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Show THE ZEPHYR/ APRIL-MAY 2007 NOTE: A version of this story first appeared in the Oct/Nov 2003 issue., titled, “When Jesus Spoke to the Burning Bush”...JS MARCH 16, 2003 An Ethereal Interloper in the Oval Office By Jim Stiles 7:43am on Sunday, March 16, 2003: Jesus nodded compassionately. “I know you're under a great deal of stress, Mr. Presi- 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. dent, 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...1 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? The Presi- dent was livid. “Tt’s here somewhere,” Bush growled over his shoulder as he searched.a stack of mag- azines 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?” Id 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 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, Jesus” the President finally replied, “Is that you're a...a pacifist?” 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 pomied to the sofa where the President had just hurled the newsprint. Bush followed Cheney’s unsteady finger. On the sofa, by is 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. 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 tule here. No loopholes. I was quoted fairly accurately in what you call the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke andJohn. 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.’ 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...1 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 “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, 1 do!” Bush answered. “All us Christians believe that.” “Then why are you afraid to die?” Jesus asked. “Why would yo 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 oe a reply. But he couldn't. “I don't...understand the question,” he finally spat 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.” ~ tered “What lam 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?” 20 |