The Passion of Jesus' Son
I was bait for Jack, the Son of the Son of God.
As I woke up, the low vibrations of the vehicle made me think I was in a moving car. I was in the passenger seat, as always. I might have been a kid again, my dad driving me home after a long night of theater rehearsal.
I groggily opened my eyes. I saw the fog of passing clouds out the window. The door and the dashboard were made of blue-edged white sacracement. I was in some kind of God-powered aircraft. I wondered what trouble Jack and I were getting into now.
Then I turned to look at the driver.
"FUCK!"
Right next to me in the pilot seat was St. Peter himself, Pope of all Creation. He was a lanky, grey-haired, hollow-eyed man, his forehead etched with worry lines. He was wearing a black suit with gold trim, and the sleeve facing me had the Sacred Heart printed on the shoulder.
"If you would please let me know when you're done swearing," Peter said calmly, "we can have a conversation like adults. I believe you are capable of that?"
And just like that, it felt ridiculous to swear. Oh, I wanted to let forth a string of expletives that would make Caligula blush. But with a single sentence, St. Peter made it seem like doing so would only confirm everything he believed about me. So I sealed my mouth shut.
"That's better," Peter said. "Let's try this again. I don't believe we have been properly introduced. I am St. Peter, Supreme Pont—"
"I know who you are," I growled.
"I am St. Peter," he repeated, "Supreme Pontiff of the Catholic Church. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, John."
"That's Saint John to you," I spat.
"Oh, please," Peter said, "that might be what it says on your prayer card, but I was there. You had a gun to my head. It wasn't an act of self-sacrifice that lead to your death, it was an act of incompetence. You're no saint. So, don't even think of trying anything. You'll only embarrass yourself."
What could I say to that? He wasn't wrong. So I didn't say anything. How did he always manage to know exactly what to say to shut a guy up?
"Good, I see we're on the same page," he said, glancing at me to confirm my acquiescence before returning his eyes to the sky in front of him.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I mumbled.
"This isn't about you," Peter said, "it's about Jack. I think you know that. All you need to do is sit there quietly and do as you're told, and no harm will come to you. Now, do you know why it has been so incredibly difficult to get Jack to do anything for the past two millennia? I asked you a question, boy."
"No," I said tersely.
"It is because Jack never had anything to lose," Peter explained. "There was nothing he valued, nothing that could be taken away if he didn't act. He drifted in poverty from one town to the next, high as a kite, a wallflower at history's biggest parties, without purpose or meaning. He fled his birthright and his destiny, like Jonah in the whale, by making himself as small and low as possible.
"I thought that might change once we gave him the Lodge. Oh, yes—that entire limbo for slackers was my idea, from beginning to end. Give him his five talents, I thought, let him taste the fruits of accomplishment, and maybe he will begin to become the man he needs to be. It was working, too. He was beginning to desire real responsibility, before you pulled your little stunt.
"Your death ruined all that. He abandoned the Lodge, and fell off the Network completely. He even stopped spending Christmas with his Father. I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again. Until one day, I received a report from my men that Jack had reappeared rather dramatically. He made quite the scene, stealing you away from heaven like that."
"He rescued me from purgatory!" I protested.
Peter laughed. "You really haven't put the pieces together yet, have you? You may not be a saint, but you did lay down your life for a friend, and the Law is the Law. You thought a death like that would land you in purgatory? Lumeria was your heaven. It was exactly what your soul craved—order, discipline, direction. You wanted life to give you no other choice but to stay on the straight and narrow. And I think, deep down, you know how truly happy you were there."
"I toiled in mud and shit every day!" I objected.
"Yes, but were you happy there?"
I pursed my lips closed tight.
"I asked you a ques—"
"Yes!" I shouted. "Yes, I was happy there."
"Good work," Peter said patronizingly, "I feel like we're making real progress here. Now that we've got that little breakthrough out of the way, as I was saying...
"Once Jack pulled you out of heaven, I realized that he hadn't fallen back into his gormless ways at all. He had spent those years scheming, plotting—working! That rescue operation of his was, I have to admit, truly impressive. And the only reason he would do all that for you is because he actually cares about you. Which means finally, after centuries of waiting, he has found something he is afraid to lose. He would never sacrifice himself for anything as trivial as the complete eradication of death from the world, no, but he would sacrifice himself to save you. Which finally gives me the leverage I need." Peter chuckled to himself. "I really am more Machiavellian than I care to admit. Even Machiavelli says so."
"You'll never get away with this," I said. "Jesus will save us!"
"Jesus is millions of miles away, dying for the sins of some forgotten realm. I know because I'm the one who scheduled him for it. Don't forget who you're dealing with, boy. What I bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and what I loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. I am the one who decides who 'gets away with it.'"
Again, what could I say to that? I hated this man.
"Oh look," Peter said, "we're almost there."
The ship ascended over mountains, and the Lake of Fire came into view. Its shore stretched to the infinite horizon on either side of us, and its lapping flames filled half the visible world under a bruised sky. It was truly fire, not lava, and there was no apparent fuel or smoke, only flames. As we descended, my mind tried to wrap itself around the eerie quality of the fire. It was as if the flames themselves were darkness, and the burgundy light was their shadow.
This was the place of final death. Those cast into the Lake could never be resurrected. And for some reason, Peter believed that Jack's final destruction would conquer death forever.
We approached an enormous gothic cathedral on a peninsula jutting out into the Lake, with towering spires, long stained glass windows and a giant rose window on the front. It was only as we landed that I grasped exactly how huge the place was. Craning my neck to look up, it stretched as tall as any skyscraper I had ever seen.
We landed at the foot of a great stone staircase. I exited the ship directly into the grip of two oversized bros in weird suits and sunglasses.
These Peter Bros were way more intimidating than the try-hard boys I had previously seen. They were the sort of beefy men where, if you saw them and you weren't in a position to get an erection, that meant you were probably in a position to piss your pants. One of them had rainbow-striped cuffs and lapels, and the other had a jacket that was white with a pattern of little red hearts. Both were wearing nametags that said Usher.
They lead me up the stairs and through large wooden doors. The cathedral's stone walls ran for blocks in either direction, and though the doors had to be at least twelve feet high, they looked like a mouse hole in comparison. We entered the vestibule of the cathedral, and Peter followed.
The vestibule was claustrophobic compared to the outside. It was lit by torches that burned blue. Hallways extended into darkness on either side of us, and the interior doors remained shut.
Peter dipped his fingers into an ornate marble baptismal font and made the Sign of the Cross. The Ushers did likewise. One sharp look from Peter compelled me to reluctantly do the same.
Four more standard-issue Peter Bros drove up from the hallway in a golf cart.
"Let me know when he's here," Peter instructed. They nodded and walked out the front door, leaving the golf cart behind. The Ushers kept their painful grip on me as Peter turned to me to speak.
"I've spent these past months wondering, why you?" Peter said. "Of all the people Jack has encountered since the start of this age, why are you the only one he took initiative for? And I think I've finally figured it out.
"You've heard the parable of the sower, yes? A sower casts his seed upon the land, and some seed is eaten by birds, or choked by thorns, or falls on barren dirt and withers. It is the way of the world, and nothing can be done about it. Thank heavens, some seed falls on good soil and flourishes, praise the Lord.
"But what the parable doesn't mention is that some seed is just bad. You can give it perfect conditions—sun, soil, rain—and it just doesn't grow. It's a dud. A dead end.
"I think that is why Jack is so drawn to you, John. He knows you will never expect anything from him. You will never trap him in obligation, because there is nothing you expect from yourself. You will wallow in base pleasures without making the slightest mark on the world, and Jack would be happy to do the same. He likes you because you won't grow. Because you're a bad seed.
"He denied you your chance at heaven, John, just so he could have someone to get high with. You owe him nothing. So just keep your mouth shut and play your part. This will all be over soon, and you'll be back to your weed before you know it. Capisce?"
It took all my will to keep from crying, but I was not about to give him the satisfaction. I nodded.
"Your Holiness, he's here," one of the Peter Bros said, sticking his head in through the outer doors.
"Keep him here," Peter instructed the Ushers before exiting.
I heard muffled shouts from Peter through the doors, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I could only guess that he was yelling down to Jack at the bottom of the staircase. I felt like a prop waiting backstage to be used.
A Peter Bro peeked in and waved us over, and the Ushers escorted me outside. I had guessed correctly. Jack stood at the bottom of the steps.
"Dude, are you ok?" Jack shouted up at me.
"Dude, don't do it!" I shouted back. "Peter thinks he's got your number! It's a trap!" One of the Ushers gave my shoulder what was probably to him a gentle squeeze, and I winced in pain.
"If I go willingly," Jack shouted at Peter, "you will ensure John is safely returned to the globe, yes? No funny business?"
"I swear to God," Peter said.
Unfortunately, we all knew he meant it.
The Ushers dragged me back inside the cathedral and pushed me into the golf cart. The heart-printed bro drove while rainbow-print bro sat in back with me, clutching me casually like a man guarding his backpack on the subway. Two other Peter Bros opened the interior doors, and we headed into the nave of the church.
The aisle was as wide as a road, but it was dwarfed by our surroundings. On either side, rows of pews and kneelers ascended up as high as a football stadium. Behind those, unfathomably tall stained glass windows reached for heaven, casting a warm, dim light over the place. You couldn't even see the ceiling, it was so high. The only sound was the soft whir of the golf cart. Despite going top speed, it still took us a minute or two to reach the sanctuary.
The sanctuary was a few steps up from the aisle. There was a large altar, but I had learned that such altars were actually three-dimensional displays, advanced heavenly technology. And the altar was the only thing that resembled a sacred space. In front of the altar was a square cage with an X-shaped St. Andrew's Cross inside, cuffs dangling from the four ends. There was a raised observation platform in the far back. In a half-circle around the altar, Peter Bros sat at control panels, staring at screens and busily pressing buttons.
This wasn't a church, it was a battle station.
Just off to the side at the foot of the sanctuary was a railing encircling a hole in the floor that lead straight down into the dark licking flames of the Lake. The Ushers dragged me over to a gap in the railing, hooking themselves to safety lines and holding me firm at the edge.
The pews began to fill as thousands of Peter Bros marched in from side entrances. They kept in neat lines and did not speak. Every one of them had a custom-tailored suit with a goofy print incorporated, and despite the darkness, every one was wearing sunglasses. They began to chant.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
It was a thunderous, dread-inducing chant, and they repeated it over and over.
A spotlight shined down on the far end of the aisle as a procession began. I couldn't make out faces from that distance, but I could just barely see it was lead by a tall, long-haired man in a brown robe. I knew it was Jack.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
I couldn't hold it back anymore. I began to weep.
The procession slowly crawled forward.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
I thought about casting myself into the Fire. The Ushers had a tight grip on me, but if I lunged suddenly and threw all my weight behind it, there was a chance I could break free. I wouldn't resurrect. I wouldn't even be on backup tape. I'd just be gone. But then Jack wouldn't need to do the same for me.
I couldn't do it, though. I was a coward.
I began to sob.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
Peter was right. Deep down in my soul, I knew he was right. I was a drain on the world, a dead end. All I had ever sought was my own pleasure. I had never truly sacrificed. The only good I had ever done in my life was leftovers after I had eaten my fill. Even in heaven, I had only been a good man because I had no other choice. That was the only way I would ever be a good man.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
Why was Jack doing this? I wasn't worthy. He was the Son of the Son of God. There was real good he could do in the world. He was throwing his very existence away for mine. It was a waste. I was nothing. But there wasn't anything I could do about it. All I could do was stand there and let him sacrifice himself for me.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
This was actually taking a really long time. The procession was only like halfway down the aisle. They were doing the slow wedding walk where every step ends with your feet side-by-side. I couldn't blame Jack for dragging this out, but there's only so much crying a guy can do. My tears lessened. My head ached from snot. I was empty inside.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
The procession was finally close enough that I could see it all. Jack gave me a glance, but then looked back straight ahead. He had such a look of sad resignation on his face, an unmoving frown. I couldn't comprehend why he was doing this.
He was followed by three Peter Bros. For once, they were not wearing their weird suits. They had on old-school altar boy vestments, white lacy surplices over red cassocks. They still wore their sunglasses though. The first carried a thurible from which incense wafted. The second carried a golden cross atop a pole. The third carried a pole with a bronze snake wrapped around it.
At the back of the procession was Peter, in full Vatican couture. He had the tall pointed pope hat with a gold cross on it, layers of gold and white robes, and a gold stole covered in intricately embroidered holy symbols. He pressed his palms together in prayer. He was the very caricature of piety.
They lined up along the edge of the sanctuary and bowed. The altar bros carrying the icons placed them into stands on either side of the cage and remained there with their hands folded. Jack walked up and stood in front of the cage, facing the congregation. Peter and the thurifer bro walked to the back and ascended the platform overlooking it all.
ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
The chanting stopped in unnatural unison, and for a brief moment, the cathedral was silent.
I had to say it now. I should have said it that morning on the ship. This would be my last chance. He had to know. If he was going to do this, he needed to know, and I needed to finally have the guts to say it.
"JACK!" I cried out. "I LOVE YOU!"
Peter threw me a nasty look, and one of the Ushers clamped their hand over my mouth.
"I know," is what I expected Jack to say. The full Han to Leia. I would have been fine with that. That's all I wanted, was for him to know. He didn't have to say anything. I just wanted him to know.
Jack looked at me and smiled.
"I love you, too!" he shouted back to me.
I collapsed into tears, only the Usher's grip over my face holding me upright.
Peter raised his arms in prayer.
"Lord God, most holy, you who created the world in wisdom and righteousness! You formed man in your own image, and even in his disobedience, you did not abandon him to death, for in your mercy you came to the aid of all. As Abraham offered Isaac, as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, as you gave your Son to death that we may rise from the dead to new life, we offer you now this sacrifice, the Only Begotten Son of the Only Begotten Son! May this offering destroy death itself and bring your work to perfection, so you might grant to your people eternal life and sanctify the fullness of creation. We ask this through Christ our Lord!"
"Amen," the cathedral echoed with the voices of thousands of bros.
KYRIE ELEISON! ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
The chanting resumed. Through blurry vision I watched as the altar bros removed Jack's robe. He was naked underneath.
I averted my eyes. I had never seen Jack naked before. For all that I once dreamed of it, it was heartbreaking to see him like this now. But I had to bear witness to what was about to occur. Perception is pieced together from the patchwork of places we look. I decided I simply wouldn't look there. I looked back up at Jack.
The altar bros were chaining him to the St. Andrew's cross. He was looking me in the eyes as they shut the cage doors. With a loud clanking sound, the cage was elevated by chains. A hatch in the floor slid open beneath him, and the ethereal flames flickered up around him.
"Sacrificial vessel is in position, Your Holiness!" shouted one of the bros at a control panel.
"Drop on my mark!" shouted Peter.
ELEISE TON CHRISTO!
The chanting stopped.
"Mark!"
The cage was released, and it plummeted down into the Lake of Fire.
The Ushers removed their grip on me. The entire cathedral collectively held their breath. I just stood in shock and watched.
"Activate apocalyptic display!" Peter commanded.
Above the altar appeared a larger-than-life full color hologram of Jack on the cross, arms and legs spread like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. His hair was whipping up into the air around him as he fell, but his head hung down to his chest. Given the angles, it was as if he was still looking me in the eyes. I kept looking into his.
"Vessel is entering the corona, Your Holiness!"
The unnatural colors of the Fire danced across Jack's body. He looked up to heaven.
"Oh God," he moaned. His amplified voice echoed through the cathedral.
His whole body jerked and began to sway as his hair flew in circles forward and backward. The cage must be flipping around as it fell.
"Oh... God..." Jack said. But it wasn't a cry of pain. His whole body began glowing white.
There were a few snickers from the congregation.
"OH! GOD!"
Jack's body burst into a brilliant white light. His hair spread out around his head like a halo.
There was a hooting cat-call from the congregation, followed by giggling.
"OH MY GOD!"
I finally allowed myself to look below his waist.
Jack, the Son of the Son of God, was a grower, not a show-er.
Peals of laughter spread throughout the Peter Bros.
"Yeah baby! Work it! Woooooooooo!"
"Stop that! Silence!" Peter shouted, but no one listened. "This is some kind of trick! Keep that display on!"
"FUCK!" Jack cried out in pleasure. "YES! FUCK! OH MY FUCKING GOD!"
And then, to the sounds of a cheering and jeering crowd of bros, Jesus' Son came.
And Jesus' Son came again.
And Jesus' Son came again.
And again.
And...I'm sure you get the picture.
Yes, in retrospect, it was pretty funny. And hot. But in that moment, all I felt was joy. I was just so very happy to see my friend so happy. Tears running down my face, I smiled.
"Your Holiness, the vessel is approaching the event horizon," shouted one of the control panel bros. "Contact in three, two, one..."
Jack looked down at me with a dopey smile of satisfaction. I wasn't sure how apocalyptic displays worked, but I knew for sure that he could see me.
"Goodbye," he said.
And with a blinding flash, he was gone.
Chains dangled from an empty cross.
My heart shattered.
"Subject soul terminated, Your Holiness," reported the control panel bro.
"What's the status of the Fire?" Peter shouted.
"No change in the AR field, Your Holiness!"
"Keep monitoring!" Peter snapped.
The ground rumbled. An alarm on a control panel began to wail.
"Geological instability detected, Your Holiness!"
"What about the Fire?" Peter yelled.
"Still no change, Your Holiness!"
The ground began to shake. The congregation's laughter became shouts of panic. Stones began to fall from the ceiling.
"KEEP MONITORING!" Peter commanded.
I might have just stayed there. I had no hope and no will. My soul was eviscerated. I was numb. But then a soft, kind voice spoke within me.
Run.
So I ran. I ran down the aisle toward the far-away door. I ran as fast as that body could take me, which wasn't very fast at all. The earth quaked around me. The pews were a crawling mass of bros attempting to escape. Behind me were wails of terror and pain, and the insistent voice of St. Peter.
"Keeeeeep monitoriiiing!"
I kept running. Every sinew of my being was on fire. I couldn't breathe. I heard the ground cracking open behind me. I wasn't even halfway down the aisle yet. There was no way I was going to make it. The floor gave out from under me.
Then I was lifted, as if by a great wind, and I flew forward. Something was holding me up under my arms, but it was nothing that I could see. The two sets of wooden doors burst open, and I flew through them. Up through the air, I flew. I was carried to higher ground, where I saw Jesus waiting for me. He looked as he had when I met him—short, jolly, hair balding into a natural tonsure. Though he was actually wearing his Bible robes this time. I was deposited into his outstretched arms.
"Thanks Dad," I heard Jesus say, "I've got him from here."
Panting, I let him support me as we stood watching the cathedral collapse into the Lake of Fire, as if it had never been there. But then nothing else happened. Nothing else changed. The Lake of Fire remained.
A flying saucer landed. Jesus lead me up the stairs, where he passed me over to a kindly looking older man and woman.
"No rest for the willing," I heard Jesus say.
The older couple sat me down on a bench. I curled up into the fetal position and faded into pure exhaustion.
Next: Life After Jesus' Son
Doing Drugs with Jesus’ Son is always free.