The Second Messiah

A knowing smile twisted Fonzi’s face as he addressed Lela. “How do we know it hasn’t? Lots of stuff got cut out of the Bible. It’s not a book that’s come down to us from history in one solid piece. It evolved, Lela. For example, do you know about the Council of Nicaea?”

“No.”

“Jack, can you explain?”

“The Council of Nicaea was convened by the Roman emperor Constantine in 325 A.D. Bishops met to decide what writings should be considered Holy Scripture and included in the Bible.”

Fonzi nodded and added, “Even the divinity of Jesus was up for discussion. Legend has it that Constantine got majorly cheesed off when the proceedings were going nowhere. So he threw a batch of papers he was to choose from on a table. Those that remained on the table were in, those that fell off were out. He ordered that the controversial material left out of the Bible be completely destroyed. When some bishops disagreed, Constantine had them murdered.”

Fonzi sat back in his wheelchair. “You see, Lela, down through the centuries the Bible’s been assembled and disassembled, edited and re-edited, had lines cut, words altered.”

“You mean to reflect what the church’s leaders, its cardinals and scholars, wanted it to reflect?”

“Exactly. Most of the gospel may truly represent what was written by its four authors, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, but as any biblical expert can tell you, other gospels and testaments have been left out. There were even rumors of a gospel according to Judas that was deliberately destroyed. Who knows, maybe this text is part of it? And something as contentious as this, if it was known by the church’s forefathers, my belief is they would have left it out because it might seriously cast doubt on aspects of the Bible.”

Fonzi grabbed a bottle of water from the desk, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed a couple of gulps as if to quench the fire of his exhilaration. “Do you realize what you’ve found, Jack? The echo of Jesus’ drama has come to light in an ancient parchment preserved in the Judean desert. A drama that may now be called into question. So long as the scroll is original, so long as it’s not a fake, then you’ve opened an explosive can of worms.”

“I’d know if it was a fake, Fonzi. Professor Green would have known too. But he was certain it’s original. So am I, and carbon-dating of some flakes from the scroll has proven it. We’re talking sometime between A.D. 25 and A.D. 50.”

Fonzi put down the bottle and turned to the keyboard again. “Then what we’ve got here is astonishing. And there’s even one last cherry on the cake.”

101

Fonzi jabbed the keyboard and the screen displayed a segment of the original scroll. He circled the red laser dot around a squiggle on the left of the parchment.

“See this? Something you ought to know. A number of Qumran scrolls had similar markings. It’s believed to be an indicator that the writer made a copy. Often the more important documents were duplicated in case of damage or destruction.”

Lela said, “You mean there could be a copy of this scroll?”

“Actually, there could be more than one. What’s wrong, Jack? You’re frowning.”

Jack studied the screen. “I’m thinking about my father’s scroll. He could barely unroll it a couple of inches because the parchment was badly damaged. But I remember seeing a similar marking on his parchment.”

Fonzi said, “Which means it likely had a copy. When the original scrolls were found at Qumran, it wasn’t unusual for copy scrolls and fragments to be found. Even in different caves.”

Jack reflected. “One thing bothers me about the text we’ve read.”

“Shoot,” Fonzi answered.

“Would a low-ranking Roman commander have the power to authorize an execution on a serious charge of sedition? I thought only a governor could do that. In Jesus’ case he was brought before the Judean governor, Pontius Pilate.”

Fonzi nodded. “A good point. And it has to do with the final cherry on the cake. Actually, sedition would have covered anything from rabble-rousing to treason, which is a pretty broad definition. It wasn’t unknown for Roman commanders to take the law into their own hands. In fact, in this case the commander’s action makes perfect sense.”

“Why?” Jack asked.

Fonzi peered over his glasses, consulting his notes. “I learned that the governor of Syria back then was a man called Lucius Aelius Lamia, a Roman senator. Ever heard of him?”

“No.”

“Here’s the cherry. What’s interesting about Lamia is that the records say he was recalled to Rome between 27 A.D. and 33 A.D., and his governorship was left vacant by the Emperor Tiberius—in the last years of Jesus’ life. In fact, his local Roman commander in Dora, Cassius Agrippa, would certainly have taken charge of such a trial and execution, because his governor was absent. It’s perfectly feasible, so it lends credence to the text. And Pontius Pilate may never have even been informed because it occurred in another Roman province.”