J. C. Jones

“I’m loving these!”

Jesus sat back and downed another espresso, smacking his lips in delight.

“You’ve had enough of those,” said Marty. “If you’re to make a comeback you’ll need to project a calming presence.”

“I’m calm enough, Marty.”

Jesus tapped his cup; giving himself a refill.

“I’ve still got it!”

“As your agent I insist you stop doing that. And quit refilling the cups of other patrons. You’re getting looks. Soon you’ll draw a crowd. Then come the followers. Next thing you know their carrying signs with slogans like: My Cup Runneth Over with Jesus! or Alive and Caffeinated!”

The waiter appeared and asked if everything was okay.

“You haven’t touched your espresso, bro.”

Jesus stifled a chuckle.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” said Marty. “He has trouble focusing on His career. Just the check please.”

“I’ve got it,” said Jesus. “I still have a few shekels left. I received one every birthday from my mom.”

“It’s on me,” said Marty. “Save your shekels in case you’re deported.”

“Deported?”

“Sent back to where you came from.”

“I’d like to see them try. I know people.”

“Yeah, we know. But save Him for the finale. If we’re to get started you’ll need to ease your way in. You can’t just pop up all Hallelujah like. If I’ve learned anything from Charlton Heston movies it’s that nothing frightens people more than hell-fire and damnation. People going about their normal lives, then Boom! Where have all the flowers gone?”

“Same with Godzilla movies,” said the waiter. “only without the preaching.”

“Just leave the check,” said Marty. “This conversation is private.”

“Sure, bro. Is your friend, like, super religious? I haven’t seen a crown of thorns in here since last years high school Christmas pageant let out. Impressive, bro, is all I’m saying.”

“Thanks,” said Jesus. “It’s my lot in life.”

“We all have our cross to bear,” said a woman at the next table. “the price of coffee being one of them. Can I get another refill, Jesus?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, brother,” said Marty.

***

Jesus sat at the desk, swiveling from side to side.

“How do you like the studio?” said Marty. “I want you to win their hearts and minds. You’re now J. C. Jones—podcaster.”

“Jones?”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded less biblical. I need a user-friendly Jesus. Once you’ve won them over, you bring out the big guy. But this time He shows His face. No hiding behind bushes. You want them to know He’s the real deal. Full of love, hope and honesty. And no smiting! I can’t emphasize that enough. Who knows, if all goes well, I may be able to swing Him a deal with Wheaties. Think of it. All smiles and a reassuring wink at the breakfast table.”

“From who? Dad? Have you met the Man?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“You don’t want to know. He scares even me. We’re only one of many marbles rolling around the universe, and I have an older brother in each and every one of them. This rock we’re standing on was a last ditch effort to show He still had it. It was a noble effort, but you’ve seen the latest results. Face it. We’re the cold-water flat of inhabitable planets. Would you take credit for being its creator?”

“So, no?”

“No. Consider Him an absentee dad, and get on with your life. But I am liking this studio. Maybe I could spin some records and pull funny gags on the telephone.”

“Oh, brother. I should have stayed in aluminum siding.”

Photo Courtesy of Wiki Commons:

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