The best way to find out about the life of Jesus is to actually live it. Time travellers are doing just that. Are they interfering with time, or are their actions merely fulfilling the records in the Bible?
—
Killing Jesus was an accident. Deciding to take his place was the mistake.
We handled most of it without a problem. Despite the fact that the time machine was broken and we were stuck there, the technology within allowed us to fake a resurrection of that Lazarus guy, create fishes and loaves, heal a bunch of people, walk on water, and do the other miracles that Jesus supposedly did.
All that was comparatively easy, but the crucifixion was just a few days away, and we couldn’t figure out how to get out of this one.
“Someone might still rescue us, David,” Margie said, pushing her hair away from her eyes.
“Sure, after I’m dead.” I stomped around the room. “Dead, no miracle, no angels resurrecting me. And don’t take it so calmly. They’re probably going to leave you here after I’m dead anyway, just to teach us a lesson. We did steal The Doctor, you know,” I said, using the name we had given the time machine, based on some old program Ben had seen.
“Borrow,” Margie corrected, her eyes boring into mine. She returned to her hot tea, waving her hand dismissively in my direction, already tired of the argument we’ve had a hundred times before.
Ben just stared at his feet while repeating his part in the argument. “If they were going to rescue us, they would’ve done it by now.” Yes, we had the only time machine that we knew of, but Ben held to the idea they’d make a new one in the future and then come back for us.
“You know that won’t do us any good if it’s from a different timeline,” Margie replied. Her theory was that we had created a new timeline where no time machine had been invented.
Ben sighed. We’d been through all this before. We needed to make sure the timeline remained the same if we wanted anyone to come back and get us. Our only option was to recreate everything Jesus did.
“So now I have to get killed.”
We didn’t have any technology that could literally resurrect someone — Lazarus was just in a coma, and these primitive people assumed he was dead.
Being really dead was a completely different matter.
My original plan was brilliant, if I may say so myself. “Borrow” the university’s machine, go back and see whether Jesus actually existed, and if so, find out how much of his story was true. After all, we could stay for a year and then return a second after we left, and no one would be the wiser. I would have the greatest doctoral thesis ever, and Ben, the English major, could write a book about the adventure, sure to be a best-seller.
Good plan on paper, anyway.
We had set the machine to find Jesus and, sure enough, just like in The Wizard of Oz, it did it precisely — even if we didn’t see his feet curl up, leaving only sandals for us to take.
So now, impersonating Jesus was our only option. Margie had laughed about it at first, saying it reminded her of some old science fiction novel that had won a bunch of awards a century ago, but it was nothing I had ever heard of.
I needed to play Jesus because obviously Margie couldn’t and, given my research, I was the only one who could speak Aramaic. Plus, I looked the part. Despite the Renaissance paintings, Jesus was indeed a Jewish man, which fit me better than Ben, even if I was about six years too young for the part.
Oh, I had protested at the time. “I don’t look that much like him,” I whined. “Plus I don’t know a thing about carpentry.”
Confirming my research, Jesus had been traveling for years prior to us arriving, and therefore didn’t have many close friends who could identify him. Replacing him was almost like starting over. Many things I had to improvise, not just because the many versions in the Bible were contradictory, but there were things not mentioned at all — such as when I had to settle a dispute between two angry farmers that left me running for my life when they both disagreed with my assessment of them. Also, despite my studies, I really was not an expert on everything Jesus had done. A few times, people got suspicious when I said I needed to pray first, only to see me frantically flipping pages of my Bible to see what I was supposed to do.
Before we knew it, a year had passed, and even Ben’s beard grew to match those of the era.
Margie, our scientific advisor since she was in her second year working on her quantum physics doctorate, was enthusiastic about this at first, but grew depressed and frustrated after such a long time stuck with the only two people she could talk to in these lands. “The main worry,” she said at the start, lecturing us like we were her undergrads, “is that research into the different timelines has just begun. Only a few short trips have been made by the professors, and very carefully so, especially since the government isn’t aware of The Doctor yet.” She lowered her head. “I can’t believe we were so stupid as to think this would be easy.”
We had argued for months about the whole thing, and finally admitted there was a reason use of the machine was so restricted. If we had screwed up so badly, who knew what someone even more incompetent than us could do? For that matter, who knew if someone had already done so, and we were just living in some alternate history?
It made my head hurt, and made me thankful that I was not a quantum physicist.
We had to fix our mistake, which meant I had to die. We couldn’t think of any other option. So now, we were getting ready for the Last Supper, and I had no idea how I could get out of this, but I was determined to do so no matter what.
Hey, if nothing else, someone in the future might find the machine, hidden behind its cloaking field, power still running but time controls unresponsive. (“I’m a theorist, not an engineer,” Margie had protested. “I have no idea how to fix this thing.”) Maybe these future people would watch our journal, read the notes, and find a way to come back and save us before I had to die. Maybe.
I attached the earpiece, which blended in perfectly, but also was hidden by my long hair. The camera in my contact lens had been recording constantly as well. Ben and Margie took their places at the controls, with Ben handling the translator so they could understand what I was saying. Margie sat at the video, making sure everything was recorded. Even if the time controls weren’t working, we were happy that power remained and we had the food generators, running water, air conditioning, and other comforts of home, even if I had to spend many nights in uncomfortable primitive lodging to keep up the façade.
“Testing,” Ben said.
“Hear you,” I replied, as I adjusted my robe and tightened my sandals.
Margie nodded as I left, concern in her eyes. “Good luck. Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”
I nodded back, which she saw from my viewpoint, camera bobbing up and down as I walked past the thorny bushes that helped camouflage the machine and keep people away.
The spring air felt refreshing against my face, but all I could do was think of my future. I had to die so at least my friends could have a chance to be rescued. Could I do it? Was I willing to be Jesus-like? I always thought of myself as a good man, but not a believer.
So I did my best, using my doctoral research, to copy what I thought he had done. I didn’t feel very comfortable about the lying, but if I could preach brotherhood and tolerance and loving and forgiving your enemies, and have it really have an effect on the world? That, I had no problem with.
As I walked to the hall where we would be having a dinner — the last one, although maybe only Judas and I knew that — I started wondering how much of what I had said was me? What if there was only one timeline? What if I had always gone back, and this was the same timeline, and I had always been Jesus? I mean, I did say some things that no one else of this time was saying. That whole bit where that guy said women shouldn’t dress suggestively to tempt men, and I said he should just poke his own eyes out since the problem was with him, not the women — was that me instead of Jesus saying that? And when I attacked the moneylenders in the temple? I mean, I do recall reading all that in my research…
My head hurt even more.
Mary Magdalene met me at the door, smiling as always. “Jesus, so good to see you. And you bathed again with that perfume I like!”
I had to admit that was one of the best things about this whole trip. I really had hit it off well with her, and although the apostles were not willing to let women into their little circle — I knew that time would be far off — I brought her along with me whenever I could, and they grumbled and accepted it. I mean, hey, I’m the son of God, what are you gonna do?
“Why do you always go away for a while by yourself?” she asked as we took our seats, which looked nothing like that famous painting with everyone sitting on the same side of the table. “Why can’t I come with you?”
“We do spend time together, you know…” I said.
“Yeah, but you always turn the camera and sound off when you do that,” Ben’s voice said in my ear. I pointedly ignored him.
“…but sometimes, I need to pray alone,” I finished. Mary didn’t look happy with that response, and I couldn’t tell her the truth. Trying to avoid talking about my real life or mentioning anachronisms was more difficult than doing the tricks they thought were miracles.
The night was fine, but I felt like a prisoner being served his last meal. I was obsessed with trying to find a way to get out of being crucified. Maybe it didn’t matter if I wasn’t, and maybe we could spread the word I was, even if it wasn’t true. After all, the Bible was written years after Jesus’ death, so maybe the story was made up to begin with. But how could I accomplish that? And so far, all the other stories had come true, if for no other reason than I had made them come true.
My head hurt.
Everyone could tell that something was up, but they knew better than to ask me about it. Still, I snapped a few times, such as when the bill came. “Let Judas pay it,” I said. “He recently came into some money.”
Judas’s head spun to face me, shock in his face, and I just smiled with a “What? Did you forget who I am?” expression.
Later, over drinks, I gave a little speech. “It’s been great working with all of you,” I said. “Be sure to keep my story going, and tell everyone about my words. I really meant it, especially the parts about being kind and loving your enemies. But my time is short. One of you here will betray me —” I paused while Judas coughed out his drink “— and at least one of you here will deny me, but I understand and forgive you.”
I looked around the table. Could these people help me? Maybe one of them could take my place somehow? I mean, come on, technically, they were already dead, and had been for thousands of years in my timeline. I sighed, and felt tremendously guilty for thinking such a thing.
“Hey, Jude,” I said, knowing fully well no one but Margie and Ben would get it, “go and do what you have to.” Judas nodded, uncertain, and left. I’m sure everyone else there just assumed he was going to pay the bill.
I shook my head and refused to speak more, even though they had all gathered around me concerned, and I insisted that I needed to go pray. I knew what was happening, and I still hadn’t thought of a way out, but knew I needed to be alone.
As I walked to the Garden of Gethsemane, I found myself actually praying — not pretend praying, like I did during my impersonations, but literally asking God for help, for some sign of what I needed to do. I had never done that before, but if there was ever a time where God would pay attention, you’d think it would be for this.
“Seriously?” Ben said in my ear. “Praying? That’s the solution?”
I held a middle finger up to my face so he could see it. “You got a better idea, genius? I have to be honest. I mean, I like you guys plenty, but I’m not sure I’m willing to die for you. We can all just live in The Doctor for the rest of our lives, you know.”
“Assuming the power doesn’t break as well,” Margie said.
Ben’s voice overrode her, clearly trying to comfort me. “We’ll think of something. But just know how proud we are of you, preaching Jesus’ love and all that.” I knew he really didn’t mean it.
The moon lit the garden where I was supposed to be arrested in a light blue glow. I sat, waiting for the inevitable. I shook in the cool night air, and the enormity of the situation hit me. This was crazy. What was the point of doing all this, just if I was going to die? Yes, sure, Margie and Ben would be stuck here until they died of old age, but at least they’d be alive, unlike me.
That’s when I decided, Fuck it, I’m leaving.
I got up and headed back to The Doctor, but slowed down as a large group of men blocked my way. Oh, they couldn’t have come five minutes later? Maybe I was stuck in an endless time loop, where nothing I did mattered. That depressed me even more.
“You’re the one claiming to be the Messiah,” the largest one said. He was surrounded by young Jewish men, all of whom did not look happy.
I took a step backwards. “No, wrong guy. Must be some other. Not me. No habla Ingles.”
I turned to run, but they were bigger, stronger, and faster. They dragged me to the Jewish religious court known as the Sanhedrin.
The “trial” was, of course, a complete sham. Evidence of things I supposedly said was so thin that even my accusers looked embarrassed at presenting them, and the elders’ faces reflected skepticism. A few witnesses were clearly lying and making shit up. I decided the best thing I could do was to shut up and maybe they’d get frustrated and let me go.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” said the head of the Sanhedrin, whose name I didn’t catch. I thought of him as “Pouty.” “Isn’t it true that you have claimed to be the Messiah, the son of God?”
Well, yes, I had said that, but I really didn’t mean it. I had to say that, to keep the timeline intact.
“I am a son of God,” I said, extending my arms to include the entire room. “But aren’t we all?”
“Oh, nice loophole,” Ben whispered in my ear. “But if they find you not guilty, we’re probably stuck here forever.”
However, that “confession” was good enough for Pouty McPoutface, and they decreed that I was to be taken to Pontius Pilate, the Roman Governor of Judea. They threw me into a room and locked the door.
“Now what?” I whispered, once I was sure no one was near.
“What do you mean, ‘now what’?” Ben replied. “This is going exactly to plan, other than you trying to get out of it.”
“We don’t have a solution,” Margie said. “We haven’t had a solution since we began. Why would you think we’ll have one now—”
“Well, now I’m about to be killed, and I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough,” I said much louder to talk over her. “You guys are being selfish! You just want to go back home, and you’re not thinking about me.”
“No, that’s not it,” Margie said, her tone more comforting than her usual sarcastic voice. “We have to save every single person who was born from this time on. If you don’t finish Jesus’ timeline, the world as we know it will cease to exist. There will be a completely new world that may be far worse.”
“Or far better,” I said, “but we’ll never experience it anyway, so what’s the goddamn point?”
“Maybe we can replace you at the very last minute,” Ben suggested.
I frowned. “Then we’re the murderers.”
“No, we’re just —” Margie paused, looking for the right words. “— conspirators to the murder.”
“Well, hmm,” I said. “Technically, in our time, everyone alive in this timeline is already dead. We’d just be… speeding things up a bit for that person.”
Ben gasped. “You two can’t be serious.”
We continued on like that for a while, arguing about ethics and whether someone else’s death would change the timeline even worse, but eventually grew silent, having each made our points many times in the past.
Sleep was impossible.
The next morning, I was escorted to a fine Roman building, matching the descriptions I had studied, but in far worse shape than I had imagined. Pilate was known to be a cruel man, often sending his troops to quell peaceful protesters. He had a magnificent Roman nose and hair that was close-cut in the Roman style of the time. Despite all the terrible paintings and vids made of this encounter, he was not dressed in armor as if ready for battle, but instead just wore a comfortable robe, appropriate for a warm spring day.
Pouty pointed to me. “We ask you dispense justice on this person, who claims to be the King of the Jews.”
Pilate raised an eyebrow. Claiming to be a king was clearly against the law. But when he glanced at me, he saw a poor, Jewish man in ragged clothes and dirty sandals. What was worse, I was genuinely scared and shaking by this time, with my death so near. I looked and acted nothing like a king.
Pilate rose from his seat. “This?” he said, hand waving generally in my direction. “This is a king?”
“He claims to be the Messiah,” Pouty said. “The son of God.”
A few of the centurions laughed, and Pilate smiled along with them. “Take him to Herod,” he replied. “I want nothing to do with this.”
I tried to speak up, but was slapped across the face by a guard, and then dragged away across town to meet Herod.
“Look, if you let me go, I can make it worth your while,” I begged the guards. “Seriously. What do you want? I can get it.”
“Shut up,” Ben said in my ear. “We’ll change the pass code for the replicator so you can’t bribe them with anything.”
“You’re killing me!” I replied.
The guard turned to me. “Well, yes,” he said. “Eventually.”
I continued begging, but none of the guards responded to my bribery offers. They couldn’t believe someone looking this poor could provide them with riches, and between trying to convince them while Ben and Margie were screaming in my ear, I eventually gave up.
King Herod was still eating breakfast when I arrived, and looked as if he probably would have had a third and fourth helping if not interrupted. He growled at these Jews demanding justice over a minor local problem.
“Well, if you’re so insistent, why don’t you kill him yourself?” he asked.
Pouty bowed. “Well, your majesty, that is against our laws. But your laws—”
“Need me to do your dirty work for you?” He gave a weary grunt. “Bring him here.”
They grabbed my shoulders and pushed me toward Herod, then forced me to my knees.
“So you’re the one who has been performing miracles, are you?” Herod sneered. “I could use some more wine. Conjure some up for me, will you?”
“What an asshole,” I heard Ben whisper.
I closed my mouth, lips curling inward. The times we had used the food replicator to produce wine and bread and fish was easy — removing the cloak hiding them made it seem as if they had just appeared out of nowhere — but clearly I could not do that here. Also, I was scared shitless, and didn’t want to make him mad enough to kill me right then and there.
Herod grew angry at my silence. He screamed a few more times at me, and then demanded that I be taken back to Pilate.
Pouty did not seem happy about this, but he waved his minions to drag me back. My attempts to once more bribe the guards were met with laughter and disbelief.
“The Sanhedrin are religious fanatics,” Margie reminded me. “They think they’re doing God’s will by having you killed. They’re immune to bribery, and so are the guards.”
I grumbled, but had to agree she was right. I shut up.
Pilate was not happy that the bureaucracy had placed me back in his jurisdiction. He gave a nasty look to Pouty and his fanatics, and then stared at me for a long time, as if deciding whether to include me with those who held me.
“Why do you want this man dead?” he finally asked.
“He claims to be the son of God.” Pouty spoke as if that statement alone was sufficient.
Pilate wasn’t buying it. “And? This is bad because?”
Pouty looked aghast. “It’s blasphemy! Our laws demand his death, but only you can order it.”
Pilate crossed his arms. “What has he done other than make that claim? Has he stolen, hurt someone, committed a crime against the Roman empire?”
Pouty crossed his arms. His beard twitched. “It is a crime against us.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ve committed no crime against anyone. I’m being punished for exercising my freedom of speech.”
“No such thing here,” Ben whispered. I shushed him under my breath.
“I’m sure a wise man like yourself would not want the death of an innocent on his hands,” I begged. “Let me go, and we can all pretend this never happened.” I held a finger to my ear, pretending to scratch it, but mostly to make sure all the screaming from Ben and Margie wasn’t leaking from my receiver.
Pilate examined me for another few seconds, and then turned to Pouty. “He’s one man. Let him go. His words hurt no one.”
“Just ask him!” Pouty screamed. “He’ll admit it!”
Pilate looked to me expectedly.
I opened my mouth but had trouble finding the words. Pilate took a step closer as his guards watched warily. “Well?”
“Look, I’m… I’m not from here!” I blurted out. “I don’t belong here.”
“Shut up!” said a desperate voice in my ear.
“You shut up!” I yelled in English. “It’s my life on the line here. Don’t be so selfish! I mean, Jesus, Margie is a vegetarian for Chrissake, she won’t even kill an animal, but you’re willing to kill me?”
Ben and Margie both were screaming back at me, so I shut off the sound.
Pouty was running around, pointing to me, saying, “He’s speaking in tongues!”
“Look,” I said in Aramaic, and everyone stopped to listen. “Seriously, I’m from… another place. And let me tell you, if my people were here right now, boy, they’d be saving me. These Jewish leaders wouldn’t be able to stop them. My people could be here any moment, I mean it. So you’d better let me go before they get here—”
I didn’t get much farther because everyone was yelling at once. Pilate waved me away as the Sanhedrin dragged me out to be crucified. I was thrown into a cell to await my execution.
I found myself crying into my robe.
A few hours later, a kind guard came to get me. “Sorry to report,” he said. “Pilate really didn’t want this to happen, from what I can see. He even asked the crowd if they should spare you, but they demanded you be executed, and some guy named Barabas was released instead.”
“Not my lucky day,” I replied.
The next hour was a blur because of the pain. They beat me simply because they could. I tried to fight back, but these were burly guards with weapons and I was no match. They made me drag the cross on my back down the street with others being crucified, and I could barely see where I was going because of my black eye. And when I paused, I was beaten even more. I felt myself giving up, and fell to the ground.
All went black.
* * *
All was white. And very bright.
Was I dead? Was this heaven?
I forced my eyes open, but the light made me blink in anger.
“See? He’s fine,” said an unfamiliar voice.
I finally focused on a woman with gray hair standing over me.
“Am I…”
“Jesus? No,” she laughed. “You’re in Mass General, and I’m Dr. Khatri. You’re back home.”
I practically jumped, but realized my body would not cooperate.
She gently pushed me back into my pillow. “Slow down. You’ve been close to dead for a while now. It’s going to take a few days before you can get up and move around.”
I glanced around the room. A comfortable bed. Tubes in my arm. Machines and computers monitoring me. A wide window letting in the afternoon sun.
“What… what happened?”
She smiled. “I’ll let your friends tell you. You try to get some rest. And don’t move around. I have some pretty heavy painkillers and antibiotics in you right now that could make that difficult.”
She walked out, and I tried to get my mind to organize itself against its obvious desires. So I was back in Boston. What year was this? How had they saved us? Didn’t I screw everything up?
Ben and Margie bounded in, happy to see me. They looked much healthier than I had seen them in years. Ben was clean-shaven and smiling.
“I’m alive,” I said, as if trying to convince myself.
“Barely,” Margie said. “You fell over in the street, and some guy took your cross to help, and there was a scuffle, and somewhere in the middle of all that, we were able to grab your body and get back to The Doctor.”
“But that means someone else was crucified.”
“Yes, but you were so beaten as to be unrecognizable, as was your replacement.”
I tried to shake my head in confusion, but it made me so dizzy I fell back into my pillow. “So… someone else saved me?”
“In a way,” Ben said. “It was a bit of a deus ex machina…”
“A what ex what?”
He gave me the kind of look he probably usually saved for his undergrads, and calmly and slowly said, “It means ‘god from the machine.’ Ancient Greek plays would have the hero doomed, and then a contraption would come down carrying the actor playing one of their gods, who would then save the day.” He smiled. “Kind of a cheat. No writer worth their weight would do that today.”
I blinked and wondered whether a real God had intervened. So I changed the subject. “But how did we end up back here?”
Margie took a seat. “Professor Morris showed up with a new time machine to rescue us, although he’s really pissed, as you can guess.”
“But the other guy…”
“We had to pull some tricks to get his body out of that cave to keep the timeline intact, and then we realized we really didn’t have to do that, because the timeline was already intact.”
“But Jesus was supposed to reappear to his followers in three days…”
Ben shrugged. “Maybe that was just another one of those stories people told that wasn’t really true, like the whole Noah thing, or the Garden of Eden. Not even modern Biblical scholars think those things actually happened.”
“Except the crazy ones,” I added.
“Well, sure. There are always crazy people,” Ben agreed.
I frowned. “But how did Morris know how to find us? And where and when?”
Ben looked to Margie, since she was the expert. “They found the machine missing and realized what had happened,” she explained. “Especially when we three were absent from classes for a few days. The machines do give off a signature that can be traced. And they couldn’t come to get us until the timeline was repaired. I could explain it to you, but insert condescending comments here.”
We laughed.
“It took them more than a year to build a second one and come back for us,” she continued, “along with an engineer who could fix the first one.”
“So we missed an entire year?” I asked.
“Yes, and so much has changed,” Ben replied. “And not necessarily for the better. The investigation into our disappearance led to the discovery of the machines, and now the government has taken control over everything. The university is, well, in a bit of trouble right now, thanks to us. And we have charges to face, although they haven’t tried to imprison us yet. That may be coming.”
Margie shook her head. “Would have happened sooner or later anyway. The university is in more trouble than we are, for keeping it secret. And, we’re needed as witnesses.”
I started hatching plans to steal another time machine and get us out of there. “But wait…” I said. “Didn’t I mess it up? I thought all the stuff I said trying to get out of being crucified erased our future so this couldn’t happen.”
“I thought so too, at first,” Ben said. “I was so angry I threw my receiver to the floor, and it broke. But it didn’t ruin anything. In fact, your words made it into the Bible, although with so many translations over the years, they’re not exactly the same.” He pulled his pad out of his pocket and did a quick search. “Here,” he said, handing it to me.
I took it gently, as my arms were still not completely cooperating, and read John 18:36, which quoted Jesus saying, “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.”
I blinked. “That’s not exactly what I said.”
“Close enough.”
I placed the pad on the bed next to me. “So, my research was a failure. I never learned if Jesus was indeed the son of God, or if he had performed any miracles or anything. Maybe he never would have. Maybe it was me faking it all along, and even if we had done nothing, Morris would have found us anyway. It was all for nothing.”
“No, you did learn a lot about the culture and the people of the time. That’s at least something,” Ben said. “That’s good enough for a dissertation.”
“I’ve got some new theories about time travel I can work into my doctorate,” Margie said.
“And I’m going to have a great book published about it, I’m sure,” said Ben.
“In time,” I said.
“Yes,” Margie said. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”
