The man turned and smiled. He had short hair, sparkling eyes, perfect teeth, and no beard, but I could tell he was a Jesus of some sort. His suit was clearly expensive, and his tie was perfectly knotted. He motioned to Daisy. “Here’s your donkey, Matt. I’m sorry for the confusion.”
I pushed 8 Ball toward him. “Here’s your made-up Jesus,” I said. “Who are you?”
“He’s one of the more popular imaginary Jesuses,” Daisy answered.
“He doesn’t have a beard,” I said.
The Suit smiled. “Studies show that most Americans find clean-shaven people to be more honest and trustworthy than people with beards.” He nodded to 8 Ball, Testosterone, and KJJ. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I’d like a few moments alone with Mr. Mikalatos and his donkey friend.” 8 Ball left without a word, and KJJ gave me a brief, businesslike handshake. Testosterone Jesus punched me in the arm and slapped me on the rear.
“I hear you have a parking ticket,” the beardless Jesus said. “May I see it?”
I pulled the crumpled pink slip out of my pocket.
“This was a major failing on the part of your imaginary Jesus, was it?”
“Yeah, I got suspicious when my omnipotent best friend couldn’t keep me from getting a parking ticket.”
Jesus straightened the paper out on his desk. “Some Jesuses are more convincing than others. People invent a Jesus for one specific reason and then discard him when they don’t need him anymore. A good example would be You-Should-Get-a-Divorce-and-Marry-a-Younger-Woman Jesus. To be honest, he barely meets the requirements of being an imaginary Jesus, and we’ve suggested that he join our sister organization as a Pure Reckless Fantasy Jesus.”
“I think we should be on our way.” Daisy edged toward the door.
“Wait,” I said. “Let’s hear him out.”
“Thank you, Matt. I knew you would be reasonable. The point is, some imaginary Jesuses are better than others. Your Jesus was a relatively sophisticated one. The fact is, however, you’re ready to trade him in for a better one.”
“A much better one,” Daisy said. “Like maybe the real one.”
Jesus laughed. He clapped me on the shoulder, and we stared out the window together. “Let’s be frank, Matt. The real Jesus is inconvenient. He doesn’t always show up when you call. He asks for unreasonable things. He frightens people. He can be immensely frustrating. But you can still serve him while working with an imaginary Jesus. We provide a service to get people closer to God.” He picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button. “Jesus here. I’d like you to fix a parking ticket for me. Matt Mikalatos. Yes. Thank you.” He handed me the slip of paper. “I took care of this for you.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Political Power Jesus,” he said. “And together we can accomplish amazing things. If you follow me we, could eradicate abortion. We could promote family values via legislation. We could make sure that kids can learn about Creation at school, and that they can pray whenever they please—a basic human right. We could implement green policies. We could eliminate poverty by pumping more money into welfare. We could bring justice to the world and show people what it looks like to serve God. We could be an example to the nations.” He paused. “And of course, there’s money to be had as well. I bought this building, this suit, my home, my BMW, all while serving God in this way.”
“Matt,” Daisy said.
“Quiet, I’m thinking.”
Political Jesus leaned close. “If you come to me, Matt, you can have power and much more. But you will have to be completely committed to me. There won’t be room for other ideas about Jesus or for questioning me.”
A sudden voice bellowed an echoing cry from behind us. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!” We turned to see a Jesus running toward us, his robe and powder blue sash flapping like a flag. “He belongs to me!”
A familiar feeling of fondness washed over me. It was Imaginary Jesus, the one I had invented, my Jesus of choice, and I was glad to see him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thy Kingdom Come
Imaginary Jesus and I had an awkward moment when we tried to figure out if we should hug or not and finally settled on the handshake-that-turns-into-a-hug. Daisy sighed loudly.
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Political Jesus. “Now Matt can see my superiority firsthand.”
“Matt created me. I’m his ideal Christ. I always agree with him, I don’t enforce unpleasant rules, and I never tell him that he eats too much. How will you compete with that?”
Political Jesus grinned, and his canine teeth were sharp and gleaming. “I’m so glad you asked. I’ve brought a guest so that he can share what it’s like to follow me.” He gestured to a far wall and when it opened, a man came out wearing what appeared to be clothes from Little House on the Prairie.
“Pa Ingalls?” I asked.
“I’m a follower of a political Jesus,” he said. “Specifically, of Christian Nation Jesus. My name is Jeffrey Jones, and I’m a leader in one of his movements in South Carolina.”
“Oh no,” Daisy said.
Jeffrey turned on a display screen, and a picture of the state of South Carolina came up with a bloodred cross in the center, rays of white light radiating out to the edges. “In 2003, Political Jesus encouraged some of us to come up with a solution to the moral degradation of American culture. Corruption was rotting the halls of power like furry mold on a wheel of cheese.”
I smacked my forehead. “And what brilliant plan did you come up with? Guerrilla warfare?”
Political Jesus frowned. “Please allow my associate to continue.”
Jeffrey pointed to the screen, and the logo was replaced by a station wagon packed full of luggage and children, a smiling and wholesome-looking Midwestern couple waving from in front of the car. “Our goal was to move thousands of Christians into South Carolina and take over the government by becoming the majority voting bloc.”
I started laughing like crazy. “You’re kidding,” I said when I could get a breath. “Ha-ha-ha-hahaaaa!”
“I am not kidding.”
“What would you do if you managed to take control?” Daisy said.
“Secede from the United States and become the first truly Christian nation.”
“And the national song would be ‘Kumbaya,’” I said, getting into the spirit of things.
Jeffrey stood very straight and still. “Our new nation will remain long after this morally decrepit exemplar of slavery and godlessness has been laid to waste.”
“And you’ll have to be a Christian to vote, I suppose, and the only music will be hymns, and all the bookstores will be Christian bookstores, and if you want to buy pornography, why, there will only be Christian porn,” I said.
“There won’t be pornography in our nation,” he said.
“Sure, and no one will yell at their spouses, and children will be unfailingly obedient, and the lion will lie down with the lamb.”
“This will be a home-centered economy,” he said, his voice rising. “We’ll have intentional community—”
“Potlucks,” Daisy said.
“—house churches—”
“That’s all the rage in Portland,” I said.
“—unlicensed homeschooling with no testing criteria—”
“It’s not the government’s business if we have ignorant kids,” I said.
“—unlicensed ministry—”
“That should help the cults spread faster,” Daisy said cheerfully.
“—and home gardening!”
We didn’t have anything to say to that one.
Jeffrey pounded the table. “We will live brave and godly lives that don’t require prostrating ourselves to the imperial magistrate!”
I cleared my throat carefully. “I don’t want to upset you, but isn’t the whole point of this that you’ll be the imperial magistrate?”
Political Jesus excused Jeffrey, who stalked out, trying to contain his anger. “That did not go as I had hoped,” sa
id Political Jesus.
“That’s the danger of following an imaginary Jesus,” Daisy said. “The more committed you get to him and his plan, the further afield from the real Jesus you get. Your earnest attempts to be committed to your imaginary Jesus actually move you away from Christ.”
I sighed. “I like a lot of what you’re saying, Political Jesus. And you know that in the past I’ve followed you, at least briefly. But Jesus’ most political statement in the Bible was, ‘Pay your taxes.’”
Daisy nodded. “It’s not like the Roman occupationist government was a godly, loving government, either. They had slavery. They used crucifixion as a punishment for thieves, runaway slaves, and political dissidents.”
“They wore skirts,” I said.
“They had a terrible history regarding animal rights,” Daisy added.
“Still,” I said, “Jesus didn’t gather a crowd, stand up, and say, ‘Hey! Everybody pack your bags! We’re moving to Joppa, taking over the city council, and kicking out the Romans!’ Hoooraaaaay! Shouts of acclaim from the crowd! Much rejoicing!”
“God cares about politics,” Political Jesus said.
“He does,” Daisy said. “Because at the end of the day politics is about people. Soon he will rule over every government as King of kings. But right now he seems most concerned about whether a nation is just and righteous and whether they take care of the poor and widows.”
Jeffrey burst into the room and hurried over to us. “I was so flustered during my presentation that I forgot a major point. We would do away with the laws that force emergency rooms to treat people with no insurance.”
I stared at him in stunned silence. I tried to control my anger, but I could feel a scowl growing on my face. I told myself, He means well. He’s really trying to do the right thing. But I didn’t believe it. “So you’ll have waiting rooms full of impoverished dead people,” I said evenly.
“No, that’s not the point, I—”
“If you ever manage to take over South Carolina,” I said, “I would rather live in the first century. They may not have bathrooms or air fresheners, but at least they don’t stink. Get out of my sight.”
Jeffrey hung his head and slowly walked away.
Political Jesus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “An unfortunate example. I should have brought in a senator or president, so you could see the beauty of serving God and having power in the government. I wish you could see the glory that was Rome, or what it was like when Constantine ruled Byzantium.”
A gruff voice called from the back of the room. “It’s all about power with you, man. What about love?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Onward Christian Soldiers
Daisy and I turned and saw a lean, robed Jesus with flowers plaited into his hair.
Political Jesus made a disgusted face. “Is that you, Hippie Jesus?”
“I prefer Peacenik Jesus. And your military might didn’t do you much good in Constantinople when the Muslims came, kicked you out, and turned it into Istanbul.”
“The sword is a necessary tool in politics,” Political Jesus said, his face turning red. “At least I’m not a coward.”
“Leading a protest without any weapons takes more bravery than you’ll ever have!” And before we could do anything, Peacenik Jesus leaped for Political Jesus, grabbed him around the shoulders, and bit his ear.
With an animal roar, Political Jesus pushed him off, knocking him into the table.
Peacenik felt his robes and stuck his hand inside. “You broke my iPhone!” He leveled a kick straight into Political Jesus’ shin. “Stick it to the Man!”
Imaginary Jesus, Daisy, and I stepped to the side. A paperweight zipped by, bounced off the window, and left a ding in it. Political Jesus jumped on top of his desk and took a flying leap at Peacenik, and they tumbled to the floor. Peacenik gave Political a couple of quick punches to the kidney, then propped him standing up, took a running start, and clotheslined him. Political Jesus rolled over and scissored Peacenik’s feet out from under him.
“You know,” my Jesus said, “legislating behavior doesn’t change people’s hearts. Those two are talking about bringing peace to the world and they can’t even get along with each other.”
“I think you are a better Jesus than both of them,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“Still not the real Jesus,” Daisy said. “Societal transformation can only come through personal revolution. Which only comes from the Holy Spirit. End of story.”
“Right,” I said. “Oooh!” Peacenik had crashed a vase full of water over Political Jesus’ head. “We should find a way to stop all this.”
Just then Political Jesus took a swing at Peacenik with a heavy metal bar, missing him but smashing me right in the face.
The last thing I heard was Political Jesus shouting, “Quick! Go get Televangelist Jesus!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Boy Meets Bunny
The first thing I saw when I came through my heavy-metal-bar-to-the-face-induced haze was another beardless Jesus, this one looking a lot like Steve Martin, complete with white suit and bunny ears.
“What’s with the bunny ears?” I asked groggily.
“The Law-duh Almightee told me, ‘I want you to listen to me like a creature with big ears,’ and I said, ‘What creature has bigger ears than a bunny?’ And he said nothing. And so I am wearing these ears for the next thirty-two days.”
“Oh,” I said. “Elephants have big ears too.”
“I can heal you,” he said.
“It’s just a headache.”
“But you must have . . . faith!”
“I have faith.”
“Also . . . twenty dollars.”
“Twenty? I can buy aspirin for five. In fact, Imaginary Jesus has some.”
TV Jesus threw his arms out to the side. “Fine. You have the faith but not the cash so let me say—sum booya soya—I will do this one for free and HACHA!” and he blew on me. He hit me right in the middle of my forehead with his palm and I fell backward.
And my headache went away. I sat up and felt my forehead. “Are you kidding me? That actually worked?”
TV Jesus started laughing like crazy. He started jumping up and down. He held out his hand for a high five from Peacenik Jesus and received his five. He pointed at Political Jesus with two fingers and then gave him two thumbs up.
He helped me up, saying, “If you follow me, you will have the life you always wanted. Money! Wealth! Big house! Fancy plane! Unending health!”
“Chicks?” Peacenik Jesus asked.
TV Jesus considered this. “Hmmm. Okay. Just don’t tell anyone!”
“Yay!” said Peacenik Jesus.
“What does unending health mean?” I asked.
“Never . . . sick . . . again! Hallelujah!”
I frowned. “Never sick again. So your followers . . . never die?”
TV Jesus spun in a circle and his hands exploded outward. “Not if they have . . . faith!”
“So you’re saying that if I have faith, I’ll never be sick. You’re saying that if I have faith, nothing bad will ever happen to me?”
“Matt,” Daisy said, “You don’t want to follow this—”
“GET OUT!” I took a swing at TV Jesus.
He leaped backward and spread his hands wide. “I can see you’ve had pain in your life,” he said. “Moments of doubt that have introduced themselves into your life as sickness, financial ruin, trouble in relationships!”
“Where’s that heavy metal bar?” I asked.
“You can’t hurt me,” TV Jesus said. “The joy of the Law-duh is my strength!” Imaginary Jesus came up to me and put his arm around my shoulder. “I know that must be hard to hear.”
“You’re no better than him.” I shrugged off his arm and headed for the exit.
“Happy feet!” TV Jesus shouted. “I have happy feet. Sorry about this, it just happens sometimes.” And he started to dance around the room.
“C’mon,
Daisy,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.” We went out the door, Imaginary Jesus behind us.
“I’m coming too,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. “But none of these others. I have to get away from them.”
“Bounce! Bounce! Bounce!” TV Jesus shouted. “I’m not a jackrabbit, I’m a Jesus rabbit!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Healing in the Bedroom
My wife likes pitch-black darkness at night. The sort of dark where the tiny LED of a cell phone charging makes you squint. The kind of dark that makes the smoke alarm look like a helicopter with a spotlight. Darkness of this magnitude causes otherwise ordinary human beings to walk like mummies. First you put your arms straight out in front of you. Then you shuffle your feet so that you don’t kick anything. Then you make moaning sounds. Usually this is because you forgot to shuffle your feet and you kicked something hard. You’re not sure what, because it is too dark to see your feet.
One night, lying in our familiar darkness, talking about our day, Krista started crying. She was crying because I was leaving for a business trip in a few short hours. I had a 6 a.m. flight to catch, which meant leaving the house at around four. Krista would be alone with the kids for the week, and her wrists had become increasingly painful over the last several months. We thought maybe it was carpal tunnel syndrome. In recent weeks she hadn’t even been able to type on the computer. I had tried to convince her to go to the doctor, but she hadn’t had time. So here we were, me leaving on a trip, and Krista facing the prospect of being stuck at home and in pain. There was nothing to be done but for her to have a lousy week and hope she could get some prescription drugs sometime soon.
So I held her hands and prayed for her. Some people say prayer is “just talking to God,” but I think that’s a dumb way to say it. There are enormous numbers of people who approach their gods on their stomachs, begging for a moment’s attention. We, on the other hand, walk up to him like we’re walking up to the guy at the counter of 7-Eleven: “Hey, I’d like two of those packs of cigarettes and a slushy.” Excuse me, someone asks, what are you doing there? “Oh, just talking to the 7-Eleven guy.” The fact that he allows us this friendly accessibility astounds me.
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