Domesticated dogs can keep their instincts in check. Their masters may be the reason why it’s so, but masters don’t do a shit. It’s dogs who do the heavy lifting. — Unknown
In the times of Roman emperor Augustus, roughly thirty years after a brief period of Parthian occupation, a boy was born in Herodian Kingdom of Judea, a province at the eastern outskirts of the budding Roman Empire. Boy’s mother was barely a woman in her mid teens while his adoptive father was an established craftsman in the field of house construction. As for boy’s biological father, no one actually knew.
There were rumors that a Roman soldier has raped boy’s mother. Others insisted that it was her neighbor with whom they saw her flirting. Boy’s family refused to address any and all speculations. They unanimously maintained that it was all the doing of Holy Spirit.
During the years that followed and thanks to the social standing of his adoptive father, the boy got solid education in a local religious school, which was at that time intimately tied to the Temple whose authorities were the law of the land (even if partially limited by Roman rule). The boy was quite curious, and living through the experience of a bastard in a tightly knit ethnoregion made him question certain interpretations. It was therefore not surprising that, as his initiation ceremony into manhood approached, he got into frequent heated disputes with his teachers. Much to the indignation of the teachers, much to the sorrow of his mother.
Almost twenty years later, the boy, now a man in his very early thirties, triumphantly entered the capitol of Judea with a bang and a massive group of followers. He physically assaulted the businessmen operating in the sphere of sin-forgiveness, openly called Temple authorities names, and questioned their knowledge and interpretation of the universal tenets.
In order to reaffirm the resiliency of their businesses, businessmen plotted revenge. In order to dispel all possible doubts that might have arisen in the minds of general public, Temple authorities proclaimed the boy an insolent heretic punishable by death.
It didn’t help that the boy spent much of his time drinking with escort girls, extortionists, or known ideological zealots. It also didn’t help that his followers understood his words in a wide variety of ways. Where some saw a prophet, others saw a wise teacher. Some even believed that he is the prophesied benevolent king who will reestablish an independent kingdom as it was known during the times of wise kings of yore — exactly as Temple authorities were preaching. Yet only few, if any, understood what he meant when he said that he is the son of God or when he talked about God’s kingdom (and out of them absolutely none was willing to live by it).
So, in order to quell the commotion, to restore the order of Roman peace, and to err on the safe side of imperial interests, Roman authorities heard the pleas of Temple authorities and decided to crucify the boy. In the morning of a nice spring day, the boy was hanged on a cross, and, because a major religious celebration was held the next day, hastily put into tomb in the evening. Presumably dead.
Shortly after, the boy became a legend.