The Bible 1.5: Putting the ‘Syn’ back in Synagogue

Jesus awoke drenched in sweat to clattering coming from right below him, his head throbbing with pain. He was lying alone in the safety of the gargantuan king sized bed in his bedroom. It seemed almost comical for a man of such small stature to be in such a huge bed, but Jesus didn’t need anybody but himself.

As he slid his legs out of the bed, and placed his feet on the cold wooden floor of the second floor bedroom, he heard another loud plate-like clink. Once could have been a mere coincidence, but two, two is definitely not. The alarm clock’s red letters on his nightstand read 3:32. He leaned in and took a butter knife from the stack of plates on the right side end table. Ever since the headaches had begun, Jesus had been staying in the comfort of his bed as every time he made what seemed to be one small movement it intensified to a point where it brought a certain pain that he had not felt since he died for your sins. The creak of his bedroom door invited the cold air of the hallway into his dormitory, as he stepped out and made his way towards the stairs. The last time something similar had happened had been in the year of 1985, where a drunken man had entered his home in the middle of the night seeking refuge from the Winter cold. It was pretty easy to deal with him without being recognised due to the man's state, but he could not risk using his godly powers to deal with this intruder, so he may as well pray that he can put enough power into the dull spreading knife if he needed to.

The knife whizzed past God’s face- or at least the face of the physical body he had chosen to appear as to Jesus- and stabbed into the wooden cupboard, missing him by a mere centimeter. “Well someone’s jumpy,” the figure muttered.

Jesus relaxed his tense muscles and gazed at God. He could not believe his eyes, it had been almost 2000 years, in fact right after his resurrection since he had seen him. A rush of emotions came across him, a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and regret, however he noticed that his headache had mysteriously disappeared. “I- what are you doing here? I-i-it’s been so long.”

“Well, as you already know I have a pretty busy schedule, I would appreciate some more enthusiasm since I had to move a lot of important Supreme being, Creator of the world” stuff to another time. Anyways, I came here today because I need something from you- it seems that you have gotten a little bit too comfortable with this lavish lifestyle.”

Christ slumped down into the high chair next to the countertop. Still puzzled with the appearance of God in his own home after he had made that selfish choice all those years ago. He searched his mind for a way to snap out of this state of shock, and figure out what his creator wanted. “And u-uh wha-what would that be?” he stuttered.

“There's some people in a nearby town that have lost their faith in us. I know, I know, we need to let them pursue their own religious beliefs, but what’s important isn’t that, but the path that they turned to as a result. I need you to investigate, and report back to me with your findings.” He pulled out a black smartphone and with it some reading glasses from the pocket of his cargo shorts, “I’ll send you the details- but remember that the goal here is to find out why, not intervene.”

A vibration came from a nearby drawer as Jesus walked over to the cupboard. He opened it up and pulled out an older, but still working smartphone. The time had passed by so quickly that Jesus had been slow to acclimate to the new technology oriented means of communication. In fact, the only reason he still kept that phone was really just for emergencies- he rarely used it at home.

A notification appeared on the lock screen with the sender field a string of numbers with an area code Jesus knew for sure wasn’t of the Salt Lake City area. “Could I get some additional info-” Jesus was interrupted by God disappearing in a cloud of mist. He received a message from him saying “Sry had to go, ttyl.” Looks like God hadn’t changed much in the past 2 millennia.

He returned upstairs to his room, still processing what God had told him. The best course of action now would be to reflect on it with a full night's sleep- he’d decide what to do in the morning.

The brakes on Jesus’s white and yellow Plymouth Fury squealed as he made a sharp right turn into the Private Departures entrance of the SkyPark Airport. He parked the antique coupe into the handicap parking lot as he rushed towards the entrance of the private terminal, satchel in hand- he was 15 minutes late, however when he arrived at the gate, he realised he had bigger problems. This is when he started to doubt whether or not God’s mission was worth it. He could be discovered, caught, or even worse. The only thing that made him say yes was his boredom. He missed living his life freely, instead of having to hide, but that was the decision he made, and he intended on sticking to it.

“Next!” shouted the Customs Officer. He was huge- six feet tall with immense muscles, complete with an intimidating frown across his lips. Jesus put his satchel on the conveyor belt, and pulled his cap down to cover his eyes. “Sir, you can’t wear that here.” The officer warned him. Jesus knew this moment would come, and he would no longer be able to hide his identity. He remained silent. “You. Got your passport on you?” Jesus nodded, as he watched his Satchel come out the other end of the scanner. The officer spoke a slur of words into his microphone as he approached the Lord.

“And who do you think you’re talking to?” Jesus said, taking off his cap, revealing his identity.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” The Officer yelled back, unclipping his gun from his belt.

Jesus took a step forward, planning out his next move. He had had 2000 years of silence and peace to think through this, and his mind wouldn’t fail on him this time. The loud noise of the non-lethal rubber bullets commenced the encounter, as Jesus made a leap for his Satchel, using the guard rail separating the checkpoint from the gates to the tarmac in order to boost himself past the range of the guard's weapon. A blast of warm summer air caught Jesus as he made a run for the first plane he saw.

What seemed to be the entire security force’s bullets, real ones this time clanged onto the old bi-plane Jesus was heading towards. Using his godly powers he made the nearly 4 meter jump up to the cockpit. As he sealed the latch, he began flipping levers, and pressing buttons. He didn’t know what he was doing, but his godly powers had taken over the control of his hands. The motor began sputtering to life, and he began taxiing towards the runway. Christ had begun to get the hang of it, but as an approaching SWAT van caught the corner of his eye, the sense of urgency began to return. One of the armed pursuers came out of the back of the Van, pulling out something that only could have been a large launcher of some sort. Jesus drove out onto the runway and began gaining speed for takeoff, but the SWAT personnel had something to say about that. He pulled the flight stick up with all his might, praying to God that he would make it in time.

As the plane’s wheels touched off the runway, Jesus let out a sigh of relief, he had been able to get away without using his rocket sandals, revealing even more of his identity. The Lord pulled a bottle of 2199 B.C. Noah’s Ark Reserve, his favorite Wine- red of course- out of his tiny satchel. He hadn’t planned on being there long so the only things he had thought to pack were simple quality of life things. Sipping down on the delicious glass of beverage and looking out at the sunset from the cockpit of the bi-plane made him realize how much he missed this life.

Christ was awoken from his nap by a loud beeping coming from the center console of the vessel. A blinking red light indicated that there was a critical failure in the fuel tank safety systems. Staying on the plane would mean running the risk of succumbing to the flames from the inevitable explosion of the fuel reserves, and he didn't plan to stick around for that. Jesus slammed his palm down on the eject button- this journey was really taking a turn in the wrong direction.

As the latches on the bi-plane’s hatch undid, Jesus Christ’s body was catapulted up and out from the craft. “Rocket sandals, ignite!” the lord shouted, as a flame was ejected from his smooth, leather sandals. One thing that, regardless of the situation, Jesus always wore his trusty shoes. His feet touched the dirt runway in a cloud of dust as his propulsion-slippers deactivated. A rusty sign by what seemed to be an abandoned hangar read “Salt Lake Town - 21 mi.” He let out an exasperated sigh, and at the snap of his fingers summoned his Plymouth Fury coupe out of thin air, now he had realized why he had dropped the extra cash on the 24/7 roadside assistance in the first place. Putting on his shades as he entered the driver-side door of his antique coupe, he switched on the radio to find generic pop playing on the station. There was no turning back- he was now behind enemy lines.

Jesus pulled into the Motel 666 and grabbed his satchel off the passenger seat. The jingle of a bell marked his entrance as an overweight woman in her late 50’s walked out of the backroom, cigarette in hand. “You got a name on the reservation?” She spoke, in a raspy tone.

“Je Sus,” he responded in his best French accent.

“Alright, the rooms down the hall on your left.” The woman said gruffly, slamming a key down on the countertop.

As Christ opened the door, his nose was introduced to a mixture of cheap cleaning solutions and a reek of cigarettes. “Definitely what I paid for” he thought to himself. Nevertheless, the master of infiltration got to work, laying out his arsenal on the second queen bed displaying his arrangement of rocket sandal upgrade modules, holy blades of various sizes, several bottles of Holy Water©, and his greatest weapon, and most prized possession: A Holy Bible. Armed to the teeth with the greatest satanist-silencing tools, he stepped out of his room with a mission: to find out what the hell was going on.

The howling wind of the chilly Autumn weather rustled Jesus’s smooth, silky hair as he approached the town’s coffee shop. He went inside and took a seat at the table when two burly, large, men dressed in all black, with trench coats entered the coffee shop. One of them, an African American man, seemingly mid 20’s and a height of about 6” 5’ approached Jesus’s table while the other man reached into his coat pocket for something. “Hey, you!” The man said, approaching Christ with a nail gun in his right hand. Jesus saw the weapon, and instantly had a rush of PTSD-triggering memories. They somehow knew who he was, and were using his only weakness to his advantage. “You should have cooperated, Jesus.” The attacker raised the gun, firing two rounds straight at Christ’s chest.

“Oh sh-” Jesus was interrupted by an explosion, engulfing the entire coffee shop with fire and launching him and his pursuers out into the street. Using all of his leftover strength he was able to stand up, and slowly made a staggering run towards his car, but he was no match for the muscular prowess of the two men, who had already begun to chase after him. A bang from the nail gun sent a projectile right at Jesus’s leg, making a clean-cut straight through. He howled in pain. Jesus never felt pain: he was a god, but this particular feeling was one he hadn’t felt since, since, the hurt intensified just thinking about it. He hadn’t felt this since he died on the wooden cross, all those years ago. As Jesus fell to the ground, his life seemed to flash before his eyes. He felt a tinge of regret, guilt, for what he had done all those years ago. Suddenly, he felt himself being picked up, and dragged, as the final droplets of his everlasting strength began to fade. Jesus Christ had been defeated.

The screeching noise of the enormous boulder covering the entrance to Jesus Christ's tomb revealed an empty room. “So it is true, Mary, he’s gone, he really is gone.” The voice of Peter the Apostle, a holy disciple, spoke out in a solemn tone.

“It-it’s impossible, I saw him put to rest here three days ago! Just three! There has to have been something going on he-”

“Did you miss me?” A voice rang out behind a rock situated next to the entrance to the tomb. A man, about 5 foot 10, with smooth brown hair wearing a white toga and some leather sandals stepped out.

“Jesus Christ!” Mary looked over in shock to see Jesus standing there, with not even one scratch on his body. “But, the Romans have been looking all over for you! Word has spread that the tomb was open, and they sent a legion to Jerusalem to see what the commotion was about, we need to protect you!”

“NO, we must inform the Church, and decide what they think is the best plan of action!” Peter argued.

“ENOUGH!” Jesus shouted. “There is a place called Utah, it is far away from any danger and will give me some time to reflect on what has happened, and continue my work to ensure the goodwill of humanity” Just then a search party of Roman Soldiers appeared over the ridge, they hadn’t spotted them, but Jesus feared that if they lingered for too long, they would be discovered.

“I’ll make sure to cover my tracks. Rocket sandals IGNITE!” Jesus was gone in an instant, leaving Peter and Mary standing alone, by the empty tomb with no way to explain themselves to the approaching search party. They had been abandoned, betrayed, by the only person that could save them from their oppressor.

Jesus lay on a small cot, soaked in sweat, filth, and blood. He was alone in a rectangular room, made out of some form of concrete with steel bars on one end. It hadn’t been too long since he was locked up as he still felt the pain in his right calf, but he had regenerated his strength surprisingly quickly. They had confiscated everything except his sandals, but something told him that he couldn’t just fly right out of there, there was something strange going on here. As he got up and approached the cell door, he heard footsteps approaching to his left. He looked down the large, grey hallway to see a man, about his size wearing a jet black suit.

“Let me out, now! You don’t know who you’re dealing with!” Jesus yelled at the man, his words echoing through the long hallway.

“You’re finally awake.” he chuckled back, approaching the cell with what seemed to be a key in his hand. Upon arriving at the door, he extended his hand in a palm-open gesture. “Hello Mr. Christ, I'm Archer, the mayor of Salt Lake Town.” Christ couldn't believe his ears- it was like everybody knew who he was- first the men at the coffee shop, now him, it was all making sense to him now. “So we aren’t into handshaking, it sounds good.” Archer withdrew his hand and leaned closer onto the bars. If Jesus could reach his hands through the metal fast enough, he could probably take the key right off of the hook on his belt. “Seems like you need something from me,” he said, jingling the keys in his hand. “How about we make a little deal, mmkay? You have 24 hours to leave my town, and stop messing with what I am trying to accomplish here, but if you don’t comply, I'll send you right back to your great pal God up in Heaven. Sounds good to you?”

Christ cleared his throat. “There's just one thing I have to tell you. Then I'll get out of your hair.”

“Go on.”

“There's been a huge spider behind you this whole time.”

Archer looked behind his shoulder with a look of fear as Jesus shot a ball of condensed lightning towards the door, blowing it, and Archer, at the concrete wall across the hall. “They fall for it every single time. Rocket sandals, IGNITE!” He shouted putting his fist in the air. The dirt, and rock crumbled as Jesus used his upward momentum to reach his surface. His bruised hands trembled as he stood on the side of the street. He was being held under the main Capitol building, and he was sure the huge hole he had just made in the floor would distract them for some time. He shot another bolt straight at the big statue of the town’s founder in front of the steps to the capitol, reducing it to ashes. Jesus set a timer on his watch for 24 hours. There was no way in heaven Christ was about to stand down. This was just about getting good.

The cold stream of the shower hit Jesus’s body like icicles shattering on the floor. After blow-drying his smooth, silky, brown hair he put on his favorite tunic, and decided to see what was left of his armory. The only things he hadn’t taken, and that hadn’t gotten confiscated when they caught him, were a bottle of Holy Water©, and his trusty Bible. He gathered his stuff and walked out the door, almost forgetting to put on his sunglasses. After all, the first step to intimidation is to look the part.

“Haha! Beat this!” The guard slammed down his royal flush, winning the neverending game of poker.

“No, no, you cheated!” Said another man, as he pulled the heap of bets away from him.

“Think fast!” A third voice belonging to none other than Jesus spoke out as the door opened. He shot a flurry of lightning at the two confused guards, and made his way past the security checkpoint and into the depths of the City Hall. According to what he had seen on the computer system, there was an “out of order” elevator, and as far as he knew, there was no upstairs floor. Christ made his way towards the lift, dispatching the guards he met along the way. Jesus rounded the final corner, only to find what seemed to be an entire legion of guards defending the elevator. He cursed to himself, as he pulled back around to safety to devise a strategy. There was no way he would be able to take them all out, especially not if they were as well equipped as the men from the coffee shop. Suddenly, he broke out in a wide grin. He had an idea, but was it a good one? Absolutely not. Jesus stepped out from the shadows.

“There he is!” Yelled a man who appeared to be the superior or the bunch, pointing wildly at Christ. “Fire!” tens of nails began flying through the air, bound straight for Jesus - just as he had anticipated - but he had a plan to deal with that.

“Rocket Sandals IGNITE!” He leaped through the air, dodging the projectiles, and blasted right past the guards, using a perfectly timed lightning bolt to break a hole in the floor, rendering the elevator useless, but making an opening to the shaft. Then he did the unthinkable, and jumped right into the pit of darkness.

Jesus landed right at the bottom of the large tunnel, using his superhuman strength to pry open the metal doors leading to what could only be the Satanists' base of operations. On the other side of the barrier, Archer, and his right, and left-hand man were standing in the corridor.

“I would offer you mercy, but I don’t feel like it. When I'm not giving mass, I'm kicking ass.” Jesus said. He made quick work of taking out his bodyguards, and readied a bolt for Archer, aiming it straight at his chest.

“A phony god like you can’t stop us. I know what happened all those years ago. How you abandoned us, your disciples, like we were a nuisance to you. How you left us there to die! I didn’t influence any of the things you are seeing here! Simply what happened was that they were faced with a choice, to believe in the deceit and lies of your religion, to continue to worship you and your ‘god’, or to take the path that took them in when they felt betrayed. You see Jesus, you didn’t die for your sins, you died for your own convoluted, SELFISH, REASONS!” Jesus collapsed onto the floor, kneeling.

“Forgive me,” Archer stared blankly. “Every single day up until now, I had justified my decisions, but I am not the imbecile I was before. I was wrong. My followers, what is now almost 2.5 billion people, who stayed with me blindly, and adopted my teachings, I have failed them. So please you, and the entirety of your town, forgive me.” The ground began spinning around them. Jesus tried to stand up, but was overtaken by the forces acting upon him.

“Congratulations, son. You have passed my test.” Jesus blanked.

“Oh, you dirty-

“But not with flying colors, I may add.” He was sitting on his huge throne, at least 5 times larger than Jesus, chowing down on some popcorn like this was just pure amusement for him. “You’ve spent all these years running from the truth, from one bad decision, and you looked it right in the eye today, and dealt with it, like a true son of God.”

“Well, when you put it that way-”

“This is why I am giving you a choice. I can send you back to the first Easter, to make amends, or I can return you back to your normal life. It is your choice, but be careful as you will only get one chance. Jesus stood there thinking about it for a while. The bills were due in 5 days, and he hadn’t been able to trade his gold in for money yet, and that sounded like too much work. On top of that, he hadn’t felt this alive since the olden days. The guilt had washed over him, and he made his decision.

“Take me back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. This time, I promise you, I will not fail you, father.”

“Then so be it.” God opened up a portal, and watched Jesus walk through to the other side, closing it behind him. A Guardian Angel flew over to where Jesus was standing, moments before, and took a bow.

“You don’t actually think he's going to keep that promise, do you, my Lord?

“Of course not. That moron was crossing his fingers behind his back.”

To be continued