So She-Who-Is-Loved and I were slouching on the couch catching some assorted tube time together when that new docutainment piece by Cameron what's-his-name came on about finding the tomb of Jesus and His family.
I got all antsy about watching it. It's the same feeling I had about Fahrenheit 911, which I never saw. It's a combination of cynicism about so-called documentaries and a strong desire to protect my assumptions about the world, hunkering down like a wide-eyed prairie dog at a dog party, a big dog party.
But what does it really matter? An empty tomb, a full tomb.
I'm not sure it makes a difference if there is a tomb with the bona fide body of Christ and company.
I don't want to get into a critical analysis of Terminator Boy's film, because I don't think it matters. Truth is, I took the Little Master to bed about a half-hour into the show. She-Who-Is-Loved and I had this discussion, right there on our poor, dilapidated sofa. I hesitate to write about it. People might jump to conclusions, put words in my mouth, that sort of nonsense.
I come back to the question. As a follower of Jesus, my faith won't move one inch away from God if Cameron's conclusions are proved true. If anything, how cool would it be to have physical evidence of a living, breathing Jesus. It's the life of the man that matters, that drives us to act like fools, sacrifice for others, forgive our enemies and love strangers. It's the walking, talking, fishing, breaking bread, setting down stones, getting his feet washed and drinking wine Jesus that I follow.
That's all that matters, I think.
