Lots of people say that they found Jesus. They don’t mean this in the literal sense, of course, but rather that they found room for religion in their lives. It’s interesting that they would choose to say they found Jesus and not that they found the religion itself, only because finding Jesus for real seems like something that could never happen. At least, that’s what I thought.
That is, until that warm spring afternoon. The smells and sights of the recently started season wafted around me: pies baking, grass being cut, a pool splashing. It was finally warm enough to go outside without fear of a heat stroke in my hometown. We lived in a little town just west of Atlanta, where the commotion of the city was just far enough that we could go undisturbed by the industrial life. It was the kind of town where everybody knows each other, and a neighbor would go out of their way to greet you if you passed in the streets.
The centerpiece of our town was the quaint little Baptist church that sat across the road from the local diner, a mom-and-pop place called Darcy’s Egg House. Both were favorites of our town’s denizens, and a trip to the First Marytown Baptist Church was usually followed by an omelet stop.
I happened to be inside the former building when I found Jesus, which makes sense when you think about it. My mother had recently been saying I needed to find room for Him in my life. I wasn’t necessarily a bad kid, but in the eyes of my ultra-conservative parents, the slightest screw-up was essentially a ticket to Hell. I got caught skating around the stairway at my school, and I swear that when my mom got that phone call from the principal her blood pressure probably tripled. She was furious, and refused to let me go anywhere unless it was with her. Today’s day trip included a run to church.
She sat with her hands in her lap, looking down and probably praying that she could get a good son the next time she had a child. I let her do her thing, figuring that I’d be out of there soon enough. However, I began to lose my composure after she sat unmoving for nearly a half hour.
“Hey mom, are we getting out of here anytime soon?” I asked. She didn’t respond. I started to get a little nervous, as she didn’t even move to indicate that she had heard me.
“She probably won’t be moving for a while, man,” said a smooth voice behind me. I turned, ready to ask what they meant, when my jaw hit the floor. Behind me stood the man, the myth, the legend: Jesus Christ.
His long brown hair flowed as if there was a strong breeze flowing from nowhere. His beard did the same, although it wasn’t as long as his mop of hair. He wore a solid white t-shirt that complimented his tall frame. Khaki shorts adorned his legs, and he wore simple Old Navy flip-flops on his feet. I could see through the stigmata on his feet, which was both fascinating and terrifying.
“Y-you’re… you’re…” I could barely finish the sentence. I was in utter disbelief.
“Jesus, yeah. That’s me, Eric,” he said. “It probably sounds weird that I know your name and all but I know everything ever, so I can’t help it sometimes.”
“This is crazy, what’re you doing here?” I asked shakily. What did our lord and savior want with someone like me, and more importantly, why was he wearing khaki shorts?
“I needed someone to talk to, so I froze everyone so we could talk in peace,” he said. He turned to the stained glass window and spoke, to me or himself or heaven, who knows. “I get a lot of publicity in a place like this. Care for omelets?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said. This whole ordeal still barely made sense to me, but there was not much I could do about it.
We made our way over to Darcy’s, and while he began speaking about something or other I looked around at the environment around me. Cars sat frozen in the street, their drivers unmoving and breathless. Some sat diligently, and some were more laid back; others still were texting or listening to their favorite gospel radio station. Leaves from the trees sat suspended mid-air, having been caught in a fall from their native branches.
Jesus snapped in my face, taking me back to this weird reality. “Did you catch any of that?” he inquired. I nervously shook my head no, and he let out a tsk, tsk sort of sound. “No matter, we’re almost here so I can explain everything when we get there.”
We sat at a booth, and Jesus grabbed two omelets off of a frozen waitress’s tray. They were still warm to the touch, and I ate greedily.
“Hey, chill, man. Eat too quickly and it’ll become a sin,” he said chuckling. I didn’t want him to be serious, so I slowed down.
“So what did you want to talk about? Why to me?” I asked him.
“Because you remind me of myself,” said Jesus. “You think your parents are bad? Mine left me on Earth and made me be nice to everyone. Even Judas, he sketched me out way before he kissed me.”
“Did you just want to complain or did you have something serious in mind?” I asked. I didn’t want to sound rude, and I hoped he didn’t take it that way.
“Nothing in particular, I just wanted someone to vent to,” he said casually. “Life gets hard when you have to make sure everyone that gets into heaven is an alright person. The worst day of my life was when Mussolini tried to sneak into heaven. Practically started the first Out-Of-This-World War.”
I looked at him dumbfounded. “He really tried to sneak into heaven?” I asked.
“Yep, but he didn’t have a chance,” he said.
“Crazy stuff,” I said.
“You’re telling me,” said Jesus. “That just goes to show that you don’t always know what kind of stories people have to tell. Try listening to your mom every once in awhile, like really listen. She’d appreciate it,” he said.
“Yeah, I’ve been slacking on that,” I said sheepishly.
“You better fix that, I’ll be watching!” he exclaimed. “Now, where was I…”
That is, until that warm spring afternoon. The smells and sights of the recently started season wafted around me: pies baking, grass being cut, a pool splashing. It was finally warm enough to go outside without fear of a heat stroke in my hometown. We lived in a little town just west of Atlanta, where the commotion of the city was just far enough that we could go undisturbed by the industrial life. It was the kind of town where everybody knows each other, and a neighbor would go out of their way to greet you if you passed in the streets.
The centerpiece of our town was the quaint little Baptist church that sat across the road from the local diner, a mom-and-pop place called Darcy’s Egg House. Both were favorites of our town’s denizens, and a trip to the First Marytown Baptist Church was usually followed by an omelet stop.
I happened to be inside the former building when I found Jesus, which makes sense when you think about it. My mother had recently been saying I needed to find room for Him in my life. I wasn’t necessarily a bad kid, but in the eyes of my ultra-conservative parents, the slightest screw-up was essentially a ticket to Hell. I got caught skating around the stairway at my school, and I swear that when my mom got that phone call from the principal her blood pressure probably tripled. She was furious, and refused to let me go anywhere unless it was with her. Today’s day trip included a run to church.
She sat with her hands in her lap, looking down and probably praying that she could get a good son the next time she had a child. I let her do her thing, figuring that I’d be out of there soon enough. However, I began to lose my composure after she sat unmoving for nearly a half hour.
“Hey mom, are we getting out of here anytime soon?” I asked. She didn’t respond. I started to get a little nervous, as she didn’t even move to indicate that she had heard me.
“She probably won’t be moving for a while, man,” said a smooth voice behind me. I turned, ready to ask what they meant, when my jaw hit the floor. Behind me stood the man, the myth, the legend: Jesus Christ.
His long brown hair flowed as if there was a strong breeze flowing from nowhere. His beard did the same, although it wasn’t as long as his mop of hair. He wore a solid white t-shirt that complimented his tall frame. Khaki shorts adorned his legs, and he wore simple Old Navy flip-flops on his feet. I could see through the stigmata on his feet, which was both fascinating and terrifying.
“Y-you’re… you’re…” I could barely finish the sentence. I was in utter disbelief.
“Jesus, yeah. That’s me, Eric,” he said. “It probably sounds weird that I know your name and all but I know everything ever, so I can’t help it sometimes.”
“This is crazy, what’re you doing here?” I asked shakily. What did our lord and savior want with someone like me, and more importantly, why was he wearing khaki shorts?
“I needed someone to talk to, so I froze everyone so we could talk in peace,” he said. He turned to the stained glass window and spoke, to me or himself or heaven, who knows. “I get a lot of publicity in a place like this. Care for omelets?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said. This whole ordeal still barely made sense to me, but there was not much I could do about it.
We made our way over to Darcy’s, and while he began speaking about something or other I looked around at the environment around me. Cars sat frozen in the street, their drivers unmoving and breathless. Some sat diligently, and some were more laid back; others still were texting or listening to their favorite gospel radio station. Leaves from the trees sat suspended mid-air, having been caught in a fall from their native branches.
Jesus snapped in my face, taking me back to this weird reality. “Did you catch any of that?” he inquired. I nervously shook my head no, and he let out a tsk, tsk sort of sound. “No matter, we’re almost here so I can explain everything when we get there.”
We sat at a booth, and Jesus grabbed two omelets off of a frozen waitress’s tray. They were still warm to the touch, and I ate greedily.
“Hey, chill, man. Eat too quickly and it’ll become a sin,” he said chuckling. I didn’t want him to be serious, so I slowed down.
“So what did you want to talk about? Why to me?” I asked him.
“Because you remind me of myself,” said Jesus. “You think your parents are bad? Mine left me on Earth and made me be nice to everyone. Even Judas, he sketched me out way before he kissed me.”
“Did you just want to complain or did you have something serious in mind?” I asked. I didn’t want to sound rude, and I hoped he didn’t take it that way.
“Nothing in particular, I just wanted someone to vent to,” he said casually. “Life gets hard when you have to make sure everyone that gets into heaven is an alright person. The worst day of my life was when Mussolini tried to sneak into heaven. Practically started the first Out-Of-This-World War.”
I looked at him dumbfounded. “He really tried to sneak into heaven?” I asked.
“Yep, but he didn’t have a chance,” he said.
“Crazy stuff,” I said.
“You’re telling me,” said Jesus. “That just goes to show that you don’t always know what kind of stories people have to tell. Try listening to your mom every once in awhile, like really listen. She’d appreciate it,” he said.
“Yeah, I’ve been slacking on that,” I said sheepishly.
“You better fix that, I’ll be watching!” he exclaimed. “Now, where was I…”