NOTE: What follows is clearly a figment of my fatigued imagination. I am not a biblical scholar; I am probably not even a Christian as most religious organizations would define it. But I grew up going to a Protestant church and, even as a child, can remember being confused by Christianity’s apparent dual message. In the Gospels, Jesus spoke of love and compassion and, uncompromisingly, he spoke against violence, anger and hate toward our perceived enemies. And yet, Christians are always fighting–against each other, against other religions, against any perceived enemy. And it’s always done in the name of the man who created a religion out of the concept of pacifism. This piece of fiction will probably enrage narrow-minded, conservative Christians who will call it blasphemy. And it will enrage narrow-minded knee-jerk liberals who will see it as a some violation of the separation of church and state ("Did you see the new Zephyr? It’s turning it into a Bible Study Newsletter!") As for Bush and Ashcroft’s role in this drama, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’d surprise me if they were truly thrust into a similar situation. But I’m not encouraged....JS

7:43am on Sunday, March 16, 2003:

George Bush knew something was different the moment he stepped into the Oval Office. There was a quality to the light that caused him to stop, dead in his wing-tipped tracks, his rough hand still wrapped around the burnished brass handle, and stare warily into the magnificent room. What is this? He thought briefly as he tried to understand the view before him. The light, he pondered. Odd, though. It wasn’t as if the room was glowing or shimmering or luminescing in any way. No...it wasn’t really the light at all. It was the clarity; every window, every chair, every item, large or small, in the room seemed to be etched more starkly and with more definition than he imagined possible. He’d heard acid trips were like this; in fact it almost felt like deja vu to the president. But he honestly couldn’t remember if he’d ever experimented with LSD or not. The Good Old Days were still a hazy fog to George W. Bush.

And just as well. The great grey mist that in some ways defined the 43^rd President of the United States, gave him what his CIA director called, "plausible deniability." "If you can’t remember what you did, you sure as hell can’t lie about it," he used to assure the President, and George would flash his famous grin and say, "I’m not even sure I remember what you’re talking about." The Director would nod and think, He probably doesn’t.

On this early Sunday morning in March, the President was in a hurry, had not expected to be challenged by anything "out of the ordinary" and was not particularly fond of such challenges in the first place. He hadn’t got this far by thinking "outside the box" and had no intention of starting now. Blind faith, he liked to say about himself. No need to over-analyze. He blinked at the strange unsettling scene in the famous room. Scanned the office from side to side. Blinked again. Shrugged.

With him this morning, by odd coincidence, was the President’s Attorney General, John Ashcroft. Bush respected the intelligence and advice of his AG and admired the tough stance Ashcroft had assumed in the War on Terror. "I told him to leave no stone unturned, but ol’ John takes the stones and puts ‘em in a wire cage...I like that," Bush had once commented. The two men did not know each other intimately and the very proper Ashcroft would have been furious to hear his relationship with George W. described in such a fashion. "I don’t think intimate is a word I would use to describe my long and platonic relationship with the President!" he might sniff at the suggestion. "What kind of man do you think I am!...We are just friends."

John Ashcroft did seem a bit homophobic at times.

The Attorney General had almost collided with the President’s backside as Bush pulled up so sharply at the office door. What is he doing? Ashcroft thought to himself. How would that look if I bumped him in such an unseemly fashion? But a couple seconds passed, John took a couple steps backward and waited.

"Anything wrong, Mr. President?"

"Uh...no...nuthin’ wrong at all John. Come on in."

The President was looking for a newspaper article that had, in the Chief Executive’s words, "frosted my butt." It was an article from the Washington Post and it was about the National Council of Church’s opposition to the upcoming War in Iraq. The Council had the temerity, the audacity to oppose the President’s plan to invade the Land of Saddam Hussein. Had gone so far as to suggest that Bush’s war plans were immoral. The President was livid.

"It’s here somewhere," Bush growled over his shoulder as he searched a stack of magazines and papers on a small table by the President’s desk. "You’d think Condi and Karl would just hide this crap from me so I didn’t have to read it....Now I’m all...riled up!"

The Council’s criticism barely made a dent in the President’s public approval ratings. Only Bush and his top aids knew that war in Iraq was, on this Sunday morning, merely a matter of days away. Yet, clearly, the vast majority of the American people stood solidly behind President Bush and his plan to attack Iraq with overwhelming military force. His leadership after September 11 in the War on Terror had so overwhelmed even the liberal media, that few if any Americans dared to challenge his agenda. The Council of Churches was a rare exception. Still it rankled the Commander-in-Chief.

"Here it is," Bush mumbled. "Damn it...Have you read this, John?"

"Yes, Mr. President...shameful and unpatriotic is the only way I can characterize it."

"Damn straight. Here, listen to this...This is from some guy named Reverend Day. From something called the General Board of Global Ministries. He says, ‘We seek to build a better relationship between conflicting parties rather than to promote either armed retaliation or military intervention.’ Well isn’t that nice? It says here that he calls war a "monster." Oh yeah..this is the part that really torques me. Get this. ‘I am appalled that the United States and its allies are launching such a mighty military attack on a country where, perhaps one-half of the population is made up of children.’ So what’s he sayin’? That I want to kill kids?"

The more the President lingered over the newspaper, the more furious he became. The Attorney General noticed the president’s face was flushed and the veins in his neck visibly throbbed as he hunched over the desk. From time to time, Bush would pound his tightly clenched fist on the smooth mahogany and Ashcroft thought to himself, This is good. Righteous indignation is a quality the President should exhibit more frequently.

Bush reached for the center of the page, crumpled the offending story in his trembling hand, and tossed it across the room, where it fluttered to rest on a sofa. The President looked upward, at the ceiling and toward nothing at all. I’ve never noticed those tiny cracks before, he thought to himself. That clarity again. So clearly could he see the detail. Finally, the President spread his arms, palms up and rhetorically pleaded, "Jesus Christ, why don’t you do something to shut these people up?"

I’d like to tell you why.

The President’s flailing arms stopped in mid-air. Freeze-framed. Had he just heard a voice? It certainly didn’t come from either of the two men he knew to be in the room. Nah...and he almost chuckled to himself. He wondered, Maybe I did take acid and I’m having a flashback or somethin.’ He put his hands to his face and gently rubbed his eyes and then glanced at Ashcroft who stood just behind him. He was about to tell an LSD joke he’d once heard while governor but stopped short. The Attorney General’s eyes were wild with fear and all the color had drained from his already pallid skin. Unable to speak, he shakily pointed to the sofa where the President had just hurled the newsprint. His mouth flapped desperately but small globules of spit were all he could produce.

"I believe you should read this again."

Bush followed Ashcroft’s unsteady finger. On the sofa, by the fireplace, sat a man and he looked familiar. "My God!" screamed Ashcroft at last. "We have a security breach! I’ll call the Secret Service!" Bush stumbled backward and took refuge behind the big oak desk. But the telephone and intercom were both dead. Ashcroft’s cell phone didn’t work. Even their shouts and screams went unheeded. Ashcroft ran to the doors but they would not open. They weren’t locked. He could turn the handle but he seemed to lack the strength to open them. Less than 20 feet away, on the sidewalk by the Rose Garden, a Secret Service agent stood placidly, oblivious to the calls for help.

"I mean you no harm...I’ve simply come to answer your question."

Bush fell backward into his thick leather chair, dazed and bewildered and terrified.

"Don’t you know who I am?"

For the first time, Bush focused his attention on the young bearded man who sat calmly on the white sofa by the presidential fireplace. The glow from the fire flickered lightly on the man’s face. Again, Bush noticed the clarity and he considered the man more closely now. His hair was brown and long and fell over his shoulders. He wore a simple long robe, bound at the waist by a braided cord. His eyes, his face conveyed—compassion. The President himself realized that he was no longer afraid; yet he could not stop trembling. He sat upright in his desk chair and spoke to the strange intruder.

"You do look familiar, I got to admit." The President ran his hand across his brow. Beads of sweat had appeared and now trickled into his disbelieving eyes. "In fact, you look like....good God." He turned to his attorney general. "John, are you seeing this?" Ashcroft nodded but said nothing.

Bush rose from his chair. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you look like...well hell...you look like...Jesus Christ!"

The man smiled slightly and nodded. "I look like Jesus Christ because this is how you expected me to look. Please. Come sit here with me. We have so much to talk about."

The President steadied himself on the desk as he moved uncertainly around it. He trembled so violently that he wondered if his legs would support him, once he tried to stand on his own, without the assistance of his own desk.

"Please. There is no reason to be afraid."

George Bush negotiated the several steps it took to reach the richly upholstered chair that sat adjacent to the man on the sofa. The man stood and offered his hand. "Yes...I am who you think I am."

Bush felt the warmth and sincerity in the handshake, but his hand still quivered, although just slightly. The President settled into the chair, stretched his legs in front of him and exhaled a long deep breath.

"Whew!" The President sighed. "You’ll have to excuse me. But this is a lot for me to take in, all at once. I mean...I’m flattered that you’ve come to visit me. And yes, I agree. We have so much to talk about. First off, tell me...uh...how should I address you? King of Kings? Prince of Peace? Son of God?"

"Just call me Jesus...and how should I address you?"

"Well, Mr. President, of course. With this war comin’ up, maybe you should call me Commander-in-Chief!" Bush actually reached over and lightly slapped Jesus’ knee. He felt relaxed for the first time and he noticed his coiled body unwinding. This might just be okay, the President thought. This is just the kind of endorsement I need to shut these anti-war "Christians" up. "Yessir Jesus, I’m mighty happy to welcome you here to the Oval Office."

Jesus nodded compassionately. "I know you’re under a great deal of stress, Mr. President, but in fact, I’ve come here to talk to you about this war and about all wars, and about my message of Peace. I can’t be misrepresented."

"Well of course not, Jesus," Bush said. "Nobody wants to misrepresent you. Why ever’body knows I’m a Christian. Have been for years. Why I pray to you ever’day for guidance and the strength to go out there and do what needs to be done to win the peace. Sometimes, of course, you gotta get a bit bloody in order to win that peace. You understand that, don’t you?"

Jesus sighed softly and stared abstractly for a moment at the thick pile carpet and the embroidered presidential seal. Then he looked up and said, "No, Mr. President. I don’t understand. That is why I’ve come here today."

The President shifted uneasily in his seat and glanced at Ashcroft, who continued to stand sentinel at the door to the Rose Garden. "I’m sorry Jesus...I don’t understand what you mean. Are you sayin’ you don’t support our efforts to rid the world of evil folks like Saddam Hussein?

Jesus nodded, "What I am saying to you now is what I have always said. My message of 2000 years ago is the same. ‘Love your enemy.’ ‘Turn the other cheek.’ It’s really that simple."

"Now wait a minute there," Bush replied. "You can’t possibly be sittin’ there tellin’ me that we should never fight back against...bad people. Why...what would the world be like if we did something like that?"

"You don’t know what the world would be like because no one on this planet has ever tried to live by the simple ideas I offered to all of you. But there are no corollaries or exceptions to the rule here. No loopholes. I was quoted fairly accurately in what you call the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Repeatedly, over and over again, I tried to convey a message of Love and Forgiveness and...what else can I call it? Non-violence."

George W. Bush came out of his chair, smoothed the wrinkles out of his pressed pants and nervously paced the carpet. He paused at the fireplace, stared absently into the flames and rubbed his forehead. This was beginning to give him a headache. "What you’re sayin,’" the President finally replied, "Is that you’re a...a pacifist?"

"The word is derived from ‘peace.’ So yes, that would be fair."

"But what about ‘an eye for an eye’ and stuff like that? And ‘vengeance is mine, saith the Lord?’" Bush argued. Theology was not his strong suit but he had always felt an eye-for-an-eye made good sense. They hit me? I hit ‘em back harder. Might makes Right.

Jesus sighed softly, "My entire purpose in coming to Earth was truly to renounce that kind of thinking. It’s in your Bible, Mr. President. I could not have been more clear. You could change the world if only you had the faith to believe in what I’ve told you. You really can move mountains if you just have the confidence to believe in me."

Bush returned to his chair. He began to have that impatient, bored look that he often displayed at press conferences when reporters kept asking difficult questions. "So...," he sneered. "We just let the bad guys run over us and we let them rule the world..."

"Tell me, Mr. President," Jesus leaned forward in his seat. "Do you believe in Heaven?"

"Well, of course I do."

"Do you believe that if you have been a good person and believed in me that you will live gloriously and happily for Eternity?"

"Yes, I do!" Bush answered. "All us Christians believe that."

"Then why are you afraid to die?" Jesus asked. "Why would you be willing to kill others, supposedly in my name, so you can avoid eternal life with me?"

The question played through George Bush’s mind like an old motor with thick crankcase oil, trying to turn over on a frigid winter morning. He tried to digest it, to understand it, and compose a reply. But he couldn’t. "I don’t...understand the question," he finally sputtered.

"What I am saying," Jesus replied, showing just a hint of frustration, "is that so many of you cling to physical life and seem so fearful of Death; yet at the same time, you proclaim your belief in me. It makes no sense to me, unless I accept the cold hard fact that you don’t really believe in me at all. When I said, ‘Whosoever believes in me shall have everlasting life,’ what does that mean to you?"

"Well," Bush thought a moment. "It means that if we believe you’re the Son of God, we’re going to Heaven?" He answered the question with a question like a student in class, unsure of his answer, might reply.

"No," said Jesus. "If you believe in me, you must believe what I say. It’s what I have said that matters. You cannot ignore the words I gave to you. In the months ahead, you will kill thousands of innocent people—children, helpless civilians who merely wanted to live their lives in peace. You cannot justify this killing in any way, Mr. President, and possibly think I would approve of it."

"What if we just killed Saddam Hussein and his family?"

"NO!" Jesus exclaimed. "Do you remember the story of my arrest in the Garden of Gethsemanee? When Peter sliced off the ear of the man who came to arrest me? And I healed him? That was the point! You cannot selectively kill the people you think are evil without becoming the very thing you despise."

Bush glared at Jesus with unmistakable contempt. "I just don’t get you at all. Why the economic benefits alone make this war worth it. Look at the opportunities that a successful resolution of this Saddam Hussein thing will bring to the people. Think of all the wealth and products that will be available to Iraqis after this is over."

Jesus stared icily at Bush. "You will win no argument with me Mr. President, trying to sell the idea of war on economic grounds. You might recall my encounter with the money changers in the temple. I have little or no tolerance for greed. It is an evil and destructive force...perhaps the most catastrophic aspect of the human condition. It is wrong and how you can claim to be a believer and then utter such...such painful rhetoric is beyond me."

The President shrugged.

John Ashcroft had said nothing since this incredible encounter began but had listened intently from across the room. But finally he cleared his voice and said, "What about World War II?"

Jesus turned on the sofa to see the Attorney General. Briefly, Bush looked confused by the question. "What’s that John?"

"World War II," Ashcroft repeated himself. "Adolf Hitler. Benito Mussolini. The Holocaust. The closest we’ve ever come to global domination by Forces of Evil in the history of the world. Are you saying that we should have done nothing? Just let Hitler and his henchmen rule the world?"

"YES! Of course!" Bush chanted. "What about that, Jesus? Surely you didn’t expect us to just let Hitler have his way."

Jesus rose from the sofa and moved across the Oval Office and turned so he could address both men. "Tell me Mr. President, do you believe people are basically good? Do you think that good will overcome evil eventually?"

"Well...yes, I guess I would have to say that."

"And do you think that all the German people and all the Italian people and all the Japanese people in the Second World War were as evil as the men who led them?"

Bush thought briefly. "No...I’d say those people just didn’t have enough information to know how bad their leaders were."

"Exactly," replied Jesus. "So imagine this. Imagine that as Hitler’s armies swept across Europe, the Allies had simply refused to fight. As the Nazis charged, the young soldiers had laid down their weapons, extended their arms openly and said, ‘We will not kill our brothers.’ What do you think would have happened?"

"It would have been a blood bath," Bush answered quickly.

"That’s one way to describe it. The other way might be to say that, having actually proven they could love their enemy and turn the other cheek, these men were assured a place with me. Does that sound so bad?"

Bush said nothing.

"And what if the killing continued? What if, day after day, week after week, thousands and thousands more died, refusing to fight. How do you think this might have affected the common German soldiers, for example? In fact...let me ask you this. Had you been a German soldier, and you had seen these soldiers from ‘the other side,’ laying down their weapons and refusing to fight you, how would it have affected you? Would you have been able to keep up your enthusiasm for killing? For the slaughter of those young men?"

"Well no!," replied Bush. " I don’t think any of us could keep killing like that. That would have been like a massacre."

"That’s right. You have made my point for me, Mr. President. I agree with you. I believe that eventually, the horrors of war would have been realized more fully by everyone, had such an event occurred. I believe that the Axis soldiers would have been so tortured and shamed by their own deeds that they would have denounced the evil actions of their leaders and would have eventually embraced their enemies. That would have changed the world."

"But millions might have died, refusing to fight!" Bush argued.

"Fifty million humans did die, Mr. President. And they died fighting. Much of the planet was bombed and burned to a cinder. And for what. Was peace the result of World War II? Has there been peace since then? Is there peace now? It’s time to try something totally different."

Jesus looked at both men who now stood beside each other near the fireplace. The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Bush picked up the iron poker and stirred the coals.

Jesus sighed, "There’s really nothing else for me to say."

An awkward silence lingered in the Oval Office.

"You know, Jesus," Bush finally said. "You have a good heart and you make some excellent points. And in a perfect world, what you’re sayin’ might work. But this isn’t a perfect world."

"It could be," Jesus said softly. His eyes glistened in the glow of the dying embers.

"Yes. Yes, of course," said the President. "It could be but it isn’t. And that’s just the way it is." Bush nodded knowingly at Ashcroft. " I was hoping, at the beginning of our little chat, that you might see things our way. But obviously we don’t see eye-to-eye on this subject. So I’m assuming our little chat here will remain private...just between the two of us. Or three of us...excuse me, John."

Jesus walked toward Bush and Ashcroft, not menacingly but with a determination and force that made both men uncomfortable. They actually tried to back away but there was no place for them to back to. As the President and Attorney General leaned against the marble mantelpiece, Jesus closed the gap between them to just a few inches. "Listen to me closely. I cannot allow you to misrepresent me in this fashion. In my world there are no ‘Christian Soldiers,’ there is no killing in my name, and it would be wrong to suggest otherwise. No, Mr. President...I cannot remain silent. I must go out and talk to the people. That ultimately is why I am here. I had feared our conversation might end like this."

Bush and Ashcroft glanced nervously at Jesus and then at each other. Ashcroft shook his head slightly. Bush said, "It’s not over yet. Jesus, can you back off just a minute? John and I need to talk. Just sit back down there on the sofa and we’ll be with you in a moment."

The two men conferred quietly for several minutes. Ashcroft walked to the Rose Garden door again and, to his surprise, it opened easily. He summoned the Secret Service agent and the young man came immediately. He saw Jesus, sitting on the couch and said, "How in the hell did he get in here? Who is he?" The agent called into his lapel mike, "We have a Code One in the Oval Office. Code ONE! I need backup now!"

The President turned to Jesus, who now rose from the sofa. "Jesus, I believe in free speech as much as the next guy. But sometimes national security just has to come first. We’re not goin’ to be able to let you go out there and be a rabble rouser and whatever. Stirring up the people with this kind of radical talk. Not right now. It’s not good for America, it’s not good for our war on terror and it sure as hell wouldn’t be good for this administration...pardon my language"

"I...I don’t understand," Jesus said.

Bush looked skeptically at Jesus. "Of course you do."

The President motioned to the agent. "Plain and simple, you’re goin’ to need to cool off a bit. And we’re gonna take you someplace where you can do just that. A little spot for you to be alone with your thoughts, as they say. Maybe a little self-reflection will be good for you. And then, after a while, if you start to see reason, maybe we can talk again. Until then, enjoy your little...vacation."

The President started to walk away, but Jesus caught his coat sleeve. "This ‘place’ you mention...where is it?"

"A tropical paradise some say. Palm trees. A pleasant climate. Near the sea. We call it... Guantanamo Bay."

Five days later, on March 21, the United States invaded Iraq. In the months that followed, more than 4000 Iraqi civilians were killed by Coalition air and ground attacks. The numbers grow larger each day. The whereabouts of Jesus are now unknown.