[ WP ] Jesus is sent to earth again , only he lives his life not knowing he is Jesus .

Mark lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. He glanced over at the clock anxiously. 
 
 2:12. 
 
 Only five minutes had passed since he ’ d last checked. He didn ’ t know why he kept looking. 
 
 He rolled his head around so that he was facing the other side of his bed. His daughter had fallen asleep in the bedside chair, his nine month old grandson in her arms. He reflected on the fact that he wasn ’ t going to get to see the boy grow up. That was the one thing that really bothered him. Claire was the only thing he ’ d ever had a hand in that was worth a damn, and he was sure she would make a great mother. 
 
 It wasn ’ t the rhythmic chirp of the heart beat monitor that kept him awake, nor any of the various tubes sticking out of him. He ’ d grown used to those annoyances by now. He couldn ’ t sleep because he somehow knew that if he did he wouldn ’ t wake up. His time was now, and he wanted to spend what little time he had left alone with his thoughts. He didn ’ t want his last moments to be dictated by his subconscious. 
 
 In reverse chronological order, he skimmed through his life with bittersweet content. He remembered his mildly successful career as a politician; the birth of his grandson; Claire ’ s wedding to an honest, affluent man almost deserving of her; his failed career as a writer; his increasingly jaded days as a doctoral candidate in Theology; his slightly more hopeful ones as a Philosophy candidate; his stressful but enjoyable days as a grad student; his time as a wide-eyed undergrad and his fair tale romance with the woman who would become his wife. He noted that he ’ d skipped over her death, and didn ’ t feel like backtracking just to revisit that tragedy. 
 
 Next he reflected on his transformative High School years, and finally his privileged, and by all accounts normal, middle-class, American upbringing. 
 
 Where had he gone wrong, he wondered. It wasn ’ t that he was entirely dissatisfied with his life. He certainly didn ’ t dead the end. But he felt as if he ’ d failed in some way. He had so many ideas for the world, so many hopes for it. 
 
 He ’ d tried to reach people through his writing, but he just hadn ’ t been able to command the prose worthy of his content. 
 
 He ’ d tried to help people by being a public servant, but never amounted to anything more than a low-level congressman from a state with several others competing for the spotlight. 
 
 He ’ d eventually come to the conclusion that people didn ’ t want his help. 
 
 He felt his strength leaving him, and glanced at the clock again. 
 
 2:19. 
 
 As a good a time as any, he thought. He closed his eyes. 
 
 He felt as though he was no longer awake, but knew instantly that he wasn ’ t asleep either. He felt lighter. He felt like he was rising. 
 
 He looked down and realized that he had left behind all of his worldly inhibitions: all the pain, the doubts, the worries had vanished. 
 
 Mark was taken a bit by surprise. He had been agnostic all his life, and had even leaned towards the side of atheism towards the end. He had no idea what to expect next. 
 
 He didn ’ t feel like he was rising very fast, nor had he been for very long, but suddenly he was there. You ’ d figure it would take longer to reach heaven, he thought. 
 
 It was just as anyone might have imagined it. Clouds as far as the eye could see, blue sky above, complete pearly gates. 
 
 The gates opened and out walked a long haired, bearded man like something out of a New Yorker cartoon. Mark briefly wondered how he hadn ’ t seen the man on the other side of gates before they opened, but figured it wasn ’ t worth questioning. Things weren ’ t required to make sense anymore. 
 
 He knew that it was Him, not an angel or a saint. He didn ’ t know why, but he knew. 
 
 A million thoughts were running through his mind, but one soon rose above the din. 
 
 I ’ m going to speak first, he thought. I ’ m not going to sit here dumbfounded, praying that he ’ s the just God armchair philosophers talk about. I ’ m going to speak first. 
 
 “ I ’ m not a Christian man, or at least I wasn ’ t until a few seconds ago, but isn ’ t Saint Peter supposed to greet me? Why are you here? ” 
 
 The man answered plainly, ignoring the Mark ’ s smart remark. 
 
 “ Because you ’ re my son. ” 
 
 Mark knew what he meant instantly, but decided to ignore the feeling. 
 
 “ Well, yeah, I know, we ’ re all your children. I ’ ve studied your book, you know. ” 
 
 “ No. You are my only son, my true son. Jesus, if you will, although that was just your mortal name the first time I sent you to earth. ” 
 
 There was no more denying it. Marks stomach felt heavy. He wondered if perhaps he was just asleep after all, even though he knew he wasn ’ t. 
 
 “ What, what do you mean? How can I be Jesus? How could I not know that? Hell, forget that, how could I be agnostic? ” 
 
 Mark was pretty sure it was a bad idea to curse in front of God, but reasoned that if he really was Jesus God probably wasn ’ t about to send him to Hell. 
 
 “ I didn ’ t want you to know. ” Mark was about to ask why, but realized God was about to launch into a monologue. 
 
 “ People didn ’ t take the lessons you taught them to heart last time I sent you down. Your so called apostles skewed your words to the point that they were worthless. It wasn ’ t as bad as what they did with mine in what is now the first testament, but it was bad enough. 
 
 “ What ’ s worse, they used the authority they derived from the book to amass decadent wealth and power, and routinely violated their own erroneous teachings. ” 
 
 “ But why make me unaware of my own destiny? ” Mark interrupted. “ If they didn ’ t know I was your son, they ’ d be even less likely to listen to what I had to say. ” 
 
 “ So it would seem. But I had hoped the opposite would be true. People were starting to listen to holy texts less and less. I had hoped that words from an earthly authority would resonate better with them. 
 
 “ I didn ’ t care that they ’ d stopped believing in me. There are plenty of good people out there with no faith at all, and plenty more terrible ones that claim to be devout. I just wanted them to stop killing each other, the planet, and all the other terrible stuff they do, you know? ” 
 
 The feeling of awe that Mark had felt was fainter now. God was starting to sound less like an all-powerful deity and more like a well-meaning older brother. 
 
 “ So why not just... ” Mark began, but had a feeling God knew what he was going to ask, and that he already knew the answer. 
 
 “ What, make them love each other? Appear before them myself and scare them into compliance? It ’ s not that simple. I ’ m not as all-powerful as you people think I am. There are certain rules I have to follow, ones I don ’ t quite understand ” 
 
 Mark thought that was ironic, seeing as humans hadn ’ t been around nearly as long as this guy and had figured out most of the rules that govern their world. It was probably an unfair comparison, he realized, seeing as he probably couldn ’ t grasp the most basic of the rules this guy had to play by, but ironic nonetheless. 
 
 “ And even if I could, what good would that do? It would violate human nature, as you guys say. It would defeat the purpose of everything I ’ ve done for you guys. ” 
 
 The phrase human nature got Mark thinking about all the questions of free will and predetermination he ’ d spent so long pondering. He also wondered how evolution and/or intelligent design fit into the picture. He figured it wasn ’ t worth asking about right now, and that it wouldn ’ t matter anyway. 
 
 “ That ’ s why I sent you down in the first place. More than anything, I wanted the answers to come from a human. More than that, a human that figured them out for themselves. A perfect human, one unlikely to ever come about without my intervention, but human just the same. 
 
 “ And they did. Everything you ever said, all those papers you wrote, the novels you couldn ’ t get published, all the speeches you gave, the bills you introduced, they were all perfect. 
 
 “ But no one would listen to you. They never do. ” 
 
 God was clearly too defeated to care enough anymore, but Mark wondered if he ’ d ever cried over his creation. 
 
 “ So what now? ” Mark asked. “ Do I just chill in heaven with you now? Can I see my wife? What about Abraham Lincoln? ” 
 
 “ No. I ’ ve got no idea what I ’ m going to do, but certainly not nothing. ” 
 
 It was a lie. He had something in mind. He just couldn ’ t bring himself to say it. Mark knew something was wrong. 
 
 “ Come on, you ’ ve got to have something in mind, ” Mark pried. 
 
 “ You ’ re right I have one idea. I was considering scrapping the project. ” 
 
 The cold and unpoetic words were the only ones God could bring himself to say. Anything else and he wouldn ’ t be able to entertain the idea. 
 
 This time it was Mark ’ s turn to stoic. He didn ’ t freak out, or plead, or argue. 
 
 “ We both know you can ’ t do that, ” he said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. 
 
 “ I ’ m not talking about fire and brimstone. Just pulling the plug. It would be over instantly. Like it never happened. There ’ d be nothing to be sad about. No one would be cheated out of life, they ’ d never have existed. ” 
 
 “ All the suffering would stop, is that idea? ” 
 
 “ Pretty much. I guess I ’ d just start over. Make sure not make the same mistakes as I did last time. ” 
 
 “ But then nothing good would ever have happened. All the beauty, kindness, and love that ever was would be gone. The suffering is part of the human condition. It ’ d be nice if it wasn ’ t. I don ’ t think it ’ s necessary for us to appreciate the good things, but it ’ s there regardless. Humans aren ’ t perfect, but like you said, there wouldn ’ t be much point if we were. ” 
 
 “ Well then what do you suggest? ” God asked, knowing the answer already. He ’ d always known the answer, but couldn ’ t bring himself to ask it of his son again. 
 
 “ Send me back. We ’ ll get there eventually. ” Mark had never been more sure of anything in his lives. 
 
 “ Okay. We ’ ll give it another shot. But not for a few thousand years. Come on, Marla is waiting for you. ” 
 
 As Mark walked through the gates, he felt happy. Not because he'd reached paradise, but because for the first time in a long time, he had hope.
