Good Friday
You startled me. I’m not used to having company when I am engaged in my annual visitation.
Visitation? Oh, that’s just what I call it. Some call it “doing my penance” but that’s ridiculous. I won’t call it a penance. That might suggest I was wrong and needed to repent. No, I reject that notion. I do not do anything I don’t want to do. Let that be clear
No one can force me to do anything. I’m here because I choose to be here. I want to be here. I would not be anywhere else. This is voluntary. I actually look forward to it. It’s .... Restful.
What? Why do I insist on repeating myself? I don’t. No. Of course not. Don’t even think it. I just like to be understood. And if one is to be understood, well, one must be properly quoted, right? No lies, rumors, innuendos. Everything open and above board. I’m a paragon of honesty!
So you were looking for me? No? You just stopped in here? No doubt for holy reasons. It being Good Friday. Of course. Very reasonable. Why wouldn’t you.
This is a rather out-of-the-way chapel, though, not one many people search out. I don’t believe there has been a congregation assemble here in years. I’m usually careful about that detail. I prefer solitude. I think more clearly when I’m alone. Being in crowds tends to get me into trouble.
Am I in trouble? No. No, I wouldn’t say so.
And who are you? In trouble yourself, perhaps? Here to put in a pious request for mercy from the Almighty? Forgiveness for some sin, perhaps, or intercession for a loved one? There aren’t any candles here anymore. Sorry. Would you like me to conjure one up for you? It’s no trouble. You’d rather not? Good. I prefer the dark myself, but I have no jurisdiction here.
Who am I? Oh, I thought you knew. I’m the devil. Satan. Old Scratch. People give me many different names. None of them my real one, I might hasten to add. Never tell your real name. I never do. Bad business, that. Encourages familiarity.
Why did I tell you who I was? I don’t know. I don’t usually. Call it a whim. It was clear you’d have to know, sooner or later. If I was to continue talking to you, that is. And I’m rather enjoying this little chat. You aren’t going to run away now, just because I told you who I was? I have no intention of hurting you. Not on Good Friday.
Besides, few people ever believe me when I do reveal my identity. Odd how they have no trouble believing in the “Other One”, but dismiss me as superstitious nonsense. If it will make you feel any better, I make a promise: you are safe. I will not hurt you. Besides, you won’t remember me anyway. It will be as if this never happened. I could tell you anything I wanted, it wouldn’t matter. It’s a little joke of mine. I often tell people the most outrageous things and they’ll believe me, and afterward they’ll have it all mixed up - if they remember any of it at all! - and forget half of what I said. It’s very amusing.
People have a peculiar notion about my so-called “powers”. They aren’t nearly as impressive as they’ve been rumored to be. I don’t know where that idea began.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I have some idea. Yes, I must be honest, on this one night at least. It seems to be demanded of me, although I don’t know why. Truth, lie, it’s all the same to me.
The fact is, although my power is limited, I do like to leave the impression I’m important, powerful in fact, a dangerous enemy if you oppose me. And since I’ve been given that reputation, well ... I don’t try very hard to discourage it. Never underestimate the usefulness of a good bluff, right? Ha!
Oh, did my laugh startle you? I’m sorry. I’ll try to control myself. Although why I should be solicitous of your feelings, I have no idea. You’re the intruder, not I. I was here first, you know, and I already told you I prefer to be alone. This is the one night I can rely on not having to do anything. At least, that’s usually so.
I approach my “visitation retreat” confidently. I’ve researched it beforehand, you see. The church will be empty. Dust and cobwebs attest to that. I prefer cleanliness of course, and scrub things up a bit before I enter. I do have that much power, in all events.
Why do I prefer cleanliness? That does seem a bit out of character for me, doesn’t it? Actually I’m quite fastidious, always have been. I prefer a place for everything and everything in its place. The universe has entirely too much chaos in it for my taste. Neat and orderly means control. Besides, it’s my experience that dust, cobwebs, neglected bits of offal, all old marks of previous owners, and such reminders lead to distractions.
For instance, that forgotten rosary beside the altar rail? (I assume it was forgotten, most people hold on to their superstitious beads). It isn’t yours, by chance, is it? No, I didn’t think so. Not your type. I don’t suppose you even carry one, do you? Oh, you do? How charming. Hand-carved ivory no doubt. Turquoise? Really. You must show it to me some time. No, no, not right now. It would be too distracting. We already have one here, and that’s my point you see. It distracts.
I look at this silly trinket and immediately my mind scampers off in search of its owner. I do have enough powers to locate missing persons, you know. Oh, you didn’t? Oh yes. And humans thought they had invented identify theft. Ha.
Yes, I know precisely who left this trinket and where she is right now. A handy ability, you say? Not really. Amusing at times. If I’m in the mood to be perverse and hurtful. That doesn’t happen very often. Generally I’m a “live and let live” kind of person. You don’t believe me? Oh yes. I would much rather have friends than enemies. I like getting along. It’s when you rile people up that times can get tricky. You think I enjoyed the spectacle of the guillotine and the gas ovens? Not really. I only used them to advance the story a bit. Provide dramatic conflict, keep people on their toes.
Keep myself on my toes too, I suppose. I do hate boredom.
But we were talking about that rosary. You see, it presents a problem for me. When I see it, I recall its owner. And immediately I’m reliving her story. I’m so susceptible to other people’s stories. Always have been. I can’t seem to keep my nose out of their business. Ha. And whether my interference worked well for them or not, I’m never quite sure. Frankly, they make me crazy with second-guessing.
Did I really help her? Who cares? That’s not the point, you see, it’s the story that interests me. I simply gave her a glimpse of how desperate her life was going to get. That’s all. It was up to her to decide what she’d do next.
She thought she was going to be an unwed mother you see. You know the story. Infatuation, loneliness, impulsive decision, passion, remorse, abandonment. I’ve seen it too many times for it to be particularly interesting. But in her case I was not myself. Ordinarily I would not have interfered, but she annoyed me with her pious tears and her wringing of her hands. Who did she think she was, making such a fuss, as if this was the first time this sort of thing had ever happened. I don’t like self-pity. I wanted her to get out and leave me alone. So I heightened the drama a bit. Showed her all the things that could happen to her: her mother’s shock, her father’s anger, the snide remarks of her so-called friends. Banal, puerile.
Sorry? I’m boring you? Oh dear. And I was just getting used to having a visitor. But you’re probably right. The point is, that girl got stuck in my head, and that unsettles me. Makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want any distractions. This is my place and my time. That’s why I insist on cleaning the space first. No remnants of stories left over. Nothing to wonder about. I want peace.
That surprises you? Don’t you want peace? Of course you do. Let others do their heroic bits. Let them be black belt champs and mountain climbers. Give me rest, peace, tranquility. Nothing to reflect upon, nothing to wonder about, sheer undisturbed calm. I love the sign “do not disturb”. If I had a tombstone, that’s what I’d put on it. Ha.
Do I want you to leave me alone? Not really. There’s something soothing about talking to you. I don’t know why. One does get a little weary of talking to one’s self.
What do I think about? Well, it’s Good Friday, isn’t it? Of course I think about that Man. Jesus. Isn’t that what you came here to think about? It’s a holy obligation. We come here to contemplate the great mystery. How God so loved the world that he gave his only son to save it. The cheat!
Who? God. Jesus. The both of them. Isn’t that what they did? Cheated me, the Devil. It was a trick. But let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about you. Who are you anyway?
You’d rather not say. Ah. Timid? No. You don’t look timid. Modest perhaps, but still a person of definite opinions. Nobody’s going to fool you. Ah yes, I like your kind. The world needs more of you.
What kind? Realists of course. You prefer things spelled out in black and white. So do I. That’s my chief complaint, you know. We’ve been created with brains, yet we aren’t allowed to use them. Well, we can use them, but only so far. We can never know the final truth about anything. Given all the advances science and technology has made, you’d think we could have some decent answers about ultimate reality. But no, the creator prefers some kind of hocus pocus mystery. At least I’ve been kept in the dark.
Although, I must admit I thought I had a clear idea in the beginning. What? What idea? About Him, of course. God. The Supreme Being. Why we’re here in this place. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the chief reason for being here on this day of all days. We’re worshiping the Lord.
Do I worship him? Of course. As much as you do, probably. Maybe even more. After all, he surrounds me, almost like a parenthesis. There at the beginning, there at the end. No matter how far I stretch in between, he still leads and follows. It’s quite frustrating.
Oh, I beg your pardon. You are a believer and unaccustomed to hearing anyone complain about Him. Yes, yes, I understand. I shall be more considerate in future. But really, you hardly have any right to complain of me. This is, after all, my night. I was the winner you know. King for the Day! Pretty exhilarating stuff. By all that’s fair and right, I should still be King. But there seems to have been a hidden clause in the contract somewhere.
Damn it all, why doesn’t he show his face?
Oh, excuse me. I started to lose my temper. I beg your pardon. Most uncharacteristic of me. But then I’m not used to company and having to speak about myself this way. I am usually alone.
Well the plain truth of the matter is, I made my biggest mistake on this day. Mistake? Yes. I got carried away you might say. I didn’t know Jesus was for real. How could I? I didn’t even know God was real. Still don’t know. Although sometimes I think maybe he is. If he isn’t real, then how can he keep occupying my mind this way? Oh, it’s crazy and so unfair.
I tested him, you know. Jesus. Gave him three chances to prove himself to me. It was all legal and above board. “Turn the stones into bread” I said. An eminently reasonable suggestion considering how many starving people there are in the world. Good Lord, why let people be born if you’re going to starve them afterwards? Feed them. Didn’t he feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish? Now I ask you, if you can do that, why not feed everybody? Who needs useless rocks lying around when they could be turned into wholesome loaves of pumpernickel? My favorite.
Yes, a sensible God would do more than let a man get crucified on a cross. He’d meet people where they are, assess their needs and take appropriate action to meet those needs. What’s the use of being a God if babies still die of hunger? If I were God, I could do a better job than that with one hand tied behind me!
Why don’t I? Oh, you’re being flippant aren’t you. Trying to catch me up. Turn me into a benevolent being. Just to please you, no doubt. Ah no. I don’t fall for that kind of appeal. No, I won’t do anything that violates my own code of conduct.
Do I have one? Of course. Very simple, and very sensible. Everyone for himself.
Is that all? Yes. What else do you need? I grant you there’s been plenty of evil done by do-gooders. It’s rather fun to watch some times. All those heretics burned at the stake for the salvation of their misguided souls. Yes, gratifying. But unfortunately sometimes that do-gooder instinct actually accomplishes genuine good and that’s beyond my comprehension. I discourage that impulse whenever possible.
No, I am a rational being. I believe in self-preservation, and when that comes into conflict with other beings, I say “May the best man win.” Let the fittest survive.
That’s what the second test was really all about. I mean, maybe he was the Son of God. It was a bizarre notion. As far as I know, God wasn’t usually in the habit of mingling his divinity with human women. If he took a notion to try it, who was I to say him nay? But if he did, surely there would be certain perquisites that came from being at least half-divine. Jumping off the roof of the Temple and relying on God’s angels to catch him seemed simple enough.
It would have been a great stunt though, wouldn’t it? I mean, if angels really had rescued him! What a sight. And it would have gone a long way to proving something or other. Of course, I’m not sure I’d have believed it, even if I had seen it. People can do such amazing things. Did you see that magician actually walk through the wall of China? That was a good one. Still haven’t figured out how he did that. Mass hypnosis is my bet. Jesus could have done something like that.
On the other hand, he could have killed himself! Ha. Yes, he would have been dead as a doornail. That would have ended the mystery right there. A lot simpler for everybody. You see what I mean? He didn’t do the simple things. The people wanted a Messiah. They wanted a new king. They wanted the glory of David and Solomon restored. They wanted the Romans out of there once and for all. Yet every time he looked like he was ready to take on the job, he backed out. He’d hop into a boat and sail away, or he’d go off to a dinner party with a tax collector where no self respecting Jew would ever go. Or he’d just plain disappear.
Think of the situation when we had that little “test” of ours. Where was he? In the desert. Total wilderness. Isolation. Not a soul around. He’d just been at the Jordan getting baptized, with thunder and lightning and all kinds of hoopla.
You take exception to that? Well, I suppose you’re right. No big dramatic affect. But they say they heard the voice of God calling him his beloved son. Of course, some thought he was talking about John. Even I thought so for a while. But I knew I’d better cover my bet. That’s why I followed Jesus out into the wilderness, to keep an eye on him, you know. I had to see if he really did have an “in” with God. I don’t trust these loners. They aren’t natural.
And whatever else you say, it wasn’t natural to go off like that when he had just had that ecstatic experience by the river. He should have stayed where the people were, started his kingdom there, built up a following. That would have made sense.
I almost didn’t follow him. Who would care what he did by himself out there in the desert? Mystics are so boring. If I could just have gotten him to jump off the temple tower, I could have ...
Oh well, he wouldn’t do it. What’s the use of talking about it? Go away. I’m tired of thinking about it.
No, don’t go. Please don’t go. It helps having you here to share my time with. Not that I have to be here, you know. Well, maybe some would say I have to. It’s complicated. I do what I want to do. I refuse to be at any one’s beck and call. But something keeps drawing me back. I keep wanting to figure it all out somehow. Maybe if I could finally understand, I could let it go.
Actually, the real truth is I enjoy talking about it. In some perverse way, I enjoy telling the story over and over and over. I get to be important. Where would Jesus be without me?
That’s what was so galling about that third test. “Worship me” I said. It was foolish, I know. Never reveal yourself. Don’t let them see what they’re really doing. If you have to explain a temptation, make it look like an unfortunate but necessary good in disguise. Don’t tell them to disobey God, tell them how bending the rule a little will accomplish good in the end. You know, the end justifies the means. That sort of thing.
Remember Adam and Eve? “Don’t eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” Simple rule. And there were plenty of other trees, other fruit. They certainly weren’t hungry, or in danger of starving. Telling them to go ahead and eat the fruit would have been a hard sell. So what did I do? Told them although they weren’t supposed to do it, they had much to gain by it. They would be as smart as God. They’d be gods themselves. Surely that was a desirable thing. Why shouldn’t they do it? Too bad about the rule, but they could do so much good for others if they did it. Sacrifice themselves for the benefit of the human race. That’s the way to work the temptation game.
When I asked Jesus to worship me, I thought he’d see the advantage in it. He could have ruled all the kingdoms of the world. With his superior gifts, he could have been the benefactor of the whole human race. It seemed like a reasonable plan. But I let it slip, that bit about worshiping me.
I never do that sort of thing. Never. It’s an unwritten law. Worship nature, worship abstract ideals, worship a beautiful woman, worship anything but not me. Why would anyone ever want to worship me?
Oh, there I go again. Talking too much. It’s my curse. If I keep this up you’ll start wondering why I’d want to be worshiped in the first place. It is pretty ridiculous. And one of the chief reasons why I’ve never been satisfied that He really existed at all. Demanding all that worship. It’s so self-centered. Almost as if God needed to be approved of. How pathetic.
A truly self-confident being needs no worship. Remember that. There’s nothing quite so repulsive as a person who needs to be loved. Spare me please.
I didn’t really mean it when I asked Jesus to worship me. I couldn’t. I have more dignity than that. No, it was a temporary aberration. I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t have been. At most all I wanted was to have him notice me. Believe in me. Was that asking too much?
Well, of course it was. Jesus saw through that immediately. Even I could see through it. Where did that uncertainty come from? What was missing in me that I should fall for that temptation? Worship me. No, no, no. Don’t ever ask for that. It’s too naked, too vulnerable, too humiliating.
At least he didn’t laugh at me. I’m not sure I could have stood that. Not that I bore what he did do any better.
Why do I keep coming back to that? Why can’t I leave it alone? Why do I have to debase myself in front of you this way? You don’t even believe in me, do you? Be honest. You think I’m a figment of your imagination. The product of someone’s overactive brain spinning out empty dreams.
Do you know how insulting that is? I was only trying to test him, make him prove himself, satisfy once and for all the haunting question: Is there really a God? And look where it ended me up. I am a perfectly real, perfectly rational, perfectly sensible being - yet now people wonder about me. I’m not even sure I believe in me any more.
Oh, but I have one advantage still left. You need me. You really do. The story doesn’t make sense without me, does it? Now I’ve got your attention. The truth’s out. The fat’s in the fire, there’s no putting it out. You need me, you really do.
I’m the fall guy, the final cause, the answer to why things always go wrong. I get the blame. God had to have someone to take the heat. Why do things happen? If God didn’t cause it all, who did? Your humble servant, that’s who. It’s all my fault.
Well, it’s a messy job but somebody has to do it. Oh yes, hate me if you wish, but you still need me. You always will. Every little misdeed, every nasty thought, every so-called sin you ever commit: it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. Oh yes, you’re plenty glad to have me around then. The buck never stops with you. It always stops with me.
That’s why you’re so afraid of me? That’s why you wear crosses around your necks? Why you show up in churches at these un-godly hours, to protect yourselves from me? You’re not fooling me!
“The devil made me do it!” The devil made me do it? Is that your excuse? I beg your pardon. You thought I was the strong one? That I was devising all these nasty tricks to get your soul damned? On the contrary. I’m only your humble servant. I do your bidding, not the other way around.
That heavenly father of yours needn’t fear me. I didn’t crucify his son, did I? You did. When Pilate gave you a choice, you chose Barabbas. I simply went along with it.
I may admire the under dog, but I always go with the crowd.
You startled me. I’m not used to having company when I am engaged in my annual visitation.
Visitation? Oh, that’s just what I call it. Some call it “doing my penance” but that’s ridiculous. I won’t call it a penance. That might suggest I was wrong and needed to repent. No, I reject that notion. I do not do anything I don’t want to do. Let that be clear
No one can force me to do anything. I’m here because I choose to be here. I want to be here. I would not be anywhere else. This is voluntary. I actually look forward to it. It’s .... Restful.
What? Why do I insist on repeating myself? I don’t. No. Of course not. Don’t even think it. I just like to be understood. And if one is to be understood, well, one must be properly quoted, right? No lies, rumors, innuendos. Everything open and above board. I’m a paragon of honesty!
So you were looking for me? No? You just stopped in here? No doubt for holy reasons. It being Good Friday. Of course. Very reasonable. Why wouldn’t you.
This is a rather out-of-the-way chapel, though, not one many people search out. I don’t believe there has been a congregation assemble here in years. I’m usually careful about that detail. I prefer solitude. I think more clearly when I’m alone. Being in crowds tends to get me into trouble.
Am I in trouble? No. No, I wouldn’t say so.
And who are you? In trouble yourself, perhaps? Here to put in a pious request for mercy from the Almighty? Forgiveness for some sin, perhaps, or intercession for a loved one? There aren’t any candles here anymore. Sorry. Would you like me to conjure one up for you? It’s no trouble. You’d rather not? Good. I prefer the dark myself, but I have no jurisdiction here.
Who am I? Oh, I thought you knew. I’m the devil. Satan. Old Scratch. People give me many different names. None of them my real one, I might hasten to add. Never tell your real name. I never do. Bad business, that. Encourages familiarity.
Why did I tell you who I was? I don’t know. I don’t usually. Call it a whim. It was clear you’d have to know, sooner or later. If I was to continue talking to you, that is. And I’m rather enjoying this little chat. You aren’t going to run away now, just because I told you who I was? I have no intention of hurting you. Not on Good Friday.
Besides, few people ever believe me when I do reveal my identity. Odd how they have no trouble believing in the “Other One”, but dismiss me as superstitious nonsense. If it will make you feel any better, I make a promise: you are safe. I will not hurt you. Besides, you won’t remember me anyway. It will be as if this never happened. I could tell you anything I wanted, it wouldn’t matter. It’s a little joke of mine. I often tell people the most outrageous things and they’ll believe me, and afterward they’ll have it all mixed up - if they remember any of it at all! - and forget half of what I said. It’s very amusing.
People have a peculiar notion about my so-called “powers”. They aren’t nearly as impressive as they’ve been rumored to be. I don’t know where that idea began.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I have some idea. Yes, I must be honest, on this one night at least. It seems to be demanded of me, although I don’t know why. Truth, lie, it’s all the same to me.
The fact is, although my power is limited, I do like to leave the impression I’m important, powerful in fact, a dangerous enemy if you oppose me. And since I’ve been given that reputation, well ... I don’t try very hard to discourage it. Never underestimate the usefulness of a good bluff, right? Ha!
Oh, did my laugh startle you? I’m sorry. I’ll try to control myself. Although why I should be solicitous of your feelings, I have no idea. You’re the intruder, not I. I was here first, you know, and I already told you I prefer to be alone. This is the one night I can rely on not having to do anything. At least, that’s usually so.
I approach my “visitation retreat” confidently. I’ve researched it beforehand, you see. The church will be empty. Dust and cobwebs attest to that. I prefer cleanliness of course, and scrub things up a bit before I enter. I do have that much power, in all events.
Why do I prefer cleanliness? That does seem a bit out of character for me, doesn’t it? Actually I’m quite fastidious, always have been. I prefer a place for everything and everything in its place. The universe has entirely too much chaos in it for my taste. Neat and orderly means control. Besides, it’s my experience that dust, cobwebs, neglected bits of offal, all old marks of previous owners, and such reminders lead to distractions.
For instance, that forgotten rosary beside the altar rail? (I assume it was forgotten, most people hold on to their superstitious beads). It isn’t yours, by chance, is it? No, I didn’t think so. Not your type. I don’t suppose you even carry one, do you? Oh, you do? How charming. Hand-carved ivory no doubt. Turquoise? Really. You must show it to me some time. No, no, not right now. It would be too distracting. We already have one here, and that’s my point you see. It distracts.
I look at this silly trinket and immediately my mind scampers off in search of its owner. I do have enough powers to locate missing persons, you know. Oh, you didn’t? Oh yes. And humans thought they had invented identify theft. Ha.
Yes, I know precisely who left this trinket and where she is right now. A handy ability, you say? Not really. Amusing at times. If I’m in the mood to be perverse and hurtful. That doesn’t happen very often. Generally I’m a “live and let live” kind of person. You don’t believe me? Oh yes. I would much rather have friends than enemies. I like getting along. It’s when you rile people up that times can get tricky. You think I enjoyed the spectacle of the guillotine and the gas ovens? Not really. I only used them to advance the story a bit. Provide dramatic conflict, keep people on their toes.
Keep myself on my toes too, I suppose. I do hate boredom.
But we were talking about that rosary. You see, it presents a problem for me. When I see it, I recall its owner. And immediately I’m reliving her story. I’m so susceptible to other people’s stories. Always have been. I can’t seem to keep my nose out of their business. Ha. And whether my interference worked well for them or not, I’m never quite sure. Frankly, they make me crazy with second-guessing.
Did I really help her? Who cares? That’s not the point, you see, it’s the story that interests me. I simply gave her a glimpse of how desperate her life was going to get. That’s all. It was up to her to decide what she’d do next.
She thought she was going to be an unwed mother you see. You know the story. Infatuation, loneliness, impulsive decision, passion, remorse, abandonment. I’ve seen it too many times for it to be particularly interesting. But in her case I was not myself. Ordinarily I would not have interfered, but she annoyed me with her pious tears and her wringing of her hands. Who did she think she was, making such a fuss, as if this was the first time this sort of thing had ever happened. I don’t like self-pity. I wanted her to get out and leave me alone. So I heightened the drama a bit. Showed her all the things that could happen to her: her mother’s shock, her father’s anger, the snide remarks of her so-called friends. Banal, puerile.
Sorry? I’m boring you? Oh dear. And I was just getting used to having a visitor. But you’re probably right. The point is, that girl got stuck in my head, and that unsettles me. Makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want any distractions. This is my place and my time. That’s why I insist on cleaning the space first. No remnants of stories left over. Nothing to wonder about. I want peace.
That surprises you? Don’t you want peace? Of course you do. Let others do their heroic bits. Let them be black belt champs and mountain climbers. Give me rest, peace, tranquility. Nothing to reflect upon, nothing to wonder about, sheer undisturbed calm. I love the sign “do not disturb”. If I had a tombstone, that’s what I’d put on it. Ha.
Do I want you to leave me alone? Not really. There’s something soothing about talking to you. I don’t know why. One does get a little weary of talking to one’s self.
What do I think about? Well, it’s Good Friday, isn’t it? Of course I think about that Man. Jesus. Isn’t that what you came here to think about? It’s a holy obligation. We come here to contemplate the great mystery. How God so loved the world that he gave his only son to save it. The cheat!
Who? God. Jesus. The both of them. Isn’t that what they did? Cheated me, the Devil. It was a trick. But let’s not talk about it. Let’s talk about you. Who are you anyway?
You’d rather not say. Ah. Timid? No. You don’t look timid. Modest perhaps, but still a person of definite opinions. Nobody’s going to fool you. Ah yes, I like your kind. The world needs more of you.
What kind? Realists of course. You prefer things spelled out in black and white. So do I. That’s my chief complaint, you know. We’ve been created with brains, yet we aren’t allowed to use them. Well, we can use them, but only so far. We can never know the final truth about anything. Given all the advances science and technology has made, you’d think we could have some decent answers about ultimate reality. But no, the creator prefers some kind of hocus pocus mystery. At least I’ve been kept in the dark.
Although, I must admit I thought I had a clear idea in the beginning. What? What idea? About Him, of course. God. The Supreme Being. Why we’re here in this place. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the chief reason for being here on this day of all days. We’re worshiping the Lord.
Do I worship him? Of course. As much as you do, probably. Maybe even more. After all, he surrounds me, almost like a parenthesis. There at the beginning, there at the end. No matter how far I stretch in between, he still leads and follows. It’s quite frustrating.
Oh, I beg your pardon. You are a believer and unaccustomed to hearing anyone complain about Him. Yes, yes, I understand. I shall be more considerate in future. But really, you hardly have any right to complain of me. This is, after all, my night. I was the winner you know. King for the Day! Pretty exhilarating stuff. By all that’s fair and right, I should still be King. But there seems to have been a hidden clause in the contract somewhere.
Damn it all, why doesn’t he show his face?
Oh, excuse me. I started to lose my temper. I beg your pardon. Most uncharacteristic of me. But then I’m not used to company and having to speak about myself this way. I am usually alone.
Well the plain truth of the matter is, I made my biggest mistake on this day. Mistake? Yes. I got carried away you might say. I didn’t know Jesus was for real. How could I? I didn’t even know God was real. Still don’t know. Although sometimes I think maybe he is. If he isn’t real, then how can he keep occupying my mind this way? Oh, it’s crazy and so unfair.
I tested him, you know. Jesus. Gave him three chances to prove himself to me. It was all legal and above board. “Turn the stones into bread” I said. An eminently reasonable suggestion considering how many starving people there are in the world. Good Lord, why let people be born if you’re going to starve them afterwards? Feed them. Didn’t he feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish? Now I ask you, if you can do that, why not feed everybody? Who needs useless rocks lying around when they could be turned into wholesome loaves of pumpernickel? My favorite.
Yes, a sensible God would do more than let a man get crucified on a cross. He’d meet people where they are, assess their needs and take appropriate action to meet those needs. What’s the use of being a God if babies still die of hunger? If I were God, I could do a better job than that with one hand tied behind me!
Why don’t I? Oh, you’re being flippant aren’t you. Trying to catch me up. Turn me into a benevolent being. Just to please you, no doubt. Ah no. I don’t fall for that kind of appeal. No, I won’t do anything that violates my own code of conduct.
Do I have one? Of course. Very simple, and very sensible. Everyone for himself.
Is that all? Yes. What else do you need? I grant you there’s been plenty of evil done by do-gooders. It’s rather fun to watch some times. All those heretics burned at the stake for the salvation of their misguided souls. Yes, gratifying. But unfortunately sometimes that do-gooder instinct actually accomplishes genuine good and that’s beyond my comprehension. I discourage that impulse whenever possible.
No, I am a rational being. I believe in self-preservation, and when that comes into conflict with other beings, I say “May the best man win.” Let the fittest survive.
That’s what the second test was really all about. I mean, maybe he was the Son of God. It was a bizarre notion. As far as I know, God wasn’t usually in the habit of mingling his divinity with human women. If he took a notion to try it, who was I to say him nay? But if he did, surely there would be certain perquisites that came from being at least half-divine. Jumping off the roof of the Temple and relying on God’s angels to catch him seemed simple enough.
It would have been a great stunt though, wouldn’t it? I mean, if angels really had rescued him! What a sight. And it would have gone a long way to proving something or other. Of course, I’m not sure I’d have believed it, even if I had seen it. People can do such amazing things. Did you see that magician actually walk through the wall of China? That was a good one. Still haven’t figured out how he did that. Mass hypnosis is my bet. Jesus could have done something like that.
On the other hand, he could have killed himself! Ha. Yes, he would have been dead as a doornail. That would have ended the mystery right there. A lot simpler for everybody. You see what I mean? He didn’t do the simple things. The people wanted a Messiah. They wanted a new king. They wanted the glory of David and Solomon restored. They wanted the Romans out of there once and for all. Yet every time he looked like he was ready to take on the job, he backed out. He’d hop into a boat and sail away, or he’d go off to a dinner party with a tax collector where no self respecting Jew would ever go. Or he’d just plain disappear.
Think of the situation when we had that little “test” of ours. Where was he? In the desert. Total wilderness. Isolation. Not a soul around. He’d just been at the Jordan getting baptized, with thunder and lightning and all kinds of hoopla.
You take exception to that? Well, I suppose you’re right. No big dramatic affect. But they say they heard the voice of God calling him his beloved son. Of course, some thought he was talking about John. Even I thought so for a while. But I knew I’d better cover my bet. That’s why I followed Jesus out into the wilderness, to keep an eye on him, you know. I had to see if he really did have an “in” with God. I don’t trust these loners. They aren’t natural.
And whatever else you say, it wasn’t natural to go off like that when he had just had that ecstatic experience by the river. He should have stayed where the people were, started his kingdom there, built up a following. That would have made sense.
I almost didn’t follow him. Who would care what he did by himself out there in the desert? Mystics are so boring. If I could just have gotten him to jump off the temple tower, I could have ...
Oh well, he wouldn’t do it. What’s the use of talking about it? Go away. I’m tired of thinking about it.
No, don’t go. Please don’t go. It helps having you here to share my time with. Not that I have to be here, you know. Well, maybe some would say I have to. It’s complicated. I do what I want to do. I refuse to be at any one’s beck and call. But something keeps drawing me back. I keep wanting to figure it all out somehow. Maybe if I could finally understand, I could let it go.
Actually, the real truth is I enjoy talking about it. In some perverse way, I enjoy telling the story over and over and over. I get to be important. Where would Jesus be without me?
That’s what was so galling about that third test. “Worship me” I said. It was foolish, I know. Never reveal yourself. Don’t let them see what they’re really doing. If you have to explain a temptation, make it look like an unfortunate but necessary good in disguise. Don’t tell them to disobey God, tell them how bending the rule a little will accomplish good in the end. You know, the end justifies the means. That sort of thing.
Remember Adam and Eve? “Don’t eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” Simple rule. And there were plenty of other trees, other fruit. They certainly weren’t hungry, or in danger of starving. Telling them to go ahead and eat the fruit would have been a hard sell. So what did I do? Told them although they weren’t supposed to do it, they had much to gain by it. They would be as smart as God. They’d be gods themselves. Surely that was a desirable thing. Why shouldn’t they do it? Too bad about the rule, but they could do so much good for others if they did it. Sacrifice themselves for the benefit of the human race. That’s the way to work the temptation game.
When I asked Jesus to worship me, I thought he’d see the advantage in it. He could have ruled all the kingdoms of the world. With his superior gifts, he could have been the benefactor of the whole human race. It seemed like a reasonable plan. But I let it slip, that bit about worshiping me.
I never do that sort of thing. Never. It’s an unwritten law. Worship nature, worship abstract ideals, worship a beautiful woman, worship anything but not me. Why would anyone ever want to worship me?
Oh, there I go again. Talking too much. It’s my curse. If I keep this up you’ll start wondering why I’d want to be worshiped in the first place. It is pretty ridiculous. And one of the chief reasons why I’ve never been satisfied that He really existed at all. Demanding all that worship. It’s so self-centered. Almost as if God needed to be approved of. How pathetic.
A truly self-confident being needs no worship. Remember that. There’s nothing quite so repulsive as a person who needs to be loved. Spare me please.
I didn’t really mean it when I asked Jesus to worship me. I couldn’t. I have more dignity than that. No, it was a temporary aberration. I wasn’t myself. I couldn’t have been. At most all I wanted was to have him notice me. Believe in me. Was that asking too much?
Well, of course it was. Jesus saw through that immediately. Even I could see through it. Where did that uncertainty come from? What was missing in me that I should fall for that temptation? Worship me. No, no, no. Don’t ever ask for that. It’s too naked, too vulnerable, too humiliating.
At least he didn’t laugh at me. I’m not sure I could have stood that. Not that I bore what he did do any better.
Why do I keep coming back to that? Why can’t I leave it alone? Why do I have to debase myself in front of you this way? You don’t even believe in me, do you? Be honest. You think I’m a figment of your imagination. The product of someone’s overactive brain spinning out empty dreams.
Do you know how insulting that is? I was only trying to test him, make him prove himself, satisfy once and for all the haunting question: Is there really a God? And look where it ended me up. I am a perfectly real, perfectly rational, perfectly sensible being - yet now people wonder about me. I’m not even sure I believe in me any more.
Oh, but I have one advantage still left. You need me. You really do. The story doesn’t make sense without me, does it? Now I’ve got your attention. The truth’s out. The fat’s in the fire, there’s no putting it out. You need me, you really do.
I’m the fall guy, the final cause, the answer to why things always go wrong. I get the blame. God had to have someone to take the heat. Why do things happen? If God didn’t cause it all, who did? Your humble servant, that’s who. It’s all my fault.
Well, it’s a messy job but somebody has to do it. Oh yes, hate me if you wish, but you still need me. You always will. Every little misdeed, every nasty thought, every so-called sin you ever commit: it wasn’t your fault, it was mine. Oh yes, you’re plenty glad to have me around then. The buck never stops with you. It always stops with me.
That’s why you’re so afraid of me? That’s why you wear crosses around your necks? Why you show up in churches at these un-godly hours, to protect yourselves from me? You’re not fooling me!
“The devil made me do it!” The devil made me do it? Is that your excuse? I beg your pardon. You thought I was the strong one? That I was devising all these nasty tricks to get your soul damned? On the contrary. I’m only your humble servant. I do your bidding, not the other way around.
That heavenly father of yours needn’t fear me. I didn’t crucify his son, did I? You did. When Pilate gave you a choice, you chose Barabbas. I simply went along with it.
I may admire the under dog, but I always go with the crowd.
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