I saw Jesus.
I saw Jesus driving a deep blue Pontiac. He passed me in the center lane last Sunday. I thought what the hell and sped up to get a second look.
Yup. It was him. Signature beard, white robe, sad face.
Well I’ll be da — darned.
I wonder if He’s late.
I wonder if I should sell “How Would Jesus Drive?” bracelets.
More serious, I wonder if He would accept me?
Completely – wholly – and finally.
In the right now undone middle of my mess
Would he accept me?
With no guarantees, no warranties.
All sales final, no exchanges, no returns.
His followers claim He would – even though they do not.
Ya know, Grandma used to follow Jesus … at least that was her claim.
Her outward evidence of a prayer as she laid her self down to sleep,
Her Hour of Power and talk of the Crystal Cathedral,
Her prominently displayed and yet rarely opened NEW King James version
Addressed to her and autographed in gold inlay … autographed by Rev. Bobby Schueller.
I’m still unimpressed that God didn’t sign it.
Good ‘ol Christian Granny,
Who could ride horses, bake bread, shoot shotguns then host Sunday supper.
Good ‘ol Chrisitan Granny,
Who kept whips by the back door for the kids and the cows.
Could He really know all about me?
The secrets I keep hidden away in the unlit basement of my heart?
The putrid memories sealed behind the cinder block walls?
All of that – does he accept THAT?
What about this new thing I’m discovering?
“His” people would have me sent to hell for it.
They tell me I’m sick, an abomination.
They tell me I’m making it up.
They tell me I want people to feel sorry for me.
They tell me I’m doing it just to get attention.
They tell me it’s because I’m bat shit crazy.
Yeah, His people would never greet me with an honest smile.
It’d be one of those slick smiles that says, “I can convert you, too.”
People like me get beaten out of existence
Good, strong, god-fearing people beat us
With a bat of humiliation
Until we’re just a pool of sickening damnation.
And they call it “just”.
Now I have the sad face.
Because I know I can never reach Him,
Too many conditions to meet on the way to unconditional.
With a sigh, I take my exit, coast up to the stoplight, notice a church to the north.
Master Carpenter is behind me.
Hordes of suits and dresses, hats and bible thumpers
Marching toward the church like dutiful sheep.
I turn left. He turns right.
Try to catch one more glimpse in the mirror
But His people block my view.