The story of Jesus serves as the archetypal blueprint for every hero in comics. His story gained strength not because it was necessarily true, but because so many sought a lifeline—a connection in their own villainy and search for something heroic, something greater—whether it be God or whatever word we use to fill the void.

And so the story became a legend—reworked, filtered, mystified—by over 2.7 billion souls on this fragile planet: believers, followers, lovers, and haters. Tens of millions have fallen, blood spilled, all because of this story. And still, the shadows of atrocities tied to Christian dogma or institutions are hidden, buried under the weight of cognitive dissonance. People can't bear to see the violence in the light of their faith’s so-called moral truth.

Our earth would breathe easier if every system of belief, every ideology—every religion—embraced the beauty of living without definitive truth. But if we must cling to a story, let it be one that holds no one higher or lower than another, one that speaks of equality, not hierarchy.

We are all the same. There are no sinners, no saints—only the human condition: fear and guilt, shame and debt, worshipping the never-ending continuum of ideas tied to religious identity. Every identity is the most sophisticated prison, where people voluntarily enter and yet feel free. It’s all just a dream, a collective delusion meant to comfort our ignorance of who we truly are.

Once a month, I send these pieces to the Pope’s official email address, asking for a place in L'Osservatore Romano, the Vatican’s newspaper, where they might spread like ink across the world. But no response yet. Not that I expect one.