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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 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 vice president. Bush respected Dick Cheney’s intelligence and advice of and admired the tough stance he had assumed in the War on Terror. Cheney almost collided with the President’s backside as Bush pulled up so sharply at the office door. "Anything wrong, Mr. President?" "Uh...no...nuthin’ wrong at all Dick. 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! "Here it is," Bush mumbled. "Damn it...Have you read this, Dick?" "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? 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. 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. He put his hands to his face and gently rubbed his eyes and then glanced at Cheney, who stood just behind him. The vice president’s eyes were wild with fear and all the color had drained from his pallid skin. Unable to speak, he shakily pointed to the sofa where the President had just hurled the newsprint. Bush followed Cheney’s unsteady finger. On the sofa, by the fireplace, sat a man and he looked familiar. "My God!" screamed the VP 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. Cheney’s cell phone didn’t work. Even their shouts and screams went unheeded. Dick 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?" 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. 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. "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. 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. "No, Mr. President. I don’t." The President shifted uneasily in his seat and glanced at Cheney, 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 has ever tried to live by the simple ideas I offered to all of you. 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 rose from his chair, smoothed the wrinkles out of his pressed pants and nervously paced the carpet. 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. "They hit me? I hit ‘em back harder. Might makes Right." Jesus sighed softly, "My entire purpose in coming to Earth was 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." "So...," Bush 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 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. 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."
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."
"What if we just killed Saddam Hussein and his family?" "NO!" Jesus exclaimed. "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 no tolerance for greed. It is an evil and destructive force...perhaps the most catastrophic aspect of the human condition." The President shrugged. The VP had said nothing but had listened intently from across the room. Finally he cleared his voice and said, "What about World War II?" Jesus turned on the sofa to see Cheney. Briefly, Bush looked confused by the question. "What’s that Dick?" "World War II," Cheney 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 so." "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..." "It would have been a blood bath," Bush answered quickly. "Perhaps, but by showing they could love their enemy and turn the other cheek, these men assured themselves a place with me. Does that sound so bad?" Bush said nothing.
"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."
"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 believe that eventually, the horrors of war would have been realized more fully by everyone. 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? " Jesus looked at both men who now stood beside each other near the fireplace. 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 Cheney." 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, Dick." Jesus walked toward Bush and Cheney with a determination that made both men uncomfortable. "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 said, "It’s not over yet. Jesus, can you back off just a minute? Dick 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. The VP 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." Four days later, on March 21, the United States invaded Iraq. Four years later, as many as 600,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed by Coalition air and ground attacks and the Civil War that the invasion triggered. Sadam Hussein was captured and executed, mob -style, in 2006. Three thousand American soldiers have died. The whereabouts of Jesus are unknown. |
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