The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy

by Duncan Whitehead

  “Me, of course, as chairman, Saint Peter the apostle—he’s kind of my right-hand man—Saint Francis, who represents the patron saints; a couple of old Popes; John the Baptist—you’d like him, he’s the voice of reason—Mother Teresa, she’s relatively new, but it’s good to have a woman’s perspective; she’s quiet and sometimes a little overly awed, but she spots things we would otherwise miss; Gandhi; and Gabriel—the angel Gabriel; as boss of the angels, he is pivotal in providing feedback on what is going on on Earth. He’s a bit like an enforcer, does my dirty work and snooping around, plus a lot of the groundwork for stuff on Earth.”

  “Wasn’t Gandhi a Hindu?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, but he had so much to offer, and we needed his perspective on things, so I made a couple of calls, pulled a few strings, and got him on the committee. He’s very placid but exceptionally good when it comes to ideas. He’s my idea man.”

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “Let me see; it’s not a permanent committee, it only convened when it was decided you would be doing my bidding. Let me see, Joan of Arc, she’s a member but doesn’t input too much,” said God.

  “What about Jesus?” I asked.

  “Who?” said God. I was sure he had heard me, but I repeated myself for his benefit.

  “Jesus, you know, you’re eldest child. The original Son of God and my half-brother,” I clarified so there could be no mistake as to whom I was referring. There was quiet on the line. It seemed, for the first time since I had met him that God was at a loss for words. Either that or Jesus was a subject he didn’t like to discuss. Had I hit a nerve?

  Eventually, God spoke.

  “Yes, he’s on the committee. As I mentioned earlier, I gave him the job of watching over your parents and helping with their selection. He’s my adviser, my left-hand guy as opposed to my right-hand man. Listen, don’t be offended and don’t take this the wrong way, but he doesn’t care for you too much. In fact, he doesn’t like you at all.”

  I was rather taken aback by this revelation; considering we had never met, I felt it slightly bold of Jesus to dislike me, especially considering who he was. I felt an explanation was in order. “Why not?” I asked, slightly hurt that my only sibling, albeit a half-brother, did not care for me. “Why doesn’t Jesus like me?” I could tell God didn’t want to get into this debate.

  “It’s not important. He’s agreed to work with me on this, and that’s that. He’ll get over it; we have far more important things to discuss than Jesus’s feelings toward you.” Unfortunately for God, I was not about to let it drop. Despite God’s attempts at fudging the issue, something I was beginning to realize he was rather good at, I felt I deserved more information.

  “Ok,” said God after I badgered a bit more. “There are several issues that Jesus has when it comes to you.”

  “Several?”

  “Yes, several. First, he thinks you’re the wrong man for the job. He says you’re flaky, and he doesn’t like your attitude. He’s disappointed that you haven’t taken the job on in the same vain he did. He thinks you lack commitment and that you are whiney.”

  “Flaky? Whiney?” I repeated.

  “Yes, in modern day terms he refers to you as a ‘loser.’ He says you lack inspiration and leadership qualities. He thinks you are shallow and rather self-centered. He thinks you could possibly show him in a bad light and ruin the work he has already done.”

  If I was to be brutally honest, Jesus had some rather salient points, and if I were an outsider, I would probably concur with his appraisal of my character.

  “Also,” God continued, “I think he is still a tad annoyed that it isn’t him back down there. I think he presumed I would send him back to finish the job he started two thousand years ago. I think he is a little jealous that you are the one who is going to be in the limelight, so to speak.” Great. On top of everything else, I had sibling rivalry to deal with. “Don’t get me wrong, though,” continued God. “You have his support, and he is one hundred percent behind you. It’s just that, well, give it time, and I am sure he’ll come around.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about the Jesus issue.

  “Is there anything else he has said that I should know about?” I asked. I felt I needed to know everything should we eventually meet.

  “He has commented on your lack of disciples,” admitted God. “You know, he could pull a crowd, and he was very, very popular with his own disciples. He has pointed out that he doubted you could find any.” Aha, so God didn’t know everything and neither did Jesus.

  “Well, in that case, I have good news for the both of you,” I said gleefully.

  “Good news?” said God. “Please do tell.”

  “I have a disciple,” I said a little boastfully.

  “You do?” God sounded delighted “That is fantastic news, absolutely fantastic.” I was glad God seemed delighted. “Splendid, excellent, that’s a good start, that’s a fantastic start for just one day. How many do you have?”

  “One,” I answered.

  “Oh,” said God, not sounding as delighted as he was a second ago.

  “Hey, it’s a start; it’s only been a day, for your sake!” I cried, sensing God’s disappointment.

  By reading between the lines, not only did Jesus dislike me, which God had already reliably informed me, but I also suspected that he was about as pleased as I was with the whole thing. Despite the fact that God had told me Jesus was behind me, I could not help thinking that if I were him, I would be a tad disappointed also. Let’s face it, the guy did a pretty good job. Two thousand years later, and he is probably the most famous man on the planet. I doubt that even Elvis or the Beatles combined had as many portraits, statues and shrines dedicated to them. He had a bigger fan base than all the NFL teams combined; he had more print devoted to him than all the U.S. presidents, and he was more recognizable than Mickey Mouse.

  Considering he hadn’t even been on the planet for two thousand years, that was some track record. I had to hand it to him; he was definitely popular. I wondered if Mel Gibson would ever make a movie about my life using authentic New York accents and dialect. I wondered if Andrew Lloyd Webber would write a musical about me, and I wondered if everyone would erect trees and decorations every year on my birthday.

  Yes, Jesus must be pretty disappointed that an overweight, middle-aged Jewish guy with a penchant for baseball and beer had been handed the baton of man’s savior. I also got the feeling that without a shadow of a doubt, he was God’s favorite, notwithstanding the fact that they had at least two thousand years to gel. No, despite that, I still felt that even if I united the world’s religions and got God season tickets for the Yankees, Jesus would still be number one. God hadn’t compared us, but I was sure it would only be a matter of time before he did. I had the feeling he was restraining himself from doing so as not to hurt my feelings.

  I supposed that Jesus probably felt the same way Sean Connery felt when he gave up the role of James Bond. Despite his Oscar, (which, in my opinion, he didn’t deserve,) I had never rated Sean Connery as an actor unless he played a gruff Scotsman. It never failed to amuse me how often Scotsmen appeared in the movies he starred in, be it in the Wild West or outer space. He had to be the second most overrated thespian the world had seen.

  Apart from when he played Bond. He was good, damn good. I’d wager that when they gave the Bond role to Roger Moore, the most overrated thespian the world had seen, he must have been mortified. He was Bond! And now younger generations would see Bond as a wooden, poorly acted, and quite an unbelievable buffoon. I guarantee that secretly Connery willed Moore to mess up. I bet that Connery would say to family and friends, “Look at him, he’s awful. I got far better reviews.” I bet he would laugh at the mess Moore made of Bond, yet at the same time, despair that his previous good work had been wrecked and the character he had so masterfully crafted into an ice cold super-agent had been reduced to an idiot playing for laughs.

  Maybe that’s how Jesus felt about me. Unfortunate
ly for me, like Connery was and always will be the best and only James Bond to his legion of fans, Jesus will always be the best and only Messiah to his fans, which I guessed, numbered considerably more than Sean Connery’s.

  “All right,” said God. I assumed putting on a brave face. “Who’s this disciple?”

  “Bob Nancy. You know him?” I replied, confident that God would have no idea who Bob Nancy was.

  “The name sounds familiar,” said God to my utter astonishment. In the history of God, there must have been at least one hundred billion names. I wouldn’t have expected him to remember them all. “Hold on, I remember it from somewhere. It’s on the tip of my tongue,” said God who I imagined was rubbing his chin and scratching his head. “Hang on a minute, I think I’ve got it, Oh, good heavens,” he chuckled. “I remember him.” He laughed louder. “Oh yes, I remember him. Oh dear, what a small world, and I made it, how funny.” God continued to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, eager to get in on the joke.

  “Well, you know I am extremely busy, as I explained, but when there is a church wedding, and my name is mentioned, such as, ‘We are gathered here in the presence of God,’ that sort of thing, well, anyway, when that happens, I have to either be present myself or delegate a proxy. It’s one of the rules we made up years ago, and it has stuck. Anyway, I always send a proxy, inevitably an angel, a low-ranking one, but occasionally Gabriel goes, you know, just to keep his hand in.” God chuckled to himself. “Anyway,” he said, between spurts of laughter, “Gabriel did his wedding, your Bob Nancy’s,” he laughed again. “I remember now, he mentioned it when I was away in our weekly update call. He told me about the bride, Nancy. Nancy Nancy! How ridiculous. Did they not realize? What on earth were they thinking? It tickled me, all of us. Gabriel was in fits for days.”

  I must admit even, I found it a little ridiculous, and I was his best friend. I often wondered why she hadn’t kept her maiden name.

  “Why she didn’t keep her maiden name, I will never know,” laughed God.

  “Have you finished?” I asked God.

  “What?” said God innocently.

  “Laughing at my disciple,” I answered.

  God apologized. He was pleased that I had at least one disciple despite the fact that his wife had a ridiculous name. “Ok, at least it’s a start. I am sorry for laughing,” he said though I still detected an element of mirth in his voice.

  “You were saying, earlier, about the committee? What have they decided?” I reminded God of the initial reason for his call. God explained how the committee had agreed we should take the whole thing slowly, that rushing it could prove to be counterproductive. They had come up with a strategy, and now that I had Bob as a disciple, it made things easier. They decided the public needed a miracle, something to grab their attention, and maybe even attract more followers.

  “What type of miracle?” I asked. Under no circumstances would I go near lepers, and nor would I raise the dead. I felt I needed to make that extremely clear from the outset. I had an aversion toward sick people, and death freaked me out. I gave thanks each day that Walter didn’t leave the apartment so there was no way I could deal with the dead birds or mice that cats inevitably murdered.

  As I had no idea of how to perform a miracle, I was intrigued as to what God’s answer would be.

  “Oh, I don’t know nothing too big. Something simple to start off with, something that will get people talking around the water cooler but have them wanting more. You need credibility; even Jesus would tell you that. We were thinking of a food-based miracle, kind of like JC’s feeding the five thousand with fish and loaves of bread.”

  I had of course heard of this miracle. Even being Jewish, I was familiar with the story, and I had often thought that had delis been around in Jesus’s day, he wouldn’t have been popular with them, stealing customers and hurting trade.

  “JC?” I asked, unfamiliar with the term.

  “Oh sorry, it’s what I call him. Jesus, Jesus Christ, JC,” replied God, as if I should have known.

  “Have you a pet name for me?” I asked, conscious that the acronym SM had possible sexual deviant undertones.

  “No,” answered God.

  “I see,” I said.

  “You see what?” said God.

  “Oh nothing, just thinking out loud; forget it.” My feelings were hurt. Why did Jesus have a nickname, and I didn’t? I had always wanted a name with good initials, such as AJ, or TJ, or KC. I was slightly upset that God hadn’t thought of a pet name for me.

  God ignored my pouting. “Oh, well, anyway, as I was saying, it has been deemed we need a small miracle, and the vote was unanimous. We thought maybe you could feed some hungry people.” God sounded pleased with this announcement though I had some concerns.

  “Sounds great, fantastic, a brilliant idea,” I said sarcastically, “but you seem to be forgetting that there isn’t an abundance of starving people in New York City. Even the homeless get hot meals provided by the Salvation Army, and if you think for one minute I am going to surround myself with flea-ridden, dirty hobos, you are sorely mistaken.”

  The moment the words left my mouth, I felt bad. It was the least charitable thing I had ever said, and I guessed if Jesus was listening in, he would be nodding his head as if to say “I told you so.” I spoke again quickly.

  “That was wrong; what I meant is that I have no idea whatsoever how to perform a miracle. I haven’t a clue where to start, and I think there must be a better way to go about this.” I hoped God hadn’t picked up on the homeless thing, and it seemed he hadn’t.

  “Not to worry, dear boy,” said God. “I have a plan.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  BEFORE I EXPLAIN GOD’S PLAN and the subsequent events after his second call, I feel I ought to pass on a few snippets of information I managed to glean from God, which you may or may not find interesting. God, as you may have realized, relies heavily on angels to do his bidding, mainly due to the fact that he has other ventures spread across the Universe. Apparently, like any good CEO, he liked to delegate as much as he could. The angels, he told me, are led by Gabriel, who is an archangel.

  While not all the angels have a direct link to God, or for that matter, to Gabriel, there is a structured chain of command not dissimilar to that of the military. While not astounding news, it was nevertheless interesting. What was astounding was the numbers of angels currently on Earth amongst us, doing God’s bidding. According to God, angels make up twenty-five percent of the world’s population, which meant one in four humans is actually an angel.

  I was astonished at how many angels were on Earth because I am pretty certain I have never encountered one. Apparently, we all had a guardian angel of varying levels of competency and ability. It is simply the luck of the draw as to which one is allocated to you. Each angel is guardian to at least four different souls; however, one cannot rely on the angel all the time, as he or she is spread so thinly, hence why, according to God, some people have accidents, and some do not.

  The second and slightly more alarming fact I discovered was that God worked closely with Lucifer. While not what you might call friendly, they do have a cordial relationship. Their acquaintance, so God informed me, goes further than the recognized figureheads of good and evil.

  As I had read elsewhere, Lucifer was a fallen angel, and he was also pivotal in all aspects of God’s reign on Earth and indeed, the Universe. I was also shocked to discover that Lucifer had accompanied God on his foray out into the Universe for the last thirty years. Apparently, Lucifer and God got together on occasion and discussed topics related to each of their spheres, such as the allocation of souls, disasters, and other issues that God didn’t have time to explain to me.

  It would seem that God and Lucifer had discussed the forthcoming Armageddon and indeed, had agreed on the date before they ventured on their prolonged journey into the Universe. However, with the date approaching, it was not good form for them to be seen in caho
ots. Therefore, God had no idea what Lucifer and his team were planning in regards to the apocalypse.

  The final piece of gossip I think you should be aware of is God’s acknowledgment that he cannot control everything. Apparently, natural disasters have nothing to do with him. He has no control over earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanoes, or any other natural phenomena. He can, though, “whip up a storm” if required, but he tries not to mess with the weather too often. He usually does it only when he is annoyed and wants to make a point. Apparently, what we mistakenly call “an act of God,” he refers to as “maintenance issues.” As the earth is as not as young as it was, it has become difficult to maintain, and certain issues such as land faults, ozone layer holes, and melting icecaps are victims of expired warranties. Luckily, God was pleased to inform me he built his newer planets spread throughout the Universe to a much better design code. Therefore, he eliminated structural and natural damage and minimized the effects of weather. On some planets, he can even control the weather, in part due to the developments of new technologies and his expanded experience in the planet-building trade. While I know the news is relatively irrelevant to you and me, it is reassuring to know that other civilizations and planets, under God’s wing, need not worry about global warming.

  The next morning, I arranged to meet Bob at the Vandam Diner in West Village, a short walk for me, and a cab ride for him. The Vandam was a regular meeting place for Bob and I, and we considered ourselves regulars, even though I sometimes got the feeling the wait staff thought us a pair of assholes. I felt it necessary that I included Bob in all aspects that pertained to my new role as Messiah, and as such, it was important we met and talked about God’s suggestion and the proposed miracle.

  I was also pleased to report that Ronnie had eventually been pried from the Christ Church railings at around three thirty in the morning. According to Bob, Nancy had crawled into bed exhausted, and it was unlikely she would surface again until her next shift began at seven that evening. It was assured that Bob and I could converse and meet without any interference or objection from his wife. It had dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten a thing the previous day, and I was famished. I ordered steak, eggs, and coffee, and Bob ordered a Triple Crown omelet. Bob was in a buoyant mood, and I could not recall ever seeing him so animatedly happy; even after last year’s World Series games he hadn’t been this ecstatic. My call summoning Bob for breakfast had been rather cryptic. I had told him we needed to talk, and he was in. After the waitress had taken our food order, and Bob had, as usual, annoyed her by asking if the coffee was freshly brewed, to which she had replied yes as she always did, I relayed God’s plan for my first miracle.