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
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