In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.
And behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.
His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:
And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men,
And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.
He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.
And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.
And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word.
And as they went to tell his disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying All hail. And they came and held him by the feet, and worshipped him.
--Book of Matthew, Chapter 28, Verses 1-9
Sir, I have never known what to think about these people out in the hinterlands. What kind of people would choose to live here when the city is so much nicer? Wouldn't you rather be Roman than anything else in this world? And if you couldn't be Roman, because of the unfortunate circumstances of your birth, at least you could live in Rome, or close to it, and do as the Romans do. Or be an agent of Rome, like me, and make a nice living. Anybody who'd live in this part of the uncivilized world--and sleep in huts and eat this food--is either ignorant of their options or just plain crazy. Have you noticed their customs? What poor thing of a religion only has one God? Did you know that these people don't even put their newborns in the weather for a few hours after birth to weed out the sick and thus improve the race? No wonder they're in the condition they're in.
This place is nothing like the palace. I can't get the dirt out of my sandals. And what kind of drink did they serve last night at supper? I can't wait to get back to the good stuff.
But Pilate is Rome's representative, and when he says go, I go. Or else I could come out a head shorter.
I've interviewed dozens of these people, and I can't figure it out. What am I supposed to tell Pilate in my report? That somebody "rose" from the dead? He'd find another investigator. And I need the income. Even if travel to backwaters like this is too often involved.
The strange thing about it, or one of the strange things, is the people central to my investigation don't appear to be lying. I've known some world-class liars in my time, and I know all the tricks to get them cornered. I can't seem to catch the people involved in this new sect in any falsehood. They believe. You can see it in their eyes. How can they be shaking with fear and great joy at the same time? Something has happened here. I just can't figure out what.
This morning a woman ran up to me, grabbed me by the umbo, and shouted something about the Good News. She said she was leaving on a boat immediately, because she had to spread this news. She was followed by dozens of others. All leaving the place of some sort of miracle of their little religion, to go tell it to strangers who'd never believe them. Shouldn't they build a temple to the gods first? You know, mark the spot. What's wrong with a festival to celebrate whatever it was that whichever god did? You know, a few days of debauchery and drunkenness to mark the occasion. Instead, they tell me their story, then flee to other parts of the world.
Oh, and what a story they tell.
I wonder if they realize that they're only making it worse for themselves. These people are getting crosswise with the law and the local religious leaders. Their prophet has just been executed by the state. You'd think they'd get the message. Do you think the Roman Empire wouldn't nail a few more of them up there to keep matters quiet? Instead these people are making a loud fuss, just asking for trouble. Yes, I'll have to put that in my report. What a strange tribe.
There's something even stranger, though. Don't noise it about, but . . . It's tempting to want what these people have. They have been saved, somehow, from the sorrows of this life. It's as if this spring morning their lives are new again. Almost as if they've been reborn, and given another shot at life.
Oh, I know. Sounds iffy. And probably dangerous. But try it yourself. The next time one of these so-called Christians runs by, shouting about their Good News, ask them to explain. See if you buy their story. Because it's hard not to. They believe. In this world, it's not hard to believe in things. Like death. And the state. And Rome. And starvation and taxes and disease and war and backwater investigations. But these people have found something they believe in that is supposed to be for their redemption. Which is why they keep calling it the Good News.
Dozens of interviews, and I still want to hear more.
Say, come with me. Let's listen to another version of their story, or maybe The Story. I want to hear it again.
Pilate and Pilate's report can wait. I think I've found something salvageable here. That is, Salvation.
Editorial on 04/16/2017