Yes, I was at the meeting when young Ben Maxwell read that epoch-making paper, telling how he’d been able to put a definite date on the crucifixion of Jesus. (“Young Ben” we called him. And of course now he’s forever young, isn’t he?) Old sceptics like me went along all prepared to scoff or ask awkward questions, but the paper he gave was brilliant and the evidence couldn’t be faulted. All those papyrus records had turned up in excavations in Palestine, like the Dead Sea scrolls only more detailed, and the team had spent years piecing them altogether; until there it was; a clear date: something that neither the Gospels or St. Paul had bothered to give us. It was stunning; that’s the only word for it.
Of course, all sorts of weird groups tried to cash in on it, and they’re still at it. Do you remember that bunch who tried to prove Jesus was black? I ask you!
As for Ben Maxwell, it transformed his life. He was a very modest young man; shy, even. He turned down the offer of a C.B.E. for his achievement, though of course it wasn’t made public at the time. He was quite right, in my opinion: it’s the sort of award that’s given to retired sportsmen, and to people who’ve made donations to party funds. But he couldn’t so well turn down invitations to speak at academic conferences, and before he knew where he was, there were television interviews in the States, and then all over the world; and he started to find he enjoyed it. That’s what did for him in the end, of course: that dreadful plane crash. At least, that’s what they think it must have been, though no trace was ever found. Naturally, sabotage was suspected by the conspiracy-merchants, and others put it down to divine intervention. Was it just a fluke that the plane sank in one of the deepest ocean depths in the entire world, off the coast of Japan, or was something being covered up? And if so, by whom, and why? Assorted nutcases have claimed to see him alive, of course; but as far as I’m concerned, he’s gone; and so he’ll always be young Ben Maxwell, the genius who put a date on the most famous event of all time.
The college thought of naming a building after him, but they were afraid of annoying the Moslems, or the Jews, or for all I know the voodoo priests as well, so all we got is one of those blue plaques. But he won’t be forgotten, ever.
Anyway, thanks to his work, we have a date for the crucifixion, and this year it’s the two-thousandth anniversary. All sorts of crazies out there are expecting the Second Coming at any moment, and the fact that they’ve always been disappointed in the past never makes any difference: they’re saying it’s got to be this Easter. But I’m not expecting anything, are you? When you look out at the stars on a night like this, millions of light-years away, it makes you realize how insignificant we are here. What grounds do we have for imagining things on this earth matter at all, as far as the universe is concerned?
Hang on; what’s happening out there? The stars ……
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