My last blog (I’m Sorry, So Sorry) contained an error I feel compelled to correct. While I was right to absolve my people from the murder of Jesus Christ, I was incorrect to absolve myself. As it turns out, I did kill Jesus Christ.
It’s true. I did it in a past life. Usually I don’t believe in reincarnation, seeing it as another of the ego’s endless attempts to avoid its own dissolution into the greater unity of God, but I now see that my theology may be just my attempt to avoid facing my own guilt over the murder of God. You see I once again telepathically contacted with Iraqi astrologer Ali al-Bakri (see Must Seer TV) on the issue of who killed Jesus and this is what he told me:
I was a Jew in first-century Jerusalem. I hated Jesus because his mother told him he was God while my mother told me I was God. Since we Jews have only one God, I knew Jesus for lying. At the time Jesus showed up I was working on a marketing plan to promote myself as God. My mistake was announcing my divinity through John the Proctologist rather than John the Baptist. I thought I’d reach more people at the mall than the Jordan. Who knew?
So Jesus had a head start, but I followed him around and tried to attract the Jews away from him. I showed up at the wedding feast in Cana with a gift of the finest wine, but Jesus’ mother met me at the door, took the wine, stuck a gift card from Jesus on it, and made sure he got the credit. Then I tried feeding people with loaves and fishes, but he sent out for baskets of food and I only paid for a Happy Meal (I kept the Tickle Me Herod doll that came with it, though my mother gave it away at the Massada Army charity drive). We both showed up at the stoning of the adulterous woman. Jesus wrote something on the ground and said, “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” I wrote on the ground too, “Fine Throwing Stones, Two for A Shekel.” Jesus had his Last Supper while I tried a Going Out of Business Sale. Nothing worked, and he was very convincing with all his healings.
Then Jesus got arrested and turned over to Pilate (the Roman Procurator not the guy who invented the exercise system). Well, I didn’t want to win this way so I got a bunch of Jews to go with me to Pilate and demand Jesus’ release. When Pilate asks me “Whom do you want?” (Romans are nothing if not grammatically correct. I think it’s because they had to learn Latin as kids.) I sarcastically answer, “Who you got?” He says, “Barabbas.” I sarcastically say “Right, we want Barabbas” and he gives me Barabbas. Romans have no feel for sarcasm.
Now I really felt bad, so I go to talk to Jesus while he’s hanging on the cross. I want to apologize for not rescuing him, and maybe get an endorsement. By the time I get there the guards think he’s dead. To be sure the Centurion in charge starts to poke him with his spear. Still trying to get close to Jesus I jostle the Centurion and accidentally push the spear into Jesus’ side. That did it. Dead for sure. I killed him.
That’s how it happened, and I feel really bad about it. So I apologize for the killing of Christ. It was my fault and mine alone. So please, people, leave the Jews alone.