Cloning Jesus - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is now up- sorry for the delay. It's been a very busy week picking grapes and then crushing them to make wine for the neighbor of the farm that is hosting me.  I'll try to post another during the week to make up for it.

I hope you guys enjoy!

CHAPTER 3

“It is not as in the Bible, that God created man in his own image. But, on the contrary, man created God in his own image.”

-Ludwig Feuerbach

(1804-1872)

            It would be two years after he stepped out of the cloning chamber before we unveiled Jesus to the world on CNN.  During the entirety of those two years, our financial backers continued to urge us to show him off as soon as possible.  They wouldn’t admit it, but they were proud of what we had produced.  The problem though, was that we believed he was not quite ready yet, he still had so much left to learn before that day when we would deem him ready to be finally seen and known by the world. 

            He was a funny guy, on more than one occasion we would have to take a step back and eye him over, some even wondering aloud if we had really cloned Jesus because of his odd sense of humor.  He was always making jokes, whether appropriate or not, and loved to laugh.  Honestly, we hardly ever saw him without a smile upon his face.

            After our first year, most of which was spent in Israel and Jerusalem teaching him basic life skills and an introductionary education, we moved to America.  We spent the first year in the United States in Washington D.C., where we continued his lessons and showed him more about the world he lived in. Imagine you had the full cognitive abilities of an adult, butt knew nothing about how the world you existed in functioned. No historical knowledge, no clue how lights, or cars, media worked. In a way it could be shocking without levels of introduction. And yes, we probably could have chosen a better place with less greed and corruption, but we wanted him to experience firsthand the capitol of the country he would come to call home, a valuable experience for anybody to learn.

            The war with the Middle East, by then going into its twentieth year, seemed to once again be winding down.  Jesus had learned some about it from his time when living in the area in Israel and the topic always made him edgy.  Right from the get go he really disliked war, as well as any other form of violence.

            For the year we lived in Capital Hill, I would have to say Jesus had a good time during our stay.  Towards the end of the second year of his life, and the end of the first year in D.C., we would often take private walks together, discussing much about the world.

            One of the more unique and unfortunately misfortunate memories I have that stands out from one of our many walks occurred on April twentieth.  We had just left the Lincoln Memorial, where I had explained to him what slavery was and what good ol’ Abe had done for the Union and its beleaguered population back in 1865.  As we walked out of the memorial in the direction of Constitution Avenue, Jesus found, despite the still chilly weather, one of the many homeless in the city sitting on a grate, waiting for money to be handed to him.  Jesus urged me to give the man money and when I wouldn’t, promptly sat down next to the beggar and wouldn’t budge despite my pleading and begging. It was perhaps then that I first saw the beginnings of a deeper side of Christ. But then and there, it didn’t occur to me, especially as Jesus was making something of a scene.

            In the end we had to chloroform Christ into submission (I had Dr. Goffell bring me a bottle) and carry him back to our vehicle and compound.  Ironically, the whole affair cost us far more than if I’d just given the beggar a few bucks in the first place to placate Jesus. When I eventually tried that tactic, giving in, Jesus refused to leave regardless, taking more issue with my lack of ethic to help others rather than the not giving of money. He accused me of only giving for my own gain- namely him coming with me, than any kind of compassion for the other. The homeless man thought the whole ordeal unusual, but for fifty dollars and at his request made his way elsewhere. I suppose it was a win-win for him. 

Jesus was moody for a few days afterwards over the ordeal, especially in our manner of forcefully bringing him back, but he was consoled and eventually brightened considerably when informed that the man had gotten money regardless.  We never did tell him that the money given to the homeless person had actually been more or less a bribe, it just didn’t seem necessary to sour that episode anymore than I had already found myself doing. It was embarrassing to say in the least, but oddly at least to me, endearing in a very weird way.

            Another memory, one which warms me while sitting here on these late nights, was when we were at the Mazza Gallerie, a very nice mall on Wisconsin Avenue in Washington, D.C.  We were walking together into one of the stores that sold American merchandise, perusing what was being sold and on sale.  Now when I say American, I mean it was ‘Murican.  U.S. flags everywhere, Uncle Sam posters, the works.  Patriotism, patriotism, patriotism!

 A small girl and her mother walked into the store and after picking through several items, walked to the counter that Jesus was standing next to.  He smiled down at the little girl as she picked up one of those bracelets with the letter W.W.J.D on it and asked her mother what it meant.

            “Well honey,” her mother began, “That stands for ‘what would Jesus do?’” 

            Jesus, upon hearing his name, looked up from the rack of magazines he had been perusing through and leaned closer.

            “I’m sorry Ma’am?” he asked and she looked up surprised. She studied him for a half-second.

            “The bracelet,” she said and gestured with to him. Curious, Jesus held his hand out to inspect the item, and cautiously, she handed it to him.  He looked at it curiously from over the bridge of his nose and then looked up abruptly after apparently being lost in thought.  He then handed it back to the little girl.

            “What would Jesus do?” he asked. The little girl remained quiet, but continued to look at him shyly.

            “Well, I probably wouldn’t buy the bracelet,” he said, answering the bracelet’s and his own question.  “Why don’t you instead give the money to the homeless guy outside? Or to a charity?”  He hesitated, looked down at it again, and continued, “Though, I must say, yellow is such a nice color.”  He picked another bracelet out from the bucket and rubbed it between his index finger and thumb.

            “I really have no idea what I would do,” he said, as much to himself as to the girl and her mother before chuckling.   The little girl and her mother dropped the bracelet back into the bucket and both edged away from him as soon as they could, quickly leaving the store.  He laughed again as he looked at the bracelet, considering what to do.  As I said before, he was easy-going, but he also didn’t care much what other people thought. In many ways he did things simply because he enjoyed them.  In the end he bought a bracelet and gave his change to a homeless man outside the mall.

            It was about that time, much to our surprise, when he asked if he could get a job.  The request damn near floored us, it was one we had never expected from him. I honestly didn’t even know where he got the notion, either. Of course we said no- he didn’t even have a social security number, as far as the world was concerned, he didn’t exist legally. We provided everything, he had no need for one-- it was out of the question.  But still, he asked. We did our best to explain why as delicately as we could he couldn’t. Again, not one our best moments.  He became angry and kicked over our small kitchen table, sending my wallet that was sitting atop it flying.  The change from my wallet spilled across the floor, rolling everywhere. 

            Upon reflection we realized our mistake and began to take a more direct approach in his education, having him focus on that instead. It was then, at Dr. Goffell’s suggestion we begin his religious studies.  We gave Jesus a Bible to read so that he could better understand just who he was, why he was so important and why we had cloned him. He spent three days reading, a page a minute, and that alone was impressive to us.  Try reading the tome like that; it’s not unlike reading the dictionary, something I did in my youth; Spoiler alert-- it’ll practically eat your brain.  He ate the text up and spat it out, almost as if he had memorized the entire thing, line by line, much as we had studied it to make his genetic model. It was then we began to suspect he might also have a photographic memory. That was Jesus- he was constantly adapting and growing, his abilities as a person growing constantly.

            He strode out of his room on the last day of reading the Bible and dropped the hefty book onto the table in our small kitchen. He leaned on the back of a chair, his long hair falling across his shoulders.

            “Do people really take everything in there literally?” he asked and my mouth dropped wide open.  This was Jesus and he wasn’t buying into the Bible as someone religious might expect. This after all was the rabbi from history.  He noticed our surprised reactions which weren’t exactly what you would call subtle.

            “So I’m supposed to be the son of God, right?” he asked.  I looked around the table, looking for somebody, anybody other than myself to answer his question. “I mean, you guys cloned me from the person written about in the New Testament, and expected from the Old.”

            “Well… yes, sort of I suppose.  It all depends on what one chooses believe.” Dr. Goffell answered when it became painfully clear that nobody else would speak.  What else could anyone say to Jesus Christ though?

            “And why exactly would you or anyone believe that I am?”

            “Well Jesus, that has a lot to do with someone’s upbringing. We have only known you for a brief two years. Many spend their entire childhoods being educated and indoctrinated in their belief system. Most do not question it- they just accept what their parents and teachers tell them. If someone they trust tells them to believe that you are the son of God. They’ll believe it. Hell, Richard Dawkins once pointed out that if Jack and the Bean stalk was spoken in the Bible, most would probably accept it as a parable or a real even that occurred.”

            Jesus blinked,

            “How the hell do they even know who God is? Have they met him? Have either of you ever met him?” Jesus demanded sharply. I closed my mouth, which had still been slightly open.

            “Jesus, nobody has ever really met God except you supposedly, and even then, your past version” I said quietly.

            He shook his head at that. 

            “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall ever having a conversation with my father.  The closest to one I’ve had so far is you, Dr. Nowell,” he said, then looked at Dr. Goffell, “and you too, of course.” At this he turned away and grumpily poured himself a bowl of cereal from a box that had been in the cabinets behind him.

            I must admit that upon hearing that I was flattered, though wasn’t sure quite what he meant by his reference to his purported divine father. He had after all indirectly just compared me to God.  Our Jesus of Jerusalem, the clone of Jesus of Nazareth, had just compared me, to the “almighty” lord. But still, I didn’t get it, and chalked it up that perhaps he had interpreted what he read, especially considered the context of his personal differently than others might.  We were all quiet for a time after that, hoping the conversation was done.  It wasn’t.

            “So how many people worship me?” he asked quietly after a while, stirring his cereal.  He had been thinking I suppose. I wouldn’t blame him either. I found it curious, however—he didn’t distinguish at all between who he was now, and from whom he had been. Talk about an existential conundrum. 

            I chose my words carefully, aware that what I was about to say could put incredible pressure on him.  The last thing we wanted to do was stress Jesus out, especially when what caused the stress was truth. 

            “Ah, roughly two point two billion people, give or take a few odd million,” I said tentatively. I suppose I was trying to lay the information on him as easily as I could. Coming to learn that, that many people worship you or who you were, not knowing a single one of them, and they not knowing you, would probably be surreal and possibly overwhelming to anyone. 

            He nodded his head, accepting. If that was how things were, then that’s how they would be. I suppose then might have been when it began to occur he might be able to do something about it. The beginnings of a seed of a thought that would grow and ultimately change everything.

            “Why?” he asked, crunching on his cereal which had yet to become soggy.

            “Well,” I started, “you’ve read the Bible, what did it say happened to you?”

            “It says that I was Jewish, like our friends in Israel and that I gathered a band of twelve followers while I preached about mankind and our relationship with God and life while performing ‘miracles.’  Eventually one of my disciples betrayed me and in the end my death absolved mankind, because I was God in man’s flesh.” He pinched his arm holding the spoon, “I don’t feel divine. The book reads afterwards I was supposedly resurrected.  But what I don’t get is this--  If I had all those powers, if I could bring the dead back to life, heal the sick and dying, why can’t I do any of those things now?” he asked.          

            Dr. Goffell and I exchanged looks from over the table. Neither of us believed in the supernatural—we had always assumed he was merely a historical figure whose teachings had influenced much of the world’s history thereafter. We really had no exact answer to give and told him so. 

            “Sometimes people are wrong, especially after two thousand years,” I offered. Although most likely true as well, I had to admit that at least at the time, it was a pretty weak response to his question.  I might as well have not said anything at all, so meaningful and explanative was it. 
            He smiled regardless, my words having an unexpected affect on him. 

            “Well, there’s only one way to tell, isn’t there?” he asked and looked around the table. I returned the gaze, looking at him curiously what he meant.

_____________________________________

            Four hours later we stood on the banks of the Potomac, mid-winter, with a rare, at least for that time of year, layer of snow all around us.  Jesus was wearing a thick wetsuit, his brown hair tied back in a ponytail and tucked down into the top of the stretchy suit.  He daintily poked his covered toe in the water and then yanked it back.  You could tell he was cold and trying not to shiver.  It was as if he felt he had something to prove to us, not that he ever had to though.

            I was entirely against the endeavor, and had protested it the entire time, starting from when it was first suggested, to even when I was there.  Dr. Goffell encouraged Jesus on with several other scientists that were part of our accompanying entourage, flashing him a thumbs up from where he was a few yards back by the parked car.  Jesus waved at us, I was cold just look at him and thinking about what he was about to do.

            Jesus calmly stuck a foot directly out, almost as if he was kicking the air in front of him. He held it there for several seconds, perhaps for dramatic effect before promptly placing his foot on top of the water.  He held it there for about a second before putting his full weight on it, plunging with a splash through the surface.  He fell from our view, collapsing into the water, going face first with his whole body into the cold wet mud at the bottom beneath just above freezing water.

            Dr. Goffell shook his head with a bemused smile, and made his way down to the river before Jesus might drift away. If I were a more humorous man and this was twenty years prior when I was back at Yale, I probably would have found the whole situation funnier, myself.  But the last thing I wanted was for Jesus Christ to die from hypothermia before we had even told the world about him.

            Cursing myself for authorizing and allowing him to do the foolhardy stunt, we dragged Jesus out, dried him off and took him back to our facility. It was there Dr. Goffell approached me.

            “You know it won’t be long,” he remarked as we stood alone. I nodded, he was right.

            “Just a little more time to prepare him.” Dr. Goffell raised an eyebrow,

            “What more do we have to teach him? Physics? How to drive a car? We don’t have much to give him anymore.” He had a point there.

            “I know, your sarcasm aside, but I’m still not comfortable yet with the idea.”

            “Two years. We agreed we would wait two years to prepare him if we were going to have him go public, and it’s what he wants also. Lord knows why, but it’s what he wants also. I wouldn’t in his shoes.”

            “He doesn’t wear shoes,” I remarked. It was true- even in winter. One his more eccentric habits.

            “His sandals then. Whatever.”

            “I know. Two months. We’ll focus and then push things forward.” Dr. Goffell raised an eyebrow.

            “Alright, but I’m going to start setting things up for then.”

            “In what way?” I asked. He shrugged.

            “I don’t know yet, I’ll pitch it to you, but it’s time to get the ball rolling.”

            “I suppose.” I conceded. We stood in silence, pondering what to do next with our personal Jesus.