The Jesus SyndromeA Story by Will Neill A man professes to be Jesus the son of god, is he a fake or is there more to his claim. 'A thought provoking story' THE JESUS SYNDROME
Before the initial interview I had only heard of the Jesus Syndrome through some medical debates that had managed to get summarised and published in the Selective Mind Newsletter, a bi-monthly compendium which was issued around most of the psychoneurotic practitioners, (a small group of specialist psychiatrists dealing with unusual irrational people) of whom I am one.
The Phone Call This particular case intrigued me more so than any other I had dealt with in my thirty year career as Head Psychiatrist associated with St. Constantine’s College Hospital, which was a vast teaching institute situated on the perimeter of Washington’s General Medical Agency. Infamous figures have graced these walls, Charles Manson, Ronald Defoe of the Amityville Horror murders, who was a subsequent star portrayed in book and film.
Most recently Jeffery Dahmer a Milwaukee chocolate factory worker convicted of murdering 17 people with some of their remains still in his fridge. What is the prevalent factor linking all these murderers and the Jesus Syndrome I hear you ask, well it is of my opinion that as they all believed voices controlled their decisions and instructed them to carry out such devious crimes so too the condition of any multi-personality sufferer or bipolar individual believes they too are also who they contrive to be. The most common being Napoleon Bonaparte, who always promotes an opinion be it joke or jibe. This one was different, where the urban dictionary concludes, and I quote, the combination of complexes and dogmatic teachings that create a pathetic personality process that makes the person feel they are ‘Jesus Like’ in the way the world should view them and as they view themselves, unquote. Our patient believes he IS Jesus and claims he IS Two Thousand and Forty Years Old.
My colleague, Dr Beluxvue discovered him in an Israeli sanatorium whilst on a Middle East Tour, apparently he had been their oldest inhabitant, in fact the physician in charge stated that he had been confined since he had taken up his post, he was also unsure just how long he HAD lived there. Records of all residents prior to his appointment had been destroyed in a rocket attack. Beluxvue described him to me in a phone call he had made during his visit and to be honest at first I was hesitant about getting involved in what I thought was a mundane case but John was adamant that he was special.
The conversation nearly developed into a full blown debate, ‘John, he is a prototypical Jesus Syndrome sufferer’. I protested, ‘there is no indication to believe otherwise, forget him! ‘Listen Travis, this guy is not paradigmatic, sure his hair is long and white, he has a white beard and looks around a hundred years old but get this, during our interview he leant forward and dipped his finger into my water glass’ I sighed and rolled my eyes jokingly, I responded ‘Okay John don’t tell me he turned your water into wine’ ‘Travis, he paused, ‘he sure as s**t did’. ‘Don’t bull me John I ain’t in the mood’ years of crap had made me dogmatic and cynical I hated the baggage that came with all these nut cases, but John persuaded me to meet this guy who called himself Jehovah. ‘Okay, Okay, bring him here and I’ll talk to him, but I can tell you now he is somehow tricking you John, he has manipulated the situation to gain liberty but remember this is under duress’. John agreed and set the wheels in motion, the interview was set for June 3rd two weeks from today.
The Interview June 3rd 1989 8.30 a.m.
His back was to me as I entered the room; his long white robe was matted with dirt along its ragged edges, and what looked like faded blood stains peppered the almost fragmented cloth. I remember thinking, at least he looks the part, from behind anyway, he never turned as I approached. Instead he held his head steady, and omitted a low hum that sounded like an ancient prayer or chant.
His eyes were closed; his face was faded and lined with age, leathery and tanned. Long white hair pendulant and thin hung unevenly to his shoulders. A frail off white goatee beard, well cropped embroidered his stately chin. I estimated his height at six foot.
I sat down quietly behind the table that bridged us taking care to unfold my notes while Jehovah continued his personal meditation, his incantation reminded me of a lingua I had heard before, was this a deception solely for my attention, this question begged an answer. ‘Hebrew?’ I queried. Immediately his recitation ceased his eyes opened, stunningly blue. He let a faint smile compose across his ancient expression; gently he spoke his voice discerning. ‘Over the years Dr Travis Nightingale I have learned to speak English’. I replied without wavering ‘Your invocation Jehovah, to which God do you petition to?’ to me this was a feint question. ‘Which answer would you like?’ he asked benevolent in his demeanour.
‘If I say Jesus the Lord God, Saviour of Mankind will I condemn myself as mad, or I am the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit again you will disbelieve I cannot prevail you have already determined before we spoke that I was a charlatan’. Unfazed I continued, ‘If in fact you are who you say you are, and you profess to be Two Thousand and Forty years old, explain to me how this is possible?’ ‘Your mind Travis has been faded by logic, do not children believe in fairies and Father Christmas, entities that are no more mythical than me, the answer, I am immortal’.
Logic had indeed clouded my mind, these long years I have relied much more on science than my religion, physics has rules, certainties. Theology bestows faith, this is what this person has moulded his life upon, is it that simple? ‘My answer Travis, it perplexes you?’ His voice rounded soft in the room’s silence. ‘It is the only logical answer is it not?’ ‘Prove to me that you are Jesus’ I asked, hoping to swipe away his arrogance. His demure did not alter at my request instead he countered ‘prove that I am not’. I pretend to consult my notes but in reality I was searching my mind for a question that would ultimately shatter his charade, but while it eluded me he broke the tranquillity again.
‘It has been quite some time since you felt the need for prayer and serenity within the faith Travis, has it not?’ Stunned at his reveal my voice faltered as I endeavoured to respond ‘how could you know that?’ I asked. ‘I have always been aware of all my children and conditions of their souls, yours is a deep grey Travis, not black like the evil that has passed through these corridors, their benevolence is still strong, it eats at you and makes you weak, take my hands and I will help you’. Only at that moment as he raised them did I see the stigmata, I was transfixed. Slowly I dropped my vision to his feet; there too he bore the mark of crucifixion. Unconsciously my hands had moved to meet his, a warmth of ebullition flowed up my arms and enveloped my body, the sensation unbearable but addictive. A feeling of contentment more intense than I had ever experienced before. Was this a fallacy of the same trickery used on John to change his water to wine, or, God Forgive me, then he is either a healer or who he claims to be. Then like an electric shock it ceased, the recoil shot me back into my chair and left my head spinning.
The Conclusion
‘What just happened’ I asked, he said nothing, merely sat delicately smiling. ‘Where have you lived for 2000 years? How have you lived? Make me believe you!’ ‘Among ordinary men, and with God’s Grace Travis’. I slammed my fist upon the table ‘Grace does not feed you, put clothes on your back, render warmth in winter, explain how you have survived?’ He did not waver at my accretion in manner instead continued his staid. ‘Simple Travis, faith!’ his eyes shone with a heavenly light. ‘After my crucifixion, I did not die, merely fell into a catalepsy that simulated the look of death, for two nights I lay in the tomb in which Mary and my mother had placed me. When on the Sunday I awoke, I pushed the stone away and stepped out into the morning sunshine’. ‘This is when you met Mary Magdalene?’ ‘Yes, but before our encounter I came to find a gardener who was tending the flowers, he borrowed me some robes for I was naked’. ‘And with Mary, what was the conversation?’ I asked hoping to catch him in a lie. ‘At first she was frightened, she believed me to be a spirit, but when she touched me and found me human she was gladdened, we kissed and sat in the shade. We talked at length, it was then agreed that she should inform Matthew and Mark, whilst talking some women passed by and it was obvious by their reaction that they had recognized me. Mary was fearful that they would inform some soldiers that were near by so we hurried away’.
The Decision
Jehovah continued his story well into the afternoon, some accounts he gave contradicted the bible and the gospels, but I concluded that those who were not present would in fact speculate and therefore discrepancies are bound to exist. He told me that after his meeting with the Apostles a plan was devised that he should be kept at a secret location until all the rumours about him had died down, it was agreed that he would stay in hiding for a year. The ascension to heaven was just a rouse to dispel his existence after his death. It was meant to finally allow him to retreat into a reclusive living.
‘Did it work?’ I asked and to this he gave a resounding deep laugh that seemed totally out of his character. ‘You know the answer to that Travis, everyone does, it worked only too well, and the evidence of my eremitic life has spawned a religion’. ‘People worship you, is that not what you desired?’ His face formed a frown at my remark, he shook his head and sighed before he spoke again, looking heavenward as if for divine inspiration he crossed his fingers and used his thumbs to caress his pure white beard. ‘No Travis, you are wrong, yes I am an icon, a symbol of hope and good, but people need rules and directions, morals are moulded from these regulations. After I agreed to stay clandestine over time I was astounded at how my following had developed, my image became incomparable and soon it was impossible for me to return, my legacy became more important than me.’
‘Based on today’s interview I must make a decision Jehovah, I must determine your future’. ‘Do what you must Travis, but think of this, is it not better to let me continue my covert existence rather than the disclosure of a second coming? Think of how it would change the world, surely it is more useful to do nothing!’
While I stared into his stunning blue eyes he lent forward and dipped his finger into my water glass. ‘Taste’ he said quietly.
It was undoubtedly wine!
Jehovah now spends his time alone at a secret location.
Will Neill June 2013.
© 2013 Will NeillAuthor's Note
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Will Neillbelfast, United KingdomAboutWill Neill is an award winning Irish author, poet and amateur musician; Born in Belfast in the late fifties. Will has established himself as a prolific writer all over the world for both his prose and.. more..Writing
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