Dying for Jesus' Son
Jack, the Son of the Son of God, was showing me his gun.
He was standing at the front desk of the Slack Lodge, just outside the Room of Responsibility. It was the end of the summer, and we were shutting down for a couple weeks so Jack could take me to Burning Man. I'd never been, and he said it was the closest thing to Pan's Grove you could find in the globe. We were the only two people left in the building, human or otherwise. After months of constant partying, the silence in the place was unnerving.
"Dude, John, look what I got!" Jack said excitedly as I approached. He was holding a handgun up toward the ceiling.
"Whoa, fuck, what are you bringing a gun in here for?" I asked, flinching and putting my hands up. I was not a fan of guns.
"Anton gave it to me!" Jack said. "Check it out! It's a Smith & Whatsin! It's got a semi-autoerotic thinger and a polyamorous grip and blah blah fuckity blah..."
Ok, that's not what Jack said, just what it sounded like to me. Compared to my knowledge of guns, I was a world-class expert on cars and women.
"...and it's pretty rare, probably worth something. Don't worry, dude, I would never use it on a person. But I bet it's fun to shoot! Wanna go out back with me and try it out?"
"No thanks, dude," I shuddered. "Guns are really not my thing."
"Fair enough, more bullets for me," he said, loading it up.
The doorbell rang.
"Who the fuck could that be?" Jack asked, setting the gun down on the desk and peeking around the corner to check.
"Oh, shit..." he said, the color draining from his face.
"What?" I asked.
"Just stay in here and keep quiet," he hissed, pushing me into the Room of Responsibility. I'd never seen him so worried.
"Who is it?" I begged to know.
"It's fucking Peter!"
Saint Peter the Apostle. Peter the Rock. Pope of the Actually Catholic Church that extended across every continent humans had ever inhabited. Jesus Christ's second-in-command. And Jack's least favorite person in the whole infinite world. Peter was currently in the globe going incognito as a popular psychologist and self-help guru on the internet. And now he was at our doorstep.
My heart raced. I left the office door cracked so I could hear what was going on and made sure the volume on my phone was completely down. I loaded the security cam app and watched Jack answer the door.
"Jack, it's good to see you," I heard Peter say. He sounded like he meant it, but he wasn't happy about it. Peter had a way of speaking that could make a love letter to Venus sound like a lecture.
"Come in, I guess," Jack said with a resigned sigh. I watched on my phone as he lead three people into the Lodge.
Peter was a tall, gaunt man with short grey hair. He was dressed in a tailored black suit that had purple cuffs and a purple lapel with a golden cross emblazoned on it.
Behind Peter walked two very serious-looking bros in mostly black suits. One of them had red vertical stripes on his jacket, and the other had blue horizonal ones. Both of them kept their sunglasses on when they came inside—yeah, that kind of bro.
I had a good view of everyone. One camera showed Peter. Behind him, the bros stood stiffly with their hands behind their backs. Behind them was the front desk, and behind that was the door to the room I was hiding in. The other camera was facing Jack.
"You're a difficult man to find," Peter said, looking around, "but you've been making a bigger splash than usual."
"Why are you here, Peter?" Jack asked impatiently.
Peter kept his hands behind his back and paced slightly as he spoke.
"I am told that, after years of insolence and sloth, you might finally want to do something with your life," Peter said. "I am here to offer you the guidance, insight and direction you will need to achieve your full potential."
"Well, I got good news for you," Jack said, gesturing around him, "I'm already doing something with my life. I've decided I'm going to make the Slack Lodge an official heaven, reserved exclusively for chill folks who aren't trying to tell everyone else what to do. Somehow I doubt you'll be much help with that!"
"You foolish boy," Peter chuckled. "Who do you think has been making sure the lawn gets mowed and the rooms get cleaned? It wasn't some protestant, that's for sure! No, Son, the Catholic Church has been taking care of you, just as we've done your entire life. This place is nothing more than a playground paid for by your Father's largesse. You've built nothing here. You should be ashamed to live like this."
"Fuck you," Jack sneered.
"Tell me," Peter said, ignoring the insult, "what do you know of your Father's work?"
"Dad doesn't like to talk about it," Jack muttered.
"Why do you think that is?" Peter asked.
"Because it's top secret or something..."
"Because it's horrifying!" Peter scolded. "Have you ever even seen a crucifixion? Of course you haven't. You've been cloistered and pampered your entire life.
"The Romans purposefully designed crucifixion to be the most painful, torturous, degrading death possible. The cruelty was the point! And your Father walked into that unimaginable suffering, not for Himself, but so that the people of this globe could have the closest thing to a choice as possible after death—a choice that is yours by birthright, yet you squander. Your Father dies like that every day, and chooses to go to every hell, until every devil is made low and every soul made free. That is accomplishment!"
"Wow, you're really selling me on this," Jack said flatly. "Accomplishment requires unimaginable suffering, huh? Fine. Where do I sign up to waste my life?"
Peter took a moment to shake off his frustration and regain his composure.
"I have always left you alone, Jack, for which I presume you are grateful," Peter said. "I know that you are not a follower by nature. You have always insisted on going your own way, and I want you to know, I respect that. Honestly. I have no desire to ever change that. I don't expect I could change that if I wanted to—you have the power of God coursing through your blood."
Jack folded his arms in proud agreement.
Peter continued, "For a long time, I had no reason to care what you did with your life. Your Father's role was ordained since the first day of Creation, attested not only in Scripture but even in pagan myths the world over. But no prophecy spoke of you, Jack. No theory predicted you. No revelation included you. You simply weren't part of anyone's story. I always hoped and believed you could do great things, but if you wanted to waste your existence, it didn't matter to the Church."
"But it matters now," Jack said warily.
Peter seemed pleased that he had piqued Jack's curiosity.
"As the Holy Church spread, we were careful not to lose any of the world's wisdom, even as we shared our own," Peter pontificated. "We assimilated the beliefs of our converts, resolving the conflicts between them using reason and logic. We experimented, sifting legend from reality and confirming our beliefs through practice and application. We processed our findings with reconciliation algorithms and fed them into large liturgical models. We collected the world's great stories and, using every tool and technique at our disposal, with all of our hearts and souls and minds, we developed the one True Story, the Canon. And it is there, in the synthesis of all human knowledge, that the role you have to play has finally been made clear."
"So get to the point already," Jack said. "What do you believe my role is supposed to be?"
"Your Father's sacrifice freed humanity from the eternal torment of hell," Peter explained, "but the Canon has always spoken of a final death, a permanent death, the existence of which threatens all that your Father and I have built. And you are the only one who can save us from it, Jack. Have you heard of the Lake of Fire?"
"Yeah," Jack said, "I heard you were casting souls of the damned into it. How did you buy those souls anyway, Peter? Tell me you weren't giving Satan souls from heaven..."
"I needed to know it was real!" Peter snapped defensively. "We spent centuries looking for the Lake of Fire, and I had to prove we had finally found it. I couldn't very well test it with the souls of the righteous! But you needn't worry, none of the souls I traded are permanently damned. They will all return to their heavens when they next resurrect."
"I'm sure they'll find that comforting as they're getting flayed in the meantime!" Jack scoffed, but then he grew suddenly reserved.
"What about my mother?" Jack asked quietly.
"I didn't know you cared," Peter said with honest compassion. "I asked for Lilith specifically with the hope of sparing you, Jack. I theorized that her relationship with both you and your Father might suffice, and we wouldn't have to involve you at all. It didn't work. Lilith, like all the other souls we cast into the Lake, was simply consumed by the Fire. No, it has to be you."
"You want to cast me into the Lake of Fire!?"
"No, Son," Peter said solemnly, "I want you to enter the Lake of Fire of your own free will, because you believe it is the right thing to do."
Jack laughed derisively and shook his head.
"You are the key, Jack!" Peter pleaded. "If you enter the Lake of Fire, your willing sacrifice will do so much more than extinguish its flames. The Canon is clear: the passage of the Son's Son into the Fire will utterly cleanse the world of death! Think about it! No more need for resurrection tech. No longer will human souls be but flowers for the idols to pluck. Just life, everlasting!
"I have no delusion that you'd ever willingly suffer the way your Father does. I promise you, you will not suffer. Our tests have confirmed that much. But I won't sugar coat this. Nobody has ever come back from the Fire. You won't resurrect.
"Transformation has always required sacrifice, and the ultimate transformation means putting absolutely everything on the line. But you will be remembered until the end of time as the man who conquered death itself, and your achievement will overshadow all others, including your Father's!"
"You're insane," Jack said. "When Dad hears about this..."
"You think your Father doesn't know?" Peter laughed. "I don't hide anything from Him. I couldn't if I wanted to. Your Father knows. He just doesn't think you have the guts to do it!"
Jack said nothing to this.
"Come with me, Jack," Peter begged. "See the Lake for yourself, search your soul for your purpose, and make your own decision. That's all I'm asking. It's not like I'm going to push you in—you know I would not lie. I am here because I have faith that, once you are there, you will know deep down this has always been your destiny. What do you say? Will you go with me?"
For a brief moment, I thought Jack might actually be considering it. But then, his eyes began to spark with his inner white light.
"I THINK IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO LEAVE," Jack commanded.
Peter laughed.
"You think that's going to work on me? I have stood in the very presence of God, boy! I sit at the pinnacle of all that is holy and righteous. So go on, please!" He threw his arms wide open. "Bless me with your divine light!"
Jack's light faded.
Peter gave Jack a sorrowful look and sighed.
"I had hoped we could do this the easy way," Peter said, "but I expected we would not."
The Peter Bros pulled out guns and pointed them at Jack.
"It would be quite annoying to have to deal with your resurrection today," Peter said, "but I know you hate dying more than I hate paperwork. Just come with us and see for yourself. Please."
I had to think fast. Over the security camera, I could see the gun on the front desk. They didn't know I was there. I'd be coming at them from behind. If I could get to it quick enough, I might be able to pull off three shots before they knew what was happening. Jack wouldn't be in the way. And murder seemed less bad knowing they'd all resurrect right back into a heaven. Probably. I had to decide now.
In one single heroic move, before anyone could react, I burst out from the Room of Responsibility, grabbed the gun, spun around, pointed it directly at Peter's head and pulled the trigger. The trigger didn't budge.
Wait, how do guns work again?
Next: Jesus' Son Saves
Doing Drugs with Jesus’ Son is always free.