The Crucifixion of Christ

Why were they suddenly putting the nails into his hands? Didn’t they know that this was just an act? A role he had completed all these years. Leading up to this final staged act. The soldier was supposed to be banging away in pretense not actually putting nails into him?

He had been deep under cover on the Governor’s orders for four years and he had completed the operation so successfully that he even amazed himself. He was good, but he had not realized how good. Looking down from the cross and out over the weeping and howling masses there were so many believers, that it cofounded him. And yet he could see none of his own support personnel.

In the early days of course that was the only resource that he had.

The pre cure totally not handicapped blind man who could suddenly see. With five family members running through the streets crying out about the false miracle.
Or the lets feed the five hundred when there were only twenty and they were all his agents anyway.

Ahhh…

The nail was hammered into his left hand. It was so sudden and sharp. His entire hand and then his arm felt as though it was being pulled away from his body. Every thought in his mind suddenly and momentarily was replaced with shocking pain. But after what was only a few seconds, coherent thoughts returned into his mind.

“I am a Roman soldier, I…!” he called out as the second nail went into his right hand.

This was as soar as the first. But he was now numb to the pain. It still hurt; it still felt as though his arm and hand was being pulled away from his body. But the pain did not register beyond recognition. He did not loose his ability to think this time.

The soldier climbed down from the cross as another walked forward with a javelin. This was no mere two inch nail to be hammered into a hand. This was seven feet long. The bottom part which was being held by the approaching soldier was made of wood. But the top three feet was made of iron.

He watched in slow motion as the man got closer. He saw the top of his rounded helmet. He watched the tip of the long spear as a floating point. The point was like a dot written by a slave scribe. But it was mobile and it floated. It came closer and closer. The journey towards his elevated cross must only have lasted seconds but his mind mapped it out into minutes.

The Soldier pushed it up into his stomach. He did not feel any pain as this weapon of war skewered him. The shock from the nails had made him oblivious to it.

He knew that he was going to rise up from the dead in a few days from his grave. But he had to be alive
to do it, didn’t these buffoons realize that he was the empires top undercover operative? Okay he was
posing as a Jew and not as a Roman. As a Roman his body would be burned in a mound of wood and possessions. But as a Jew he would be covered in earth. So his body would be available for his ultimate appearances. Unearthly he would be, as riges mortus took effect on his body and caused some problems with his attempts to convince the masses that he had passed on into paradise.

No his convincing performance required him to be able to speak and make further utterances about how wonderful it was to live in love and peace and then on into the Jewish heaven…

The blood ran down from his hands and onto his arms. As it flowed onto his elbows he felt his mind coming back to his location and stopping thoughts about what he should be doing.

Then it dawned on him that his key twelve supporters were all roman agents as well. As was Mary. They would see his spirit themselves and there would be no need for his body. In fact having him dead would make his resurrection easier to make convincing as they would be able to show the masses his “really” dead body. There would be no need to create a mangled dead imposter’s body in his place. They would simply see him, and only those with faith could see him, so they would all see him to prove their faith…

The Governor was a bastard. A brilliant bastard. But intelligence did not mitigate the label. And when he thought of the description it was with total hatred. If he did not die, then if discovered later in life he would undermine the entire plot. Therefore he could see the logic in him being really terminated. But that did not mitigate his dying hatred.

Pilot was getting rid of him to ensure that he was actually elevated to live at the right hand of the Jewish God his father in waiting. With death as a reality it would be the perceived truth that could not be contradicted if he was seen walking around the market place.

His planned retirement in Rome disappeared from his mind. His wife and child would never see him again. He just hoped that the Governor would ensure that she at least got a pension. Would his little daughter ever know that she was the granddaughter of god as she grew up?

The life seeped out of him as he faded from consciousness, into the waiting sleep of his death. Images of his daughter and wife awaiting him in Rome all these years replaced his thoughts of duplicity and mission …

Two Years Later

He looked across the room at the slave who was transcribing his words. The man was intelligent and very well educated. The best slaves were. Bred and trained for the function of taking down his thoughts and transcribing them. The badge that hung around his neck with its name transcribed identified it as only a slave.

He wondered if the slave understood the implications of the words that it had written down over the last two years?

Pontius Pilot had finished the Journal. It was a complete account of the creation of the new religion that was spreading throughout the empire out of Judea where he had started it to help pacify these loathsome Jews. He smiled, it was utterly brilliant. A religion which preached peace, no more rebellion. Lots of passive slaves to be raped, beaten and they would thank you for the experience because of their faith in the resurrection that had never happened and the promise of paradise.

He looked at the slave again. And smiled. This creature was currently unhappy in its life. He listened to words and wrote them down. Wore a badge that identified him for what it was. Property. A little better than his horse in its stable. Bread and trained for its duties.

Of course it currently had nothing to live for except to avoid being punished and it did that by writing accurately and neatly. But soon all that would change. For as the religion spread and the slave became, what they were calling themselves now, Christians, he would find joy in living so that he could die. And in death he would transcend existence into his paradise. Or so the word of Jesus had stated. And proved by his death and resurrection.

Ponchos briefly thought about the wife and daughter of the dead agent. Now sold into slavery. Another loose end all tied up.

The Emperor was a little concerned. But like most of the men that had held that position in the past he was not that clever. Pontius looked at the slave again. Which was the most intelligent? The Emperor or this slave? The Emperor who had declared himself a god that no one believed in?

Yes some Romans were converting to this new faith. But so what, it was a military dictatorship and as long as the masses obeyed the Emperor and the regional governors they could have their faith – whatever that was. He really was also going to have to come up with a better name than Christians, it was just so unmarketable!

Two Thousand Years Later.

The Pope closed the manuscript. It dated back to the time of the death of Jesus the - child of god. The original manuscript that was only ever read by the Pope on his first day in the role.

His journey to reading this manuscript had been long.

His hand came up to his face and wiped away the tears. It was all an utter fake. A created religion to pacify the citizens of the Roman Empire. But the religion had outgrown its original audience. Corrupting the very people who ruled until they themselves had become Christians.

Then the Empire had fallen, but been replaced with the Empire of the Church using the faith of the masses to exorcise better and more thorough control than the old military dictatorship.

Everything he had been brought up to believe was an utter lie. A special secret operative had played the role of Jesus for four years. It was all documented in the very words of Pilot in these old papers.

But then he smiled. The Old Testament was still true. So this explained why Christians were allowed to kill. An eye for an eye was truly the only truth. But did that mean that the masses were really all secret Jews?

And it also meant that the Messiah was still to come.

Or he thought, had the messiah been missed in the last twenty centuries?

Then he had another thought. What if he had been and was called Mohamed?