THE LOST GOSPEL OF PONTIUS PILATE

It takes one to know one. That's the simple golden rule of matriculation in the college of any true guru. And part of that knowing is knowing when the teacher is full of light or full of shit. Otherwise, everything he says risks being taken as gospel. It is the duty of the student to keep the teacher on his toes, to question what doesn't make sense or seems plain nonsense. I hate it when God or guru bully. My guru, I believe, bullied his students into building a mosque and surrendering all autonomy--the essential ingredient of Sufism--to the religion of Islam. You see, Islam views every mosque in the world as under its jurisdiction, the way the Catholic Church does its churches. Consequently, fewer men ever find liberation in a masjid or diocese where they are subject to constant surveillance than they might in an ashram, lodge, monastery or zendo where they are left alone. Bequeathing a mosque as a sanctuary for his students was an understandable temptation to a dying father worried for his children. But I still think it was a mistake--the biggest my guru ever made. In my opinion, he should have had faith in the ultimate triumph of self-reliance, no matter how ragged, and left us to our own devices. The teachings and our shared memories would have seen us through. We stood a better chance as existentialists than religionists. Better we "fail" as Sufis than "succeed" as Muslims. It has long been a heartbreaking torment--but, lately, heartwarming hope--for me. So I ponder the more preponderant and beautiful mystery of Jesus where it is easier to locate and alleviate the follies of religious life. Christianity has never gotten over the Sacco-and-Vanzetti aspect of its founder's unjust guilty verdict in a Roman courtroom. I love to imagine Pilate a secret follower of Jesus forced to acquiesce to the rabbis but allowing--or, at least, hoping--for morphine and other medicines to be given to the dying man so he can fake his death and make an escape. Leaving Jesus to the "mercy" of Christians is exactly like leaving Sufis to the mercy of Muslims. I think Pilate would have seen and said this in hindsight. I know I do. 

THE LOST GOSPEL OF PONTIUS PILATE

1

Will the real Christ please stand.

These days the hills of Jerusalem are littered

with the limp corpses of pretenders

to the throne of God.

It is no picnic running a city

teeming with messiahs.

If Jews and Romans don't know by now,

the death penalty

is no deterrent to men

who believe they will live forever.

2

The short trial of Jesus of Nazareth was a farce

from quick start to foregone conclusion.

Usually the accused act as their own lawyers

and some even out-box and -fox the rabbis.

Those Jews sure know a lot of scripture.

It is almost fun to watch the duels

between the plaintiffs and the accused.

But a show trial is a show trial.

As a general rule of thumb,

the men who speak for God

always silence the men who speak to Him.

3

I should have recused myself from the case.

I had summoned the accused to smooth my son's stutter

and the end-result was an orator

who so impressed Caesar he took him back to Rome as a speech writer.

They say messiahs are a dime a dozen in times like these

and I sometimes joke blasphemy has become a national pastime. 

But the man I tried said end times were all times

as long as a man felt God other than himself.

"How can you go on living as a separate being?" he'd ask.

"End severance before death does."

4

Flag burners, scripture spitters

I'll admit they make my skin crawl.

You curse Caesar or the gods

and I'll want to draw my sword.

But Jesus never ran out

of stillness to stand in and cheeks to turn

no matter what they threw at him--ridicule or worse.

"Why is it so hard to believe

that you are what God had in mind

before he went out of it and became this world?"

he asked a group of flagellants.

By the time they put him on trial

I think he had grown tired

of beating dead horses

to bring them back to life.

5

"How will it end?" a follower asked the man on trial.

The accused just laughed

softly like the beginning of rain.

"It doesn't end," he said, even softer, like snow.

"Whether I live or die

it is all one and the same."

6

There was a moon in the sky

the morning of his execution.

"It won't leave until I do," he said,

"and when it does, it will take the sun with it."

The darkness started at noon.

I would swear the temperature dropped

as quick and deep as a coin thrown in a well.

I sent a soldier to tell him,

"I'm going to miss you."

His answer came back,

"Where could I go without you?"

7

They say he told the man hanging to his right

they would be journeying together into the heavens.

They say he told the man hanging to his left to fend for himself.

I don't believe a word of it.

If there is one thing I know

about the man who died,

there was always enough

to go around.

8

This story isn't as sad

as you've been led to believe.

I'm not quite sure what they put 

in his last cup of water.

But I'd say the man they took down from the cross

was too far beyond his life

to lose it.

9

"Jesus has left the building,"

it was reported to me.

The cave where he lay in state

was as empty as a ransacked vault,

no trace of his whereabouts, not even a note.

I breathed a sigh of relief

as staunch as the Creator's outbreath

when this world went from mind to matter.

10

No use looking for him as he was.

No use thinking he's disguised,

recognizable only as a soft touch in a crowd

or that gentle laugh of his

when you asked a question

that seemed to him to have needed asking.

No use looking for him as he is

unless the man you meet

can finally ask you for answers

and other favors.

--David Federman, Ardmore, PA, Pennsylvania Primary Day, May 20, 2014