DO NOT TOUCH ME! - Excerpt from Fifth Gospel - A Novel.

DO NOT TOUCH ME!

I

N the early hours before day rise, the mother of the Lord and the other women went to the rock-hewn tomb in  Joseph’s garden, to see to the proper anointing of their master’s body. Magdalena was late in following, and she had not yet reached the garden when she was met by the mother and the others returning from the tomb. They told her that on arriving they had found the tomb open and empty. In and around the tomb, they had seen visions of angels who had said their lord was already risen, and that they must look for him among the living.

Magdalena full of concern, returned with the others to the cenacle to tell the men and found only Lazarus-John with Simon-Peter in the upper room.

Upon seeing them, Simon-Peter came directly to the Lord's Mother, to beg her forgiveness. He recounted how on the night of Passover he had fled the court of Caiaphas, and that afterwards he had denied his Lord three times for fear of his life. Because of this, full of shame, he had gone to Olivet, where he found a cave. In it he had slept fitfully, until awakened by an overwhelming effulgence – the brilliant form of his master illuminating the gloom of his cave! His master told him to go and tell the others what he had seen.  

The Mother of the Lord now recounted what the women had seen: angels, rolled away stones, and an empty grave. Full of wonder, the men resolved to see it for themselves and took themselves out of the city with Magdalena following in their train. 

By the time the three of them arrived at the tomb, a red-gold promise of sunrise lay on the margins of the horizon. Lazarus-John, carrying the lamp, was first through the low door of the sepulchre and he told them what he saw: a great gash in the earth, a deep cleft had opened up, and now the linen cloths were lying on one side of it, and the head napkin on the other.

Simon-Peter, having by now entered the sepulchre himself, confirmed that the grave was empty. There followed some discussion between them and not knowing what they should do, they left to find the other disciples.

Magdalena remained behind.

Alone, at the entrance to the sepulchre, a deep sense of loss beckoned tears from her eyes; her master was gone, his body was not found, and she did not know how he could return without it.  Not having seen the angels like the others, she wanted to know it for herself. She watched the sun rise over the hills and when it cast its benevolent rays on the mouth of the tomb, she braced herself and dared to look inside.

She gasped.

Lit up by the birthing light were two angels, one at the head of the great stone bier and the other at the foot of it.

Woman, why do you weep?

She harnessed her mind to answer. ‘Because they have taken away my Lord and I know not where they have taken him!’

Fearful, she turned to go, but there was a man standing before her, haloed by sun. She did not know him, but he seemed full of the power of bourgeoning and sprouting life –  as if he were a gardener, a planter, or a cultivator. To see him made her hope that he might know where her master’s body might be.

He took the words from out of the mouths of the angels,

‘Woman, why do you weep?’

‘Sir, if you have borne his body from here, tell me where you have laid it, and I will take him away.’

The man now called her by her old name, ‘Mary!’

The memory of her master’s words rose up into her thinking:

Unite with the bridegroom in the bridal chamber of your heart, and from this union will arise in you a knowledge of Who I Am!

Her eyes saw Him now! The youthful body of Jesus, in all its flawless fullness!

‘Master!’ She moved to go to him, but he forestalled her.

‘Touch me not, dear Magdalena, for it will pollute me, the mystery is not yet consumed. Christ must yet unite fully with me. Go, tell the others to wait, tell them not to be sorrowful, for I will soon come to them!’

Joyful and obedient, she ran all the way back to the cenacle.

GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL - Excerpt from Fifth Gospel - A Novel

 

He was in the Garden with his heart full of woe, for he did not know if any of his followers, even his chosen ones, would be capable of remaining awake with him during his tempestuous struggle with death.

He looked to heaven: the wolf was biting at the moon and clouds were covering her face. He remembered that temptation in the wilderness those years ago, and recognised the feeling of dread that was come upon him.

The wind paused – a reprieve.

It was a moment stolen from out of the stream of time. Soon his agony would begin, but not yet…for now the part of him that was a man, took in the smells of the night and the aroma of wild roses. It recalled to his mind a tale spoken with his mother’s voice, of a Nightingale that loved a white rose and sang the most beautiful songs to it, but only from afar, for fear of its thorns. One night, beneath the swollen moon, having drunk her fill of song and emboldened by love, the Nightingale resolved to embrace the rose. Clasping it to her breast, she was pierced through by a thorn, and yet she sung the most beautiful song she had ever sung; a song of sacrifice and true love found, pressing the thorn closer and closer to her heart. When she died the rose mourned, and stained with her heart’s blood, the rose forever bloomed red.

He thought on his mother, dead so many years and yet so alive in his stepmother. He thought of Yeshua, dead and yet hovering over him always. He reflected on the mystery of love and leaned his heart toward Jerusalem, which stood deathly pale and shivering in the scant moonlight. He had embraced her and sung his love-song to her, and still she did not love him. Soon, she would pierce him with her thorn and he would stain the world with his blood!

His sadness was a deep well, and yet lofty was his love, which was higher than life. For what was the heart of a bird, compared to the heart of a man? And what was the passion of a man, compared to the passion of a god? He looked up. The cold moon died away, and the man’s thoughts became the thoughts of the God.

‘The hour is come,’ he said to himself, and prayed for strength.

The wind began its stirring. Time established its dominion over the world. His body resumed its work, dissolving in pain and he knelt on the ground in what he knew were death throws. He felt the cold breath of death near his cheek, and he shivered.

‘Father in heaven, help them to remain awake!’

But they were faltering. He knew this because the Holy Spirit was loosening from him. Soon he would be alone and he did not know if he would be strong enough to hold back the tide of his godhood beyond this hour.

‘Simon-Peter!’ he cried. ‘Watch with me!’

There was no answer.  

And yet…he was not alone.

From the wind came a whisper of the blue Archangel, Satan.

‘Greetings, Son of God! You have lasted longer than I expected in that wretched temple. But rejoice! I have come to unlock the door and to let you out!’

‘You mean you have come to ensnare me in your prison!’ he said to him.

The God of Death seized him tenderly by the head, to peer into his eyes. ‘Son of God, Alpha and Omega, Lamb of Lambs! You are deluded! Do you not see how much I love you? Look around you, where are your disciples? The moon herself hides her face and leaves you in darkness. Even the Holy Ghost is taking to its heels, without so much as a god-speed! I alone have remained at your side in this dark hour, and I come to bring you sleep, and rest, and comfort!’

Satan’s blue, claw-like wings began to enfold him, but he prised them away.

‘Leave me be! I will die in freedom!’

‘Stop joking, for God’s sake! There is no freedom in dying, only the necessity of the Father, and I am his master craftsman! You might be His son by name, but you are a son to me, by nature! You are stubborn, and full of longing…like I am! Come then, give your father a kiss...now or later, what does it matter?’

His breath drew near.

‘Get away! If this body is to pass from me before my task is accomplished, then let it be God’s will, not yours!’ 

The angel sighed, filling the whole world with shadows. ‘You wanted earthly life, you stooped to drink from my fountain – and you have drunk it dry! Now your flesh is drunk and your soul is drunk and you must succumb to my will! Let me take you home before you hurt yourself. Forget those fools you love…they have already forgotten you, for they do not love you like I do. The truth is that when I come into a room, memory goes out the door. You see, memory is a whore…she loves the man who pays her the most, and my purse is always full!’

Christ Jesus took in a breath and Satan slipped into it, filling the span of his lungs. Satan would have him breathe out, but he would not. When he could stand it no more, his out-breath gave wings to Satan’s words,

‘I die!’

 At that moment, the moon’s dark spectres floated away from her. Demons and ghosts and phantoms were drawn to him like vultures to dead meat. They came down in the gusts of wind to encircle and enfold him in their shadows, called forth by Satan’s words in him.

Stripped bare of the living forces of the Holy Spirit by that creature’s power over his disciples, he could not prevent the mighty force of Christ from entering to the very bones. This was Satan’s realm, the bones, and here death would seize him too soon, before the performance of his sacrifice.

An ice-like pain tore through him now. He could feel the heavenly power invade his organs, it began to macerate his liver and spleen, burning holes in his lungs, erupting into his heart and bladder and brain. It broke through the walls of those earthly veins with such power that it flooded the cup of his tissues, making blood seep through the pores of his skin and from his eyes. Could he feel it in his bones?

He was knocked down by it, and fell with his face in the dirt.

The world turned.

The wind dropped.

A sudden quiet fell over the grotto.

Would he die now?

Upon the midnight hour, in the garden of good and evil, the struggle of life with death made a pause.

A sublime effulgence, a subtle warmth descended, melting away the coldness of death. This gold-giving radiance gathered into the sparkling, shimmer-glowing form of an angel – the angel of John the Baptist. He bent life’s cup to Christ Jesus’ lips and let him drink the nectar that would bring strength and life and vigour to his wasted body.

The moon’s old forces were obliged then, to unwind from him and to scurry away. A shriek was heard in the bowels of the world and the blue archangel of death fell back into the shadows. Satan had not succeeded. The moment had passed. The Christ in him had not entered the bones and Jesus had not succumbed to death – for now.

Relief washed over him. He would go on to accomplish his deed.

Excerpt from Fifth Gospel - A Novel

Lea gave me her quiet, patient attention.‘You should know that when an army enters into a city, faith soon leads to murder.’  

‘Should I? Why should it be so…I have no idea!’

‘Think of it pairé, what you call faith is not really faith at all, it is only religion. Religion is only a short step from zeal, and zeal only a margin away from fervour, which is only a hair’s breadth from frenzy–the cradle of hate and murder. The truth is, pairé, that evil and good share the same small space in the soul.’ 

‘What makes one man evil and one good, then?’

‘How close he is to the good gods or to the evil gods.’

‘And what is the compensation for the atrocities committed against innocent people…children!’ I said with vehemence, for the memory of Bezier’s had come unbidden and was stirring up an anger I had not let myself feel all these years.  

She turned towards me and fixed her steady gaze on my face. ‘There is another way to look at it, pairé. It could be that destiny has brought these souls together to a place where they can suffer in order that in the future they can return again, together, for a good cause…’

This did not ease my heart. ‘I know we are told to forgive our enemies their sins…but what of God? Has he turned away from the innocent?’

‘God is just,’ she said.

‘But is that all he is? What of love?’

‘God is Love, and his wrath is also his love.’

‘How can wrath be love?’

‘Do you remember, what Buddha said to Jesus? Suffering leads to Compassion. When God spills out his wrath it causes suffering. But suffering gives us wisdom, it allows us to recognise the suffering of others, isn’t that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, the memory of our own suffering is what allows us to understand and to forgive those who have done some wrong to us…this is true love pairé. Wrath seen from the other side, is true love; a Love that cancels out sin.’

I looked out of the window to the hard snow falling over the crests and peaks and valleys and chasms of our mountains. I realised more than ever how far I was from perfection. 

Chapter cut from Fifth Gospel - A Novel - HOSANNA

HOSANNA

‘Behold thy king cometh unto thee; he is just and having salvation; lowly and riding upon an ass and upon a colt the foal of an ass.’

Zechariah 9:9

IT WAS ON Sunday, on an ass’s foal, that Christ Jesus came into the city of Jerusalem followed by those faithful to him. As he entered through the great gate of the city the crowds, having received tidings of his approach hastened to meet him and upon seeing him they were seized with ecstasy and began to throw palm fronds over the ground in imitation of those primitive rites of spring. He was to them a symbol of a king, the sun that rises out of the darkness of winter’s night; and also the symbol of a priest of the order of Melchizedek who has come to bestow his blessings on those who are gathered in the oldest sun-sanctuary of humanity - Mount Zion.

He knew their thoughts and understood that the frenzy in their souls would not last.

For three years he had held back his magnificence not wishing to prematurely dazzle human beings. But now his divine selfhood was consuming his very humanity and so it radiated outwards through his human body like a flame that burns brightly one last time before reducing the wood to ashes. Soon he would stand before them like a dying star, a powerless human being and he knew what they would do.

It was his destiny to pass calmly through this festival of merriment, meekly through the welcoming praise of Hosannas to show the world the way that leads from the powerless body to the resurrection of the spirit.

This morning he had instructed his disciples to go to Bethphage, which means the House of Figs, a hamlet situated on a rocky plateau on the other side of Olivet. He had requested that they find him a foal of an ass, the white colt upon which he now sat.  He had chosen this place because in Bethphage the old initiatory practice of ‘Sitting Beneath the Fig Tree’ was still cultivated and it was here that these animals were held sacred. They were held sacred because Balaam, the old prophet, had also sat upon an ass. But the ecstatic visions that Balaam had achieved through the state of soul bound to the body, the ass, were no longer appropriate. He wanted to show his disciples how the Fig Tree was barren, that the old initiation must give way for what he would bring and so he had pointed out to them the Fig tree with many leaves and no fruit. He wanted to show the people that the time of ‘riding of the ass’ was over, for a new awakening was upon them, so on this day, when the old sun still shone in the heavens, he used a symbol the people recognised from the past but he showed them how he would use it in the way of the future.

He looked about him now to his disciples. They were revelling in the royal acclamations; laughing and smiling to see so many happy and ecstatic faces - all except Lazarus-John. Tomorrow Christ Jesus would curse the Fig Tree and in the coming days they would come to observe how fruitless were these Hosannas and how temporary and superficial were these cries of Blessed be he that cometh in the name of the Lord! For he knew these Hosannas would prove not a blessing but a curse; they were poisoned fruit; an echo of the ancient and archaic language sung by jubilant crowds on Mount Zion soon to be traded for angry calls on that other mount, the arid place where lived the old moon religion of Jehova, Mount Moriah, where was situated the Temple of Solomon. For tomorrow he would enter the temple and cleanse it one last time of those nefarious intruders who, under the guise of priesthood, tainted his Father’s house with the traffic of money. One last time he would show them the power of his spirit before the great battle with the Pharisees and Scribes, which he knew would come. Then at last would the Fig Tree wilt and wither away and the people would realise that he had not come to bring back the old mysteries - to breathe new life into an old corpse - but to show them the seed to something new – something they could plant in the soil of their hearts for later times.

This realisation would eventually nail him to the cross. 

And with sorrow in his heart among the excitable sounds of the jubilant, fickle populace, he wept for Jerusalem. He wept for its people and he prayed to his Lord on their behalf.