The Gospel According to the Son by Norman Mailer Page A

perform cures. But they did not love my Father enough. I should have known that. But then, I did not love Him enough, not enough. I had not trusted Him with the same whole faith that I asked my followers to offer. I must put away, therefore, all doubt. I must convince all who listened of my love for Him. And so, full of the loss of John the Baptist, I taught for most of that day on the mountain.
    Later, those who became my scribes, and most notably Matthew, in his gospel, would speak of my Sermon on the Mount. They had me saying all manner of things, and some were the opposite of others. Matthew put so many sayings together, indeed, that he might as well have had me not ceasing to speak for a day and a night, and speaking out of two mouths that did not listen to each other. I can only recount what I know: I wished to bring all of them to my knowledge of God.
    I was beginning to understand how large was the task.
    I could not carry the Lord's message by myself. Too many would oppose me. I needed an army of apostles. If each of my twelve would be able to find his own twelve, and each of these new apostles were to bring to us another twelve, I would have an army. So I knew that I must send my apostles out again, to return with their own disciples.
    Yet large armies bring discord. If faith was simple for some, it would soon be a labyrinth for the Son of Man; at each turning I would soon wonder whether I was closer to the light or had drawn nearer to darkness. And it may be that for this reason (my faith still remaining simple to me) I spoke with much conviction on this day and was full of admiration for my Father's works. Indeed, I was now confident that His love was ready to forgive all who would come to Him. So I sought to move them to love of God rather than to adoration of my cures. My words rang out on the mountain.
    "Blessed are the poor in spirit," I told them on this day, "for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek; they shall inherit the earth." And saying this, so too did I believe it.
    "Blessed are those who thirst after righteousness," I said, "for they shall be filled. And blessed are the merciful; they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart. For they shall see God."
    I felt hope in all who listened, and its rising was as visible to me as the gathering of the dawn. So I spoke of
    light. I told them: "You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick and then it gives light to all who are in the house."
    And if I would bring them to greater love, I knew that I must also use words that they would not wish to hear, and would have trouble believing, even as I had trouble believing. The desire for revenge was not only in the marrow of their souls but in mine. Yet if I would love God in such a way that they also could love Him, then they must believe in Him as I did at this moment. So I said what they could hardly bear to hear:
    "If someone," I said, "shall strike you on your right cheek, turn to him the other cheek. And if a man will take your coat, give him your cloak as well." I could feel the desperation with which they sought to understand this, to believe this. "You have heard it said," I told them, "that you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say: Love your enemy. Bless him who curses you. Do good to those that hate you. Pray for them who persecute you. Then, and only then, can you become the children of your Father. For He makes His sun to rise upon the evil and on the good, and He sends rain on the just and on the unjust. If you only love those who love you, what reward do you have? Be perfect, therefore, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect." And I knew that they, like me, had a great desire to believe this.
    For that reason, I sought to explain how His generosity was mighty: "Take no thought for your life,