29.

Gate of Mercy

Sunday, April 14 - 1:23p.m.

The tour of Israel ended with a walking tour of the Old City of Jerusalem. As the bus pulled up to the old town walls, Mike said to Jennifer, “You know, the last time I came to this city, I was riding on a donkey. Now I’m riding on a bus. Isn’t technology great? I just wish I had my Harley.”

“You’ll have your precious Harley back soon enough,” she laughed.

A look crossed his face that she didn’t recognize, but she didn’t ask what it was all about. She was in love, and didn’t want anything to spoil that feeling.

The tour guide led them into a large room within a stone building and announced that it was the room of the last supper. While the rest of the tourists turned circles and took pictures in awe, Mike turned to Jennifer and whispered, “Come on. Let’s go,” and led her outside.

Concerned, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

He pointed to a small sign outside the building that read “Room of the Last Supper.” He said, “This isn’t the room of the last supper. I bet there are a dozen ‘rooms of the last supper,’ and each tour guide has their favorite. You want to see the real room of the last supper? Come on, I’ll show you.”

Shivers ran up and down his spine as he walked through the ancient city. Many things had changed. Even the huge stone walls of the city had been moved, but enough of the old city was still intact to awaken memories and remind him of where he was, and who he once had been. They twisted and turned their way down several crowded alleyways until they reached another large building. Like the place they had left, there was a sign outside that read, “Room of the Last Supper.” He said, “See there? This is the real one.”

They went inside. It was a featureless room with curved stone archways. All he said was, “There you are, the room of the last supper. Of course, it looks bigger without the furniture.”

After they left, they walked the stations of the cross among the hustle and bustle of thousands of people. Jennifer didn’t say a word. She knew it was hard for him to walk through the streets of Jerusalem and face his past. Mike didn’t say anything either. He stopped and read each of the small plaques posted at each site, but said nothing.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking: Good God, why did they make such a big deal out of my death? Such limited thinking. Like dying is a big deal or something. You know, they seemed happy to kill me at the time. They only regretted it afterward. They should have listened to me instead. They should have learned from me. Instead, they just hold onto the pain of losing me. They should be remembering my life, my message. Hell, they can’t even decide if they should be mourning my death or glorifying it.”

She was silent. The thought of him dying was very unsettling.

He turned and saw the frown on her face. He faced her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Jen, promise me one thing, okay?”

“What?”

He gulped. “Promise me that if I die, you’ll let go of the pain.”

She looked at him, worried. “Don’t even say that. I don’t want to lose you.”

He sighed. “Oh, stop worrying. We’re in God’s hands now, and whatever happens is for our own good.”

Trying to lighten her mood, he said, “Did you know there are some so-called Christians who still blame the Jews for my crucifixion?” Mike shook his head, then he smiled a small rueful smile. “Of course, looking back at the times, it’s not surprising that the elders considered me a problem. I was a little pushy. I definitely ruffled a few feathers.” He shook his head again, remembering the politics of the time.

They walked until they reached the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, commissioned by Roman Emperor Constantine in the year 335 on the site of Jesus’ tomb. Mike said, “What a garish place. This reminds me of a thirteen-year-old Catholic girl with way too much makeup on. What’s all this junk for? How can anyone place that much importance on a damn grave site?”

“You influenced a lot of people, Mike.”

“Did I? They erected huge monuments and statues in my name, but it didn’t stop the killing, did it? They fought holy wars in my name, for God’s sake.” Mike imitated a four-year-old. “My God is bigger than your God....They believed I was God and fell down to worship me, but they didn’t listen to a single word I said. How ironic is that? I said to love your enemies, to turn the other cheek, so what did they do? They killed all nonbelievers to further their cause. I influenced them all right, just not how I wanted.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Mike. People are still going to believe what they want to believe. You gave them your message. It’s not your fault if they screwed it up over the centuries. But it did prove that people do have the power to change the world. Your life as Jesus can still be felt two thousand years later.”

She looked into his eyes, which were a little moist. She said, “You told me that we are all here to grow spiritually, right? It’s a spiritual battlefield out there and sometimes people need to learn lessons the hard way. Your life two thousand years ago gave them a good kick in the ass. Maybe your life this time is to get them back on the right path.”

Her little pep-talk seemed to brighten his mood. “Gee, Jennifer, you’re starting to sound like me,” he mocked her, but she only stuck out her tongue at him playfully in response. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. “I love you,” he said, and they kissed.

“I still can’t get over it,” she said. “Doesn’t it seem wrong that I should be kissing the man who used to be Jesus Christ in his past-life?”

“What were my two commandments, Jennifer?”

“Love God with all your heart, and Love your neighbors as your self.”

“Correct. Love was my principal message, don’t you think? Well, love comes in many varieties, from unconditional platonic love, to burning passion. It just wouldn’t be right for God to exclude human romantic love, now would it? It has its place too. Catholics make sex out to be this bad, naughty, sinful thing, but in reality, it’s God’s miracle at work. It’s a beautiful gift.”

“It sure was last night,” she said and snuggled in for a tighter hug.

“Be that as it may, I love you Jennifer.”

“I love you too.” She looked into his eyes.

They walked the dirty cobblestone streets, hand in hand, until they reached the Temple Mount, considered one of the holiest places in the world by three religions. They walked up a long flight of steps to what was once the summit of Mount Moriah. At the top was a wall with a door. After they bought tickets to enter the Islamic-controlled area from a guard, they walked into a large courtyard. To the right was the beautiful El Aqsa Mosque, the third holiest place in the Islamic religion. To the left was a small flight of stone steps. At the top, there was a beautiful stone archway, and beyond it, the Dome of the Rock, a magnificent Islamic Mosque, adorned with aquamarine tiles and a massive golden dome that’s visible for miles. They walked around and examined the two mosques and walked around the stone courtyard, which was crowded with hundreds of tourists. “Well, this place has sure changed,” he said.

She said, “The romans burned it to the ground in the summer of 70.A.D. What you’re seeing here is after years of war, burning and conquest by several groups.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.” he kidded her.

They walked a little further around the gardens. “Look, Jennifer,” he said, “This is where I got really pissed off at a bunch of merchants who were buying and selling things in the temple. You should have seen the looks on their faces. I dumped over their tables and everything. I made quite a scene.”

“You troublemaker,” she said playfully.

A Muslim guard came over to them. “You must leave now. It is prayer time.” He pointed toward the north. “The exit is this way.”

They exited the Temple Mount area and found themselves on a very narrow and unimpressive street. They walked to the East and exited the city walls through a very plain stone doorway called the Lion’s gate.

“Where are we going now, Mike? You seem like you’re on a mission.”

He seemed distracted. “I don’t know. I just need to see it,” he said, stumbling over his words.

“See what?”

“The Golden Gate, also known as the ‘Gate of Mercy.’ I saw it on the Internet but I wanted to get a closer look. There are two niches in the wall and I want to see them.”

The sun was beating down on them, burning the sandy dirt and rocks outside the walls of old Jerusalem. The scrub brush was yellow and parched. Mike and Jennifer stood at the Northeast wall of the city thinking that it was even hotter than Las Vegas. In front of them was an Islamic cemetery that sloped eastward down a hill. As they paid the admission fee, Mike asked the man who took his money about the gate. The man told them, “The arched gate was sealed by the Moslem leader Saladin in the year 1187. It’s about half-way through the cemetery.”

Mike asked, “What about the niches in the wall?” He remembered seeing them on the Internet.

“The stone walls were modified by the Byzantines, and probably once held life-sized statues to guard the gate.”

Mike nodded, a distracted look on his face.

The couple walked through the cemetery, hand in hand. An assortment of headstones, shrines and large rocks littered the cemetery grounds. They walked until they found the stone double archway that used to be the Golden Gate. Mike crawled up on a rock and into one of the niches to examine it more closely. It was made of solid stone blocks with mortar between them.

Puzzled, she asked him, “What’s so important about the gate, Mike?”

He seemed preoccupied. He was probing the stone blocks with his hands, pushing on them and feeling their resistance. “They say that the Messiah is supposed to return to Jerusalem through this gate. The Moslems bricked it up to make sure no one but the Messiah could.” He kept pushing on the blocks. “I don’t know. It seems pretty solid to me.”

Suddenly, he turned around and looked down at Jennifer who looked wilted from the afternoon sun. His mouth was open, but he didn’t say anything.

He paused, held his face with both hands. Something seemed wrong. He was acting funny. She looked up at him, worried. All these past-life memories were flooding back into him, stirring his emotions in impossible ways. Or maybe the heat was getting to him. She decided they should go back to the hotel. They still had several days before the flight back home. There would be plenty of time for this.

Then suddenly, he opened his mouth and his eyes darted back and forth. He wore a look of understanding and excitement. “I know what’s going on, Jennifer. I understand now. Two thousand years ago, I entered Jerusalem through this gate. I knew what was going to happen. I knew they were going to crucify me, but I had to go through with it anyway. I couldn’t back down or my whole message would have been lost. Before they took me, I needed to say goodbye to all my friends. The disciples.”

“Mike, I think we should. . . ”

Mike interrupted her. “Jennifer, think. What day is it?”

“Sunday. April 14.” He shook his head. She offered, “The day before income taxes are due?” Mike still shook his head. “Then what?”

“Jennifer, it’s Easter Sunday.”

“I know we’ve been dealing with the crowds all day because of it. What are you trying to say? Why is this important now?”

“It’s the anniversary of Jesus Christ’s death. And I’m the same age. Now I realize I’ve got to say goodbye to you.”

“What do you mean goodbye, Mike?” She could see in his eyes that this was more than just a temporary goodbye. Her throat tightened and suddenly she felt fear in every fiber of her body. “You can’t mean goodbye! What about our life together? What about settling down and having children? What about starting a ministry together? What about healing people and giving your message? What about your book?”

Mike’s excitement was still very evident, but he heard and saw the pain she was suddenly facing. He tried to explain. “I’m sorry Jennifer. I can’t do all those things. I didn’t know until just now why I’ve been led here. But now I understand.” He paused. “I know why you’re here too. I hope you forgive me. Remember, I’ll always love you.”

She was confused. Mike wasn’t making sense. Maybe the heat was making him delirious. “Are you all right, Mike?” She decided to just ignore the last few minutes. She wanted to get the conversation back to a normal level.

He was smiling at her, as if he had found the answer to all his questions. Smiling as if those answers made everything else in his life trivial, even expendable, including their relationship. His voice was softer again, hoping he could soften the message even though he couldn’t change it. “Two thousand years ago, Christ brought a message to the Earth, a message of love. He died to make his point. The trouble was, the people missed the point entirely. They didn’t learn. They ignored the meaning of his life and death. Now I realize I didn’t come back to Earth to be a new messiah, I came back to give the Earth a second chance to learn. Not from my life but. . . ” He paused. He knew the words he had to say, he just didn’t want to say them. “. . . but from my death.”

A fear rose inside her that was almost a panic. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“There’s no easy way to say this, Jennifer. I’m going to die.” He clarified. “I’m going to die soon. Very soon. Please don’t be sad. It has to be. Sometimes you’ve just got to die to get a point across.”

A thousand questions filled her mind. He said he wouldn’t leave. “What do you mean you’re going to die? Where? When?” She shook her head in denial, then tried to change the subject. “You said you knew why I was here. Do you mean on Earth with you? What do you mean?”

“I mean here. Now. You’re here to write about it, to tell my story, my life, my death. To make sure the message isn’t lost and isn’t distorted. The message is more important than any man or woman’s life.”

Suddenly, a man stepped out from behind a large headstone. He was wearing a black collared shirt and an awkward green tie. In his left hand was a Bible. In his right hand was a gun.

Jennifer was totally unprepared for the stranger. She stood in shock, trying to absorb all that Mike had said and the horrible man in front of her.

The man’s face was twisted with hate. “They said I’d find you here, Son of Satan. Remember me? Jeremy Jenkins,” the man said with a Southern drawl. His voice sounded hoarse. Very hoarse, like a heavy metal singer. Like Lemmy Kilmister from the group Motorhead. His face was ashen gray and his eyes shone a strange hollow yellow.

Putting the pieces together, Mike addressed him without fear. “Legion.” When Mike had driven the demon out of the boy in Las Vegas, it had gone looking for another weak mind it could influence and found the sidewalk preacher Jeremy Jenkins. Even so, he was following God’s plan.

Jenkins said, “I warned you, didn’t I? I told you to accept Jesus Christ as your God and savior, but no, you wouldn’t listen.” The gun shook in his hand. “I had hoped that you were just one of Satan’s minions, but now I know you’re the Beast himself, here to spread your filth and lies, here to corrupt God’s children. They told me. They even gave me the airplane ticket. In Jesus’ name I shall smite thee!”

Jennifer looked at Jenkins with horror. Mike’s words had still not sunk in. Did he say he was going to die? For a few short instants, she relived the horror of her father raping her. She was too young to fight evil back then, but she was stronger now. She summoned all the rage that had been buried deep in her soul and lunged toward Jeremy Jenkins, grabbing the wrist that held the gun. She wrestled him to the ground and they struggled. The Bible fell from his left hand and landed in the dirt, discarded like a prop that was no longer needed.

He grabbed the gun, now with both hands. He twisted his arms against the force of Jennifer’s arms, trying to point the gun at Mike. As they struggled for control, he was surprised and frightened at how strong the Devil’s whore had become. The confidence he had felt in his confrontation with the Devil was starting to drain away with the attack of the woman. Then he heard his father’s voice in his head, an echo from the past, taunting him. “You ain’t got the guts. You’re too weak. You couldn’t kill the devil if you was standing right in front of him with a loaded gun.” Then, suddenly, he knew his God would not allow him to fail. Mike was right in front of him. He pushed her aside, then squeezed the trigger and–BANG–a shot rang out.

Jennifer recoiled in terror at the loud explosion from the gun. She sensed Jenkins turning toward her and she recognized her weakness, her vulnerability. Once again she went on the offensive. Rushing Jenkins, this time she dove for his legs, having learned from her first attack that she couldn’t overpower him.

With a tremendous effort, she pushed the preacher backward. He lost his footing in the loose dirt on the side of the hill and fell. The gun went flying from his hand as he rolled. He came to a sudden stop when his head smacked against a large ornate headstone that proclaimed Allah as the one true God. Blood gushed out of his head, drenching the thirsty desert sand that had seen too much blood for too many years.

Jennifer stood, shaking from all that had happened. She turned to find Mike. In the center of his chest, there was a large circle of blood seeping through his T-shirt. He was still standing in the niche above the gate, clutching his chest with both hands, his face grimaced in pain. “Forgive him, Father,” he said, “He didn’t know what he was doing.” This broke through the shock Jennifer was feeling. She rushed toward him. He reached his hand out to her and she grabbed it. Then he fell backward, but as he did, he pulled Jennifer toward him, throwing her off balance. When she collided with him, they hit the ancient stone blocks of the niche with a sharp smack. Then suddenly the resistance of the stone was gone and they tumbled through the ancient stone blocks, back into the Temple Mount courtyard, startling hundreds of praying Muslims.

Jennifer rolled, got to her knees, found her blouse covered with Mike’s blood. He lay on the ground in a red pool. She knelt down and took his hand. It felt cold. “Mike!” she screamed. “Mike!” she screamed again. “God damn it, Mike, don’t do this. You promised. You promised you’d never leave me.”

He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice and said, “I’m sorry, Jennifer. It had to be this way. Couldn’t be helped. It was part of my life’s plan. Forgive me?” He winced in obvious pain.

She started crying and said, “You? I’m the one who needs to be forgiven. I let that asshole shoot you.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Jennifer. It wasn’t within your power. It was part of God’s plan.”

His eyes started to close, and she screamed. “No. Mike, no. You promised.” She became hysterical. “What kind of twisted freak is God, anyway, letting you die like this? Wasn’t crucifying you bad enough? Is that your God of Mercy? Does God get some kind of twisted pleasure out of watching you die?”

Mike struggled against the pain, against the desire to close his eyes and go into the wonderful warm light he knew was waiting. He struggled to stay with Jennifer as long as possible because she needed him, but more importantly, because she needed to hear his message. She needed to understand how important it was. “It doesn’t matter, Jennifer. Only love matters. Just love. Got it? Can you tell them that for me? Promise you will?”

“Tell who?”

“Everyone.” His voice became very shallow and he stopped breathing. Then his eyes grew bigger and with his dying breath, he said, “E-mail . . . ” And he was gone.

“I promise I will,” she cried. Anguish overcame her as she realized he was gone and she sobbed uncontrollably. She collapsed in a heap on top of his dead body. She was still sobbing when the paramedics arrived, but it was too late. He was dead.

Later that evening, she wondered what his final word, e-mail, meant. Was he asking her to e-mail his message to the world? Was he asking her to read her e-mail? Or maybe his e-mail back home? Or was he trying to warn her about something else in the e-mail?

Monday, April 15 - 6:00a.m.

Rabbi Louis Goldberg sat in his den, drinking his morning coffee and reading his morning paper. When he got to page 12 of the B section, he noticed a small article:

Jerusalem, Israel: Las Vegas rock singer Mike Tomson, died near Jerusalem’s Golden Gate yesterday in what investigators are calling a homicide. The suspect, Jeremy Jenkins, also of Las Vegas, was killed in the struggle. Tomson, who claimed to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ and performed public healings, was featured in several articles over the past month (March 13: Miracle in Bellagio?, March 16: Missing Messiah Found, March 26: Rocker Tomson to Appear on Sightings). To share your stories about Tomson, call 555-4738.

Goldberg was saddened when he read about Mike’s death. He wondered if anyone at the newspaper had heard the story about Mike’s collapse on stage and how he had screamed Christ’s dying words in Hebrew, a language he didn’t know. Maybe I should call the newspaper and share my Mike-story, he thought.

Tuesday, April 16 - 7:30p.m.

Two days after his death, the emptiness and pain was still there. A dull ache filled Jennifer’s chest and a lump filled her throat as she repeatedly clenched her breath and then gulped for air. She retreated back to the only thing that had brought her solace before Mike: her writing. She tapped on the keys of her laptop, trying to find words that would help ease her pain.

Two thousand years ago, a man known as Jesus Christ walked the Earth. He came to deliver a message to the world, an important message, a message from God. There was no mass media then. There were books, but the books were controlled by the politics of the era. There were no cell phones, no newspapers, no television, no Internet, just word of mouth. But the people were superstitious, so Christ knew his message would be distorted. He knew he would have to return when communications technology had advanced to a point where his message wouldn’t get distorted by rumors and urban legends. Where it wouldn’t get filtered by the politics of the day. So he spoke of a second coming.

No one can really say for sure if Mike Tomson was the reincarnation of Jesus Christ, as he claimed. It’s easy for skeptics to dismiss the healings as coincidental or explainable. The authorities–both the Arabs and the Jews alike–seem to want to sweep the unusual circumstances of his death under the proverbial rug. So what if you have victim and perpetrator on opposite sides of the same stone wall of Jerusalem’s Golden Gate, where it was said the Messiah would one day return? What can’t be explained is ignored. There must be a logical explanation, they insist; one that precludes the supernatural or divine intervention. An explanation that lets us remain inside our comfortable belief systems.

Some people even believe that we are all reincarnations of Christ. They say that Christ died for our sins, and when he did, he gave us a special gift: a little bit of his soul that lives and breathes inside us all. Perhaps with that soul came some of the memories of his life, memories that Mike could somehow tune in to. If this is true, maybe we all have the potential to embody the essence of Christ. With Mike’s passing, we may never know the answer.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter if this was the second coming of Christ. Maybe all that matters was the message taught by both Christ and Mike. That message is best stated in Mark 12:30. First, “Love God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind and with all your strength.” Second, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” For God is love and perhaps love is the measurement of who we really are. Mike believed, as do I, that this Earthly life is a grade school where we come to learn. And perhaps our Love is what we’ll be graded on when we graduate.

When she was done with the article, she clicked the “Send” button on her e-mail program. Then she closed her laptop, took a deep breath and stood up. Engulfed in a sea of grief and loneliness, she lifted her packed bags from the bed and hailed a taxi to the airport.

Excerpt from The Gospel According to Mike

He said, “There is no Satan or anti-God. There is no organized evil. There is only God. There are, however, people making bad choices. There’s no one to blame for your bad choices but yourself. Remember: Do God’s bidding, and She will do yours.”