Only in pain, in anguish, only in a chaos where everything is dissolving into nothingness, does one remember God. A Jesus has to create a chaos, a Jesus has to destroy your notions of security, your so-called comfortable life, the illusion of it. He has to disillusion you, and that’s why he looks like the enemy. The friend looks like the enemy; the greatest friend looks like the greatest enemy because he has to disillusion you. He has to bring you out of your illusions and dreams. He has to create a chaos, because only in that anguish, you may start praying. Jesus did both. He lived a life of infinite delight; he lived a life of constant celebration, he was one of the most dancing men ever on this earth.
Don’t listen to the Christians who say that he never laughed: it is impossible. If Jesus never laughed, then I would like to say to you that he never existed. Then the whole story is false. Jesus, and never laughed? – then who will be able to laugh? He laughed – his laughter may have been very subtle – you may not have heard it. That much I can understand. His delight must have been very subtle and profound. You may not have been able to see it; that I can understand. His celebration must have been so deep that you could not go that deep, and you could not feel it. He lived out of his heart, he lived out of his depth. You may have missed, because to look into the depth of a man like Jesus or Buddha is to look into abyss: one gets dizzy, one becomes frightened, one closes one’s eyes.
It is possible that people didn’t become aware of Jesus’ celebration, but he was a man of celebration. He enjoyed the small things of life. He made everything sacred. He was not an escapist, he did not renounce anything. In fact, whatsoever he touched became sacred, wherever he moved became holy ground. Whatsoever he did, just because he did it, the quality of it was transformed. He lived a life of celebration on the one hand; on the other hand, he continuously created chaos around you. He was living at two ends together: that is his cross.
That is the meaning of his carrying his cross on his shoulders: he is living two polarities together. He is a paradox, he creates chaos, and you can see him dancing amidst the chaos; because these are the two points to remember God. Either you remember him when you are in deep trouble – which is the way of ordinary humanity – or you remember him when you are at a peak of happiness, of bliss – which is not the way of ordinary humanity. When you are happy, you forget God; whenever you are unhappy, you remember.
Jesus created both possibilities together. He created a disillusionment for you, so that you were in anguish and you could pray. Out of your anguish tears can come, and you melt into prayer. You can again call God “the father,” the whole. And just near your chaos, he is celebrating. If you are capable of seeing, if you have eyes, then you will become aware that prayer has two possibilities: one, in unhappiness – then it is out of helplessness; the other, in happiness – then it is out of gratitude.
Jesus’ prayer is different from your prayer: his prayer is of deep thankfulness, your prayer is of helplessness. But he presented both the possibilities together.
One day, a quivering man visited a Sufi master to plead, “Please help me find myself.”
During the discussion a messenger of the troubled man appeared. “I thought you would like to know,” said the messenger, “that your business affairs have taken a sudden turn towards prosperity.”