Sigmund looked at the gleaming tubes and cables that surrounded him. His doctorate was in ancient languages, but it provided no insight for deciphering the magnetic field equations that festooned the whiteboards in this antiseptic laboratory which carried the bitter taste of electric discharge. A man with a familiar face approached him with his hand outstretched and a patent smile. Sigmund recognized him as a U.S. Senator who championed severely regressive policies.
“Dr. Samuels, thank you for joining me here on this auspicious occasion. Have you signed the NDA?”
“Yes, but I still haven’t been given any information about the artifact except that my expertise can reveal important information about it. So I assume it’s a scroll or tablet or some other object inscribed with an ancient language that I am fluent in.”
“Excellent. Before I introduce you to… the artifact, we must both put on haz-mat suits with gloves and breathing apparatus.”
Sigmund agreed, knowing that ancient materials must not be contaminated. He had helped to translate scrolls that would disintegrate if they were touched. Once they had donned the protective equipment, the senator led Sigmund through a biometric security gate to a glass enclosure, about the size of a jail cell. It was pressurized from the inside to prevent contamination, so the door hissed like a serpent as they entered. Seated across a steel table from them was a dark-skinned man in a tan jumpsuit. Sigmund Samuels and the senator sat across from him. The man had beautiful eyes and he smiled when Sigmund peered into them.
“Peace be with you,” the man said in an ancient dialect of Aramaic. Sigmund translated for the senator, then replied in the same language.
“And peace be with you.”
“Where am I?” the man asked and Sigmund translated. “Have I been taken to Rome? Where else would walls be made from such a priceless material as glass?”
“Translate everything for me,” the senator asked. Sigmund nodded. “I love you, my lord, and have long ago accepted you as my personal savior.” The man wrinkled his brow in confusion.
“From what have I saved you, brother?” he asked as Sigmund continued to translate.
“But you died for all of our sins.”
“I’m alive, brother. I’ve died for no-one.”
“That’s because you’ve been resurrected.”
“I assure you, brother. I am not dead. There is no resurrection from crucifixion. I saw my dear friend, Thomas, crucified in my place three days before your bright light brought me here. My life was threatened and my dear friends drugged me and Thomas died for the crimes I was charged with just because he looks like me.”
“But you’re the son of the one true God.”
“As we all are. You and this translator are also sons of God. It’s why I refer to you as ‘brother.’”
“But you’re the one we worship.”
“Worship God instead, by sincerely loving everyone He has created.”
“But you’re the key to heaven.”
“Your Love unlocks heaven wherever you stand.”
Literature in Small Doses 