Some days I think about it, and think there was probably some guy named Jesus, and he was quite a talker, got a lot of followers and a bunch of disciples together, and they went around preaching and such. One day he was captured and hung up on a cross, as they tended to do with rabble-rousers in those days. After awhile he passed out and was considered dead, so he was taken down and given back to his relatives for the funeral. Since they didn't have much in the way of medical science in those days, he wasn't actually dead, and later that night, he woke up, then he drank some water, had a bit of a snack, and then he started to walk around a bit, still mighty sore, but well enough to escape and go into hiding. When the authorities came poking around, and asked where he went, they had some excuse, like "he's already gone to heaven" or "we buried him in a cave" or some such thing, but he was actually hiding from everyone for a week or two. Then he was able to get back with some of his disciples, who thought, "its a miracle!" I'm quite sure, but he knew he couldn't stick around so he took off somewhere, like maybe Spain or France, but who knows where. If the disciples were asked where he was, of course they would say "he's in heaven." As time went by, the events got a bit exaggerated each time the story was told and written down, and by about a century later, he was a freaking god who performed miracles and stuff! but that's what you need to start a religion, otherwise people won't join up.
And then other days, I think, "Naw, there never was a guy named Jesus."
And then other days, I think, "Naw, there never was a guy named Jesus."