.png)
"Hello?" Joseph answered, trying to mask the weariness in his voice as he glanced at the caller ID.
"Hey, Joseph, it’s Logan. I need a favor," Logan’s voice buzzed through the speaker, sounding casual but with that telltale urgency Joseph had come to expect from calls like this.
"Sure, Logan," Joseph replied, forcing a smile that no one could see, "What’s up?"
Joseph had a reputation for being the dependable guy—the one people turned to when they needed help. Whether it was family, friends, or even casual acquaintances, he had become the go-to for last-minute favors, and he did them willingly, telling himself it was his duty, a way to fulfill some higher purpose. But lately, each favor had begun to feel like a weight tethered to his shoulders, dragging him further into exhaustion.
“I have to go to this birthday party for an old friend who’s in town,” Logan continued, “And I was hoping you could watch Harrison for me.”
Joseph’s heart skipped a beat in relief. This time, it seemed he had an out. “I’d love to,” he began, pausing deliberately, “But I actually made plans to study with a friend tonight.”
“Oh,” Logan’s voice dipped, just a notch, “Well, you could always study here. Harrison’s easygoing, and I’d feel better knowing he’s with someone I trust. It’d mean a lot, you know?”
The guilt trip landed like a heavyweight punch, and Joseph sighed inwardly. “Sure, Logan. What time?”
“5:30. Thanks again, man,” Logan said, his tone brighter now. Joseph could hear the relief washing over his friend, and it made him feel even more trapped.
“Yeah, see you then,” Joseph replied, his voice flat as he hung up. As he packed his study materials, he felt the familiar knot forming in his stomach—the tension that came from never being able to say no.
The sun hung low, casting a golden glow as Joseph pulled up to his friend Paul's house. He honked the horn once, and a moment later, Paul emerged, carrying his worn Bible and grinning like they were about to embark on some grand adventure.
“Hey, broseph!” Paul greeted, throwing a fist bump that Joseph half-heartedly returned. “Ready to dive into some scripture?”
Joseph forced a smile. “Yeah, man. Thanks for understanding about the whole babysitting thing.”
“No worries, dude,” Paul replied, his easy-going nature only adding to Joseph’s guilt. They drove in silence for a while, Christian rock playing softly on the radio. Joseph kept his eyes on the road, but his thoughts were drifting.
He could feel Paul’s eyes on him occasionally, searching for any signs that his faith might be faltering, any hint that Joseph wasn’t as devout as he appeared. But Joseph had learned long ago how to keep those doubts locked away, hidden behind a wall of rehearsed nods and pious platitudes.
Finally, they arrived at Logan’s house. The door swung open to reveal Logan standing there, baby Harrison nestled against his chest. Harrison’s blue eyes shone with curiosity, and his chubby hands reached out toward the strangers with the innocence that only an eight-month-old could muster.
"Hey guys, come on in!" Logan greeted, bouncing Harrison on his hip. “This is Paul,” Joseph introduced.
Paul and Logan exchanged a firm handshake before Logan continued, "I was just finishing getting ready. There’s food in the kitchen, and my card’s on the counter if you want to order pizza. I’ll be back in a few hours."
He kissed Harrison on the forehead, whispered a gentle goodbye, and disappeared out the door. As soon as the lock clicked behind him, the air in the room seemed to change. Joseph exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of his unspoken doubts pressing down on him once more.
Joseph spread out his study materials on the coffee table, and Paul excused himself to the bathroom. Alone, Joseph’s eyes drifted to the TV, where a documentary about religion was still playing. He found himself drawn to it, unable to look away from the bold claims being made about Christianity’s origins.
Joseph settled back into the couch, glancing at Paul as the documentary resumed. “Whatcha watching?” Paul’s voice startled him as he returned, and Joseph fumbled for the remote.
“It’s just some documentary,” Joseph muttered, trying to sound casual. But Paul’s eyes narrowed as he took in the screen. The narrator’s voice was calm yet authoritative, the kind that commanded attention without force. This time, Joseph leaned in, ready to absorb every word.
“Religion,” the narrator began, “often claims exclusive truths, but history tells a different story. The tale of a divine savior born of a virgin, performing miracles, and dying only to rise again—this isn’t unique to Christianity either. Long before the birth of Jesus, there were other deities with eerily similar life stories.”
Paul shifted uneasily in his seat, his silence thick with unspoken tension. Joseph couldn’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and discomfort. What was going through Paul’s mind? Was he quietly intrigued, just as Joseph was, or was his frustration deepening with each word spoken by the documentary's narrator?
The narrator began to draw unsettling connections between biblical stories and the ancient myths that predated them. Tales of divine floods, virgin births, resurrections, and sacred rituals appeared in cultures long before the Bible was written, woven into the fabric of civilizations stretching back millennia. As the parallels grew clearer, Joseph’s spine tingled with unease. Could it be that the foundational narratives of his faith were echoes of older tales, adapted and repurposed by countless generations? The notion was disconcerting, shaking the certainty he once held in the sacredness of these stories, and stirring a deep fear of what this revelation might mean for his soul.
Paul shot up and attempted to turn the TV off, his face flushed with anger, fumbling for the remote that was now wedged between the cushions.
The narrator continued, “Consider the ancient Epic of Gilgamesh, a Mesopotamian story that predates the Old Testament by centuries. In it, we find a great flood narrative, where the gods decide to cleanse the world, but a man named Utnapishtim is warned and builds a massive ark to save himself, his family, and a collection of animals. This story shares striking similarities with the biblical tale of Noah, suggesting that elements of the Old Testament were influenced by even older mythologies.”
Joseph's eyes flicked to Paul, whose jaw clenched. “They’re just coincidences,” Paul muttered under his breath.
“Are they?” Joseph asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. “Or is there more to the story?”
“This is blasphemy!” Paul snapped, pacing back and forth. “We can’t watch this!”
“Why not?” Joseph countered, surprised at his own boldness. “If our faith is strong, shouldn’t it withstand a little questioning?”
The documentary then shifted focus to Mithras, a Persian deity whose cult flourished long before Christianity. "Mithras," the narrator intoned, "was said to be born from a virgin on December 25th, within a cave, as shepherds bore witness to the miraculous event. His followers, like early Christians, practiced a sacred communal meal, eerily similar to what would later be known as the Eucharist. This ritualistic sharing of bread and wine was not unique to Christianity; it’s a motif we see in multiple ancient traditions, including the rites of Dionysus, the Greek god who, like Mithras, was also linked to themes of resurrection, divine birth, and transformation.”
“It's selective history,” Paul protested, though his tone was less sure now. “You can make anything sound similar if you twist it enough.”
“But why would these parallels exist across different cultures and times?” Joseph pressed gently. “Doesn’t it raise even the slightest question in your mind?”
Paul stopped in his tracks, glaring at Joseph. “The devil puts things like this in front of us to test our faith,” he spat.
“Or maybe,” Joseph said softly, “it’s meant to open our eyes.”
As if responding to the tension between the two men, the documentary’s tone shifted to one of skepticism. The narrator's voice cut through, known for his sharp, unyielding criticism of dogmatic beliefs. “Faith,” he declared, “demands we hold onto our beliefs despite evidence to the contrary. Yet, history is littered with examples of savior gods who predated even Christianity, each claiming to be the sole path to truth.”
Paul’s expression tightened, but he didn’t reach for the remote this time. The narrator pressed on, detailing the council of Nicaea, where early Christian leaders debated which books to include in the Bible, deciding what would be considered divine truth and what would be discarded.
“Why would a divine text need editing?” the documentary host asked. “Why would God’s infallible word be subject to the whims of men?”
“That’s enough,” Paul said, his voice trembling. “This is just propaganda.”
Joseph turned to him, his expression softening. “Maybe it is. But doesn’t that mean we should seek the truth even more? Not just accept what’s handed to us but explore, question, and understand?”
Paul met his gaze, fear flickering in his eyes, as if searching for something that could pull him back from the edge. “But what if questioning leads us astray?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What if it condemns us… damns us to hell?”
“Maybe it’s not about finding answers that fit neatly into what we’ve been told,” Joseph replied gently. “Maybe it’s about having the courage to ask questions, even if they challenge everything we think we know. It’s about understanding where our beliefs come from, not just accepting them out of fear.”
The two sat in silence, the documentary playing on, discussing how Christianity absorbed aspects of pagan traditions to convert followers, how concepts like hell were borrowed from earlier mythologies, and how much of the Bible was compiled and edited by men with agendas of unification.
The documentary’s narrator spoke with conviction, outlining a powerful idea: true transformation begins within. By cultivating positive changes in ourselves, we create an energy that naturally extends to those around us, shaping our environment and relationships. It suggested that heaven isn't some distant place or reward waiting for us after death; instead, it’s a state of mind, an experience we can create here and now by finding bliss in each moment and sharing that sense of peace with others. This contagious bliss, born from mindfulness and genuine presence, could spread, turning ordinary moments into something divine and uplifting for everyone we encounter.
As the program reached its conclusion, the documentary's words lingered in his mind, especially the idea that cultivating positive change within oneself could ripple out to influence others. It spoke of how simply being present in the moment could create a sustainable and contagious sense of bliss: Heaven is found here in this life, on this Earth, by achieving bliss and sharing it with others. Perhaps there was more truth in that statement than he had ever imagined.
Joseph nodded, holding Harrison a little closer. For the first time in a long time, the uncertainty felt less like an abyss and more like a doorway—a doorway to something greater than either of them had ever dared to imagine.
Hours later, as Logan returned, he noticed the change. Paul and Joseph were quieter, their expressions solemn, as if they had glimpsed something vast and terrifying. “Everything okay?” Logan asked.
Joseph nodded, offering a small, tired smile. “Yeah, Logan. Everything’s fine.”
But as he walked to his car with Paul, Joseph felt the stirrings of something new, a seed of understanding that would take root and grow.
During the tense drive home, the air was thick with unspoken words. Paul sat in brooding silence, while Joseph felt trapped, unsure of what to do next. He avoided the Christian radio station, unwilling to provoke Paul, but he also feared that switching to a secular station might escalate the tension. The last thing he wanted was another argument. As they drove, Joseph wrestled with the guilt of opening a door that now challenged everything he had ever believed. He felt betrayed by the church for hiding truths that might shake the faith of its followers. Yet, amidst his frustration, he recognized the value in the universal teachings he had learned—values like love, honesty, and compassion. He knew the Bible still held wisdom, not as a literal doctrine, but as a source of timeless lessons, much like the works of Shakespeare. Why not explore the teachings of other great minds like Buddha, wise sages, and ancient scribes, and find a path that resonated with his spirit?
That night, Joseph made a silent vow to himself: he would seek a new life with an open mind, free from the constraints that once bound him. He refused to carry the burden of "sin" and wait for heaven to rescue him. Instead, he resolved to find peace in the here and now, to create his own heaven through love, knowledge, wonder, understanding, and inner growth. Heaven, he decided, was not a distant promise but a reality he could nurture within himself.
*In essence, the message Joe took away was that we are all the architects of our reality, responsible for shaping our lives through intention, thought, and action. The divine isn't a distant, anthropomorphic figure; it is the very fabric of existence, interwoven with our consciousness. As he reflected, Joe felt a profound shift—an awareness that creating heaven wasn’t a distant dream but a present, achievable reality through mindfulness, compassion, and authentic living.
Comments
Post a Comment