Wait for Juan
from
Wait for Juan
Part 1
An immaculate 65 Rolls-Royce, with stretched hood, prominent grill and sloping boot drives the streets of Westminster on a cloudy, gusty day in March of 1966. It’s uncommon to see such a lavish ride outside of a Bond film. With its dark tinted windows adding to the mystery it’s no surprise that pedestrians speculate that the Queen or a Beatle must be inside.
And in fact there is a Beatle inside, 25-year-old John Lennon at the height of his fame, young and shaggy topped with a bit of a mullet as his hair grows out, yet trendsetting for the time.
“Anthony, how about you and that intriguing moustache of yours stop at that newsstand.” The short, muscular ex-Welsh guardsman’s beady eyes flash to the rearview mirror, his uncropped moustache bobbing. Anthony applies the directional as he pulls to the pavement.
John steps from the Rolls. “The Telegraph and Evening Standard me Lord,” he says to the newsagent, then turns opposite toward the Gardens of Kensington. As soon as he does however, there’s a loud scream.
“Oh dear Lord! It’s John Lennon!”
The young woman screams again before running at him, as many others now do as well. John pivots back to the newsagent, dropping a 20 pound note on the counter and scooping up his papers. “Cheers mate.”
He holds up the papers and smiles at the screeching fans who converge just as he slides into the back of the car, and off Anthony drives them to the sprawling Tudor in affluent Weybridge-Esher that John shares with his stark blonde wife Cynthia and their nearly 3-year-old son Julian, a wide-eyed and understated toddler.
“Daddy!” Julian says running up when he gets in. John picks him up and grins.
“How was it?” Cynthia asks as she enters the foyer.
“I got a little something down, love.”
“I hear! I hear!” Julian pleads enthusiastically.
“You want to hear it little lad?”
Julian wiggles down and pulls John toward the drawing room where the piano and guitars are kept. As they pass by Julian’s toys John sees the soldiers animating and walking around, following him as they pass. He dismisses this to the acid he took after a kip in the studio. Then with Cynthia and Julian on the sofa John sits on the piano bench, acoustic guitar in hand. He strums and begins to sing…
An immaculate 65 Rolls-Royce, with stretched hood, prominent grill and sloping boot drives the streets of Westminster on a cloudy, gusty day in March of 1966. It’s uncommon to see such a lavish ride outside of a Bond film. With its dark tinted windows adding to the mystery it’s no surprise that pedestrians speculate that the Queen or a Beatle must be inside.
And in fact there is a Beatle inside, 25-year-old John Lennon at the height of his fame, young and shaggy topped with a bit of a mullet as his hair grows out, yet trendsetting for the time.
“Anthony, how about you and that intriguing moustache of yours stop at that newsstand.” The short, muscular ex-Welsh guardsman’s beady eyes flash to the rearview mirror, his uncropped moustache bobbing. Anthony applies the directional as he pulls to the pavement.
John steps from the Rolls. “The Telegraph and Evening Standard me Lord,” he says to the newsagent, then turns opposite toward the Gardens of Kensington. As soon as he does however, there’s a loud scream.
“Oh dear Lord! It’s John Lennon!”
The young woman screams again before running at him, as many others now do as well. John pivots back to the newsagent, dropping a 20 pound note on the counter and scooping up his papers. “Cheers mate.”
He holds up the papers and smiles at the screeching fans who converge just as he slides into the back of the car, and off Anthony drives them to the sprawling Tudor in affluent Weybridge-Esher that John shares with his stark blonde wife Cynthia and their nearly 3-year-old son Julian, a wide-eyed and understated toddler.
“Daddy!” Julian says running up when he gets in. John picks him up and grins.
“How was it?” Cynthia asks as she enters the foyer.
“I got a little something down, love.”
“I hear! I hear!” Julian pleads enthusiastically.
“You want to hear it little lad?”
Julian wiggles down and pulls John toward the drawing room where the piano and guitars are kept. As they pass by Julian’s toys John sees the soldiers animating and walking around, following him as they pass. He dismisses this to the acid he took after a kip in the studio. Then with Cynthia and Julian on the sofa John sits on the piano bench, acoustic guitar in hand. He strums and begins to sing…
Tell me that you've got everything you want
And your bird can sing
But you don't get me
You don't get me
You'll say you've seen seven wonders
And your bird is green
But you can't see me
You can't see me
When your prized possessions
Start to weigh you down
Look in my direction
I'll be 'round
I'll be 'round
And your bird can sing
But you don't get me
You don't get me
You'll say you've seen seven wonders
And your bird is green
But you can't see me
You can't see me
When your prized possessions
Start to weigh you down
Look in my direction
I'll be 'round
I'll be 'round
Before he can get to the next verse a bell from the front of the house stops him. Julian claps. “That must be Maureen about the article,” John says, setting the guitar down.
“I love it. What’s it called darling?” Cynthia asks.
“I don’t know yet.”
He shrugs and walks to the door.
---------------------------------
John sits in the living room with Maureen, an attractive young reporter, a recorder running by her side. She examines the wood paneled walls and olive-green shag carpet, paying particular attention to an oversized Roman Catholic altar crucifix.
“You clearly seem to place some value on Christianity, so what are your views on it, John? And how does that correspond to your experience with the Beatles?”
He peers down his nose at her in one of his more notable mannerisms before replying, "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that; I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first - rock 'n' roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me."
Part 2
It was an off-handed comment, and only a small piece of a sprawling interview, but one that would prove lasting after being reprinted in an American teen magazine. That quote led to protests, album burnings and Beatles boycotts, and forever altered the band’s dynamic with the public. In each press outing following the furor in that summer of 66 John was asked to clarify, and one day in Chicago he finally did. “When it came out in England it was a bit of a blab-mouthed saying anyway... A few people wrote into the papers, and a few wrote back saying, 'So what, he said that. Who is he anyway,' or they said, 'So, he can have his own opinion.' And then it just vanished. It was very small. But... you know, when it gets over here and then it's put into a kid's magazine, and just parts of it or whatever was put in, it just loses its meaning or its context immediately... and everybody starts making their own versions of it.”
In December of the same year while doing an interview for Look Magazine John added, “I said we were more popular than Jesus, which is a fact. I believe Jesus was right, Buddha was right, and all of those people like that are right. They're all saying the same thing, and I believe it. I believe what Jesus actually said - the basic things he laid down about love and goodness - and not what people say he said."
Part 3
There are many interesting parallels between John Lennon and Jesus Christ. They both developed huge followings. Both questioned the status quo. Both made pointed critiques at the institution of religion. They were both inwardly focused and externally scrutinized. Societal momentum and the backlash from it led both to be spied on and persecuted by governments, and ultimately killed as a result of their position as cultural icons. Yet they both preached peace.
“Deceit is in the hearts of those who plot evil, but those who promote peace have joy.” – Proverbs 12:20
“Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.” – John Lennon
Contrastingly, what separated these two men was the knowledge of their untimely deaths.
---------------------------------
Mark David Chapman was an average looking young man who worked to improve the lives of children and refugees, and someone who deeply loved Beatles music. He was also someone who suffered from psychiatric issues and clinical depression. And then he became a born-again Presbyterian, a catalyst to convert Chapman’s love of John Lennon into resentment, first for John’s blasphemous comment that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus, but later for the song Imagine. It’s easy to see how a devout person might disdain lyrics like, ‘Imagine there’s no heaven’, ‘And no religion too’. Those were straightforward triggers, but what really stewed the antipathy within Chapman was the 3rd verse:
“I love it. What’s it called darling?” Cynthia asks.
“I don’t know yet.”
He shrugs and walks to the door.
---------------------------------
John sits in the living room with Maureen, an attractive young reporter, a recorder running by her side. She examines the wood paneled walls and olive-green shag carpet, paying particular attention to an oversized Roman Catholic altar crucifix.
“You clearly seem to place some value on Christianity, so what are your views on it, John? And how does that correspond to your experience with the Beatles?”
He peers down his nose at her in one of his more notable mannerisms before replying, "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that; I'm right and I will be proved right. We're more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first - rock 'n' roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me."
Part 2
It was an off-handed comment, and only a small piece of a sprawling interview, but one that would prove lasting after being reprinted in an American teen magazine. That quote led to protests, album burnings and Beatles boycotts, and forever altered the band’s dynamic with the public. In each press outing following the furor in that summer of 66 John was asked to clarify, and one day in Chicago he finally did. “When it came out in England it was a bit of a blab-mouthed saying anyway... A few people wrote into the papers, and a few wrote back saying, 'So what, he said that. Who is he anyway,' or they said, 'So, he can have his own opinion.' And then it just vanished. It was very small. But... you know, when it gets over here and then it's put into a kid's magazine, and just parts of it or whatever was put in, it just loses its meaning or its context immediately... and everybody starts making their own versions of it.”
In December of the same year while doing an interview for Look Magazine John added, “I said we were more popular than Jesus, which is a fact. I believe Jesus was right, Buddha was right, and all of those people like that are right. They're all saying the same thing, and I believe it. I believe what Jesus actually said - the basic things he laid down about love and goodness - and not what people say he said."
Part 3
There are many interesting parallels between John Lennon and Jesus Christ. They both developed huge followings. Both questioned the status quo. Both made pointed critiques at the institution of religion. They were both inwardly focused and externally scrutinized. Societal momentum and the backlash from it led both to be spied on and persecuted by governments, and ultimately killed as a result of their position as cultural icons. Yet they both preached peace.
“Deceit is in the hearts of those who plot evil, but those who promote peace have joy.” – Proverbs 12:20
“Peace is not something you wish for; it’s something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away.” – John Lennon
Contrastingly, what separated these two men was the knowledge of their untimely deaths.
---------------------------------
Mark David Chapman was an average looking young man who worked to improve the lives of children and refugees, and someone who deeply loved Beatles music. He was also someone who suffered from psychiatric issues and clinical depression. And then he became a born-again Presbyterian, a catalyst to convert Chapman’s love of John Lennon into resentment, first for John’s blasphemous comment that the Beatles were bigger than Jesus, but later for the song Imagine. It’s easy to see how a devout person might disdain lyrics like, ‘Imagine there’s no heaven’, ‘And no religion too’. Those were straightforward triggers, but what really stewed the antipathy within Chapman was the 3rd verse:
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people sharing all the world
To Chapman this was not a lofty idea; it was pure hypocrisy. “He told us to imagine no possessions and there he was, with millions of dollars and yachts and farms and country estates, laughing at people like me who had believed the lies and bought the records and built a big part of their lives around his music.” As Chapman drank heavily and obsessed over The Catcher in the Rye’s protagonist Holden Caulfield’s perspective on anti-phoniness, he began to sing his own version of the lyrics, “Imagine if John Lennon was dead.”
In 1971 John Lennon moved to New York City with his new wife Yoko following the breakup of the Beatles. Nine years later in the fall of 1980 Chapman came to the Big Apple to kill John Lennon, but if he couldn’t he had other targets in mind, including Johnny Carson, Ronald Reagan and David Bowie.
From New York Chapman went to Atlanta to buy a gun and ammunition; however when he returned to New York he saw the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ on TV and immediately flew home to Hawaii where he admitted to his wife that he was fixated on killing Lennon. He even made an appointment to see a therapist, but instead of going he flew back to New York on December 6th, 1980. Two days later, on the morning of the 8th, he stood outside the Dakota, the Manhattan apartment building where John lived with Yoko and their son, Sean. Chapman saw 5-year-old Sean outside with the family housekeeper and ran up to shake his hand, saying he was a beautiful boy, to quote the Lennon lyric. At around 5pm when John and Yoko were leaving for a recording session he approached and asked John to autograph his copy of Double Fantasy, which he did. Then at nearly 11pm John and Yoko returned, walking past Chapman and into the archway of the building. That’s when Chapman got into a shooting stance, pulling out a .38 revolver and firing 5 shots, hitting Lennon 4 times in the back. Then, within the chaos of the scene he’d created, Chapman calmly read from his copy of The Catcher in the Rye as John Lennon bled-out in front of him.
At the time of Lennon’s murder David Bowie was performing on Broadway in The Elephant Man and he later described his eerie connection to the incident. “I was second on his list. Chapman had a front-row ticket to The Elephant Man the next night. John and Yoko were supposed to sit front-row for that show too. So the night after John was killed there were three empty seats in the front row. I can't tell you how difficult that was to go on. I almost didn't make it through the performance.”
Part 4
Looking through foreign eyes for the first time is disorienting and frightening, which is how John feels as he views a lake, and beyond it a range of low, barren mountains dotted with patchy shrubs and streaked by ridge lines. What he doesn’t understand yet, as disciples amass around his crude stone abode seeking guidance, is that Jesus was but a vessel in the image of man, a mere conduit for the sacrosanct realm.
“My Lord, we must prepare for the journey to Korazim,” Mark says as he enters the rudimentary domicile.
Without understanding the impetus for it he stands and responds, “It shall be done, my son.”
Bartholomew steps forward, and as he prepares the Lord’s outer robes he inquires, “I must query my Lord, to ask why in thy ministry do you deliver in parable?”
“Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. This is why I speak to them in parables.”
John listens to his words and those of his disciples, heard in English yet delivered in Aramaic, but as nothing more than a spectator. His body sways as Bartholomew finishes adjusting his robes.
They walk for hours to the Mount at Korazim, where John, the Christ within him, stands on a boulder before a crowd of villagers.
“At that time the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise. The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them. The wise ones, however, took oil in jars along with their lamps. The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’
“Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.’
“‘No,’ they replied, ‘there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.’”
As John feels the emotion of the sermon flowing through him he connects with it. He grows contained within it. He takes greater control of it, and the crowd responds in utterance.
“But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut.
“Later the others also came. ‘Lord, Lord,’ they said, ‘open the door for us!’
“But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I don’t know you. Therefore, keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.’”
Thomas, James, Matthew and Simon prostrate before the boulder as many villagers follow and pray.
“Yet still I declare, tis better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.”
As he spoke this a vibrant cloud covered the assembled and a baritone voice resonated forth, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”
When the disciples heard this they fell facedown to the ground, and the throng befittingly quivered.
Part 5
A dense fog hangs over the water, thinning by the shore. Waves lap with soothing regularity against the dark sand and salt deposits. The temperature is comfortable just before dawn. Soon the fog would dissipate and the sun would scold everything it touched. A young Persian boy runs up to a stoic, robed figure.
“My Lord, they are approaching, as you have foreseen.”
“So it is. The prophecy of Isaiah shall be fulfilled.”
“Praise be The Almighty.”
“Yes… praise him.”
The boy leaves, running across the dunes toward the encampment as Jesus turns back to the morning fog, contemplating the path laid out before him and the choices that fate takes.
“My Lord, my Lord,” calls an approaching voice.
“Yes my son. What is it Andrew?”
“My Lord. There comes word that the army approaching from the south will take you this day.”
“I am aware my son. May your fears subside, for you will see this day through.”
“Yes, yes my Lord. But Lord, before we can stand with you united before the armies, the stores of loaves and fishes have dwindled. How shall we remain strong with such lack of sustenance, Lord? The women, I fear, are losing flesh.”
Jesus looks away meditatively. With eyes focused upon the blackened sand rolling in the surf below, he slowly blinks. The water shutters as though the ground beneath were breaking apart. When Jesus raises his head the sea boils over with fish, which fly over their heads to the kitchens of the encampment.
“Your stores have been replenished my son. Now go Andrew, see that the followers of the righteous path are fed.”
“Praise be to you, oh Lord, for this blessing we receive!” Andrew falls to his knees.
“Please my son, go to them quickly.”
With Andrew’s dismissal Jesus peers over the water once more, watching as the sun is unearthed along the horizon. Day after day his followers sought his counsel, but would there ever be a day when it was sufficient? How would they move forth without him? What course would his sacrifice steer through the annals of time? Jesus toiled over such reflections as the day drew on unceasingly.
“My Lord, my Lord! Oh, praise you Lord for the bounty of fish you brought forth through your miracles,” a follower proclaims, running forth from the encampment.
“My Thomas, for those of pure heart shall know the eternal gifts of The Lord.”
“Yes Lord, yes. It is through your love that we are saved. Praise be to thee…”
There’s an awkward pause. Thomas hangs his head. “Yet you are lacking, my son. What is it?”
“It is the women who require the quench of thirst, Lord. Those nursing find the milk of the mother drying with no wine to drink.”
Thomas holds out an empty bottle. Jesus sighs, then stomps his foot, creating a cloud of sand that rises from the dunes, drifting over and coating the surface of the water with a fine dust. The grains settle with the delicacy of a feather, but then come toward them with the might of an avalanche. Thomas cowers, yet as the sarsens reach the shore they vanish beneath the earth.
“Lord, for why have I been forsaken?”
“The bottle Thomas, is it not full my son?”
Thomas looks at the bottle, which is now filled. “Oh, blessed is the wisdom and mercy of the Lord.”
“The bottle shall fill every cup my son. Now go to your brothers and sisters, touch their lips with this offering you receive.”
“It will be done my Lord. Blessed, blessed is thee.”
Jesus takes off his sandals and walks to the water’s edge, examining pebbles below the translucent sea. He dips his foot in, touching his toe to a smooth, round stone. What will the echoes of the present reveal from the bounty of time? He awaits an answer, but none comes to his ears.
“My Lord, my Lord.” He turns to see Peter and Simon advancing. “My Lord, we are humbled by your generosity,” says Peter, his arms outstretched.
“Feed from the bosom of the Earth. Go forth with the spirit of The Lord, gaining in land and growing in numbers.”
“Yes Lord, yes, it shall be. However, we fear Lord, as it happens, that…” Simon swallows fretfully. “That the numbers of our brothers and sisters are sure to diminish if we go forth unaided by your miracles.”
“Do you claim to have visions Simon? What sorcery beholds you?”
“No my Lord, I have no vision but what thine eye can see, and thine eye has seen the crippled, the blinded, the diseased. I fear they will diminish our strength and expire without bearing young. I claim no clairvoyance my Lord, I hold no sorcery, but I foresee the hardships we must endure for sheltering these masses.”
“It is your compassion that will bring them forth. You are the bearer of life, my son. Go forth with mercy, spreading the will of The Lord.”
“You are wise, oh Lord,” Peter interjects. “However, the fear is a vestige we bear, that our numbers will decrease and The Lord’s work will not be done.”
“Peter, I tell you this, while the flock may weaken they will remain, and you with them, but you will stray. Before the crow of the rooster, I will thrice be denied by you.”
“Even if I face death, never will I deny thee, the Christ.”
Jesus turns away, having foretold of Peter’s denial. The end is near.
“My Lord,” Simon speaks, aghast, watching as Peter prostrates at the feet of the almighty prophet. “The time has come to ascend to Gethsemane. We must journey there to pray. As we speak the chief priests close the distance between us, accompanied by masses carrying swords and clubs. You must pray with Peter and the sons of Zebedee, for it shall be written.”
“Yes, yes my son. It shall be. Though now you must return to the encampment, accompanied by Peter.”
At the sound of Jesus speaking his name Peter rises to his feet. He and Simon watch Jesus for a sign, who sighs exhaustedly, then nods. They flatten their hands, exposing their palms and stretching their arms out before him. Jesus lays his hands upon theirs.
“And I say to you, heal every disease, every affliction. Hear and understand, give sight to the blind, restore health to the sick, cast out the spirits of the unclean, and the work of God shall be done.”
Jesus retracts, putting his hands beneath his robes as Peter and Simon stand breathlessly by.
“My Lord-” Simon begins, stopping as Jesus raises his hand.
“Go.”
They leave empowered, albeit bemused. The presence of The Lord has always brought with it such assurance, but that feeling has been unexpectedly swept away. The hordes of angry Romans, Pharisees, priests and scribes will surely catch them if they do not leave for the holy city of Jerusalem. They must reach Gethsemane before the Lord can be taken. Simon and Peter are concerned, but soon their minds are led away from such anxieties, for once they make it back to the encampment they take to healing the sick.
The day grows long and the sun descends the western sky while Jesus stands firm by the banks of the sea. Many come with needs and he fulfills them, blessing each through parable. His apostles counsel him and still more followers come, praising his name and urging him to embark upon the pilgrimage forthcoming.
“My Lord.”
“Yes Matthew, approach my son.”
The sun rolls methodically down the backside of the dunes, setting behind the men.
“My Lord, have I not been a worthy disciple?”
“Yes my son.”
“And Lord, have I not proven worthy of your trust?”
“You have.”
“Then Lord, please forgive my directness, but as day becomes night I feel transformed by unease. Why must you leave us distressed? Has judgment not been passed? Have you not been anointed at Bethany? Have we not made our covenant, and that of you with your father?”
“Yes Matthew, you know this to be true.”
“Then why have we come out of step? Why have we not arrived on camel before the garden of Gethsemane below the Mount of Olives? Please My Lord! Judas has been seen drawing near with great crowds. Surely we will be intercepted if we do not flee.”
“Surely WE WILL!” Jesus shouts, and with it the earth shutters, causing his followers to lope across the sand and gather on knees before him.
“Why shall the Scripture be fulfilled when you remain thirsty strangers? Hear me now, for your sins can be forgiven, but your responsibility cannot be taken! Must you not continue to till the field for sustenance? Must you not procreate to grow in numbers? Has the last well in Jerusalem dried?”
His words are like spikes through the heels of his legion, filling their throats with the bile of the damned. Their hearts seize and many weep at The Lord’s wrath.
A mass appears to the south led by Judas, centered by elders, which sidle behind scribes at the sight of The Lord. Judas whispers something to a chief priest, which the other of the twelve cannot hear, but Jesus has known his whole life what this Iscariot would say; ‘The one I will kiss is the man you seek; seize him.’
“Greetings, Rabbi,” Judas speaks, stepping forth to The Lord.
Swiftly Jesus takes two steps back. “No friend! You will not do what you came here to do! Before swords are unsheathed I shall be gone, and these people, the faithful, will spread outward in every direction with a message of liability. Hear me, take my words, know the almighty God is here, that your faith shall dissolve your sins, but that by your actions you shall be held accountable.”
“No My Lord, you will greet me. Greet me!” Judas lunges forward, but a wave of atmospheric pressure sends him flying backward until he’s suspended above the encampment 30 meters away, then drops, flailing awkwardly through the roof of a tent.
Jesus looks over at his followers, then at his condemners. He steps out onto the water, walking miraculously atop the sea. Each man on land, friend or foe, falls to their knees, some prostrating, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
The masses become mute from their prayer positions as Jesus walks further out upon the sea. Stillness fills the air that even the camels and asses can sense. Jesus outstretches his arms before a sound is unleashed, an unearthly bawl that builds from within the depths of The Lord. It is the wail of an ethereal siren, lonely and sullen, so mournful that birds dive into the sand and passing comets suppurate.
“Hear me clearly. If your absolution requires sacrifice without acceptance of duty, of propriety, then it is deficient… and it… it… it’s not for me. I’m just not that into you. Therefore, my children, you must wait… wait for…” As he speaks however, he loses his footing and wobbles. “Waaauuhhnn,” he says as he slips, for out of the leaden water emerges the slick, slender head of a great reptilian beast, rising above the sea, holding Jesus upon the very top of its cranium, unsteadily at first.
A long neck follows, elevating The Lord ten, fifteen, twenty feet into the air as he regains his equilibrium. Then comes an immense gray body, twice the length of the towering neck. As water drips off this prehistoric leviathan the masses cower. This majestic beast, reborn through the millennia in a subaquatic realm which Poseidon himself has reached back through the ages for, peers out over the gathering.
Later known as The Brontosaurus of the Sacred Covenant, the dinosaur rises onto its hind legs, balancing on its tail, reaching a hundred feet into the air. Jesus extends his arms out from his sides, now perfectly composed atop the beast’s head, and the brontosaurus lets out a bellow so bottomless and sorrowful that fissures around the world crack open with the tears of the earth. The unfathomable profundity of the cry petrifies the crowd with woebegone angst. Then the beast comes down on all fours with the force of a meteor, sending saltwater cascading through the air that partitions piety from temporal penetration. When the shower reaches its apex and returns to earth the sea beyond the masses is tranquil, vacant and dark. The last light of day is gone, and with it, Jesus and The Brontosaurus of the Sacred Covenant.
Simon turns to James and Philip, asking, “Did he say wait for Juan?”
From the encampment a rooster crow’s. “Yes!” Peter fist-pumps.
Simon shrugs, gazing out at the starlight, saying, “Well, then I guess we wait. We wait for the right Juan.”
Part 6
And so it was that those of the Juanish faith began a wait that would last almost two millennia, until one day in the early 2000s when word spread that a baby boy would be born to fourteen-year-old Melissa Sanchez, a resident of Lower Vailsburg, New Jersey, who was recognized as virginal in body and spirit. Members of the Juanish Holy Counsel arrived at East Orange General Hospital the day the boy was born, naming him Juan and declaring him to be the one prophesized by Jesus as the noble sacrifice. It was at that moment in the history of the Abrahamic faiths, after Abraham of the Jews, Jesus of the Christians and Mohammed of the Muslims, that the Juanish would know their lord and savior.
Of course, the lessons of Jesus’ final day left humanity with a massive theological rift. The Christians believe Jesus taught individuals to take responsibility for themselves and their sins, rather than relying on the sacrifice of another. However, the Juanish believe Jesus acted cowardly, risking the damnation of all mankind to save himself, and that his actions represent man’s inherent selfishness, his willingness to do anything to protect his own interests, a nature that would eventually lead us to consume every resource unless the proper sanctimonious sacrifice is made.
To quote from religious scholar and Juanish expert Jarvis Lester from last year’s Monotheistic Roundtable in Prague, “We’re a duality, with both good and evil. Whichever side you choose to feed is the side that will grow. And man has shown, when left to his own devices, that yes, he will inherently turn to evil, like when Jesus chose to save himself. If strong moral values are not imposed on cultures, self-preservation will turn socially destructive, sending us into the throws of iniquity.”
Jacob Hannon, head of the Juanish Holy Counsel, added, “Juan’s sacrifice is an affirmation that no matter how much we are civilized by modernism, or cultivated by our society’s morality, that underneath, at our root, indeed at the very seed, there still lives an inextinguishable flame of savagery that we will always require sacrificial exoneration from.”
In response to the impending sacrifice of Juan, Pope Benedict XVI remarked at the Juanish Holy Counsel last spring in Rome, “Your misguided act is based on a wickedness that will engulf each of you in the eternal flames of hell.”
Asked for comment at a recent press conference, while sidled by his handlers, the robed and beaded vicars Gustafson and Hardigan, Juan pleaded with his followers by expressing a simple lyric, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only Juan.”
No matter what your belief system is, don’t miss this rare opportunity to be a part of history. Go to www.juan.rel.us/sacrifice/poll to vote on how Juan will be sacrificed. Choose from one of five ancient methods, from immolation, crucifixion, premature burial, decapitation or lapidation. If you vote today you’ll automatically be entered to win an all-expense paid trip to attend the sacrifice at the stadium in Caracas, which will be immediately followed by a performance from Kiss. Ten lucky runner-ups will receive canvas tote bags. Don’t miss out. Vote today!
* No purchase necessary. Limit one vote per person. Must be 18 or older to enter. You will need Internet access and a valid email address to participate. Open to residents of the U.S., Guam, Saipan & Canada. Void in Puerto Rico, Am. Samoa & where prohibited. Sacrificial voting begins 7/7/77.
In 1971 John Lennon moved to New York City with his new wife Yoko following the breakup of the Beatles. Nine years later in the fall of 1980 Chapman came to the Big Apple to kill John Lennon, but if he couldn’t he had other targets in mind, including Johnny Carson, Ronald Reagan and David Bowie.
From New York Chapman went to Atlanta to buy a gun and ammunition; however when he returned to New York he saw the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ on TV and immediately flew home to Hawaii where he admitted to his wife that he was fixated on killing Lennon. He even made an appointment to see a therapist, but instead of going he flew back to New York on December 6th, 1980. Two days later, on the morning of the 8th, he stood outside the Dakota, the Manhattan apartment building where John lived with Yoko and their son, Sean. Chapman saw 5-year-old Sean outside with the family housekeeper and ran up to shake his hand, saying he was a beautiful boy, to quote the Lennon lyric. At around 5pm when John and Yoko were leaving for a recording session he approached and asked John to autograph his copy of Double Fantasy, which he did. Then at nearly 11pm John and Yoko returned, walking past Chapman and into the archway of the building. That’s when Chapman got into a shooting stance, pulling out a .38 revolver and firing 5 shots, hitting Lennon 4 times in the back. Then, within the chaos of the scene he’d created, Chapman calmly read from his copy of The Catcher in the Rye as John Lennon bled-out in front of him.
At the time of Lennon’s murder David Bowie was performing on Broadway in The Elephant Man and he later described his eerie connection to the incident. “I was second on his list. Chapman had a front-row ticket to The Elephant Man the next night. John and Yoko were supposed to sit front-row for that show too. So the night after John was killed there were three empty seats in the front row. I can't tell you how difficult that was to go on. I almost didn't make it through the performance.”
Part 4
Looking through foreign eyes for the first time is disorienting and frightening, which is how John feels as he views a lake, and beyond it a range of low, barren mountains dotted with patchy shrubs and streaked by ridge lines. What he doesn’t understand yet, as disciples amass around his crude stone abode seeking guidance, is that Jesus was but a vessel in the image of man, a mere conduit for the sacrosanct realm.
“My Lord, we must prepare for the journey to Korazim,” Mark says as he enters the rudimentary domicile.
Without understanding the impetus for it he stands and responds, “It shall be done, my son.”
Bartholomew steps forward, and as he prepares the Lord’s outer robes he inquires, “I must query my Lord, to ask why in thy ministry do you deliver in parable?”
“Because the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them. Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. This is why I speak to them in parables.”
John listens to his words and those of his disciples, heard in English yet delivered in Aramaic, but as nothing more than a spectator. His body sways as Bartholomew finishes adjusting his robes.
They walk for hours to the Mount at Korazim, where John, the Christ within him, stands on a boulder before a crowd of villagers.
“At that time the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise. The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them. The wise ones, however, took oil in jars along with their lamps. The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep. At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’
“Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.’
“‘No,’ they replied, ‘there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.’”
As John feels the emotion of the sermon flowing through him he connects with it. He grows contained within it. He takes greater control of it, and the crowd responds in utterance.
“But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut.
“Later the others also came. ‘Lord, Lord,’ they said, ‘open the door for us!’
“But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I don’t know you. Therefore, keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.’”
Thomas, James, Matthew and Simon prostrate before the boulder as many villagers follow and pray.
“Yet still I declare, tis better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.”
As he spoke this a vibrant cloud covered the assembled and a baritone voice resonated forth, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”
When the disciples heard this they fell facedown to the ground, and the throng befittingly quivered.
Part 5
A dense fog hangs over the water, thinning by the shore. Waves lap with soothing regularity against the dark sand and salt deposits. The temperature is comfortable just before dawn. Soon the fog would dissipate and the sun would scold everything it touched. A young Persian boy runs up to a stoic, robed figure.
“My Lord, they are approaching, as you have foreseen.”
“So it is. The prophecy of Isaiah shall be fulfilled.”
“Praise be The Almighty.”
“Yes… praise him.”
The boy leaves, running across the dunes toward the encampment as Jesus turns back to the morning fog, contemplating the path laid out before him and the choices that fate takes.
“My Lord, my Lord,” calls an approaching voice.
“Yes my son. What is it Andrew?”
“My Lord. There comes word that the army approaching from the south will take you this day.”
“I am aware my son. May your fears subside, for you will see this day through.”
“Yes, yes my Lord. But Lord, before we can stand with you united before the armies, the stores of loaves and fishes have dwindled. How shall we remain strong with such lack of sustenance, Lord? The women, I fear, are losing flesh.”
Jesus looks away meditatively. With eyes focused upon the blackened sand rolling in the surf below, he slowly blinks. The water shutters as though the ground beneath were breaking apart. When Jesus raises his head the sea boils over with fish, which fly over their heads to the kitchens of the encampment.
“Your stores have been replenished my son. Now go Andrew, see that the followers of the righteous path are fed.”
“Praise be to you, oh Lord, for this blessing we receive!” Andrew falls to his knees.
“Please my son, go to them quickly.”
With Andrew’s dismissal Jesus peers over the water once more, watching as the sun is unearthed along the horizon. Day after day his followers sought his counsel, but would there ever be a day when it was sufficient? How would they move forth without him? What course would his sacrifice steer through the annals of time? Jesus toiled over such reflections as the day drew on unceasingly.
“My Lord, my Lord! Oh, praise you Lord for the bounty of fish you brought forth through your miracles,” a follower proclaims, running forth from the encampment.
“My Thomas, for those of pure heart shall know the eternal gifts of The Lord.”
“Yes Lord, yes. It is through your love that we are saved. Praise be to thee…”
There’s an awkward pause. Thomas hangs his head. “Yet you are lacking, my son. What is it?”
“It is the women who require the quench of thirst, Lord. Those nursing find the milk of the mother drying with no wine to drink.”
Thomas holds out an empty bottle. Jesus sighs, then stomps his foot, creating a cloud of sand that rises from the dunes, drifting over and coating the surface of the water with a fine dust. The grains settle with the delicacy of a feather, but then come toward them with the might of an avalanche. Thomas cowers, yet as the sarsens reach the shore they vanish beneath the earth.
“Lord, for why have I been forsaken?”
“The bottle Thomas, is it not full my son?”
Thomas looks at the bottle, which is now filled. “Oh, blessed is the wisdom and mercy of the Lord.”
“The bottle shall fill every cup my son. Now go to your brothers and sisters, touch their lips with this offering you receive.”
“It will be done my Lord. Blessed, blessed is thee.”
Jesus takes off his sandals and walks to the water’s edge, examining pebbles below the translucent sea. He dips his foot in, touching his toe to a smooth, round stone. What will the echoes of the present reveal from the bounty of time? He awaits an answer, but none comes to his ears.
“My Lord, my Lord.” He turns to see Peter and Simon advancing. “My Lord, we are humbled by your generosity,” says Peter, his arms outstretched.
“Feed from the bosom of the Earth. Go forth with the spirit of The Lord, gaining in land and growing in numbers.”
“Yes Lord, yes, it shall be. However, we fear Lord, as it happens, that…” Simon swallows fretfully. “That the numbers of our brothers and sisters are sure to diminish if we go forth unaided by your miracles.”
“Do you claim to have visions Simon? What sorcery beholds you?”
“No my Lord, I have no vision but what thine eye can see, and thine eye has seen the crippled, the blinded, the diseased. I fear they will diminish our strength and expire without bearing young. I claim no clairvoyance my Lord, I hold no sorcery, but I foresee the hardships we must endure for sheltering these masses.”
“It is your compassion that will bring them forth. You are the bearer of life, my son. Go forth with mercy, spreading the will of The Lord.”
“You are wise, oh Lord,” Peter interjects. “However, the fear is a vestige we bear, that our numbers will decrease and The Lord’s work will not be done.”
“Peter, I tell you this, while the flock may weaken they will remain, and you with them, but you will stray. Before the crow of the rooster, I will thrice be denied by you.”
“Even if I face death, never will I deny thee, the Christ.”
Jesus turns away, having foretold of Peter’s denial. The end is near.
“My Lord,” Simon speaks, aghast, watching as Peter prostrates at the feet of the almighty prophet. “The time has come to ascend to Gethsemane. We must journey there to pray. As we speak the chief priests close the distance between us, accompanied by masses carrying swords and clubs. You must pray with Peter and the sons of Zebedee, for it shall be written.”
“Yes, yes my son. It shall be. Though now you must return to the encampment, accompanied by Peter.”
At the sound of Jesus speaking his name Peter rises to his feet. He and Simon watch Jesus for a sign, who sighs exhaustedly, then nods. They flatten their hands, exposing their palms and stretching their arms out before him. Jesus lays his hands upon theirs.
“And I say to you, heal every disease, every affliction. Hear and understand, give sight to the blind, restore health to the sick, cast out the spirits of the unclean, and the work of God shall be done.”
Jesus retracts, putting his hands beneath his robes as Peter and Simon stand breathlessly by.
“My Lord-” Simon begins, stopping as Jesus raises his hand.
“Go.”
They leave empowered, albeit bemused. The presence of The Lord has always brought with it such assurance, but that feeling has been unexpectedly swept away. The hordes of angry Romans, Pharisees, priests and scribes will surely catch them if they do not leave for the holy city of Jerusalem. They must reach Gethsemane before the Lord can be taken. Simon and Peter are concerned, but soon their minds are led away from such anxieties, for once they make it back to the encampment they take to healing the sick.
The day grows long and the sun descends the western sky while Jesus stands firm by the banks of the sea. Many come with needs and he fulfills them, blessing each through parable. His apostles counsel him and still more followers come, praising his name and urging him to embark upon the pilgrimage forthcoming.
“My Lord.”
“Yes Matthew, approach my son.”
The sun rolls methodically down the backside of the dunes, setting behind the men.
“My Lord, have I not been a worthy disciple?”
“Yes my son.”
“And Lord, have I not proven worthy of your trust?”
“You have.”
“Then Lord, please forgive my directness, but as day becomes night I feel transformed by unease. Why must you leave us distressed? Has judgment not been passed? Have you not been anointed at Bethany? Have we not made our covenant, and that of you with your father?”
“Yes Matthew, you know this to be true.”
“Then why have we come out of step? Why have we not arrived on camel before the garden of Gethsemane below the Mount of Olives? Please My Lord! Judas has been seen drawing near with great crowds. Surely we will be intercepted if we do not flee.”
“Surely WE WILL!” Jesus shouts, and with it the earth shutters, causing his followers to lope across the sand and gather on knees before him.
“Why shall the Scripture be fulfilled when you remain thirsty strangers? Hear me now, for your sins can be forgiven, but your responsibility cannot be taken! Must you not continue to till the field for sustenance? Must you not procreate to grow in numbers? Has the last well in Jerusalem dried?”
His words are like spikes through the heels of his legion, filling their throats with the bile of the damned. Their hearts seize and many weep at The Lord’s wrath.
A mass appears to the south led by Judas, centered by elders, which sidle behind scribes at the sight of The Lord. Judas whispers something to a chief priest, which the other of the twelve cannot hear, but Jesus has known his whole life what this Iscariot would say; ‘The one I will kiss is the man you seek; seize him.’
“Greetings, Rabbi,” Judas speaks, stepping forth to The Lord.
Swiftly Jesus takes two steps back. “No friend! You will not do what you came here to do! Before swords are unsheathed I shall be gone, and these people, the faithful, will spread outward in every direction with a message of liability. Hear me, take my words, know the almighty God is here, that your faith shall dissolve your sins, but that by your actions you shall be held accountable.”
“No My Lord, you will greet me. Greet me!” Judas lunges forward, but a wave of atmospheric pressure sends him flying backward until he’s suspended above the encampment 30 meters away, then drops, flailing awkwardly through the roof of a tent.
Jesus looks over at his followers, then at his condemners. He steps out onto the water, walking miraculously atop the sea. Each man on land, friend or foe, falls to their knees, some prostrating, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
The masses become mute from their prayer positions as Jesus walks further out upon the sea. Stillness fills the air that even the camels and asses can sense. Jesus outstretches his arms before a sound is unleashed, an unearthly bawl that builds from within the depths of The Lord. It is the wail of an ethereal siren, lonely and sullen, so mournful that birds dive into the sand and passing comets suppurate.
“Hear me clearly. If your absolution requires sacrifice without acceptance of duty, of propriety, then it is deficient… and it… it… it’s not for me. I’m just not that into you. Therefore, my children, you must wait… wait for…” As he speaks however, he loses his footing and wobbles. “Waaauuhhnn,” he says as he slips, for out of the leaden water emerges the slick, slender head of a great reptilian beast, rising above the sea, holding Jesus upon the very top of its cranium, unsteadily at first.
A long neck follows, elevating The Lord ten, fifteen, twenty feet into the air as he regains his equilibrium. Then comes an immense gray body, twice the length of the towering neck. As water drips off this prehistoric leviathan the masses cower. This majestic beast, reborn through the millennia in a subaquatic realm which Poseidon himself has reached back through the ages for, peers out over the gathering.
Later known as The Brontosaurus of the Sacred Covenant, the dinosaur rises onto its hind legs, balancing on its tail, reaching a hundred feet into the air. Jesus extends his arms out from his sides, now perfectly composed atop the beast’s head, and the brontosaurus lets out a bellow so bottomless and sorrowful that fissures around the world crack open with the tears of the earth. The unfathomable profundity of the cry petrifies the crowd with woebegone angst. Then the beast comes down on all fours with the force of a meteor, sending saltwater cascading through the air that partitions piety from temporal penetration. When the shower reaches its apex and returns to earth the sea beyond the masses is tranquil, vacant and dark. The last light of day is gone, and with it, Jesus and The Brontosaurus of the Sacred Covenant.
Simon turns to James and Philip, asking, “Did he say wait for Juan?”
From the encampment a rooster crow’s. “Yes!” Peter fist-pumps.
Simon shrugs, gazing out at the starlight, saying, “Well, then I guess we wait. We wait for the right Juan.”
Part 6
And so it was that those of the Juanish faith began a wait that would last almost two millennia, until one day in the early 2000s when word spread that a baby boy would be born to fourteen-year-old Melissa Sanchez, a resident of Lower Vailsburg, New Jersey, who was recognized as virginal in body and spirit. Members of the Juanish Holy Counsel arrived at East Orange General Hospital the day the boy was born, naming him Juan and declaring him to be the one prophesized by Jesus as the noble sacrifice. It was at that moment in the history of the Abrahamic faiths, after Abraham of the Jews, Jesus of the Christians and Mohammed of the Muslims, that the Juanish would know their lord and savior.
Of course, the lessons of Jesus’ final day left humanity with a massive theological rift. The Christians believe Jesus taught individuals to take responsibility for themselves and their sins, rather than relying on the sacrifice of another. However, the Juanish believe Jesus acted cowardly, risking the damnation of all mankind to save himself, and that his actions represent man’s inherent selfishness, his willingness to do anything to protect his own interests, a nature that would eventually lead us to consume every resource unless the proper sanctimonious sacrifice is made.
To quote from religious scholar and Juanish expert Jarvis Lester from last year’s Monotheistic Roundtable in Prague, “We’re a duality, with both good and evil. Whichever side you choose to feed is the side that will grow. And man has shown, when left to his own devices, that yes, he will inherently turn to evil, like when Jesus chose to save himself. If strong moral values are not imposed on cultures, self-preservation will turn socially destructive, sending us into the throws of iniquity.”
Jacob Hannon, head of the Juanish Holy Counsel, added, “Juan’s sacrifice is an affirmation that no matter how much we are civilized by modernism, or cultivated by our society’s morality, that underneath, at our root, indeed at the very seed, there still lives an inextinguishable flame of savagery that we will always require sacrificial exoneration from.”
In response to the impending sacrifice of Juan, Pope Benedict XVI remarked at the Juanish Holy Counsel last spring in Rome, “Your misguided act is based on a wickedness that will engulf each of you in the eternal flames of hell.”
Asked for comment at a recent press conference, while sidled by his handlers, the robed and beaded vicars Gustafson and Hardigan, Juan pleaded with his followers by expressing a simple lyric, “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only Juan.”
No matter what your belief system is, don’t miss this rare opportunity to be a part of history. Go to www.juan.rel.us/sacrifice/poll to vote on how Juan will be sacrificed. Choose from one of five ancient methods, from immolation, crucifixion, premature burial, decapitation or lapidation. If you vote today you’ll automatically be entered to win an all-expense paid trip to attend the sacrifice at the stadium in Caracas, which will be immediately followed by a performance from Kiss. Ten lucky runner-ups will receive canvas tote bags. Don’t miss out. Vote today!
* No purchase necessary. Limit one vote per person. Must be 18 or older to enter. You will need Internet access and a valid email address to participate. Open to residents of the U.S., Guam, Saipan & Canada. Void in Puerto Rico, Am. Samoa & where prohibited. Sacrificial voting begins 7/7/77.
What if the absurd was the most honest thing left?
Wait for Juan is a kaleidoscopic journey through worlds both strange and familiar, where the rules of reality bend, and the boundaries between past, future and other dimensions blur. With half the stories forming a wild, tangled narrative and the rest standing proudly on their own, this book vaults from dystopian futures to psychedelic investigations. From a haunting fable about a mythical Michigan dune to a cosmic launch gone awry, from sentient beings debating the ethics of humanity to a hallucinogenic murder investigation anchored in alien telepathy, each tale unearths deeper truths beneath its imaginative premise.
With a voice that’s equal parts biting and profound, Wait for Juan mixes heady science fiction concepts with dark comedy and gut-punching emotion. Whether you're here for time-bending myth or rogue astronauts, these stories will challenge, amuse, and stay with you.
www.amazon.com/Wait-Juan-Daniel-Spero-ebook/dp/B096VL5QQ7/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1OILBTJWXBGL5&keywords=wait+for+juan+daniel+spero&qid=1668407259&sprefix=wait+for+juan+daniel+spero%2Caps%2C472&sr=8-1
Wait for Juan is a kaleidoscopic journey through worlds both strange and familiar, where the rules of reality bend, and the boundaries between past, future and other dimensions blur. With half the stories forming a wild, tangled narrative and the rest standing proudly on their own, this book vaults from dystopian futures to psychedelic investigations. From a haunting fable about a mythical Michigan dune to a cosmic launch gone awry, from sentient beings debating the ethics of humanity to a hallucinogenic murder investigation anchored in alien telepathy, each tale unearths deeper truths beneath its imaginative premise.
With a voice that’s equal parts biting and profound, Wait for Juan mixes heady science fiction concepts with dark comedy and gut-punching emotion. Whether you're here for time-bending myth or rogue astronauts, these stories will challenge, amuse, and stay with you.
www.amazon.com/Wait-Juan-Daniel-Spero-ebook/dp/B096VL5QQ7/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1OILBTJWXBGL5&keywords=wait+for+juan+daniel+spero&qid=1668407259&sprefix=wait+for+juan+daniel+spero%2Caps%2C472&sr=8-1
