"It was The Gospel from Outer Space, by Kilgore Trout. It was about a visitor from outer space, shaped very much like a Tralfamadorian by the way. The visitor from out space made a very serious study of Christianity to learn, if he could, why Christians found it so easy to be cruel. He concluded that at least part of the trouple was slipshod storytelling in the New Testament. He supposed that the intent of the gospel was to teach people, among other things, to be merciful, even to the lowest of the low.
But the gospels actually taught this:
Before you kill somedbody, make absolutely sure he isn't well connected. So it goes.
The flaw in the Christ stories, said the visitor from outer space, was that Christ, who didn't look like much, was actually the Son of the Most Powerful Being in the Universe. Readers understood that, so, when they came to the crucifixion, they naturally thought . . .
Oh boy--they sure picked the wrong guy to lynch that time!
And that thought had a brother: "There are right people to lynch." Who? People not well connected. So it goes.
The visitor from outer space made a gift to Earth of a new Gospel. In it, Jesus really was a nobody, and a pain in the neck to a lot of people with better connections than he had. He still got to say all the lovely and puzzling things he said in the other Gospels.
So the people amused themselves one day by nailing him to a cross and planting the cross in the ground. There couldn't possibly be any repercussions, the lynchers thought. The reader would have to think that, too, since the new Gospel hammered home again and again what a nobody Jesus was.
And then, just before the nobody died, the heavens opened up, and there was thunder and lightning. The voice of God came crashing down. He told people that he was adopting the bum as his son, giving him the full powers and privileges of The Son of the Creator of the Universe thoughout all eternity. God said this: From this moment on, He will punish horribly anybody who torments a bum who has no connections!"
I miss Kurt Vonnegut. I'm loving Slaughterhouse Five.