A Conversation With Jesus

I remember that day in Galilee, the day I'd decided to see what all the fuss was about
with this man, Jesus of Nazareth, this wonder worker, who it was said, made the lame walk
and the blind see. He was probably nothing more than a clever fraud, his "miracles" staged
beforehand by willing participants. For the Gift of true Healing was as rare as a star falling
whole to earth. Mortals are so easily tricked into seeing what they want to see and not
what's really there. No one knew that better than I, the trickster incarnate.

Still, the stories intrigued me, and that was something that had not happened in a
long time. I had dwelled on Midgard for nearly ten years back then, which might seem like
a long time, but was barely the blink of an eye to me. I lived the life of a wealthy Roman
citizen, living in a lush villa and passing myself off as a wealthy scion of a House no one had
ever heard of, a fact they soon forgot after they spoke with me. I was considered a patron
of the arts and sciences, especially medicine, and often had famous artists, poets, minstrels,
and doctors over to dine. We had the most lively discussions and I was never bored
speaking with them, as I had been with my peers in Asgard. It was there I learned much of
my medical expertise, for some of the most learned physicians in Alexandria came to my
house to debate with me over Falernian and honey cakes.

I first heard rumors of Jesus' cures from a fellow physician, who laughed it off as the
ravings of deluded rustics. Jerusalem was a hot bed of political and civil unrest, with riots
occurring almost daily as the Jews protested Roman rule and the appointment of the new
governor, Pontus Pilate.

My friends and acquaintances thought I'd taken leave of my senses to go there now.
"Best watch your back, Maximus, lest some assassin slaughters you in the streets."

I shrugged off their concerns, for I had little to fear from assassins. No one can sneak
up on the Master Thief without his consent. And I was not going to Jerusalem, but to
Galilee, a small community of fishermen, farmers, and shepherds.

Typical of my impulsive nature, once I'd made up my mind, I left the following
afternoon, using magic to speed my arrival. I followed my ears, and learned that the miracle
worker, a carpenter's son, or so it was said, was visiting the house of a wealthy merchant,
having been called there to treat his little son, who had a clubfoot.

Now I knew damn good and well that such a deformity was well nigh impossible to
correct, unless it had been caught while the child was still a baby and even then, the braces
and such did not guarantee the child could walk normally. According to gossip, this child
was six years old, too old for a brace to do any good. I wondered what trickery the man
would perform to fool the family.

But when I arrived, the whole town was buzzing about how the child was able to run
and walk, that he'd thrown away his crutch, and raced a friend down the street after Jesus
had touched him. I saw the child himself, and he looked as healthy and strong as any boy
his age. I cast about for a glamour, something that would indicate this Jesus was nothing
more than a charlatan, a clever street magician. I had seen beggars in Egypt feign being
crippled and maimed. But there was no trace of glamour about the kid, and I was no novice
to be fooled by another's Seeming. A faint aura of some kind of Power did hover about the
boy, but it was not illusionary in nature.

Well, Loki, you came all this way to meet this supposed miracle man, so why don't
you get on with it? He's probably in the garden beyond the wall, resting from his labors. I
scaled the wall unseen, landing noiselessly on the other side. I landed among several pear
trees and followed the pretty paved walkway around the rose bushes to a stone bench carved
with odd winged figures. Then I recalled the Hebrews called these winged men angels, the
messengers of their god.

There, seated on a bench, was Jesus. He was a medium-sized young man, about
thirty or perhaps a little older, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed
plainly, in a brown robe such as any common tradesman might wear and the sandals on his
feet were ordinary Roman leather. He was leaning his head in his hand, eyes closed,
meditating.

He did not look at all like the slick con man I'd imagined. But appearances can be
deceiving, as I well knew. I was dressed as an upscale Roman citizen, hair trimmed, shaved,
good embroidered tunic and mantle of honey and peacock blue and fine kidskin sandals.
Anyone seeing me would think I was a wealthy patrician, when nothing could be further
from the truth. I was but a bored immortal playing a role I'd created to liven up my rather
humdrum existence.

I crept nearer, soft-footed as a shadow. But when I drew near him, I discovered I was
mistaken about what he was. This was no street magician, savvy and slick, full of his own
importance. He was something a lot more dangerous. He was part immortal and Gifted.
He opened his eyes then and turned his head to look at me, though I knew he couldn't
have heard my approach. His brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he took in my fine attire,
though I knew that wouldn't fool him. All those of immortal blood can always recognize
each other, no matter the disguise they adopt. Not individually, mind, but simply the fact
that we are immortal.

I noted that his eyes were dark and they saw with a clarity and vision of a Seer. They
were the eyes of one who can read hearts and souls, serene and compassionate and utterly
captivating.

I broke free of his gaze with an effort.

Young for one of us, but the Power in his gaze was unmistakable.

"Have you come to ask me something, sir?" his voice was low and soothing, but his
eyes were still widened in surprise when he stared at me.

"That depends," I answered. "Are you the man called Jesus of Nazareth?"

"I am." His brow furrowed and I felt again that shiver of recognition along my bones,
the utter certainty that here was another of my kind, which always accompanies meeting a
strange immortal. I knew he felt it too. "You are not like the other men who have come to
me. In fact I . . .don't think you are a man at all."

"And you'd be right." I lowered my voice, pitching it so only he could hear it. "I'm
not a man at all. I am an immortal. My name is Loki of Asgard."

"How is it that I can sense you this way?" he asked, sounding very like a curious
child. "I've never felt anything quite like this before. There is a . . .radiance about you.
You shine." He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

I spread my hands out. "It's an instinct. We always know our own kind. The way
a bird knows how to fly or a fish to swim. You are part mortal too, however."

He nodded. "I would be pleased if you would sit with me."

I obeyed, dropping down to sit beside him on the bench, tucking a foot behind the
other. "Is it the first time you've met one of us then, son?" I asked. "You don't mind me
calling you that, do you?" I added, not wanting to seem condescending.

He smiled. "No. You're much older than I am."

"Yes," I chuckled, completely at ease with him. "Give or take a few centuries." I
eyed him thoughtfully. "You have a terribly strong Healing Talent. And you've been using
it quite frequently, if the gossip I heard in the street is any indication. But you might want
to be a bit more cautious. Miracles don't come without a price, even if you charge nothing."

"It is my calling."

I nodded, finding his answer charmingly naïve. "Do you mean to heal the whole
world then?"

"I would like to. But I am only one man. Far better, I think, to have men heal
themselves. With peace. Peace and love to end all suffering," Jesus said eagerly, and his
eyes shone like an excited child's. "I mean to bring peace to the world and wash away the
blood of war and death."

"Oh? A noble sentiment," I said, and I meant it. "But unrealistic. Peace doesn't
last," I pointed out gently.

"So you think."

"So I know," I corrected. "I've wandered the earth for more years than you can
comprehend, young one. And there has not been a time when peace has ever held sway
across it. Many men, great leaders, have sought what you have and they died never able to
gain it. I was once tutor to Alexander the Great of Macedon, and he too dreamed a dream
of a world united in peace under one ruler. So too did Julius Caesar. And they failed."

"That's because they tried to gain peace through conquest. It doesn't work like that.
War only begets war," he stated serenely.

I sighed. "Trust me. Peace doesn't last."

"Now you sound like my father. He thought that way too, until I convinced Him
otherwise."

Something in the way he said that last statement told me that his father was the
divine one of his parents. "He was probably humoring you. Fathers do that with their
children sometimes." Especially ones as young and innocent as you.

"Not mine," he said with a small half-smile.

"If others, all considered great men, have failed to unite the world in peace, what
makes you so sure you can succeed? I know you're half-immortal, but even we have limits."
I said, raising an eyebrow. Fenris' Teeth, but had I ever been as innocent as that? No, I'd
learned better when I was a mere boy of nine.

"Because peace cannot be imposed by force, Loki. It must come from within," he
tapped his chest. "Once you've felt the grace of the Light, you can show others the way, by
example. All people have the grace of the Light within them."

"That's assuming you can even get them to listen to you," I said, somewhat cynically.
"From what I've seen, people make wars easier than they'll ever make peace. I don't know
if what you suggest is even possible." In fact I was quite certain it wasn't, but something
kept me from stating that. Let him keep his illusions for awhile. The world was a harsh
enough teacher, it would soon show him differently.

"Oh, it is," Jesus said serenely. "I have Seen into the hearts and minds of men. That
is another of my Gifts. All men, even the most flawed, are capable of peace and love."

"I've Seen into the hearts of men too, and I certainly didn't get that feeling."

He gazed at me earnestly, and his eyes seemed to see right through me. "Your vision
is flawed, forgive me for saying so. You cannot See properly because your spirit is
wounded, Loki."

I flinched, for never had another seen past the barriers about my soul. "So is
everyone's." I said dismissively.

"Not like yours."

I narrowed my eyes. Two could play at this game. "You too bear scars," I said,
nettled at how easily this youngster read me.

"Yes. But I've healed mine. Yours still bleed." He reached out a hand, palm up.
"I can help you, if you will let me. I can mend what was broken."

I recoiled from him as though he was a viper. "No! Stay out of my head. I don't need
your help." I'd never let another immortal inside my head and I sure as hell wasn't going to
start now.

He smiled sadly. "Easy, friend. I would never hurt you."

I flushed, embarrassed at behaving like a child in front of him. Anyone would think
he was the elder, not me. "I know that. But my spirit is my own affair."

He nodded, and his hand settled again in his lap. "I understand. You are not ready
yet. To all things there is a season. One day you too shall feel God's grace, Loki of
Asgard."

"Me? You are kidding, right?"

"You don't think you are worthy."

"I know I'm not," I said bluntly. "You don't know me, otherwise you'd never say
that. I'm a thief and a trickster and the Magician of Asgard. Hardly a model citizen."

"But Loki, that's exactly why you are deserving of the Lord's Grace."

"What? You're not making any sense. Those who have done wrong are more
deserving of Grace?"

"Look. It is easy to do good, to give charity, to respect your fellow man, when that
is all you have known. Or have been taught. Then there is no conflict. It is far harder to do
right when you have been hurt or wronged. And therefore that is why you need grace,
because you need help more than those whose feet are already upon the path. This I believe,
and so I teach my followers, that the sinner as well as the saint is equally deserving of
Light."

I considered that philosophy for a moment. It seemed so simplistic, so idealistic.
Could it work? Perhaps. And perhaps not. But what if it did? I thought of my Aesir family,
how they would jeer and mock this one's vision. Peace was for cowards, for weaklings too
afraid to lift a sword. Power belonged to the strong, to those who could fight and hold it.
In all their centuries of life, their attitude had never changed. And they were no better now
than they had been then. They built no grand monuments, created nothing worthy of
remembrance. They lived and died under the auspices of war, their lives one long tale of
blood and slaughter and glory.

I shook my head. Had I not sought a better way than that myself? Of course I had.
I knew there was more to life than war and pain and death. More to life than getting drunk
and taking some poor serving girl to bed, then casting her off some five months later when
your bastard swelled in her belly. Oh yes, I knew there was more to living than that.

But Jesus' dream of peace and love for all seemed too fragile to last past his life and
his death. For he was only half-mortal, and eventually that mortal blood will win out and
he would die. I had seen the worst and the best of human nature and it had always seemed
to me that the worst held more sway than the best.

Jesus was eyeing me, almost as if he could see the thoughts whirling in my head. But
I knew that could not be. My shields over my mind were very strong, and no mere demigod
could take them down without my noticing.

"Tell me, my friend, if you are going to make this vision a reality, how will you do
it? Most mortals don't have your foresight, they don't look much past their own supper, not
unless it impacts their life directly. How will you make your dream live on once you aren't
there to guide them?"

"I will teach others to see the world as I do," Jesus answered slowly. "I have begun
that already, as you know, with my disciples here. They manage to spread my message far
more effectively than I could by myself."

"Every prophet needs followers."

"Yes, if you want to put it that way. But I'm not only a prophet."
"But the son of a god, yes I'm aware of that. For all you were born mortal, you have
a spark of the divine in you."

"As do all people. All of you are the children of God."

"Which god?" I taunted, knowing perfectly well that he was a follower of the Hebrew
faith, which claimed there was only one god.

"The only one there is. The Lord of All who is my Father."

"Ah. The Great Creator. I think there are others who would argue that point of view.
Zeus, Odin, Hera, to name a few."

"They are not gods. Only immortals like yourself. You know that for truth, Loki."

I nodded. "Yes, and have for a long time. But your God is merely an aspect of
Creation, the force which gives life to all."

"But a truer face than the one you immortals show to mankind," Jesus argued.

"It is easier for man to worship something they can see or touch. That's why they feel
comfortable calling upon us immortals. It's much harder to call upon a force that can't be
seen or touched only felt."

"That is why we have faith."

"Ah, but is your faith strong enough to change the world?"

"Yes. It is. What I teach my followers will remain long after I'm gone."

"Where's that written?"

"In the holy books. I have read them."

"Books fade and are forgotten. And the memory of man is as fleeting as the wind
over the desert." I pointed out ruthlessly. "And so I ask you again, how will you make your
peace last beyond a handful of centuries? A few paltry mortal lifetimes?"

For the first time since we'd begun talking, Jesus looked annoyed and a bit
apprehensive. "You don't believe I can do what I said, do you?"

"Hey, there's no greater skeptic than an immortal magician."

"You say that belief and faith aren't enough. What then do you suggest, oh wise
one?" he queried, teasing me.

I thought for a moment. "You know that what we call magic is simply our
manipulation of the primal force of the universe, right?" I asked, assuming the tone of a
teacher lecturing to a pupil. In this, I was the master, for I had centuries more experience
than he did in using Power.

Slowly, Jesus nodded. "Not in such terms, but yes, I know that when I heal I draw
upon a force outside of myself."

"And when you use that force to heal someone, how do you make it do your will?
How do you make sure the person you healed stays well?"

He frowned, for obviously he'd never thought about it before. Like many Gifted,
especially strong ones, the power was easily summoned without much thought.

"I concentrate and then I bend my will upon a person and he or she is healed. I give
them a portion of my Power."

"Exactly. And after you've done so, you're tired, right? Because in using your Gift
you use some of your own energy. That is the price of magic. The greater the task, the more
you must give of yourself."

"Nothing comes without sacrifice."

"Yes." I nodded, pleased with how quickly he grasped that concept. Many of my
students never did understand it fully. "For this to work, you may have to sacrifice
everything." I continued, an unmistakable warning in my tone.

"You are saying that in order to create a peace that lasts I must sacrifice my life."

"Yes. Only the very greatest magics require a life price. For your vision to become
true and lasting, you will have to give up your life."

"But I am not totally human. Can I die and still have the sacrifice have meaning?"

"Yes. Because you will have given up your mortal shell. Oh, you won't die forever,
not the way mortals do. The divine part of you will live, but your mortal body will cease to
exist." I said, certain of what I spoke. It had been done before, by Hercules and several other
demi-immortals, their mortal flesh had died and they had continued to exist as a pure
immortal, once they had fashioned a body for themselves, that is.

Then I blinked, for my words had triggered a flash of Sight. I caught my breath in
horror. For I saw the gentle demigod hanging on a cross, bloodied and battered, agonizing
pain flickering in those too-wise eyes. This is the death that is promised. I knew then that the
sacrifice demanded of him would be worse than anything I had ever endured. I shuddered,
trembling as if in a fever.

"No!" I hissed, bringing up a hand to cover my face.

"What is it, Loki? What do you See?" Jesus asked softly.

I bit my lip hard, that awful image still floating before my eyes, blinking back tears.
"Nothing." It was true. The Seeing was gone.

"Tell me. Did you See something that will be?"

"Yeah. And you don't want to know about it." I rubbed my eyes, as if that would help
erase what I'd seen.

"It was about me," he stated in that maddeningly certain tone.

"Yes. Now don't ask me anymore," I growled.

"You saw my death, didn't you?" he persisted.

I wanted to scream. I refused to answer him. But he gazed at me with those eyes and
at last I said, "You're not ready to know about what I Saw. Not yet." Maybe not ever. Odin's
bones, but if what I had Seen came true. . .

"If my death is required as the final sacrifice, I shall give it willingly." Jesus stated
with that awful serenity. "You need not fear for me."

I ground my teeth together. You wouldn't be so damn calm if you'd seen what I just
did, I wanted to yell. I had seen mortals tortured to death before, but somehow Jesus' death
was worse than any I'd ever seen before. All of that wisdom, that innocence, that brilliant
Power, destroyed in the name of an elusive peace. It made my gut ache just recalling it. How
could anything be worth that final degradation? How?

"It's not as easy as you make it sound," I began, trying to dissuade him from his
course. "I don't think your peace is worth it."

He laid a hand on my arm. "Someday you will think otherwise. I thank you, Loki,
for helping me solve that particular problem. I hadn't realized until now what I had to do.
You are wise for a magician."

I gave a bitter laugh. "No, I'm a fool."

"They are one and the same."

"Now who's wise?"

He laughed. "I am not half so wise as some think. Does the manner of my death
matter?"

"Yeah, it does. Dying in your bed won't do it." I said shortly. "But if you're asking
me what's the best way to die, forget it. I've never wanted anything so bad I'd be willing to
give up my immortality for it. And I don't like killing. Blood magic's never been my forte."

"That vision you saw—"

"Don't ask. Please. It wasn't pretty." I closed my eyes. "Why can't you give up this
crazy notion?"

"Because the world needs hope, Loki. Or else the people will be lost to darkness."

"So get someone else to do it."

"I can't. It must be now. And I am the only one willing to give up my life, as you
pointed out. There is no other way. I must sacrifice all or nothing. I see that now, thanks to
you."

"I should have kept my damn mouth shut," I muttered savagely.

"What will be, shall be. It will be all right. We shall see each other again, my friend.
After I have done what I must. Fear not." He patted my shoulder, much as a parent would
comfort a child.

I scowled. "I should be telling you that."

"Death is not so terrible, Loki," he soothed. "And after I shall be with my Father in
paradise."

"You wouldn't be so quick to say that if you knew . . ." I broke off. "No. I won't
discuss this any more." I gazed at him sadly. "I've said too much, as usual. There's nothing
I can say that will change your mind?"

"No. My course is set. This is what I was born to do. Not even the vision you fear
will change that."

I wanted to slap his face. Or cry on his shoulder, I wasn't sure which. "You're a
damn fool, Jesus!" I snapped, brushing away the tears that sprang to my eyes.

"Then I'm in good company, aren't I?" he said, and smiled at me.

"Yeah, I guess you are," I managed a small smile in return. "Pity no one else who
knows me would agree with you."

"They don't see you the way I do. You are much more than you think you are.
Someday I hope you will realize that."

"Not in your lifetime, son," I snorted with my usual mocking bite.

"No, but perhaps in yours. You deserve peace and happiness, Loki. But first you
must learn to forgive yourself. Only then will you be free."

"I'm free now."

"Are you? Maybe in body, but what of your heart?"

"That's my own affair."

"True. Learn to forgive yourself. Remember, through forgiveness is love. That is
perhaps the most important lesson I will ever teach." Then he rose to his feet. "Goodbye,
Loki. We shall meet again in the next world."

I remained silent, my tongue for once was still in my head. I watched him go, walking
slowly away through the garden towards the gate to bid his host farewell. I knew with a
terrible foreboding that this was the last time I would see him in this world. I felt as if I
watched a child dancing blithely on the edge of a cliff suddenly tumble off to his death.

He goes willingly to his death, my conscience reproved. And his death will have great
meaning for millions of people.

And that's supposed to make me feel better? I snarled back. Well, it doesn't. So just
shut the hell up.

I bowed my head and wept then, I who hadn't cried in centuries, not since that fateful
day I'd run from my childhood home to live alone in the forest. But I cried then, sobbing like
a child. Though my tears weren't only for Jesus, but also for myself, because I knew I
couldn't do what he'd advised and forgive myself. For I was too afraid.

That is why I find the behavior of such people like Travers so hypocritical and
despicable. Because they claim to follow the teachings of Christ, but they really only follow
them when it suits them, giving charity and being tolerant to those they feel are deserving of
that favor. Love yourself and love ye one another. That was what he'd told me so long ago.
He never said that one group of people was more worthy of love then another. All were
worthy. Even immortal tricksters such as I. Thus he had sacrificed his life, and it irritated
me past bearing when I saw some sanctimonious idiot profaning that terrible sacrifice. Jesus
would have forgiven them, I'm sure. I was not cut in that same mold. Not then.