The Gospels as a Murder Mystery

Cafe Society
1

I’m driving home after running a couple of errands and I pass by a church with a sign that reads, “Who Really Killed Christ” and suddenly I just heard Jessica Fletcher in my head saying, “I realize that ancient Judea is a long way from Cabot Cove…” Naturally, my evil little mind began whirling at the possibilities.
Crossed by Murder by Jessica Fletcher
I realize that ancient Judea is a long way from Cabot Cove, but with the entire town, excepting myself and the sheriff, either in jail for murder or dead, I was starting to get a little bored. That’s when an old classmate of mine whom I hadn’t seen since our 50th year class reunion some 70 years ago called me and said that he found something that might interest me. I immediately headed over to where he was teaching now, Miskatonic University, to find out more.

When I got there, I found out that he had been researching something called “time travel.” I know what you’re thinking, “Time travel? Isn’t that something you only find in bad Hollywood movies?” Apparently not, as he explained to me in his high pitched voice.

"You see, Jessica, " my friend, Professor Kelp explained. “Time travel is a very important research subject here at the university. Our goal was to find out ahead of time which of our prospective students would become a success in life and which ones would wind up drunken failures, that way we could reject the failures ahead of time, and only accept those students which would lend prestige to our university.”

“Interesting,” I said. “But I fail to see what this has to do with me.”

“Well, with so few students now, I’ve plenty of free time, and I’ve been reading this book of ancient texts called The Bible and the last portion of it, except for this segment which reads like something Hunter S. Thompson might write, deals with a man who was murdered.”

I asked for more details. It seems that there was this man in ancient Judea who went around talking about how nice it would be if everybody was kind to one another for a change and he got nailed to a tree for saying it. Now, there was some question as to who did it. Many people thought that it was the Romans who killed Jesus, others said that it was a group of people called “the Jews” and another group said that it was you and me. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like being accused of committing murder, so naturally, I had to find out who was responsible!

2

That is positively brilliant!!! Are you going to continue it?

Claps loudly

3

As the mood strikes me, I’m sure I will. If folks want to add to it or take a stab at it with their favorite detective (now I have this image of Magnum driving his Ferrari around, chasing after Roman centurians stuck in my head for some reason), they’re more than welcome to.

4

“Alas, Watson, the Roman authorities allowed all these spectators to tramp around in the mud, so it is impossible to read the footmarks at the foot of the cross.”

“My dear Holmes, surely you don’t think the soldiers were deliberately trying to confound your investigation?”

5

Isaac Air Freight got their 26 years ago with “Jerusalem Dragnet”.

http://www.isaacairfreight.com

6

[Columbo]So, what you’re saying, Mr. Pilate, is that the Jews killed the victim? Very interesting. Very interesting. Just one little thing that bothers me…[/Columbo]

7

“Pontius Pilate !?!?”

“Yes it was me, and I would have gotten awy with it too if it wasn’t for you meddling kids and your stupid dog”

8

Best line from Isaac Air Freight:

– Keep in mind that their “Jerusalem Dragnet” is narrated by a dry, monotone “Joe (Good?) Friday”, and that this takes place just after the time of the crucifixion.

“Hey, Joe, you workin’ Sunday?”

“You kiddin’? Sunday’s Easter.”

9

They say bourbon helps the pain. The babe that walked into my office could have drank a case of bourbon in front of me, said she was in pain, and I would have believed it. Anyone would have believed it, unless they knew who she was. She had that dark, middle eastern look about her, and everything about her said that she was a whore, even the word on the street said as much, but her police blotter was clean. I didn’t need to check with my friends in the department to know that much.

She told me she wanted me to find out who killed her friend, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. She, like all the other broads who’d walked through my door was keeping a secret, but this time, unlike all the others, I knew the reason she was here. If I helped her find out who it was who killed her friend, then I’d help clear her name. No longer could the stamp of history write “whore” on her forehead, no, now they’d have to write “Clean and virtuous woman” on her forehead.

I suppose that some might think badly of her, for wanting me to find her friend’s killer just so that it’d clear her name, but to me, it made her honest. Honest in the way a killing redeemed a man, when he was avenging someone’s death, or delivering justice that a court could never give. I took her case, knowing that I’d never see a dime in payment, and that I’d be subjected to the same kind of scorn she’d been given, but I could wear it as a badge of honor. How many people out there, in the city, could say that they did the right thing for all the wrong reasons? How many of them could say that by finding a killer they took a woman off the streets and brought her name to the lips of the Pope as a model of what a woman should be? The fact that she was gorgeous didn’t sway me, the fact that she was promising me eternal life, didn’t sway me either. No, what swayed me is that she was someone in trouble, someone who needed me, and I didn’t have a damned thing better to do.

10

I’m Joe Sabbath. I wear a badge.

Jerusalem at Passover. It’s not a pretty site. Pilgrims from all corners of the Empire, coming here to celebrate their deliverance from bondage. Most of them need to pray for repentance from the bondage they engage in regularly.

It was only Monday and it had already been a long week. Some kids had done it again. An obviously upset man had tried to politely tell a young child to go away, only to have him and a hoarde of other children turning into demonic midgets and chasing him to his death. It’s one of those things that no matter how often you see it, you never get used to it.

I heard the shofar at daybreak. I arrived at the house of Joseph of Arimathea, a retired claims accountant, and his wife, Vicki of Arimathea, a homemaker with a fondness for cheap jewelry and neon wigs. The tomb they’d loaned a friend was empty. They swore that it had been filled just three days before with the body of a local faith healer who let’s just say had hit a crossroads in the Caesar or God debate.

I took a look inside. Whoever took the body had taken the time to fold and press the clothes. The papyrus from the dry cleaners was still attached: 'Chien’s Asian-Minor Laundry Service- serving Jerusalem since the Apocrypha". They would know something.

“Did you hear any noises, see any suspicious characters?” I asked the couple.

“Well you have to define suspicious” said Mrs. Arimathea. “Personally I never did trust these Greeks with their sissy outfits getting our kids all hooked on the neo-Platonic…”

“Just the facts ma’am” I said. “Just the facts.”

11

No mystery. The Jews did it. They found a note.

"We did it.

   signed Morty"

(Note I’m quoting Lenny Bruce, not Mel Gibson :D)

12

I admire all these posts but Sampiro’s is freakin’ brilliant!

13

I love each and every one of you.