A Connecticut Yankee in King Jesus' Court - Part 2

Part 2 of 4.

TUESDAY

     The following morning Jerry Francis and his 1st century companions—Mordecai, Simon the Zealot, and the other two men—left the tiny room in which they were staying and made their way toward the Temple in Jerusalem. The previous evening had been frantic for Jerry. After being separated from the other men when a near-riot broke out in the Temple courtyard, caused when Jesus overturned the moneychangers’ tables and released all the doves before they could be sold, he did his best to retrace his steps back to the small, squalid room. At first Jerry thought he could find the run-down boarding house, but then the maze of narrow streets and alleys in ancient Jerusalem completely baffled him.
     Jerry must have wandered for two or three hours. He felt so lonely in this strange place during this strange time. He desperately wanted to be back in his suburban Connecticut home in the 21st century with his wife and kids. He was so despondent he almost prayed. But not having done so for over 20 years, he didn’t know how. And besides, he really didn’t believe it would do any good because, frankly, he didn’t believe in God. Jerry had no clue how he had been whisked away from his modern, New England world into 1st century Palestine. He had to admit during the past two days he was somewhat fascinated at seeing in person the man who seemed to be the historical Jesus Christ, but he didn’t believe any of the things he was taught about Jesus in the catechism classes of his youth, the superstitious, supernatural stories his wife Brenda sincerely embraced.
     Exhausted and frightened that previous evening, Jerry was just about to give up. Eventually he stopped walking and he sat down along the side of a narrow street with his back against a building. He began to weep. After about 20 minutes he heard a voice say, “Jeremiah! Is that you?”
     When Jerry looked up through teary eyes, he saw Mordecai. He was never so happy to see a familiar face. It was dusk, and in another ten minutes it would’ve been too dark for Mordecai to recognize him. “Oh, thank God!” Jerry blurted out, completely missing the irony of his statement. After Mordecai helped Jerry to his feet, he escorted him back to the small room. The rest of the band of zealots had already returned. They shared their meager rations of stale bread, dried fish, and weak wine. After eating, Jerry’s stomach still grumbled, as it had been doing since he arrived in this strange world. Jerry thought of the Boston Post Road back home that ran through the towns of Milford and Orange, with a seemingly endless stretch of fast food franchises and family restaurants. I’d give anything for a Big Mac right about now, he thought.
     The men talked long into the night about the day’s unexpected events. Jerry listened for a while, but fatigue overcame him and the smelly hay on the dirt floor seemed as luxurious as a king-sized bed at the Plaza Hotel. Jerry fell into a long and deep sleep.

*  *  *

     Now it was Tuesday morning. The men walked briskly toward the Temple. Jerry had to hurry to keep up with them. They continued to talk about the previous day’s events. From the bits and pieces of what Jerry heard, it seemed the main problem—at least from the point of view of Jewish zealots who wanted to wage war against Romans—was that there were no Romans. The soldiers who had caused the panic were Temple guards, all fellow Jews. The Romans rarely appeared in the Temple courtyard since Gentiles are forbidden to enter. That would really cause the people to riot. Jerry smiled and thought to himself, I guess I’d better not tell these guys I was born and raised Catholic, not that they would know what that word means—not that I really know what it means either.
     As they walked and talked, Simon the Zealot seemed very concerned. Some of the bits and pieces Jerry heard him say included, “Jesus didn’t say anything about the Romans,” “Why did he attack the Jewish merchants? We need them on our side,” and, “He’s not going to rally the people to fight Rome if he keeps talking only about spiritual things.”
     Jerry also heard some of Mordecai’s comments in response to Simon, such as, “Don’t worry, he knows what he’s doing,” “He has to act like he’s focused only on spiritual things so the Romans don’t get suspicious,” and, “When the right time comes, he surely will switch from preaching to fighting.”
     Although Jerry paid little attention during the catechism classes of his youth—and he summarily dismissed those lessons as nonsense when he became an adult—he did remember some of the stories. He walked a little quicker to catch up to Mordecai, and said quietly so as not to be overheard, “You know, Morty, you might be misjudging this Jesus. Like I told you the other day, I don’t think he has plans to fight the Romans.”
     “You too?” Mordecai said angrily. “Just because Jesus did not begin the revolt yesterday, you’re suddenly doubting that he wants to lead Israel?”
     “Well, I’m pretty sure he wants to lead,” Jerry said. “But not as a military leader. He’s a religious leader.”
     Mordecai laughed. “Throughout our history, our best leaders were both!” he said. “You have such little faith, Jeremiah. You remind me of my brother.”
     Finally, the men reached the Temple and entered through one of the ornate gates. The courtyards were just as crowded as the previous day. This time they found Jesus on the opposite side of the same open area, away from the moneychangers’ tables. A large crowd of common folk surrounded Jesus, but unlike yesterday, there were also about a dozen distinguished looking men nearby, decked out in fancy robes. These men appeared to be arguing with Jesus.
     Simon, Mordecai, Jerry, and the other men pushed their way forward to get as close to Jesus as possible. When they got within earshot, they heard one of the distinguished men say to Jesus, “Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar?”
     Jesus replied, “Why are you testing me? Bring me a denarius.” Someone in the crowd passed a small coin forward. Jesus took the coin and said, “Whose image and inscription is on this?”
     After hesitating for a moment, a couple of the distinguished men said, “Caesar’s.”
     Jesus turned and spoke loudly so the whole crowd could hear him: “Then give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God!”
     The distinguished men appeared stunned. They glanced at each other with quizzical expressions and said nothing. The other people nearby, who at first seemed just as confused by Jesus’ statement, began to cheer when they noticed that Jesus had silenced his adversaries.
     Jerry nudged Mordecai and said, “Who are those guys?”
     Mordecai answer in a slow monotone, as if his mind was preoccupied with a completely different thought. “They are the chief priests, scribes, and elders,” he said.
     Just as Mordecai finished speaking, Simon spun around and put his face inches from Mordecai’s. “Did you hear what he said?!” Simon shouted angrily. “He said, ‘Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar’! What does that mean?! According to the Romans, everything belongs to Caesar. In addition to our taxes, are we suppose to give Caesar our homes, our animals, our children, and our lives, too?!”
     “I don’t know what it means, Simon,” Mordecai said, a pained expression on his face.
     “I can’t believe it!” Simon shouted, his face turning red as he spoke. “Jesus just told us to pay taxes to Rome! He’s a traitor!”
     Mordecai tried to calm Simon down, but his heart wasn’t into it. He felt hurt and confused by Jesus’ words. Then Simon looked past Mordecai into the crowd and his eyes opened wide with recognition. “Iscariot!” he yelled. “Over here! Hey Judas!”
     Simon pushed between Mordecai and Jerry, and a moment later came back dragging a tall, thin man with a terrified look on his face. “This is Judas the Iscariot,” Simon said to the others while forcing a cordial smile. “Maybe he can explain Jesus’ words for us.”
     Mordecai stared at Judas, then glanced quickly at Simon and arched is eyebrows in surprise. Mordecai was amazed that Simon would even acknowledge Judas, let alone speak to him in a friendly voice. Mordecai had spent many nights listening to Simon complain about his fellow disciples, asking how someone as brilliant and shrewd as Jesus could’ve chosen so many ignorant men to be his trusted inner circle. Simon referred to most of them as “blockhead fishermen” who didn’t even realize they were being oppressed by Rome. However, when it came to Judas the Iscariot, Simon admitted that he was an intelligent man, but referred to him derisively as “the coward.” According to Simon the Zealot, Judas the Iscariot was afraid of his own shadow. Judas would not take any risks at all.
     “So, Judas, my friend,” Simon said, his attempt at camaraderie quite unconvincing. “You understand Jesus better than those fishermen. What did he mean by, ‘Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar’?”
      “I, I don’t know,” Judas stammered nervously. “I don’t know anything anymore. I thought I understood Jesus. Really, I did. But now, I… he…” Judas closed his eyes and hung his head.
     “Now, now, old friend,” Simon said. “Surely you have some idea. Let’s talk about it.”
     Judas looked up toward Simon and was about to speak, but then he noticed some scribes and Pharisees nearby. A wave of fear swept across his face. “Not here,” he said. “It’s not safe here.”
     “OK,” Simon said. “Let’s find a quiet place. Where shall we go?”
     Mordecai and Jerry watched this scene in silent amazement. Mordecai was confused, and wondered what Simon was doing. He wondered even more what Jesus was doing. Jerry looked at the scribes and Pharisees who so obviously instilled fear in Judas. He looked around the vast courtyard and the diverse crowd. A feeling of paranoia came over him. He shuddered involuntarily. The idea of a quiet place suddenly sounded very attractive.

WEDNESDAY

     Early Wednesday morning Jerry Francis and his companions, Mordecai and Simon the Zealot, left their smelly room in the squalid boarding house and walked through a maze of shadowy streets and alleyways in old Jerusalem. With each passing day since he arrived in this place, 20 centuries removed from his life in suburban Connecticut, Jerry thought less and less about home and more and more about the situation in which he was immersed. Oh, he certainly thought about his previous life, especially at night just before falling asleep. Jerry would shed tears as he longed to embrace his wife Brenda and his children Michael and Jennifer. Then each morning he woke up thinking for a moment that he was back in his own bed, in the 3-bedroom raised ranch on a cul-de-sac in Hamden. But one look around the dark and dank room made him realize he was still in Jerusalem, and his heart sank.
     As Mordecai and Simon continued to plot the overthrow of the hated Roman occupiers, expecting Jesus of Nazareth to be their inspirational leader, Jerry wracked his brain to remember the details he was taught about Jesus in the catechism classes of his youth. I wish I had gone to church with Brenda once in a while, he thought to himself, frustrated that he had given the topic absolutely no thought in a least 20 years. But Jerry had a good excuse for not giving Jesus any thought for such a long time: he truly believed it was all fairy tales. Now that he was thrust into the middle of these events by some inexplicable cosmic force, the idea that it was all fairy tales seemed quite foolish. He was seeing the various incidents unfold right before his own eyes. Other than knowing that Jesus would be crucified on Friday, however, Jerry was vague about any other particulars.
     For at least the hundredth time in the last three days Jerry reached for his right hip. Then he paused and shook his head with a frustrated grin. Oh yeah, he thought, I can’t do a Google search about the details of Holy Week because I don’t have an iPhone anymore. And even if I did, the Internet won’t exist for another 2,000 years.
     The three men came to a doorway at the end of an especially narrow alley. Simon gave three quick raps on the door and waited impatiently while the door was unbolted from within. When the door started to swing open slowly, Simon and Mordecai pushed it forcefully, and quickly entered the building. Jerry followed more cautiously. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he saw that it was Judas the Iscariot who had let them in. This was the meeting the men had planned the previous day while in the Temple courtyard. Jerry thought to himself, Hey, I also know something about Judas. He betrays Jesus…I think.
     “I wasn’t sure if you would still be here,” Simon said to Judas with a sneer.
     “Where else would I be?” Judas replied.
     “I fully expected that you’d flee Jerusalem in fear and return to your hometown,” Simon answered. Mordecai looked at Simon and then looked toward Judas and vigorously nodded his head in agreement.
     Judas shrugged his shoulders and offered a crooked smile. Apparently being accused of cowardice was a common occurrence, one to which Judas had grown accustomed.
     Simon got right down to business. “OK,” he said, “we’re alone. There are no scary Pharisees or scribes around. So, Judas, my friend, what exactly is Jesus doing? Why did he say we must give to Caesar what is Caesar’s? How is he going to rally the people behind him? How is he going to lead us to victory if he acknowledges that the Roman occupation of Israel is legitimate?”
     “Simon, Simon,” Judas said. “I told you yesterday, I don’t know. I truly don’t know. You and I have been with Jesus day-in and day-out for almost three years. And as we’ve discussed quite often—sometimes to the point of you wanting to strike me—my views about Jesus’ mission are very different than your views. I’ve never thought he had any plans to drive the Romans out of Israel.”
     On hearing this Jerry nodded his head in agreement. Mordecai noticed and gave Jerry an angry scowl.
     “Well, what is his mission then, if you’re so smart?” Simon growled.
     “I wish I knew!” Judas exclaimed as he wrung his hands. “I thought I understood. I thought Jesus was here to bring healing to our shattered nation. Emotional healing. Spiritual healing. Physical healing. You saw the miracles, Simon. You saw those cripples walk, those blind men see, those lepers completely cured. You saw those thousands of people feast on a few loaves of bread. You saw him walk on water. Jesus has been given divine power from on high. I thought he was going to use those powers to bring peace and prosperity to our land; peace and prosperity despite the Romans. I thought he was going to show us how to be happy and content and full of life, even as the Roman army occupies our nation. I thought he was going to give us freedom in our hearts and our minds and our souls.”
     “Oh that’s nonsense!” Simon yelled. “You are a fool! There is no freedom as long as Romans take our property, rape our daughters, throw us in prison without charge, and terrorize our villages. The only useful thing Jesus can do is employ his divine powers to drive the Roman army out of our land. How can you possibly think we can be ‘free’ while still under the yoke of Rome?”
     Judas took a deep breath and hung his head. He said quietly, “I no longer think that’s possible anymore. I am indeed a fool, Simon. I thought Jesus would teach our nation how to have inner peace despite all our hardships. But now I know that is not his plan.”
     “What IS his plan?” Mordecai asked.
     “Jesus’ plan is simple,” Judas said matter-of-factly. “Jesus plans to die.”
     Simon and Mordecai looked at each other in confusion. Jerry stared at Judas with fascination.
     “Well, um, all good Jews are willing to die, if need be, to save our nation and further God’s kingdom,” Simon said. “Is that what you mean?”
     “No,” Judas said. “Of course all Jews must be ready to give up their lives for Israel and for God. But Jesus WANTS to die. And soon. He’s planning it right now. He has become so deluded, he somehow thinks his death will do something wonderful for our nation.”
     “Wonderful?” Simon said angrily. “The only way someone’s death can be wonderful is if he kills four or five Romans in the process. Is that what Jesus is planning?”
     “Hardly,” Judas laughed. “He has no interest in military things. I was correct early on when I realized this. You have never accepted this fact about Jesus, Simon. When he said, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,’ you were deaf. When he said, ‘Turn the other cheek,’ You only heard what you wanted to hear. There will be no revolt against Rome. At least no revolt led by Jesus.”
     “Raca!” Simon swore as he slapped his hand against the wall in frustration. “So, I’ve wasted three years of my life following that man?! You’re saying he will not use his amazing powers to free our nation?!”
     “Simon, he will not use his powers even to free himself,” Judas said. “He wants to die. He thinks he is the ‘lamb of God.’ He thinks he is the true Passover sacrifice. He wants his own blood to be spilled as some sort of sacrifice.”
     As Simon and Mordecai paced around the room, muttering to each other, Jerry watched Judas. Jerry’s mind raced as he tried to piece together fragments of information he was taught long ago about the Gospels.
     When Simon and Mordecai began speaking to each other in a far corner of the room, Jerry leaned toward Judas and quietly said, “Did he really walk on water?”
     Judas smiled. “Oh yes,” he answered. “He’s done many other miraculous things.”
     Jerry nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, “By the way, I think you’re right. What you’re saying about Jesus sounds kind of right.”
     Judas smiled weakly at Jerry. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what Jesus is planning to do.” He took a deep breath then added, “So that’s why I have to stop him.”
     Jerry mouth hung open. “Oh wait,” he stammered. “No, don’t do it.”
     “Do what?” Judas asked.
     “Don’t betray him,” Jerry said.
     “Betray him?” Judas said with a laugh. “I’d never betray him. I love him. I want to save him. Save him from himself.”
     Simon and Mordecai walked back to the middle of the room. “This meeting is a waste of time,” Simon said. “Nothing you say makes sense, Iscariot. I have to find out what Jesus is really planning to do.”
     “Well, if you don’t believe me,” Judas said, “ask him yourself. Tomorrow night is the Passover. You can ask him when we all gather at sundown.” Then Judas added, “I have to leave now, anyway.”
     “Where are you going?” Simon asked. “To buy supplies for the Passover meal?”
     “Uh, yes,” Judas said while glancing sideways to avoid eye contact.
     “C’mon, let’s go meet up with some of the others and try to figure out our next move,” Simon said to Mordecai and Jerry.
     As the three men walked through the doorway and into the now sunny alleyway, Jerry turned back and said to Judas, “Don’t do it.”
     “Do what?” Judas asked again.
     “Don’t meet with…” Jerry paused, his brain struggling to find the right words. “…with the High Priest.”
     Judas’ eyes bulged wide in surprise. Absolutely no one else knew of Judas’ scheduled meeting later that day with the supreme religious leader of Israel. Jerry’s eyes also expressed surprise. How did I come up with “High Priest”? he asked himself, amazed that a tiny fragment of information from a distant 7th grade catechism class had emerged from the depths of his brain.
     Simon and Mordecai walked up the alleyway, and Jerry started to follow. As Jerry walked, he looked over his shoulder and stared at Judas, who was standing in the doorway returning the stare. As they continued to look into each other’s eyes, both men felt waves of anxiety well up inside.

To be continued.....

More Observations About the Coronavirus Crisis

Here are more random thoughts as we face the “new normal” of constant hand-washing, no face touching, and lots and lots of anxiety.

• Barbershops and hair salons were some of the first businesses to be shut down. So, I figure by the end of April, we’re all going to start looking like something out of the 1970s; that is, really shaggy. Well, not all of us. For those of you who mocked my Flow-bee, who’s laughing now?

 

• With so many people out of work or working from home during this coronavirus emergency, sales of the following items have plummeted: deodorant and pants. After all, with an online video conference, they can’t smell you or see you from the waist down. But sales of other items have sky-rocketed: slippers and vodka. (A meme I saw online explained, “Working at home means staying just sober enough to respond to emails.”)
• Now that we’re all in the habit of washing our hands every 10 minutes and not touching our faces, maybe something good will come out of this pandemic. Hopefully, we are developing much better personal hygiene habits, and next winter the number of people who get common colds and the regular flu will decrease. On the other hand, how many of you are like me, and unconsciously rub your nose and then shriek, “Oh no! What did I just do?!” and then run down to the basement and dunk your head in a bucket of Clorox?

 

• Some people are calling this situation World War III. But at least with World War II back in the 1940s, people actually could DO something, such as join the Marines, or work in a factory assembling tanks, or organize scrap metal drives (like Jimmy Stewart did in “It’s a Wonderful Life”). For this new war, the only things we can DO are wash our hands a lot, don’t touch our faces, and anxiously sit around the house waiting to get sick. If we’re going to be at war, I prefer a non-microscopic-sized enemy.
• A lot of people are glued to TV news, watching every hysterical doom-and-gloom report about the pandemic. I suggest taking a break from the constant stress-mongering on TV, at least for one day each week. First, read the Republican-American newspaper in the morning for a good summary. Then listen to WJMJ radio for a while. And then, for the rest of the day, turn off the news. Instead, watch a movie, preferably a black-and-white one starring Jimmy Stewart. Then read a book for a while and take a nap. Then go for a walk. In other words, just tune out the news for one day. It will do wonders for your mental health.

 

• An even better idea is to start a journal. Grab a notebook or sit down at your computer and put your thoughts and fears into words. Call it “The Corona Chronicles” or “The Dystopian Diaries.” Address your journal to your kids or grandkids 30 years from now. Write down your fears and anxieties. Describe the situation in detail. Explain what you miss most about being stuck at home all day. Talk about the people you long to see (and be honest and mention the ones you’re kind of glad you CAN’T see right now). Describe what you will do and who you will hug first when the “all clear” is finally sounded. This writing exercise will engage your brain much better than staring at the TV for hours on end, plus reduce your stress and anxiety. Who knows? It might turn out that you’re a pretty good writer. But please don’t apply for the Friday morning humor column slot — that’s mine. 

God bless, and please be safe.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Jesus' Court - Part 1

Greetings!

This is a short story I wrote a while back, called "A Connecticut Yankee in King Jesus' Court." (And yes, it's a total ripoff of Mark Twain's classic time-travel novel.)

I thought this might be appropriate for Holy Week, especially during this bizarre moment in history when we can't celebrate the Easter Triduum with our friends and loved ones in church. (No, really, Triduum is an actual word. Look it up.)

 Take care, and God bless.

-Bill

SUNDAY

     Jerry Francis gazed at the stars, twinkling brightly against the pitch black sky. How pretty, he thought. Then his attention shifted as he realized thorns were poking him in the back. A moment later his thoughts changed once again, and Jerry now wondered why he was lying in a briar patch staring at the sky, why his mind seemed to be operating in slow motion, and what in the world was that odd hissing sound?
     Lifting his head slowly, Jerry looked toward the curious noise. He saw the silhouette of a car about 20 feet away, with the driver’s door flung open. Steam spewed from the spot where the crumpled front end pressed against a large maple tree. Fragments of information began to drift into Jerry’s foggy brain: he had been watching a baseball game on TV at his friend Vinny’s house. He never called home to tell his wife Brenda where he was. It was after midnight when he finally left. He was driving fast along the deserted state highway and rehearsing out loud what he hoped would be a believable excuse. And that’s all he could remember.
     Jerry raised his hand and gently touched the lump on the top of his forehead. No wonder everything’s foggy, he thought. The next thought to pop into his mind was, I’ve got to get back to the road and flag down another car. He lurched into the sitting position and immediately saw more stars as the blood drained from his head. “Oh no,” he mumbled, “Don’t faint now…” But it was too late. The last sensation he felt before losing consciousness was the tingle of thorns poking him again as he flopped onto his back.

*  *  *

     Jerry felt the bright sunshine before he actually saw it. As he emerged from his long and deep slumber, the warmth of the sun baked against his face. A few moments later, as his eyes started flickering behind closed lids, he saw vivid red colors. When he opened his eyelids ever-so-slightly, blinding white light streamed in, causing Jerry to cup his hand over his face. As he lay there, trying desperately to remember exactly where he was and exactly how he had gotten there, another curious sound filled his ears: the growing crescendo of a large group of people shouting, which reminded him of the crowd at Yankee Stadium when the bases were loaded and the cleanup hitter was striding toward the plate.
     As Jerry wondered why a crowd of people would be gathered along a rural state highway in the suburbs of New Haven, a clear voice pierced the air from no more than a few feet away. “Jeremiah! Jeremiah!” the voice said. Then Jerry felt a hand grab his shoulder. “Jeremiah! Why are you sleeping?! Come on, get up. He’s almost here!”
     With help from the mysterious hand, Jerry slowly sat up and carefully peeked through the fingers still covering his face. He saw the blurry form of a man kneeling beside him.
     “Are you…are you the ambulance driver?” Jerry asked slowly.
     “Were you drinking wine all night?” came the terse reply. As Jerry thought to himself, No, I only had a few beers at Vinny’s, the voice continued, “It’s me, Mordecai, and the man I told you about last night, Jesus of Nazareth, is here! He’s entering into Jerusalem! Can’t you hear the crowds?!”
     Jerry eyes were finally adjusting to the bright sunshine, and he took a long look around at his surroundings. What he saw almost caused the blood to drain from his head again.
     Yes, there was a crowd of people there, hundreds of folks lining each side of the road. But Jerry no longer wondered why a crowd was gathered on a rural state highway—despite their curious clothing—because he was too busy wondering why the road was no longer paved and how all the maple and pine trees had turned into palm trees.
     The man called Mordecai helped Jerry to his feet. As he stood, Jerry looked down and noticed he was wearing a long tan robe and had sandals on his feet. “What the— Where’re my jeans? My Nikes?” he said. Jerry paused and looked at the excited crowd waving palm branches. “Toto,” he whispered to himself, “We’re not in Connecticut anymore.”
     “Oh, here he comes!” Mordecai yelled.
     The shouting grew louder and some people stepped forward and spread palm branches and articles of clothing in the center of the dusty road. A small procession came into view. Above the roar, Jerry heard people, including Mordecai, proclaim in unison, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”
     The procession came near Jerry’s spot along the road. Not exactly the Rose Bowl parade, he thought. About ten bearded men were in the lead, holding palm branches and waving to the crowd. Next was the obvious center of attention, a man riding sidesaddle on a donkey. Another eight or ten men brought up the rear, with some women and children following in their wake, and that was the entire show.
     When the donkey was directly in front of Jerry, the rider looked straight at him and smiled. A cold chill ran down Jerry’s spine as the man’s gentle gaze seemed to penetrate his soul. “Whoa, wait a minute,” he said, as the last bit of fogginess vanished from his brain. “This looks just like…” his voice trailed off as he tried to recall the details of his childhood Catechism classes. “But, but it can’t be,” he said. “That was 2,000 years ago.”
     For a moment, Jerry wished he had accompanied his wife and kids to church once in a while. But then he quickly remembered why he never went to church: he simply didn’t believe any of it. “Oh, I’m sure there was a guy named Jesus,” he would tell Brenda whenever she brought up the subject, “but all that stuff about miracles is a bunch of fairy tales.”
     “Isn’t he wonderful?!” Mordecai shouted, interrupting Jerry’s thoughts. “Jesus will be the new king of Israel! He’s going to lead us in a violent revolt against the Romans, just like I told you last night!”
      “What do you mean, ‘last night’?” Jerry asked. “Last night I was watching a Yankees game on Vinny’s big-screen TV.”
     “Last night you were with me,” Mordecai replied, “at the secret meeting of the Zealots. You pledged your life to help us overthrow the Romans.” As Mordecai spoke, he carefully opened the front of his cloak and revealed two sharp daggers hanging from his belt. “And here’s the weapon I promised to give you.”
     Mordecai carefully passed one of the 12-inch blades to Jerry, who held it by the handle between thumb and forefinger as if it were a dead mouse. “Ohh-kaaay,” Jerry said slowly. “Someday you’ll have to fill me in on the details of what I did last night.”
     “Hide it in your cloak,” Mordecai ordered urgently. “You know we’re not allowed to have weapons. We’ll be arrested if they catch us!”
     Jerry nervously fumbled with the dagger and concealed it in his robes, relieved that no blood was drawn in the process.
     “Now, come on,” Mordecai said. “Let’s follow Jesus and meet up with our brother revolutionaries. Maybe the battle against the Romans will begin today!”
     “Wait a minute, Morty,” Jerry stammered as he grabbed Mordecai’s arm, “I, uh, I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but I think I have an idea who this Jesus is, and you gotta trust me, it’s not gonna happen that way.”
     “What do you mean?” Mordecai asked.
     “I, I don’t think Jesus is going to lead an army and drive out the Romans,” Jerry replied. “At least—if I understand what Sister Mary Margaret taught me twenty-five years ago—not in this world. In fact, Morty, by Friday this whole crowd is going to demand that Jesus be put to death!”
     “You were drinking all night!” Mordecai laughed. “How are you going to kill Romans with your head filled with wine?”
     Jerry couldn’t think of an answer—he couldn’t even comprehend the question—but the idea of a stiff drink sounded pretty good. Mordecai put his arm around Jerry’s shoulders and the two men began walking up the dusty road toward the center of Jerusalem. As they walked, Jerry shook his head in amazement. “Man,” he said softly, “Brenda is never gonna believe this excuse.”

MONDAY

     A smile spread across Jerry Francis’ face as he slept. He was having a vivid dream. In the dream, Jerry and his family were laughing and playing in the backyard of their suburban Connecticut home. Jerry was pitching Whiffle balls to his son Michael, age seven, who took mighty swings with a yellow plastic bat. Jerry’s wife Brenda and their daughter Jennifer, age nine, retrieved the balls and offered encouragement and the occasional playful taunt whenever Michael swung and missed.
     Then Jerry’s dream became murky. He seemed to hear low, rumbling sounds that enveloped the entire backyard. Then Brenda, Michael, and Jennifer began to fade from his sight. Jerry wanted to yell, “Wait, come back! Don’t go!” but he was immobile and unable to speak. His family completely disappeared from view. Now the low rumbling sounds became more distinct, and were transformed into actual words.
     “Wake. Up. Jeremiah.”
     Jerry grunted in confusion. “Wake up,” he heard more clearly now. The dream was over, and consciousness took control of his brain. Jerry opened is eyes and saw Mordecai towering above him.
     “Wake up, Jeremiah,” Mordecai said again.
     “I’m up, I’m up,” Jerry grunted, not really sure whether he was still dreaming or indeed awake. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked around. He saw Mordecai standing next to him, and there were two other men on the far side of the small room. The full effect of the dank and smelly air now hit Jerry’s nostrils. He winced. Then he looked down and realized he was lying on a pile of straw on top of the dirt floor. “What the—” he muttered. “This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare.”
     Jerry sat up and yawned. He looked around the room again, now with more focused eyes. All the images of the previous day flooded back to him. Vinny’s house. Yankees game. Car accident. Dirt road. Palm trees. Mordecai. Daggers. Jerusalem. Jesus. Jesus? Did I really see Jesus yesterday? Jerry thought. What is going on here?! Suddenly he longed for his family. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to force his brain to return to the dream, to Brenda and Mikey and Jenny and the Whiffle ball and the backyard. Tears seeped between his eyelids and trickled down his cheeks.
     “Jeremiah, I have great news!” Mordecai said loudly, startling Jerry into opening his eyes. “I just found out that Jesus is going to the Temple courtyards today. Come on, we must hurry.” He reached down and grabbed Jerry’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Maybe today will be the day we get to kill some Romans, eh?” Mordecai added in a cheery voice.
     “Kill Romans? I don’t wanna kill Romans,” Jerry said softly. “I wanna hug Brenda. I wanna play Whiffle ball with my kids. I wanna go home.”
     Just then a loud rapping sound came from the door. “He’s here!” Mordecai said excitedly.
One of the other men in the room went to the door and cautiously said, “Who is it?”
     “It’s me, Simon,” came the reply. “Hurry, open up!” Upon hearing this, the man inside the room slid back the bolt and pulled the door open. A small, wiry man hurried through the doorway and shut the door tightly behind him.
     The men in the room greeted the man with handshakes and hugs. Then the man noticed Jerry standing against the wall and said suspiciously, “Who’s he?”
     Mordecai said, “His name is Jeremiah. Don’t worry, Simon, he’s one of us.” Then Mordecai grabbed Jerry’s arm and pulled him forward. “Simon,” he said, “I want you to meet Jeremiah. Jeremiah from, uh, where’d you say you’re from again?”
     “Hamden,” Jerry answered.
     “Jeremiah of Hamden,” Mordecai said. “And Jeremiah, this is Simon, but some people call him ‘The Zealot.’”
     Simon reached out and shook Jerry’s hand. He smiled at Jerry and said, “Hamden, where’s that, near Joppa by the Sea?”
     “Um yeah, Joppa, New Haven, Bridgeport, whatever,” Jerry mumbled.
     “So you’re one of us, huh?” Simon said. “And you want to kill Romans as much as we do?”
     Jerry hesitated and said, “Well, I, uh, the thing is—”
     “Of course he wants to kill Romans!” Mordecai bellowed confidently. “He is a fine addition to our group.” Then turning to Jerry, Mordecai explained, “Simon is the one who told us all about the Nazarene, Jesus. Simon told us that Jesus plans to usher in a new kingdom in Israel. And you know what that means, don’t you, Jeremiah? It means the Romans will be gone, and we’ll have our nation to ourselves once again! And the best part is,” Mordecai continued, “Simon is one of Jesus’ disciples. Not just part of the big crowd that follows him, but part of his inner circle, his hand-picked twelve disciples.”
     “That’s right,” Simon said with a nod. “It’s just too bad the other disciples are so dense. They don’t understand Jesus’ full potential. They’re more focused on prayers and sermons, so they don’t realize Jesus has the charisma to inspire our nation to take up arms and drive the hated Romans from our land forever!”
     At this, all the men in the room offered up a hearty cheer. Jerry looked around the room nervously and forced a smile when he made eye contact with one of the other men.
     “Come on,” said Mordecai. “We must go.”

*  *  *

     Jerry walked past the massive columns of the Temple, gazing upward with the same astonished expression he had displayed as an eight-year-old when his father took him to Yankee Stadium for the first time. The Temple courts were buzzing with activity. The five men had to navigate through thick crowds. Then Simon called out, “There he is. Follow me!”
     The men changed direction and pushed their way across a wide courtyard. The crowd became so thick they could hardly move. Jerry looked up and saw a man standing above the throng. He must be on a platform or some steps, Jerry thought. They pushed a little closer, then Jerry heard the man shout, “It is written, ‘My house will be called a house of prayer.’ But you have made it a den of thieves!”
     The crowd shouted with approval. Then Jerry saw the man step to his side, and with a quick, fluid motion, he clutched the edge of a table and flipped it over. Coins went flying in all directions. The crowd responded with a roar twice as loud as before. The man kept moving, slapping items off other tables as men in ornate robes jumped out of the way in shock. Frantic cries of distress could be heard amid the steady roar of the crowd.
     The man came to a stack of what appeared to be wooden crates. He yanked the flimsy sides off the crates and dozens of birds fluttered out and begin to fly in circles overhead. The crowd roared again. Jerry stood nearby, his mouth agape, and said to himself, That must be Jesus. Wow.
     The people whose merchandise had been scattered finally overcame their shock and begin moving toward Jesus. But before they reached him, Jesus grabbed a piece of rope and swung it like a whip. He started thrashing the rope back and forth, and the other men instantly changed direction and retreated.
     The crowd became frenzied. In addition to the loud roar, people began to move toward Jesus. Mordecai hugged Jerry and yelled, “This is it! The revolution begins now!” He opened the front of his robe to reveal the dagger hanging from his belt. He took hold of the weapon and shouted with ecstatic glee, “Let us liberate Israel! Let us spill the blood of the Romans!!” He ran forward leaving Jerry behind.
     Jerry pressed his arm along the side of his body and felt his dagger. He left the weapon safely hidden underneath his robe.
     Just then squadrons of soldiers entered the courtyard area from two different directions. The soldiers pushed their way toward the overturned tables and the empty crates. The crowd hissed and booed. Jerry looked at the soldiers, who were dressed in strange black hats and tunics. He thought to himself, They don’t look like Roman soldiers—at least not the Roman soldiers I’ve seen in history books and Hollywood movies.
     Jerry saw a soldier strike someone with the butt end of a long spear. Another person was pushed to the ground. The crowd’s sound changed from a high-pitched roar of excitement to a lower pitched rumble of fear. A wave of humanity began to pulsate toward Jerry. “Uh oh,” he muttered. “Panic time. This is starting to look like a European soccer riot.” Jerry turned and moved as quickly as he could back in the direction he came from.
     After a few minutes of frantically scrambling to stay ahead of the wave, Jerry ducked around a corner and climbed up onto a short wall. The sea of terrified people rushed by. Within ten minutes, the frenzy was over. The vast courtyard was quiet again, with a handful of people milling about. Some assisted those who had stumbled. Others laid motionless. I bet they’re dead, Jerry thought. The soldiers regrouped against a far wall, and then exited.
     Jerry hopped down from the low wall and made his way out of the Temple courtyards. When he came to an intersection, he stopped and looked around the strange and ancient city. “Now what do I do?” he said out loud. Tears began to well up in his eyes.
     He walked down a long, straight street, which he remembered as the road they traveled to come to the Temple. I guess I should try to find Mordecai, he thought. I guess I should go back to that small room—if I can even find it.

To be continued.....

Christ Is Risen! Do Not Doubt It

This week we celebrate Easter Sunday. Except, we are celebrating at home, watching Mass on TV, and practicing “social distancing.” So, for the first time in, oh, about 2,000 years, most of Christendom is unable to gather with fellow believers to celebrate the Resurrection.

But you know what? Just because we have to stay home, we still can proclaim: “Alleluia! Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!”

 

I am amazed by people who truly do NOT believe Jesus rose from the dead, and yet are still convinced Christianity is a wonderful religion. These folks believe that Jesus taught some terrific things about social and moral issues, and if we all just would follow those teachings the world would be a much better place.

Now, there’s no doubt in my mind that if we all followed Jesus’ teachings the world indeed would be a much better place. But Jesus’ view on charity, compassion, and society’s obligation to the poor was not His main message—nor was it a new message, as many philosophies before and after the time of Jesus had “love your neighbor” and “do unto others” as the basis of social morality.

Jesus’ main message was Himself. Specifically, that He alone could forgive our sins, He alone could pay the price for our transgressions by dying on the cross, and He alone—pay close attention here—could conquer death once and for all by rising from the grave.

St. Paul makes it abundantly clear that without the Resurrection, Christianity is nothing special. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul wrote: “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then neither has Christ been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then empty, too, is our preaching; empty, too, your faith….For if the dead are not raised, Christ has not been raised, and your faith is vain; you are still in your sins. Then those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If only for this life have we hoped in Christ, we are the most pitiable people of all” (1 Cor 15:13-14, 16-19).

That really says it all: if Jesus did not in fact rise from the grave, our Christian faith is pitiful, pathetic, useless.

 

So, as I said, it really amazes me that there are so many people who say something like, “Well, we all know that sophisticated, modern people understand that a resurrection can’t really happen. But that’s OK, as long as we focus on Jesus’ wonderful teachings about love and forgiveness, and hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya,’ then the whole world will be happy.”

Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. If Jesus’ body remained dead and rotting in the tomb, then in the grand scheme of things, our faith is worthless. Oh sure, this brand of Christianity might make people feel good for a while, but it is powerless over mankind’s biggest problem: death.

If you, too, are having trouble accepting the claim that Jesus really rose from the dead, don’t fret; you’re in good company. After all, it is a very startling claim, which flies in the face of everything we experience in our day-to-day lives. But don’t forget: what makes a miracle a miracle is the fact it is rare. If it occurred every day, it wouldn’t be a miracle!

The fact that we exist is a divine miracle. Our minds, our emotions, our physical bodies are far too complex to have come into existence without the supernatural creative power of God. So, this tells us that miracles can occur.

 

If the Almighty Creator can create life out of non-living material, He certainly can bring back to life a person who has died, if He so chooses. And that’s exactly what He did, 2,000 years ago, in a graveyard on the outskirts of Jerusalem! Alleluia!

So, on this celebration of the most momentous event in world history, the Resurrection, let’s focus on the risen Lord. It is true, He has truly risen! The reality of the Resurrection not only make Christianity vibrant and powerful, it also gives us hope and joy. Alleluia! Christ is risen. He is risen indeed!

Observations from the Basement

If you were in a coma for the past month and just woke up today and watched the news on TV, would you prefer to stay awake or go back into a coma? Hmm, tough choice.

Here are some random thoughts about the “new normal,” that is, living with the anxiety and uncertainty of the coronavirus pandemic.

We are all encouraged to practice anti-social behavior. Yes, I know the correct term is “social distancing.” But, if before the pandemic occurred, we were behaving in a social way, and now we are not allowed to do that, then by definition our behavior is “anti-social.” Good thing for me I’ve been practicing anti-social behavior for decades.

 

Many people have been working from home, our as I like to call it, “What haven’t I watched on Netflix yet?” Because of telephones and the Internet, a lot of people are able to get work done from home. But there are frustrating moments, such as when you say to yourself, “Oh no, I need to scan this document, but I don’t have a scanner here.” Or, “Uh oh, I need to print 30 pages, but my cheap, little printer is just about out of ink.” Or, “Hey, do I have to make my own coffee now?!”

In addition, many folks have their kids at home, since school classes having been cancelled through approximately 2027. The home environment can be so infuriating and distracting, many workers end up succumbing to the siren call of Netflix.

Speaking of television, this is the first time in history, or at least since Abe Lincoln was president, that there are no live sporting events on TV. Over the years, many young brides have asked their husbands, “Honey, are you going to watch ANOTHER ball game?” The reply always was, “This is an important playoff game, dear. But the finals will be over next week.” However, the naïve young lady soon learned that once those playoffs ended, the playoffs for a different sport were set to begin. The process continued for all 12 calendar months, year after year after year.

 

But now, what do we have to watch? Replays of the Mets vs. Phillies in 2002, the Celtics vs. Rockets in 1988, and panel discussions with Bob Costas offering WAY too many details about his boyhood crush on Mickey Mantle. If there was a live game being broadcast right now, even a Tee-ball game with 6-year-olds, I’d be riveted to the tube.

Because the world economy is melting down right before our eyes, gasoline prices are lower than they’ve been in ages. But here’s our dilemma: plenty of cheap gas but nowhere to go.

Here’s another dilemma: the emphasis on washing our hands repeatedly has turned many of us into a bunch of Felix Ungers. (And if you’re not a fellow geezer who remembers “The Odd Couple,” substitute the name Sheldon Cooper.) However, washing so often is causing our hands to become dry and cracked and in some cases (like mine) even bleeding. This prompted me to have a Felix/Sheldon thought: “Oh no, can those viruses get into my bloodstream through these cuts, even if I don’t touch my face?”

 

Regarding face-touching, a humorous website had a satirical news story with this headline: “Man who tested positive for the coronavirus now relieved he can touch his face again.”

I hope you don’t think I’m being impertinent with these unserious observations. I truly believe in very serious times we need a little unseriousness to break up the relentless anxiety. After all, science has shown that laughter improves our health. So, stop reading my nonsense, and go look up Jim Gaffigan or Brian Regan on Netflix.

Also, please be safe.

Peter and Judas: Similar but Very Different

This weekend is Palm Sunday, and even though we’re all watching Mass on TV rather than being there in person, at the very beginning of Mass we’ll hear the gospel account of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. The crowds waved palm branches and shouted joyful praise as Jesus rode by on a donkey.

Then we will hear the lengthy Passion account, which describes how that joyful crowd turned quite hostile in less than a week. During this very long gospel, we will hear about many well-known events in the life of Jesus: the Last Supper, the agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, Judas’ betrayal, the arrest and trials, Peter’s denial, the scourging, carrying the cross, the Crucifixion, and finally the burial of Jesus.

 

I’d like to focus on two aspects of the Passion account, more specifically, on two persons in the Passion account: Judas and Peter. On the night in question, Judas and Peter did some pretty bad stuff. Judas betrayed Jesus, accepting 30 pieces of silver as payment to lead the authorities to arrest Jesus. (Professor Peter Kreeft notes that Judas was the first Catholic bishop to accept a government grant. And ever since, whenever a Catholic bishop accepts government money, it turns out almost as badly.)

Peter, after proclaiming to Jesus a few hours earlier, “Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you!” collapsed like a two-dollar tent when a powerless servant girl asked whether he was a friend of Jesus. Chicken-hearted Peter denied it, “Woman, I do not know him!”

Peter’s gutless lack of courage at that moment was even more pitiful in light of his pompous bragging earlier in the evening.

So, these two men, each one a special member of Jesus’ inner circle, committed some grievous sins that night. Their lack of faith in Jesus caused them to do things that greatly hurt the Lord. We can argue about which sin was worse, but the bottom line is: sin is sin.

 

Shortly after committing these sins, both Judas and Peter were exceedingly sorry for what they had done. Right after hearing the cock crow, which reminded him of what Jesus said in reply to his pompous boast, Peter “went out and began to weep bitterly.”

When Judas realized that Jesus was going to be executed, the Bible says, “He repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver.” Then Judas exclaimed, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.”

At this point the two men’s lives took drastically different turns. Peter went into hiding with the other disciples. He stuck it out, did not do anything rash or impulsive, and soon after, things got much better. Specifically, three days later Jesus rose from the dead, forgave Peter, sent the Holy Spirit to empower the believers, and commissioned Peter to be the leader of the Church.

Judas was also distraught by what he had done. But he did not stick it out and wait to see what would happen next. And so, he did not receive forgiveness from the resurrected Jesus—which Jesus surely would have offered if Judas had only asked. Instead, Judas impulsively went out and committed suicide.

How incredibly sad. Two men with very similar experiences, but with very different endings. Despite his earthly failings, one became the leader of the early Church and is no doubt now and forevermore a member of the heavenly Communion of Saints. The other, with similar earthly failings, is presumably not a member of that celestial gathering nor residing for the rest of eternity anywhere near Heaven.

 

The lesson from the lives of these two men is simple: No matter how badly we screw up, no matter how terrible our sin, Jesus can and will forgive us. All we need to do is sincerely repent and ask for His forgiveness. Peter learned this was possible. Unfortunately, Judas did not.

There is a lot going on in the Passion account this week. As you listen at Mass, try to think about the lives of these two men and what they can teach us about sin and forgiveness.

Expiration Dates on Canned Food

I hesitate to write about the Coronavirus pandemic. There usually is a gap of two or more weeks between the time I write something and when it gets published in the newspaper. Since this health emergency situation seems to change by the hour, whatever I write now, by the time it’s printed, will seem less current than a story about Charles Lindbergh’s flight.

 

However, there is something I’d like to discuss, which I think will be pertinent for quite a while: the expiration dates on canned food.

If what I saw at Stop & Shop the other day is any indication — completely empty shelves in the canned food aisle — then folks are going to be looking at those expiration dates for the next couple of years. (Let’s at least hope they’ll be looking at those expiration dates years from now. If they have to use those cans of Minestrone soup and Spaghetti-O’s in a few weeks to survive, then so-called clever commentary by me in a newspaper column will be less current than a story about George Washington at Valley Forge.)

The expiration dates on canned food usually say something like, “BEST BY.” (Not to be confused with the place where I recently bought an iPad: Best Buy.)

This simply means the food inside the can will taste best if you eat it by that particular date. It does not mean a can of chicken noodle soup will be fine to eat on, say, JUN 4 2022, but will turn into a fetid pool of deadly botulism on JUN 5 2022. 

 

By the way, when I use terms like “will taste best” and “be fine to eat,” I understand there are many people who would rather starve than eat canned food. I’m not saying, for example, that canned soup tastes as good as Momma’s homemade recipe, or that Spam tastes as good as, well, as good as anything you can dig out of a Dumpster behind a restaurant. I’m referring to canned food as something that will provide basic nourishment, with the understanding that freshly prepared food always tastes better. (Unless I’m doing the cooking. Then you might want to track down a Dumpster.)

Various internet articles claim that canned food will last roughly twice its listed shelf life time, especially if stored in a cool, dark place and the cans are not dented. And as we all know, if it’s on the internet, it must be true!

I’m convinced the expiration dates printed on food cans are designed mostly for two purposes: first, to give retail stores information so they can rotate their stock — that is, sell the older stuff first and put the new stuff on the back of the shelf; and second, to scare consumers into throwing food away if it’s close to the expiration date and buy new stuff, thus increasing sales.

That second reason might be a bit cynical on my part. But on the other hand, I’ve run into a lot of sales and marketing people over the years, and “Do whatever it takes to get the sale!” is not just a slogan, it’s a way of life.

 

So, for all you folks who stocked up on canned food, keep an eye on those expiration dates, but don’t panic if you go a few months past. And for all you folks who did panic and got into fist fights at Walmart while purchasing a two-year supply of toilet paper, you should be ashamed of yourselves!

And by the way, the expiration date on toilet paper is next week. So, you should bring one of those 12-packs over to my house, since I’m running low on old newspapers.