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 ……
LIGHT!
