The Fairable, part the third

 And now, the conclusion of the story, which will introduce the theme of repentance.
-----

It was very dark.  The oppressive heat continued, though the sun had gone down hours before, and everywhere was the rotten egg stench of sulfur, belched out by the horrid red Dragon.
 

In a corner of the darkness, a certain gray squirrel was admiring his prize.  A real acorn from the fabled Western Woods!  Samuel held it out at arm's length. It was beautiful!  It looked-- like an acorn. Like every other acorn he'd ever seen or eaten in his entire life.  He held it up to his nose to sniff its delectable nutty aroma!  It smelled-- well, mostly it just smelled.  It smelled like rotten eggs, because everything did when you were close to the dragon.  He stuck out his little pink tongue and gave its smooth shell a lick.  It tasted like-- the shell of an acorn... and a little bit like rotten eggs.
 

Ugh! How could he possibly enjoy his reward in this foul atmosphere? He'd done something great and mighty! He'd led two children of King Olam through the woods and handed them over to the dragon--all by himself!  He should be able to enjoy his reward!  Instead, he had a sick feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, and he suspected that it wasn't just the smell of sulfur in the air.  He should be able to bask in the glow of a job well-done!  So why didn't he feel like celebrating?

  
In his mind, he traveled back in time to his younger days.  War was raging fiercely in the Kingdom of Olam back then. Every faithful, able-bodied servant of the King was training for battle. He was part of the "Mad Squirrel Brigade," 305th Regiment!  Their motto had been, "We don't just EAT nuts, we ARE nuts!"  He'd been proud to fight for his king and kingdom! Sgt Bigotes had drilled them in marching in formation for hours!
 

"Squirrels marching to the foe! Hut, two, three, four.
"We will fight them where we go! Hut, two, three, four.
"We will fight them in the trees! Hut, two, three, four.
"We will bite their knobby knees! Hut, two, three, four. Company, halt!"
 

Now, most drill sergeants would've said at this point, "About face!" meaning turn around to go back the way you'd come. However, Sgt Bigotes had grown up in a tree near a monastery, and he'd heard the monks talking often. They had a special word, they said, that meant "to turn around and go back the way you came."  That word was "repent."  So, instead of "About face," Sgt Bigotes said, "Re-PENT!"
Samuel Squirrel smiled at that happy memory. He'd always felt good about being a loyal servant to his King.
 

In the darkness, poorly-lit by a few smoky campfires, Catherine fidgeted against the thick stake, struggling against her bonds. Her wrists were rubbed raw by the coarse ropes, but she thought she might be making some headway with the knots.
 

"Harold," she whispered, "Are you any closer to getting free?" There was no answer.
 

"Harold!" she said, a little louder.
 

"Snorxx--Wha? I'm sorry. I guessed I must have dozed off.  What were you saying?"
 

"Dozed off?! HOW can you sleep at a time like this?! And how can you sleep standing up?!  What are you, a horse?!"
 

"I'm just really tired."
 

"How are you doing with getting your hands untied?"
 

"What? Oh that!  Yeah, I had a dagger tucked in the back of my pants that they didn't know about. I cut myself free hours ago!"
 

"WHAT?!"
 

"Oh sure!  I've just been standing here leaning against this wooden stake because it's just so comfortable!  No, I'm kidding. Still tied up tight."
 

"Harold, I'm scared. What are we gonna do?"
 

"Um... Deep knee bends, maybe?"
 

"Harold!"
 

"Or... we could sing! Do you know 'The Walloping Whales of Cardiff, Wales'?"
 

"Harold."
 

"'There are plenty of fish in the sea, so they say. There's herring and salmon and cod.'"
 

"Harold!"
 

"Oh, right! 'There's Harold and salmon and'--No, that's not right.  Pretty sure it's 'herring.'"
 

"HAROLD!"
 

"Yes?"
 

"MUST you make jokes at a time like this?"
 

"Sorry. I always make jokes when I'm nervous."
 

"You make jokes a lot!"
 

"I'm nervous a lot!"

"Harold! What's that moving over there?
----

"I can fix this!" said Samuel. "I know I can!" He marched right up to the ugly red mound of scaly flesh.  

"Dragon, I've reconsidered our deal. Here's your crummy acorn back. Now let Harold and Catherine go!"
 

The huge snake-like head lowered itself to look Samuel in the eye. "I think not. You, of course are free to leave--but where will you go? [cough.] Do you think you'll be welcome anywhere in the Kingdom once King Olam hears what you've done--that you handed two of his children over to his enemy?  Do you think he could ever forgive you after that? Face it, Squirrel. You've failed, and you must live with the consequences."

Samuel dipped his head, turned, and trudged sadly away.

The dragon drew his head back to coil his long neck over his broken wing, when he was suddenly startled by the sound of thundering hooves that grew louder every second. The night was illuminated by hundreds of torches, borne by soldiers on horseback, and by a light that seemed to emanate from the silvery armor of the of the leader of this army.
 

"Well, well!  King Olam.  I have two of your children here.  Let's come to an arrangement, hmm?"
 

"They don't belong to you." Said King Olam, with the voice of unquestioned authority. "They belong to me. Let. Them. Go."
 

Then, off to the left, near the ground, "Ho-ho!" And on the right, "Ho-ho!" And soon, from everywhere in the shadows, "Ho-ho! Ho-ho! Ho-ho-ho! Ho-ho!"
 

"Harold! It's Poisson Erro!"
 

Everywhere around, brightly colored frogs armed with bows and arrows hopped into the light!
 

"Ho-ho! It is _I_ AND my whole family!  WE are the king's archers!  Allez!"
 

The Dragon and all his vast host of misshapen minions began to flee, peppered on every side with tiny arrows!  Somewhere, in the midst of all the chaos, someone cut the ropes that bound Catherine and Harold--someone who still had a paring knife that had been borrowed from King Olam's kitchen. King Olam dismounted and embraced them both. "My children!" he said. And then, "Samuel Squirrel. Step forward.
 

The little gray squirrel seemed even smaller than usual. He stepped forth on shaking legs, and would not raise his head to look up at the king.
 

"Samuel. What have you done?"
 

"I was supposed to lead these two to safety, but instead, I handed them over to-- to the Dragon. It was wrong! I never should have done it!  I tried to make it right, but I only made things worse!  I'm done with THAT. I don't want to be anything but your loyal subject! I surrender!  Do with me as you will!  I--" he began marching in place on his little squirrel legs, "I want to go back to the place I came from. Your Majesty, I repent!"
 

"Samuel Squirrel..." said King Olaf, getting down on his knees and stretching his arms forward, "I forgive you.  Welcome back."

Another Fairable.

 This is night #2 of the Fairy Tale-themed camp week: "Who Am I?"

I'm prefacing each vespers message with a piece of a longer story that addresses each night's theme. Night #2 is "There's more going on than we knew." The emphasis is the spiritual realities behind what goes on around us. This is a continuation of THIS story. And, it leaves a sort of cliff hanger for the following night.
-----

The morning was cool and misty. Fog rolled through the lowlands from nearby lakes. Harold and Catherine followed Samuel, their squirrel guide, deeper into the forest on a barely-discernible pathway that practically vanished to the eyes of the adventurers—but still the little gray creature led on.

“Forward! Onward!” he squeaked. “We have not many furlongs to go before we can break for repast!” Harold wished he’d paid better attention to his father when he’d explained just how long a furlong was. It wasn’t a measurement he used fixing shoes. And “repast”?! What did that mean?! He wasn’t about to ask Catherine about it. He didn’t want to appear foolish.
 

Catherine, having toiled for years in a kitchen, knew that “repast” meant you got to  eat something. However, she didn’t know what a “furlong” was, either.  She thought it might have something to do with the length of a squirrel’s furry tail. “Fur” “long.” It made sense. But was it different for every squirrel? And what if a deer said it? Catherine had never met a talking deer, and wasn’t sure if they even existed.
 

“Harold,” she whispered, “are there any talking deer?”
 

“Well… I never met any, myself…”
 

“Maybe Samuel knows.” Come to think of it, she’d never met any talking squirrels, either, until yesterday.
 

"So... are you going to ask him?"
 

"Umm... Maybe later."
 

"And now," said Samuel, "we may take a break for a while and refresh ourselves."
 

The branches over their heads contained small, but sweet-smelling apples.
 

"And yonder is a spring of good, cold water," Samuel continued. "We should replenish our water supply."
 

Harold began to climb up into the branches to harvest some of the apples. He reached for one that looked good, but before his fingers could close around it, the apple flew out of the tree and into a denser, more shadowy portion of the forest.  He thought this was odd, but rather than dwelling on it, he reached for a different apple.  Again, just before he could lay his hand on it, that apple, too, went sailing off the branch with a little "whoosh!" and into the thick undergrowth. Harold wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen something like a bird carry the apple away this time!
 

"Ho-ho!" shouted a little voice from the other side of the forest pathway. "Stop! Thou vile knave!"
 

Out of the shadows hopped a tiny frog with bright yellow patches, carrying an even tinier bow and arrow in his little froggy toes!  
 

"Those are the king's apples! And _I_ am the king's archer! Ma name is Poisson Erro! Ho-ho-ho!"

With lightning speed, Poisson loosed three more arrows, and picked three more apples off the tree. "Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
 

"And I keep telling you," said Samuel, returning with a squirrel-sized armload of arrow-pierced apples, 

"That your name means 'Wrong Fish!'"
 

"Samuel, my friend!"
 

"Archer. The young lad in the tree is Harold.  Harold, this is Poisson Erro."

"You are amazing!" said Harold, "Can you teach me to shoot like that?"
 

"And the young lass carrying the waterskins is Catherine.  Catherine, Poisson Erro."
 

She curtsied as best as she could. "Nice to meet you, Fishie!"
 

"We are on business for His Majesty King Olam.  You're a long way from home, Archer.  What brings you back to this territory?"
 

"Ah, what else? Le guerre."
 

"The war?!" said Samuel, "There's always a battle someplace, of course, but--"
 

"No, no. This is THE War.  contre Le Dragon."
 

Harold was on the ground again. "Dragon?! Did you say 'dragon'?"
 

"Oui. Le Dragon."
 

"So, Ol' Red and Scaly is on the move again, eh?"
 

"Do not underestimate him.  It is true, he is injured badly, but he still commands a great and willing army."
 

Samuel replied, "Yes... well... Let's partake of some repast, shall we? We have apples, thanks to our froggy friend!"
 

"And I have some cheese that I brought with me!" said Catherine.
 

"And cold, fresh water," added Samuel.
 

"And I have--" began Harold.  "Well, _I_ have an appetite!"
 

"And," he thought to himself, "I now know what 'repast' means!"
 

"Ho-ho! AND you have a sense of humor!" said Poisson Erro.
 

The apples were as delicious as they had smelled. The cheese was a little hard, but its tanginess complemented the apples' sweetness.
 

"Would YOU like some cheese, Mr Erro?" asked Catherine.
 

"Merci, but no. Ah prefer french flies with my apples! Ho-ho-ho! You would like some, no?"
 

"That's right," Samuel kidded. "We would like some--NO!"
 

"Well then, more for me! Ho-ho!"
 

They all shared a good laugh.
 

In the quiet moment that followed, Catherine asked, "So, our enemy--He is REALLY a dragon?"
 

"Oui!  But he cannot fly.  One wing was broken long ago in a battle with King Olam.  He is lame in one leg, and he cannot breathe fire."
 

"Doesn't sound like much of a threat," said Harold.
 

"Ah! The power of Le Dragon is in deception.  He is very skilled at telling lies. Those that believe his lies follow him and do his bidding.  Instead of being children of the King, they become--something else."
 

Harold nodded thoughtfully, his mouth full of apple.  Suddenly, he noticed the apple didn't taste right!  

He spat it out. "Ugh! This apple tastes like--rotten eggs!"
 

"It's not the apples!" Catherine noted, sniffing. "It's the air! It stinks."
 

"Dragon's breath!" said Samuel, "Everybody off the road!"
 

Just as they had hidden themselves, two figures came walking down the path. One of them had a snout like a pig but floppy ears like a basset hound.  It was not cute.  She was saying, "...And THAT'S when I decided that NO ONE was gonna tell me how to live my life--not even that stuffy old King Olam! Ya know what I mean?"
 

Her companion on the road was something like an oversized monkey, but with the beak of a flamingo where the mouth should be, and one leg ending in a pink webbed foot! Catherine shuddered in the bushes.
 

"I totally understand that!" said the fla-monkey. "You KNOW King Olam just has all those rules--those so-called 'Qualities and Virtues,' so he can control us!  In fact, I heard that HE didn't even write them! They were just made up by some of his subjects to give themselves more authority!"
 

"That's right!" agreed Pig-Nose, "And that was SO long ago!  I mean, what did they know about life nowadays?  And besides, do we REALLY want to follow the rules of somebody who'd pick on a poor, defenseless, crippled dragon?"
 

"We'll show them!" said the flamonkey, or was it the monk-mingo? "Let's set fire to all the houses in the next village we come to!  They're probably all control freaks who follow King Olam, anyway--and want to prevent us from being our beautiful, wonderful true selves!"
 

Their laughter faded as they passed around the next bend in the road.
 

"Well," said Samuel, "Let's get going. We have plenty of ground to cover before nightfall."
 

The smell of sulfur grew stronger as the small band emerged into a clearing. A yellowish fog hung in the air, dimming the afternoon sun.  A make shift camp was being set up by hordes of nasty looking soldiers, some human, some animal, some horrible corruptions of the two. Limping slowly toward them up the road on three legs was a mountain of sharp red gravel, with a long snaky neck and head, dragging one useless scaly wing through the dust like the tattered crimson sail of a ship with a broken mast.
 

Samuel skittered up Catherine's skirt and plucked forth her paring knife. He hopped back to the ground and held it out like a sword.
 

"Your Diabolical Majesty! I bring you the two prisoners!"
 

"Prisoners?!" shouted Harold! "What are you doing, you shaggy gray lunatic?!" He raised his club to swing in attack, but it was snatched roughly from his hand by something like a muscular warthog standing on its hind legs!
 

The eyes of Catherine and Harold sought their bright yellow archer friend, but he seemed to have vanished from the path!
 

The serpentine head swung toward Samuel. "You have done well, Squirrel." He wheezed out a trailing cloud of sulphurous breath. "You are as wise and brave as I was led to believe. (cough) Here is your reward. An acorn from the western woods!"
 

The squirrel clutched the acorn to his heart. "King Olam never pays his loyal subjects so richly!"
Armored things bound Harold and Catherine and began shoving them toward the dragon's encampment. 

The sun was setting.  It was very dark.

 Somehow, even though I posted the Case of the Stolen Stiff back in 2018, I failed to post my April Fool's Easter sermon from the week before.
****

   Good Morning Friends! It’s Easter!

Happy Resurrection Day!

There’s colored eggs and baskets filled

With toys and plastic hay.

   Is that to feed a plastic horse?

Perhaps a plastic cow?

Is paper grass for paper mules?

Why do we do this now?

   (The plastic grass is used to make

A little plastic nest

To hold the plastic eggs, laid by

A rubber chicken, I guess.)

   Why bunnies, bunnies everywhere?

Lambs and chicks by the score?

Why hide bright eggs upon the lawn

To be found by the lawn mower?

   Because it’s Easter! A festive time!

Trees bud, grass greens and flowers!

Spring springs, days warm & lengthen,

And clocks move forward an hour.

   And many people go to church,

Show off new Easter clothes—

Which reminds me of a riddle.

This is the way it goes:

   How do you catch an Easter bon?

(Think quickly now! Get on it!)

How do you catch an Easter bon?

With an Easter bon-net!

 

   One Sunday just about this time,

The Sunday School teacher

Asked her students why it was

We celebrated Easter.

   One student raised his hand and said,

“That’s when Jesus came out of his tomb,

“And if he sees his shadow, then

“Six more weeks of winter’s gloom!”

   He got it almost right, I think.

For Jesus Christ was dead.

Condemned to die, nailed to a cross

With a thorn crown on his head.

   But crucifixion is a death

For those who break the law.

For traitors, thieves & murderers:

The worst criminals of all.

   And Jesus didn’t break the law

In fact, he never sinned.

It was on trumped-up charges

That Jesus was condemned!

   And deeper still, the truth we know:

He died that we might live.

To pay the price for all our sins,

Lost sinners to forgive!

   ‘Twas no surprise to Jesus!

He’d often said, with a sigh,

“We’re going to Jerusalem,

“And me they’ll crucify.”

 

   But just like Jonah in the whale,

In just three days, you’ll see,

I’ll be out of the grave, again,

Alive as live can be!

   A rich follower of Jesus,

From Arimathea came,

To claim his master’s body

And Joseph was his name.

   With linen cloth he tightly wrapped

The body of the Lord,

And laid it in his own new tomb,

Rolled a big stone ‘cross the door.

   The enemies of Jesus came,

Elders & Pharisees,

“Governor, there’s something you must do

To prevent this Jesus disease!”

   “We remember very well,

The words that Jesus said.

He claimed that after 3 days

He would rise up from the dead!”

   “We fear that his disciples might

Come steal his body away,

And claim that he rose from the dead,

That’s just what they would say!”

   “The masses liked that Jesus guy!

If they think he rose again,

We’d lose respectability--

No longer be important men!”

 

   So Pilate gave them soldiers,

Armed guards to watch the grave.

He put his signet stamp in wax

On the stone that sealed the cave!

   Thus Pilate invented Easter Seals,

At Joseph’s tomb that day!

No, that’s not quite right, is it?

Pre-Easter seals, anyway.

   The Sabbath day, the day of rest,

The friends of Jesus mourned.

Their king was dead, their friend was gone.

They grieved, alone, forlorn.

   They were so down, they weren’t sure if

They ever could look up.

They had forgot, “Destroy this temple,

“In 3 days I’ll raise it up!”

   Very early Sunday morning,

With jars of sweet perfume

The women who followed Jesus

Made their sad way to the tomb

   To pour aromatic spices on

The graveclothes of their Lord,

To keep the smell of death at bay,

On the one they all adored.

   They’d later see it was foretold,

To his death there’d be interruption.

Psalm 16:10, “You won’t allow,

Your holy one to see corruption.”

 

   They thought that Christ’s death was the end,

But they’d made a grave mistake!

An angel came from Heaven, and

The earth began to shake!

   The angel rolled the stone away

Which once had sealed the door.

Brave soldiers took one look and then

Fainted, Kerplop! To the floor!

   “Don’t be afraid,” the angel said

When the women had arrived,

“I know that you came to see Jesus,

“The one who was crucified.”

   “I’m afraid that you just missed him,

“He’s no longer here inside.

“He’s alive and scattering Easter figs

“Across the countryside.”

   (I’m just kidding about that last part.)

“He has risen, as he promised.”

“Now quickly go and tell the news

“To Peter, James, and Thomas,”

   “And all the rest.” And so they ran,

And who else should they meet?

But Jesus himself, alive!

They fell in worship at his feet.

   He told them, as the angel had,

“Fear not, and don’t despair.

“Tell my brothers, Go to Galilee,

“And I will meet them there.”

 

   Jesus is alive! It’s true!

He cannot die again!

Death is defeated for the ones

Who place their trust in Him!

   Eternal life is granted us,

Not just in future days

We have unending life right now

To fuel us on our ways!

   My favorite Easter riddle

(It’s a groaner. That is true,

But at least I gave you warning)

I will now relate to you.

   Why did Jesus stick a flower

In his mashed potatoes?

The answer I will sing, Because:

“Up from the gravy, a rose!”

   It’s central to the Christian faith.

Resurrection after the cross.

If Christ did not rise from the dead

Then we are surely lost!

   If Jesus, good man that he was,

Didn’t rise as he predicted

He’s a liar, not the Son of God

The Bible has depicted.

   His promises he will not keep,

His teachings have no worth,

If he didn’t rise, he’s not the Lord

Of Heaven and of Earth.

 

   We’re built, not on good teachings,

But on relating to that entity.

The resurrection vindicates Him,

And verifies his identity!

   But Christ was truly raised to life,

The first of many to come

Our mortality is a genetic ill

Our Lord has overcome.

   With Adam as our ancestor,

All of us will surely die

But Jesus begins something new,

His kids will be made alive!

   The trumpet’ll one day sound its blast,

And transformed we will be!

We’ll rise to never die again!

Oh Death! Where then your victory?

   And so there’s bright-hued Easter eggs

Chocolate bunnies and Peeps, too:

All images of new life,

Which WE have all year through!

   An egg looks lifeless as a rock

Its smooth sides do not yield,

Until, one day it opens, Crack!

And new life is revealed!

   That’s how it was with Jesus’ tomb,

One day, our graves also.

They’ll open and we’ll be alive,

But we won’t be fluffy and yellow.

 

   We’ve had some fun this morning.

It’s April 1^st. Thought I’d be clever.

But Jesus really pulled the best

April fool’s day prank ever!

   The devil perhaps thought he’d won,

With Jesus finally dead.

The Pharisees thought, “Problem solved!

We’ll be on top, instead!”

   But Jesus refused to stay dead!

With a twinkle in his eyes

He could’ve said, “I’m sorry Boys!

“I’m alive again! Surprise!”

   Imagine how the women looked,

Or how amazed the Eleven,

When Jesus said, “It’s me! I’m back!

And I’m opening the way to Heaven!”

   How might we live if we believed,

Death holds o’er us no power?

Our sins wiped clean, God’s grace received

To aid us in each hour!

   If we’ve been giv’n eternal life,

Full to the very top!

And there is nothing more to fear,

Then what could make us stop

   From carrying out our mission

Souls are dying, they must know

The good news: “Jesus loves you,

Wants to save you!” We must go!

 

   New life is being offered!

Oh, receive his gift, I say

New beginnings now await you,

On this Resurrection day!

   For If you miss the glorious truth

Of the resurrection, you’ll

Find that, on this Easter Sunday,

YOU are the April Fool!

The Case of the Stolen Stiff

The following was my attempt to preach a sermon on the reliability of the accounts of resurrection of Jesus into a sort of hardboiled detective story. Blame it on St Matthew. He's the one who tells us about the coverup, conspiracy, and general corruption among the powerful. It just begged to be done.
There are no leggy blondes or suggestive salacious dialogue here. I was gonna use it with my Sunday morning crowd. Maybe a later version will have a bit more of that sort of thing. The odd twist at the end was my attempt at reflecting what you so often see in those old detective stories.
-----
   The name is Spadestein. Sh'muel Spadestein, Private Investigator.
   It was crunch time in the big city. It was Passover, and everywhere you went, you could hear folks munching on matzoh. It sounded like Egypt the day after the locust plague started.

   The big story on the lips of every newsboy in town was about this fellow, Jesus of Nazareth. Seems the carpenter-turned-rabbi was selling himself to the masses as the latest in the long line of Messiah wannabes. There were rumors, most difficult to verify, about him being some sort of magician, with powers to cure the incurable. Blind beggars seeing, deaf hearing, lepers cleansed, you name it. Plenty of witnesses to a supposed resurrection over in Bethany a few months back--a known associate of Jesus who went by the handle “Lazarus.” He’d made himself scarce of late, though, claiming he was getting death threats from some very powerful and influential figures.

   Then, just a week ago, the Nazarene rode here into J-town like a king! Had the crowds coming in for the big holiday throwing him a parade, calling him Son of David, the works. Naturally, the authorities had nabbed him, charged him with treason, and fitted him with a cross on Skull Hill. Justice served; end of story.

   Except… Man, did I hate “except”! Nothing worse than loose ends! Life is full of ‘em, though. Tug that one thread, and pretty soon you’re gonna need a new shirt—or knitting lessons. Like that old saying about nothing being sure but death and taxes. A recently-vacated tomb had a lot of people thinking that statement oughta be revised. Seems a certain dead Messiah wasn’t satisfied with his accommodations, and left without paying the tab.

   Who knows? Could be he was holed up with his buddy Lazarus some place. An exclusive club for the recently revivified, perhaps.

   A couple days later, a very well-dressed cockroach skittered into the office of Shmuel Spadestein Investigations, seeking shelter from the light. The nervous little man was an errand boy for Caiaphas, the high priest.

   “We—that is, the chief priests—want to secure your services, Mr Spadestein. We want you to find out what happened to the body of Jesus of Nazareth.”

   “I thought that was all sowed up,” I said. “Papers said some of his gang stole the body. End of story.”

   “Well, not quite. You see, some of those same followers are now claiming he rose from the dead, and that they have seen him, alive.”

   “Desperate people sometimes tell desperate stories.”

   The little man’s eyes got big, and he began to stammer, “Where did you hear--? Ahem. We want YOU to find out just who stole the Nazarene, and where they’ve stashed him. I’m sure we’ll all feel better once these religious nuts are silenced.”

   “I get 20 shekels a day, plus expenses, with a two-day retainer fee paid up-front.”

*****

   Let’s get one thing clear: The carpenter was dead. No one could take the beating he did, followed by a crucifixion, and still be alive. I’ll say one thing for the Romans: They’re very good at execution. Scourging by the cat o’nine tails is no bar fight. Plenty of guys died just from the beating, because when they stood up straight, there was no flesh left to hold the insides inside. And then top it off with crucifixion? Even if Jesus had been the toughest palooka this side of the Jordan, the cross woulda’ finished him off. Witnesses say a guard on duty ran a spear up under the guy’s ribs, and blood AND water came out. Probably ruptured the sack around the heart. You don’t just go for a stroll after that.

   But, just for the sake of argument, let’s say he only looked dead. A couple of his followers wrap him up tight in linen, pour 75 lbs of aromatic spices into the folds of cloth, then dumped him in a cool cave with very little air. If he’d survived the treatment by his enemies, he’d died at the hands of his friends.

*****

   The tomb was in a private cemetery. It belonged to a prominent member of the City Council, Joseph from Arimathea. Turns out, he was a follower of Jesus, had claimed the body, and buried it in his own tomb. It was still unused at that point, intended for him and his family, but was close enough to Skull Hill to not break the Sabbath.

   The doorway was still wide open, the big flat stone having been rolled out of the v-shaped indentation in front of the entrance. I ducked my head in to look around. It was empty alright. No body was home. The caretaker confirmed what I’d just seen. Said he thought maybe Jesus’ mom had taken the graveclothes.

   “Excuse me?”

   “Yes sir. The body was not found, but the linen shroud and the handkerchief around his head were folded up, still there.”

   “So, if Jesus walked out of here, like Joseph & the rest believe, he did it—in the nude? Good thing it was dark!”

   “I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir. Perhaps one of the guards saw something.”

   Guards? For a tomb? As it turns out, the Nazarene had claimed on several occasions that he would rise from the dead, so chief priests convinced Pilate to post soldiers in front of the tomb to keep his disciples from stealing the body & claiming he’d pulled off the stunt.

   I contacted the local garrison and managed to talk with one of the four who’d been on guard that night. Tertius was young and—very enthusiastic about serving the Empire!

   “Yes sir! Myself, Cassius, Brutus and Valerius went on guard duty for the 4^th watch, Sir—3 to 6 a.m. to civilians.”

   “And what did you see?”

   “We saw… We saw nothing. We fell asleep and Jesus’ disciples stole the body, sir.”

   “You fell asleep? On duty? All four of you?”

   “Yes sir.”

   “But you’re sure it was the disciples who stole the body out of tomb?”

   “Who else would have, Sir?”

   “One last question, Soldier. Aren’t there very severe penalties for falling asleep on duty—like, execution?”

   “That’s up to the governor’s discretion, Sir.”

   His story smelled, or maybe it was his cheap aftershave. A bunch of fishermen sneak past trained, armed soldiers who have ALL fallen asleep, at the same time--and manage not to wake them with the racket of stone grinding on stone as they try to get in the door?

   Okay, maybe they were really good, but sneaking off into the night with an unwrapped, three-day-old corpse over their shoulders? Just seemed like a naked lie to me.

   The tale folded, like a recently-used shroud. That was another thing that didn't add up. Stripping a stiff before carrying it away--that's messed up enough, but it takes a special kind of weirdo to carefully fold up all that linen before tiptoeing back out past sleeping guards! Who were these guys? Fishermen or decorators from Better Tombs and Gardens? It was all just a little too neat."

   Desperate people sometimes tell desperate stories. This one had the jingle of silver changing hands under the table. 

*****

   My client had engaged my services to find who habeased the corpus, as the Romans like to say. I asked around, and located his mother and several of the members of the Nazarene Mob, as I’d come to think of them. To a man, or woman, I guess, they all seemed to believe that Jesus really was alive again!

   Simon “Rocky” Johnson said that Jesus had met personally with him the afternoon of the day the tomb was found unoccupied. He said that they had talked about good spots to go fishing, though the smile on his face made me wonder if he wasn’t joking. John, “Thunder” Zebedee had recently moved the Carpenter’s mother into his own home, as one does for an aging parent. He said seeing the empty shroud was enough for him to believe Jesus had risen. Thomas, a.k.a. “The Twin” told me that he had seen Jesus, up close and personal. He was sure it was really him because his hands and side still bore the wounds from being crucified. There was no doubt in his mind that Jesus was alive, he said.

   Another Mary, this one Magdalene, said she’d seen him in the garden around the tomb, and she hadn’t even recognized him til he called her by name. She’d mistaken him for the caretaker. Maybe he was wearing some sort of disguise, because another Jesus-follower, Cleopas, said he and his travelling companion had taken a long walk with Jesus and sat down to dinner with him before they realized who it was.

   Quite a few agreed that he’d shown up to dinner, even with all the doors and windows locked tight. He’d eaten a piece of fish, to prove to them he wasn’t a ghost.

   All of these witness accounts had a few things in common. Sure, they had all been followers of the Nazarene, but none of them seemed to be wild-eyed, dangerous zealots—well, except for Simon the Zealot, but even he said Jesus was teaching him to reign in his anger and learn to love the Romans. None of these folks seemed dangerous, or even crazy, except for their agreement that a dead man wasn’t a dead man anymore.

   The thing that really got me was that not a single one of them had expected to see Jesus alive again! Women in the group were heading to the cemetery to visit his grave. Their report that their rabbi was alive was met with derision by the rest—until they saw him for themselves! That made me wonder, would you hallucinate seeing someone alive that you never expected to see alive? Would it happen to large groups, where they all agreed on what they saw, and heard, and touched, and when it had happened?

   Say what you like, but these folks did not move the body. All of them loved Jesus. Absolutely adored him and hung on his every word. Why would they deny him the most honored burial a Jewish man could receive? This is a city of people that love to keep up the old cemeteries. King David and a lot of other great old men and women have well-cared-for graves here. Why would you so dishonor someone you thought was dead by moving them? It just didn’t add up. But like Tertius had said, “Who else would do it?”

   Tug on a loose thread…

   But these were the “true believers.” Not everybody liked the man. He had plenty of enemies. Enemies in high places, with lots of influence. And when Jesus showed up on their turf, calling them out for hypocrisy and corruption, they lost a lot of their power. They’d been out for his blood for a long time, but the masses loved him, and they couldn’t touch him without starting a riot and bringing Rome down on their heads. When they finally managed to lay a finger on it, it had been an inside job.

   Maybe I could talk to the guy who turned him in. Plainly he was no friend to the rest of them, so maybe he could give me some insight into the dynamics of the Nazarene Mob. Maybe he had some idea who’d robbed the tomb. I asked the chief priests if they knew where I could find Judas Iscariot. They told me they knew exactly where he was hanging out. I guess they thought they were pretty clever. Suffice it to say, Iscariot had reached the end of his rope, and he wasn't talking to anybody--ever again.

*****

   I had been around the city better than a dozen times the last few days. Talking to witnesses, checking on alibis, double checking stories, rephrasing questions to see if somebody would slip up. I was beginning to identify with the donkey turning the grindstone—around, around, around—except the only thing being ground down was me. I couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, and if I were any closer to an answer, I sure couldn’t see it.

   I remembered, just about then, that the office bottle might still have a few sips left in it, and that I very much wanted to be sure.
   Caiaphas’ representative was waiting in my office when I arrived, just about closing time. I dimmed the lights in deference to his nature.

   “I suppose you want a report on my progress with the stolen body case.”

   “Mr Caiaphas is very anxious to hear what you’ve found out, yes.”

   “Well, Mr—um, I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name.”

   “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

   “Ah, I see. So, um, what was your name again?”

   “We are very interested in your findings, Mr Spadestein.”

   “Oh, alright. Here’s the thing… The truth is… I don’t actually have anyone pinned down right now as your grave robber.”

   “Well, surely you have some suspicions; some idea who might have done it! Some leads you haven’t followed up on yet?”

   I had some suspicions, alright. But where my leads were leading, I wasn’t to sure I wanted to follow.

   “I have spoken to anyone and everyone I can who is connected in any way with this case. Here is what I have so far. Jesus is dead, but he’s not in his tomb, and everyone of his followers seems to genuinely believe that he rose from the dead. Their belief in this stands strong, even though I know your bosses have been leaning on them pretty hard. They’re losing friends, social status, work, freedoms. None of these people have anything to gain by maintaining such a ridiculous story, so I don’t think any of them are responsible.

   “The guards’ story—which I don’t believe, by the way—is that they were asleep when the tomb was vacated. That means they can’t be absolutely certain who was there.”

   “Who else would have done it?”

   “That’s just what they said. Now, I know that none of your playmates has the body, or they’d have produced it by now. That really only leaves us with one possibility. No one stole the body. But you knew that, too, didn’t you?”

   “Of course we knew! But you wouldn’t believe the story the guards reported to the chief priests! There was an earthquake as a figure dressed in white, glowing bright like the noonday sun came down out of the sky and rolled back the stone from the entrance, all by himself! Terrifying, apparently. They all fainted at the sight of him, so the part about being asleep isn’t quite a lie. When they woke up, the tomb was empty. Naturally, we couldn’t have them blabbing that to everyone, so we bought their silence and gave them a much more feasible explanation. People do love a good conspiracy story, after all.

   “Our livelihoods were at stake, Mr Spadestein. If people started believing that Jesus actually rose from the dead, as he promised he would, we could all kiss our jobs and our pensions goodbye.”

   “So Jesus really did rise from the dead, and you knew it… Why did you hire me then? You knew I wouldn’t find anything.”

   “To create further suspicions. To come up with more plausible alternatives. A tiny seed of doubt can grow into a great crop of unbelief.”

   “Yeah, or it can be the thing that drives a man to seek the truth. Here, take care of the office bottle for me. I think you’ll need it more than I do.

   “See ya later, Mr Whatever-it-was. I’m off to meet the man who’ll put you out of a job!”
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mp3 here.