And It Pleased the Lord: An Easter Tale

In the pit, time had no meaning. David, who used to think of himself as a young boy, when the world still made sense, before he had felt its burden, had momentarily, when he died, experienced elation without the immediate sense of the weight. He saw his son and they had their first conversation about it, but afterward it settled in again. Actually, when he thought about it, it was really that he couldn’t settle. He hadn’t for a long time.

It was the weight of expectations. In the pit there was no parchment, nothing to write with, which for David was a kind of torment. For some people writing is a compulsion only relieved by its act. Otherwise the words store up. It might have helped to sing, but he lacked a harp as well, and he had never been able to unaccompanied. He felt locked up.

It was a long moment, a pregnant pause. He waited.

When Jesus appeared in the pit, David remembered many of the things he’d written, and they all bubbled to the surface. In his days, and under his burden, he had never had recourse to repeat his hymns. These were tasks left to others. Once recorded they had been consigned to history, to others, to later generations, but none of them, when he saw them in the pit, had felt them as he had. 

Jesus was different. David saw that immediately. Without knowing who this man was, he knew. He began to sing.

He found himself exploring notes he’d never used before, words he’d never uttered. They just poured out of him. Those around him, and this was the miracle, rising up like a bubble within his chest, so he felt as if he might burst if he stopped, joined in perfect harmony. He was lost, for the first time in a very long time, among the flock.

And he saw a smile on the face of this man. He knew it had been there before he started singing, but he thought it was a reaction all the same. 

He couldn’t stop singing. He had never been happier. The weight was being lifted at last. And he felt young again.

In the Pit: An Easter Tale

It’s only after you die that you begin to grasp the true nature of God. For God, time has no meaning. That is what the dead learn. Before Jesus died, all the dead collected in the pit, all those who had ever died, both those who knew of and believed in God, and all those who didn’t. There was no distinction. One day, on the day Jesus died, a man appeared, in the pit, Judas Iscariot. In the pit, it was difficult to understand what Judas had done, before he died, since all those who resided in the pit were cut off from the land of the living, as with everything else. But many were curious. There was little to do, in the pit, except indulge curiosity.

Among the believers, there were those who understood the shape of history, in the shape humanity took in history, its relationship with God. Only in the pit could they relax, if they could, if they weren’t consumed by the inexorable course of events. In the pit, too, they awaited the messiah. Those who waited, in the pit, had a much different interpretation than those still existing on Earth. There are no warriors in death. There are no more wars to fight, except doubt. In the pit there was only doubt. Doubt was how they thought of the messiah, since they could only wait.

And yet there was no concept of time. One generation was much like the other. They all intermingled, and they all understood each other, and yet no one knew what anyone else thought. That is the sort of thing you learn in such circumstances.

When they talked, those who believed, who understood, they saw the shape of history, its inexorable march toward destiny. Some of these hoped this would reconcile them with God, even if they had no idea what that meant. In the pit, God was entirely absent, even for those who believed. For many, it was a simple yearning for peace. There was no peace in the pit.

When those who understood sensed that the time of the messiah was ascendant, they began to wonder about how all this would play out. They saw a lot of necessary suffering. They knew someone would have to take the fall. Since the fall of Lucifer, this was a thing that was understood. Lucifer, the fallen angel, the guardian of the pit, the opposite number, at least in his mind, of God. In the pit, no one really believed that, and there were many who wondered if even Lucifer did. There is no opposite of God. There is only the abstract belief that there could be, or should. Or perhaps, the idea of a catalyst against which God acts.

The believers, in the pit, understood that the messiah needed a figure like that, and so that was how they became familiar with Judas Iscariot before they ever met him.

When he appeared, in the pit, Judas was truly the wretched of existence. He was appalled with how things had turned out. He tried to explain himself.

“He told us. He told us what was going to happen. What was going to happen to him. Last night he even told us that one of us would betray him. That one of us already had. 

“I knew what he was talking about, because it was me. I had already been paid to betray him. It wasn’t out of disbelief or disenchantment. I believed. Oh, I believed. Sometimes I even thought I believed better than any of them. It became a curse. I believed, and I understood. I knew what had to happen. I knew that the only way humanity would have the courage to kill him was if he was delivered by one of us. 

“He spent so many years in anonymity and then for a short while he ministered to any who would listen, and there turned out to be a few. Some who listened were jealous. They knew he was better than them. I suppose it’s only natural. The problem is always how to get rid of such people. Usually it’s creating a scandal. He volunteered to do that himself. He made it easy. And still, his enemies were afraid. They needed to be justified. They needed someone to betray him. 

“I saw all this. I knew what had to be done. It didn’t make anything easier. I betrayed him with a kiss. And then I killed myself. And now I’m here.”

In the pit, they all listened to this in utter incomprehension. They couldn’t fathom the insanity of it. Judas was, there, the pariah he had become in life, what he had held in his heart, and what hounded him in his final hours. 

And then Jesus appeared. Even those far away, for the pit was a very large, deep place, knew it instantly. They could feel his presence. He looked whole. There was no trace of what had become of him in his final hours. If anything, he had a faint smile on his face. After all, he had finally endured what he had long dreaded. When you’re God but you have to face time like anyone else, it changes things. That’s when time has meaning. In the pit, it was the first time in decades Jesus was unburdened from time. The faint smile was accompanied, if you were lucky enough to catch it, a sigh of relief. His whole body relaxed.

Then he turned to Judas. The believers thought they knew what would happen next. Holy vengeance. But Jesus opened his arms and embraced Judas. And he gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He forgave him.

No words were exchanged. Everyone who saw this was astonished. There was no time in the pit, and yet this moment had been anticipated for an eternity. That’s what eternity is, a timeless, weightless moment. For those in the pit, they had waited to find their bearings.

None of them could have expected the culmination to look like this.

Those who accepted it, they were finally able to relax. Those who couldn’t, they began a new eternity of torment. That was how the pit experienced the turning point of history. Everyone else, the living, they were thereafter free to believe. Or choose not to.