’t want to leave.
I looked again at my handiwork. Jesus had grown strong with sharp Middle-eastern features. He looked Jewish. He looked like I imagined the Messiah had looked like. Here before me was the body and blood of Jesus but was the soul of Jesus there?
“Let me finish, I will begin my mission tomorrow. I depart for the United States soon with my good friend and co-worker, The Prophet Rev. Thomas Thompson. From that point I will appear wherever the spirit leads me. For I have come to bring a peace that passes all understanding to this world,” he ended his speech and stepped down off the platform erected for that time.
He passed through the crowd. World leaders greeted him, hugged him and promised their support. Jesus smiled. I watched him move so freely about people. He had something unique when it came to personalities. He read each person quickly and adjusted to be what they needed. I wouldn’t say it was chameleon-like. The shift happened more out of an intuitive response than from a desire to be loved. He had all the adoration he needed.
He brushed passed me. His dark eyes shot a glance towards me. Did he know what I was thinking? “Matthew, I am so glad you’re here. Why didn’t you and Beth come upstairs when you got here? Don’t tell me Russo has you believing that he has me on a short leash? I’ve missed our times together. My travels will be quite extensive so I won’t be around much but I’ll have the Prophet fly you to meet us on a regular basis. We’ll try to make it someplace warm so you can get that beautiful wife of yours out of dreary Zurich this time of the year.” He hugged me and turned to go on but as he took his first step, he moved his head towards me and said, “My spirit tells me that your spirit is very heavy. I’ll make sure I pray for you this evening.”
As he turned away a shifting shadow passed over him and hovered like a cloud. It was odd that in a room filled with lights from every direction that a solitary shadow would move so freely without being refracted. Jesus’ words and that shadow conflicted my soul deeply. Something churned and soured in my stomach and I raced for the marble balcony off the back of the mansion. I needed air. I needed pure, fresh air.