“I knew the Kingdom of God was soon to come.
When that happened, God would sharpen our swords and we would drive the Romans before us.
But until then, we lacked the numbers.
We lacked the swords.
Until God helped us, we could not defeat the foreigners by force of arms.
I knew it was not the right time to attempt such.
But soon, very soon the Son of Man would come and God would restore the land to my people.
We would answer the Jewish bloodshed by the Romans with an equal amount of Roman blood.
“Until then, it would be best to turn away lest they do more than strike you upon the cheek.”
Tamara did not know what to say.
She could sense the hatred in his voice when he spoke of the Romans.
Suddenly it was believable that this man, called by some the Prince of Peace, would led an armed revolt with all the bloodshed that would entail.
“There were no Roman troops actually stationed in Galilee at that time,” Myers told her.
“But he was sending the disciples out to spread the word, to tell of the coming Kingdom and bid the people repent so they would become part of the Kingdom.
He didn’t want them to fail in that mission because they pissed off some Roman soldier they encountered.”
Jesus was sipping at his wine.
Tamara drank from her glass.
It was a light Chablis.
“Jesus is fascinated by the quality and variety of wines available now,” Myers told her.
“Back then, he was limited to that which could be made locally.
Some of the Romans had wine imported from Rome and Greek, but Jesus lived most of his life in a small rural town, and was never rich enough to afford such luxuries.”
Jesus had finished his wine and was pouring another glass from the carafe.
The idea of a drunken Jesus flashed through her mind and she had to keep from reacting to it.
She told herself that there was no reason why Jesus would not feel the effect of a bit too much wine.
Sitting before her was a man.
And a man who liked wine.
Nothing wrong with that.
Did not the Bible say:
“...but use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake and thine often infirmities?
”
The lunch was obviously over.
“Jesus and I were going to talk a little bit about the layout of the Temple in those days.
Would you like to sit in?”
Tamara could sense that Myers would rather she did not.
The conversation would undoubted proceed much faster if he did not have to take the time to translate the Aramaic for her.
“Thank you, but I have work to attend to.”
She started to rise, but paused to ask, “I am curious?
I’m sure Jesus was not a student at UCLA.
Why does he wear that shirt?”
Myers laughed politely.
“When he had recovered enough to leave his bed, we had to find some clothes for him.
I had a UCLA sweatshirt left over from the days when I was a professor there.
Taught Biblical History.
Well, it fitted him, and he seemed to like the letters across the chest.
I’m not sure why.
Perhaps I should ask him.
Anyway, I ordered a couple more for him.
The green one is his favorite.”
Tamara said her goodbye to Jesus and Dr. Myers.
Walking back to the office allocated to her, she did a lot of thinking, still trying to comprehend the magnitude of what they had done here, and how incredibly different this man was from what she had expected.
Chapter 18:
Decision
It was nighttime in Cairo, just after midnight, and the sounds of the latest protests had died down.
Abdul Murad looked out from the office window at the nearly deserted streets below.
A single vehicle, an old American brand, slowly cruised along, looking for what Murad had no idea.
Perhaps it was just someone looking for trouble.
It seemed to him that there was always someone looking for trouble.
Uneasy times, these days.
As second in command, he had powers but had mostly been content to allow Munif to lead.
The problem now was that Munif did not know what to do.
He was a good leader if you wanted a protest organized, a building blown up, or someone assassinated.
But when something different came up, he could not make the decisions when they had to be made.
Perhaps his time as their leader was over.
Resting his head against the window frame, the young man who had gunned down men and woman, built bombs for others to destroy their enemies with their sacrifice, and helped lay plans for spreading terror among the enemies of Islam, thought upon what he had heard from the infidel Americans.
They claimed to have created
Isa
the
Masih
, the Messiah, whom Allah sent to guide the Children of Israel with the new
injil
, the new Gospel!
After much reflection, he found he did not believe their claim.
It must be a trick of some kind.
They could not have brought the one of Allah’s messengers from the past to today.
The infidels wished to confuse and delude the faithful.
But Abdul does not see this clearly!
He does not see the need for immediate action; instead he talks with the
imam
, asking for guidance.
While he waits, these Americans will bring this false prophet to the world, spread their lies, and there are many who will believe.
Murad stood away from the window.
The slow moving car had passed from sight.
In his heart, he knew that Allah has chosen him to act as his sword.
Why else would this news have come to him?
Why else would he feel so deeply in his heart that he was right?
He began preparations to go to America.
Chapter 19:
Debate
Tamara sat at the desk and rested her fingers lightly on the keyboard of the computer terminal they had given her.
A lot was going through her mind: amazement, confusion, surprise and more than a little awe.
As a teenager she had always been interested in religions, but especially that mystical and powerful time two thousand years ago when Jesus walked the dirt paths of what is now Israel.
Although not a religious person herself, she was fascinated by the whole story.
Perhaps it was just a part of her nature to dig into stories and root out the facts.
She had turned that interest and ability into a good career working for the government.
Perhaps it was simply that the whole story of Jesus was one great murder mystery she felt compelled to solve.
Or maybe, were she honest enough to admit it, she simply wanted to know the truth behind what happened all those years ago.
Was Jesus just a man, or something divine?
Was he The Son of God?
Which was, of course, just a part of a bigger question: does God exist?
She was never sure of the answer, but, like most people, she wanted to know, to have something to base her understanding of the world and existence.
“Hello.”
The voice startled her, and she looked up to see a man standing in the doorway.
He was of medium height but quite slender.
The lab coat hung loosely on his gaunt frame.
More bald than not, what was left of his hair was a fuzzy fringe around his head and streaked with gray.
His features were thin, his eyes dark behind thick glasses.
Had he not been wearing the uniform of a lab scientist, she thought he would have looked appropriate in the black suit of an undertaker.
“I’m Hans Buerer.
I’m a research assistant on Project J.
Dr. Fielding tells me that you are now cleared to our little secret.
He asked that I help you to access any records you want.”
“Hello, Dr. Buerer.
I’m Tamara Graves.
Nice to meet you.”
Stepping in, he offered his hand.
It was a very weak handshake, she noted, almost feminine.
“Please, have a seat,” she told him.
“Thank you.
If there is anything I can do for you, you’ll find my extension in the directory.
It’s off the main menu,” he added, gesturing to the computer screen.
“Oh... I guess you have already looked there.
How else would you know to call me Dr. Buerer?”
“It is true that I looked over a list of personnel,” she told him with a smile.
“It is the first thing I do in any audit.
But there are so many PhDs around here, it would be a safe guess to call anyone doctor.”
He laughed at that, an undertaker’s mild chuckle that just reinforced that image.
“Well, I’ll get going.
Just wanted to introduce myself and see if there is anything I can help you with.”
“There is one thing,” she told him.
“What is your impression of your...
ah, guest?”
He frowned.
“My impression?
Had I not been with this project from almost the inception, I would say that the man there is simply an approximation of a man who lived long ago.
However, I know full well just how accurate the Machine can reproduce something from the past, down to the sub-atomic level.
All the neurons of the human brain have been created in the Machine exactly as they were at the point in time when the original existed.
Exactly!
That man has the exact memories and behavior patterns of the original Jesus.
“You do understand, don’t you, that he is a copy?
Not the original brought here through a Time Machine.”
She replied, “I’ve had enough science background to understand the principle, as hard to believe as it may be.
The Jesus I have met has the body and memories of the original, I’m sure.
But what I wonder is if there was something in the original that could not be copied.”
“Ah, you have hit upon something that has sparked much debate!
Does the Machine recreate the soul?
Or is that something beyond even our advanced science?
Was there something else in Jesus that did not come to us?”
“How do you believe, Doctor?”
For a brief second his eyes turned hard, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come.
He laughed mildly.
“That, my dear, is where I differ from most of my colleagues.
I believe that this man is only a shell of what Jesus was... and is.
I believe that there is no way technology can create the spirit within.
That man is an automaton, like an organic computer programmed to respond in totally human ways but lacking the inner soul.”
“But he seems so very real!” Tamara protested mildly.
“I have talked with him.
I have seen him show emotions.
I have seen him reason.
Is there any way to distinguish this Jesus from a totally naturally created human?”
“I can think of none,” he admitted.
“Yet, I believe this man is no more than a copy.
He may seem to be Jesus but he is not.”
His frown turned into a mocking smile.
“How can a machine create what is beyond the physical?
No, Miss Graves, this is not Jesus Christ.”
Tamara could sense the sincerity behind his words.
After he had said his polite goodbye and gone, she sat there for a long time, thinking.
And finally coming to the conclusion that, as so often happens in religious matters, it boils down to a matter of faith.
Which left her no closer to the truth than she had been before.
With a sigh, she turned to the computer to do some of the work she had been sent there to do.