I said, “What can they preach? You would have never heard the name of Jesus if he had not been crucified. It is crucifixion which is the central and the most essential fact in the life of Jesus. In fact, without crucifixion, there would have been no Christianity.”
I saw the principal was wearing a golden chain, with a golden cross hanging on it. I said, “Do you think this is what has been done to Jesus? – that a golden cross, a small cross with a golden chain was put around his neck. Is this crucifixion? You should be on the cross, not the cross hanging on your neck – and a golden one.”
Jesus was carrying a heavy wooden cross, so heavy that he fell three times before he reached the place where the cross had to be placed in the earth. He was not an old man, he was only thirty-three, a young man – and he was not unaccustomed to carrying wood, that’s what he was doing; his father was a carpenter. His whole life he was carrying wood, but the cross was so heavy that a young man, who was well accustomed to carrying heavy wood, fell three times on the road.
“How many times,” I asked the principal, “have you fallen on the road? – because your cross is far more valuable.”
Nobody can become Jesus by pretending to act like Jesus. It was said about him that nobody ever spoke the way he spoke. There was some deep authority in his every gesture; he was not talking philosophy or theology, he was pouring his own heart, his very life. His words were not dead words of professors, scholars; his words were alive, breathing.
Remember it: you can learn beautiful words, and you can deceive yourself. It is not a question of learning words, it is a question of surrendering to existence and allowing existence. If it wants to speak, it can; if it wants to remain silent, that’s perfectly okay. If it wants to sing, you are available; if it wants to dance, you provide your body, your heart, your whole being. Only then the place where such a man sits, speaks, or remains silent, becomes a holy place, becomes sacred.
Then he descended the steps of the Temple and all the people followed him. And he reached his ship and stood upon the deck.
A man like Almustafa… Although he is going to his home, to the place where he belongs, although he is going to the goal he has been searching for all his life, although he is going in the ship he has been awaiting for twelve years – still, standing on the deck, he looks all around at the place where he dwelled for twelve years; the people who never recognized him. The people who, on the contrary, always misunderstood him. They thought, “He is an outsider, he does not belong to us; he is a stranger. He is a dreamer of dreams.”