Maria birthed herself a baby named Jesús
José was pissed, “he don’t resemble me”
an outlier was the blue-eyed, blond hair tyke
“I’m so much more than my looks,” he said
yes, Jesús was on it early.
“Mamá and papá, I’ve been anointed to think big”
José rolled his eyes, Maria just smiled
“I’m bound for glory beyond these sands of Sonora”
“I am willed to start a mariachi jazz band”
“we’ll charge nothing and fill the plazas with the future”
“I heard a messiah complex is spreading rapidly,” said José tongue in cheek
“so be careful, you know there’s no vaccine as yet”
“don’t you upset the cartel,” warned Maria. “Pilato is extremely protective of his gold, myrrh and frankincense trade”
“is your plan to live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” deadpanned José
“No,” said Jesús, “But my licks will last forever”
José and Maria tried everything — conversion therapy, military school, a vegan diet, even heavy doses of amplified Lawrence Welk music
however, Jesús was not to be sorted out
you believed in him, or not — he didn’t need to reciprocate
a calling is a march forward, no slowing, sidestepping, or deadliest of all, explaining
in succeeding years, Jesús’ trumpet licks sharpened and his lyrics enlightened
however, naysayers still taunted, “hey snowflake, can’t you find a halo that fits?”
but fans and a few groupies mostly stayed loyal especially sold on the wine and fish produced before the concerts
“we are sound to the deaf, sight for the blind, food for the soul” was the band’s mantra
yes, Jesús and Los Discípulos (Juan, Pedro and Pablo) were vested
“selling what people can’t buy is the worst of all business plan” snorted José, “hire a consultant”
“I’m a not for profit prophet,” answered Jesús
periodically, Jesús also misspoke
‘time heals all wounds’ sometimes came out as ‘time wounds all heels’
in his late 20s, Jesús developed a tick of sorts, visibly shuddering whenever anyone in his company exclaimed, “nailed it”
even the best doctors could not reach a diagnosis, much less a cure
one wizened, elderly physician called for an invasive history-ectomy
“we must remove that part of his brain foretelling coming events”
but nothing happened since Jesús could never meet his deductable
soon the federales began taking a harder look at Jesús
his riffs badgered for liberation versus the status quo
he and his ragtag crew expanded to an international following
his lore galloped past that of even Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata
then, avant-garde Jesús suddenly disappeared
the musical revolutionist joined the many thousands, especially the students, women and campesinos, who vanished forever, the desaparecidos who were never to be seen again, be it due to government or cartel forces actions, or, as some say inexplicable predestination
A few natives swore Jesús returned shortly afterwards, as a proprietor of a nondescript bath house specifically designed for washing feet just outside of Juarez
as such, the holy infidel mocked authorities with one last act
he charged nothing
try bastardizing that gospel.
The following is a look at Bart D. Ehrman’s book “God’s Problem How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Important Question — Why We Suffer?”
Truth being a dimly lit wick submerging falsehood