The one-third of the population who believe Bertie Ahern's tales from the mid-1990s display a deep faith in a man whom they believe walks on water. No evidence or marshalling of facts would convince them that their deity is anything other than a political saint, or at worst, a sinner of a venial disposition.

In their eyes, this man is unimpeachable, up there on an elevated plateau with the likes of Jesus Christ.

And there is much to support the investment of faith in the great leader. His footprint through the years when he hoovered up money bears an uncanny resemblance to Christ's endeavours to hoover up souls. The miracles, the parables, the ability to attract great multitudes to the cause, all amount to a burning question: Is there even more to Bertie than we heretofore thought?

We know little of Christ's years before he hit 30. We know little of Bertie's finances prior to 1993 when he opened a bank account. Was he already going about his work on the quiet, saving souls, or perhaps just tapping souls for a few bob here and there?

The 12 apostles came together at Jesus's behest. In Bertie's case, they came of their own volition, eight of them lobbing him �22,500 first of all, and then the other four stumping up another �16,000. Bertie's ability to attract them to the cause was almightly. The apostles, all "very close personal friends", as he said last week, included a Mr Barry English from the wilds of Tipperary, and 20 years younger than his very close personal friend and leader. Truly, Bertie has the magnetism of Christ. But far from chasing these moneylenders away from the Temple of St Luke, he took their dosh and didn't repay it for 12 years.

Bertie also had his Judas.

One of the apostles, stockbroker Padraig O'Connor, said his contribution was for the party . . . or should that be the Church of FF . . . rather than the leader's pocket.

When told of the betrayal, Bertie just shrugged his shoulders and promised to pray for the poor man.

Jesus did his thing at the Wedding Feast of Cana, but Bertie had already performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes by saving 50 grand over six years on a ministerial salary, while shelling out �1,300 a month in maintenance. His own Cana in Manchester wasn't a roaring success in the miracle business. Mick Wall didn't have any dinner to eat and Bertie was unable to make one appear. Mick was forced to sit on the bus and wait as Bertie told his millionaire pals the parable of the Irish economy. "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to prosper in my kingdom unless they come up with a few bob for my good self, " he told them. They whipped around another eight grand for him.

And what about those 30 pieces of silver? Were they silver dollars or sterling silver? Did Bertie acquire them in instalments, a piece here and a piece there, or did he send somebody out for them?

These are the enduring mysteries that repose in faith.

Of course, the two men weren't completely alike. It took four saints to write up Christ's story as the Gospel, whereas Bertie managed to put together at least four different versions of his own, and all of them, he assures us, are the Gospel.

Christ also had a relatively good memory, which allowed him to recall significant events in his life and history in general. Unfortunately, Bertie's memory of the miracles he performed in those years is not what one might expect.

But there are enough similarities between the two great men to conclude that the faith invested in Bertie is not without its merits. The only drawback to believing in 'Bertie . . . The Jesus Years' is that the evidence suggests it is all a load of cobblers.