Beloved John

This story is very loosely based on “The Grand Inquisitor” from The Brothers Karamozov by Dostoevsky. Our assignment from class was to take a story that we had read in class and write something similar, only with a more modern approach. We were limited to two pages, so the story isn't all that well developed, but I tried as hard as I could to get it right. I did end up getting an A on the assignment, however, which is good enough for me.

Nothing had fallen from the sky that morning. No dragons had burst forth from the sea. There were no Angels blowing trumpets. In fact, it was a beautiful day; a bright sun burned down from blue skies with wisps of cloud dancing intermittently across the horizon. A slight breeze, however, kept the heat of the sun from burning too profoundly upon the faces of the humans scurrying about the surface, going about their routinized business. The world kept on spinning as it had every day for millions of years. Normal. Perfectly habitual.

Christ stepped through the grass, feeling the cool dew wet his cracked, brown, human feet. He hummed quietly, pulled by the powers of the earth around him, tasting the sweet flavors of the breeze. The pounding of human blood, so fresh and profound, moved him deeply, almost to tears; he celebrated his human body, smiling and thanking his Father for the return. For the brief sojourn into anonymous humanity; to experience once again life amongst his fellow man.

It was not often that Joshua bar Joseph set foot on Earth. Maybe once in the millennia since his crucifixion, in the midst of Renaissance Italy, to experience such a broad latitude of human, intellectual enlightenment. He had enjoyed himself mightily, delighting in new flavors and experiences, but had quailed in horror at the sight of his Church. Christ had returned to heaven, soul laden with profound sorrow, and hidden from the sight of man, disappointed in their willful blindness and sheer divisiveness. Embarrassed that his very people, his brethren, had so muddled the message, hidden it behind grand ritual and hierarchy- the very same establishments he had sought to destroy in life- Christ had wept and absented himself from life for several centuries.

Now, in the beginning of the new millennium, Christ came to Earth once more, to the New World, to the Rome of the day: America. He felt the faith and sighed happily, knowing that his teachings had survived his absence. The world had bloomed; such technology and human expansion, it was astounding and almost frightening. Christ had, of course, seen it from above, but experiencing it in human body was such an intense, awe-inspiring thing. It was beautiful, restoring Christ’s faith in humanity like a soothing balm. “Father,” he whispered in the language of the time, “They have expanded so much and done so well. Such enlightenment, Father!”

As always, the Father was silent, but Joshua hadn’t expected an answer. Only twice in his entire human life had his Father spoken aloud to him. Frustrating, but Josh didn’t really need to hear; he knew in his heart that the Father agreed. Humanity had always been Christ’s realm; the Father had less faith in them than Josh, who always felt that they were just on the brink of something great, of some philosophical breakthrough that would lead to permanent enlightenment. He never truly gave up on them; some small part of him always believed that they would see the error of their ways, even if they continued to disappoint him. One day, he felt, they would see and know.

Surely a world such as this, with such advances and human greatness, could see more clearly than that of the Renaissance. These people had the inventiveness and practicality of Rome, the faith of the disciples, and a broad knowledge of the whole world, uninhibited by space and time. Such a scope, such brilliance. These must be the people for whom heaven had been created, for whom the end of the world had been determined. Strong enough to endure the hardships, faithful enough to understand the signs, and enlightened enough to reach the paradise set aside for them.

Before him, Christ saw a small town, larger than Nazareth but smaller than Jerusalem by a long stretch. No walls bound its growth, however, which unsettled him; it was disconcerting to have a sprawl suddenly build around you, growing steadily until one found himself in the middle of a city. There was no demarcation at all, so Christ walked until he felt that he had reached the center of the town, looking around, full of awe, at the vastness of the buildings and bustle of the people. Most stared at him, some in amusement, some with pity, and others with a spark of anger in their eye. Josh wondered why they should be angry with his arrival; he was merely walking through.

“Hey! Who are you?” Josh turned around and smiled. The boy before him looked so like his beloved John. Beautiful, sweet-tempered John, who’d had such full, feminine lashes and a strong, broad-shouldered frame. Christ remembered John’s arms wrapped around him and his smile deepened.

“I am…Joshua bar Joseph,” he replied, giving his own name. Would this man recognize it ats the name of the Son, his beloved prophet? “I am a visitor to your town.”

The boy wiped his hands on a dirty towel and leaned against the wall, muscles bulging through the shirt he wore. Christ remembered John playing in the sun, his taut muscles gleaming in the desert heat. His eyes traveled along the boy’s body; so much of John shined through in him. So much of the man he had loved best in the world. So much of his best friend and lover. “Well, we don’t take kindly to strangers in these here parts, JJ. What’re you looking for?”

“I am seeking human enlightenment.” Christ brushed his long, brown hair from his eyes and smiled again. “This is a wonderful place, is it not?”

“You’re not quite right in the head, are you?” Standing off of the wall, the boy hooked his fingers through the straps on his oil-stained overalls and looked into the shop behind him. Mechanic, the sign read. John’s Mechanic. Christ looked down at the boy, taking a step closer. The boy looked uncomfortable, even angry. “Hey. Around here, we respect a man’s personal space.”

“Are you…John?” Josh asked. He pressed his hand to his heart and leaned back. Father, he thought, have you seen fit to give me my love in this visit? To send him back to me? Josh pointed to the sign when the boy looked at him questioningly.

“Oh. Right. The sign. Yessir, I am John. Well, actually, my daddy’s the first John. I’m John junior. What can I do ya for?” Joshua had come very close to the boy, who puffed threateningly, pushing out his chest and clenching hard at a wrench he had pulled from his pocket.

“John. You don’t remember me?” Josh felt a happiness that he had not felt in hundreds of years. A total, human joy suffused his body and he forgot his divine knowledge of the world and of the people he so firmly believed in. Christ knew nothing of the world as a human; he hadn’t experienced a world in which Roman law dominated every society. As his divine knowledge abandoned him, human lust overcame him and he reached forward to cup the boy’s cheek with a slender, brown hand. “It is I, Joshua. Your friend. Your teacher. Your lover.”

Nothing had fallen from the sky that morning. No dragons had burst forth from the sea. There were no Angels blowing trumpets. The world kept on spinning as it had every day for millions of years. Normal. Perfectly habitual. Except for the brutal, small-town murder of a good man for loving unconditionally; the Savior returned and, once more, martyred for earth-shaking ideals and absolute loyalty to all mankind.

*For those who don't know about John- the Apostle John is called the Beloved John. The "feminine-looking" one on the right of Jesus in "The Last Supper" (unless you believe Dan Brown), he is definitely referred to as "Beloved", so my story doesn't just come out of my ass. I promise.*