What Do You Do With a Chocolate Jesus? (23 page)

The Problem of Pagan Prosperity

So, how did the people of God deal with the success of the civilization around them? Well, back in first century Judea, the Jewish priests resented Roman rule and were hell bent on reestablishing a theocracy. Christians, meanwhile, were busy spreading the word until Jesus returned. And while both faiths found their supporters and new recruits, their repudiation of the larger culture confronted them with a dismal reality—everyone else seemed to be having a lot more fun.

You can slam the Roman Empire for plenty of reasons—slavery, the glorification of war, gladiatorial games, and the occasional pervert emperor. As in all societies, there was poverty and social inequality. And they invented the legal profession, for which we can never forgive them. Even so, life was safer, richer, and freer for most Romans than it was in any of the empires that preceded them. With a vast road system patrolled by the army, a traveler could cross the Empire without getting mugged—something I can’t even do in New York.

Given the incredible success of pagan civilization, what would be the attraction of two religions that were full of rules, rituals and wrath, not to mention priests who spent half their time reminding you what a sinful prick you were?

The only way to fight the allures of the most exciting and triumphant civilization in history was to reject it altogether. To characterize its very success as a victory of Evil, and to scare the living hell out of anyone who didn’t think so—especially the Hellenized Jews and Christians who managed to enjoy some of it.

What these backsliders needed was something special; a fresh dose of spiritual motivation. You can guess how much fun
this
is going to be.

CHAPTER SIX

How I Learned to Love the End of the World

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then he is not omnipotent.
Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent.
Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?
Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?

—Epicurus

The End to End All Endings

Forecasting the world’s utter destruction has a long and glorious history, even if the great majority of mainstream churches don’t bother with this lunacy. Throughout its history, the Catholic Church has routinely debunked End of the World alarms. Nevertheless, books, movies and television programs about it are astoundingly popular. Certain evangelical churches traffic in it, and their activism has injected these ideas into political debates on subjects ranging from the environment to the defense of Israel to nuclear war. So maybe it’s worth a look.

Visions of the End Times got their start with Old Testament prophets like Isaiah, who pioneered the genre around 750 B.C. Jeremiah and Daniel were also major contributors to this grim lore, which usually cropped up in dire times, which was most of the time. When your cause seems completely lost and there’s no hope the world will turn out the way you want, screw it. Let it all burn. We’re talking really sour grapes here.

The Book of Revelation

Happy people don’t write stuff like
The Revelation to John
, which is the full name of the Bible’s last and most bizarre book. It’s such an over-the-top rant it almost didn’t make it into Scripture.
Revelation
is a fever dream of apocalyptic imagery written by a Jewish Christian named John. He wrote from the Greek island of Patmos around A.D. 95, and he may have been the most pissed-off man who ever lived. The book seethes with white-hot vitriol and spews hatred for just about anything you can see, touch, or enjoy. John wanted absolute spiritual purity for all humankind. Can you think of anything more terrifying?

John’s problem was that Roman civilization was at its peak, and he was miffed because of its worldly achievements and its refusal to be converted. What he demanded was total devotion to God, even if he had to knock off 99% of humanity to get it. And that’s exactly what he proceeded to do in his book.

Jesus the Terrible

John didn’t credit the book to himself. According to him, it was a vision from Christ; John was just the stenographer. Consequently,
Revelation
is regarded by many as the only book in the Bible authored by Jesus himself. It’s a divinely-inspired picture of what he intends to do when all shall hit the fan. What’s disturbing is that the Jesus of
Revelation
is worlds away from the benevolent, forgiving philosopher of the four Gospels. Here, Jesus boils over with vengeance, walloping all non-believers with a whirlwind of unspeakable horrors, followed by unimaginable terrors, followed by eternal damnation. Woof…

Ever wonder how people can profess a love of Jesus and still end up advocating war, executions, anti-Semitism, racism, torture, or a fuming contempt for all other faiths? It’s the Jesus of
Revelation
they resort to. It’s a scary proposition and, if pushed to an extreme, a formula for fascism. Suddenly, believers have permission to loathe and destroy anything they choose, from political rivals to entire countries, and no one can question them because God wants it that way. It’s right here in the book.

The Devil Takes Charge

A classic rule of drama says that a hero is only as compelling as his adversary. So, John launches his war saga by giving Satan a promotion. In the Old Testament, the devil was a minor league player; he was barely mentioned. Yahweh ran everything. If good things happened, it was God’s doing. If bad things happened, it was also God’s doing because you undoubtedly deserved it. Satan was one of God’s angels and, in the
Book of Job
, he was used as a surrogate to bring misery upon a man of virtue—but only with God’s permission.

Now, in the New Testament, Satan no longer works for the Lord. He’s a free agent, and a competitor. This way, all the misfortunes of the world can be laid at his doorstep instead of God’s, and it gives Jesus a supernatural foe upon which he can take holy vengeance. Few things make religious absolutists happier than a reason to dish out pitiless retribution upon those who won’t subscribe to the faith.

You’ll recall that Satan showed up in the Gospels to test Jesus in the desert. But it wasn’t much of a contest and Jesus basically told him to shove it. The book of
Revelation
, however, kicks Satan upstairs and makes him the supreme icon of Evil, then pits him in a one-on-one Smackdown with Christ for control of the universe at the End of Time. Ready to rumble?

John of Patmos borrows his visions of a global holocaust from the prophet Daniel and then does him one better. He forecasts the miraculous obliteration of everything he abhors—which is a
lot
—and he describes how a galaxy of terrors is heaped upon everyone who doesn’t think the way he does.

Not that we have to sweat any of this. You’ll recall that the Gospel of Mark got it wrong when it had Jesus predicting God’s judgment before “this generation” is passed.
Revelation
gets it equally wrong. The last lines of the book, which are the final lines of the entire Holy Bible, have Jesus promising:

He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen. [Rev. 22:20]

 

As mentioned, Jesus doesn’t seem to be up on the concept of “soon.” And even though the nightmares in
Revelation
are actually a wishful vision of the Roman Empire’s destruction, because John uses symbolism and offers no specific timeline, the book is forever mined for evidence that Doomsday is coming next week.

Holy Sh#%$&!!!!!!

The Greek word for
Revelation
is “apocalypse,” which means an unveiling. When the curtain rises on the book and the prophetic hallucinations kick in, John sees seven lamp stands (one for each of the early Christian churches), along with “one like a son of man” (presumably Jesus) in their midst. The “one” is in a long robe with a golden girdle, hair white as snow, and eyes like fire. In his right hand he holds seven stars, his tongue is a two-edged sword, and his face shines like the sun! Whoa…this is clearly not the Jesus who swung a hammer over leaky roofs in Nazareth. In fact, it’s an image taken from the Old Testament:

…one that was ancient of days took his seat; his raiment was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames, its wheels were burning fire. [Daniel 7:9]

 

The writer of
Revelation
is very into Old Testament justice, with all its righteousness and wrath, and he seems completely unaware of the kinder, gentler Yahweh who appeared as Jesus.

To its credit, the Catholic Church has always been leery of apocalyptic doomsayers. Passages like these are what caused the Church to waffle about including
Revelation
in the canon. Its portrait of Jesus is generally out of sync with the rest of Scripture. Bishops prefer lines about the Second Coming like “…I will come like a thief, and you will not know what hour I will come upon you.” [Rev. 3:3] It’s a smart position to take. It gives them an out every day they wake up and discover the world is still here…which is every day.

John, however, excoriates the seven churches for not promoting godliness with the kind of vein-popping stridency that he does. He even quotes God on the subject:

“So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of my mouth.” [Rev. 3:16]

 

Yep. God blows chunks, and we’re the chunks. John then likens rival religions to Jezebel, the wife of ancient Israel’s King Ahab, who promoted pagan cults and persecuted Yahweh’s followers. This tolerance of other religions is seen as adultery by God, who admits he’s the jealous type. John then mentions the
Book of Life
, which lists the names of those who’ll be allowed into heaven. It’s the ultimate VIP list and, unless you’re on it, no way is the doorman letting you in. It doesn’t matter if you know the choir.

Throughout
Revelation
, we keep reading about “the Lamb,” which is a code word for Jesus. Yeah, it’s a woolly idea, but farm animals are often used as metaphors in the Bible. You have to choose carefully, however, especially when representing Jesus. A pig wouldn’t work; it’s not kosher. Nor a goat; it’s horny. Nor a bull; that’s Baal, the pagan god of storms. Nor a flamingo because…well, that’s just stupid. The sacrificial lamb of the Old Testament works best because Jesus was sacrificed as well.

John sees a grand figure seated on a throne, presumably God (you have to do a lot of presuming in
Revelation
), and he’s surrounded by twenty-four elders and four “living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind…” and “day and night they never ceased to sing.” Crooning mutant monsters. Makes you wonder if this heaven place is all it’s cracked up to be.

The Tribulation

God then reveals a scroll with seven seals. The Lamb opens them one by one, and with hooves that’s not easy. It’s here that the fun begins. The first four seals unleash the star attractions—the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: conquest, war, famine and death. Awesome! The fifth seal reveals all the martyrs. Booooring. The sixth seal produces a great earthquake, the sun turns black, the moon blood red, and stars fall from the sky. This sends every leader on earth scampering into caves. Meanwhile, 144,000 of God’s chosen are marked on the forehead to protect them from the chaos. These are men “who have not defiled themselves with women.” Great…the world’s only survivors will be the dorks who never got laid.

During the Cold War, these disasters were interpreted by evangelicals like Hal Lindsey as a forecast of a nuclear war between the United States and the Soviet Union, ignited by a conflict over Israel. In his 1970 best-seller,
The Late Great Planet Earth
, Lindsey figures the 1980s would pretty much wrap it up for humanity. The End was to unfold within forty years of the reestablishment of Israel, which happened in 1948. But Lindsey has a knack for making predictions that don’t come true. Not that this slows him down. With the Cold War over, he subsequently claimed we’re in the “false peace” before the Apocalypse. More recently, I heard him lecturing about 2012, the year made portentous by recent interest in the Mayan calendar. Is the guy now listening to Mayans?

Once the seventh seal is broken, heaven falls silent for half an hour. Then seven angels appear and each blows a trumpet, summoning up
another
list of catastrophes: a hail of fire mixed with blood, a third of the earth burns, and mountains crash into the sea turning the oceans blood red. A star falls from heaven and poisons a third of all rivers. Finally, a bottomless pit opens up and spews out smoke and a swarm of locusts:

“…their faces were like human faces, their hair were like women’s hair, and their teeth like lions’ teeth; they had scales like iron breastplates, and the noise of their wings was like the noise of many chariots…” [Rev. 9:8–9]