Posted by nigel1 on June 28, 2002 at 13:53:35:
AN AMAZING THING
Little Globule answered the doorbell. His father was away on another one of his business trips, representing his firm in tax court, somewhere, and his mother was busy in the shower. She ran the water so hard and fast, she could not possibly have heard the doorbell. Little Globule opened the door. There on the front porch was Jesus, just like the pictures on his classroom wall, except he wore faded levis and a t-shirt. At school, the nuns told the students that Jesus sometimes went out among the people, in disguise, looking to see which of them would deny him. Therefore they must treat each needy stranger they might encounter with the kindness and consideration they would give Jesus Himself. Because, you never could be sure, but it might be HIM! When Little Globule heard the story of the poor old man, who, all unknowingly shared his meager pot of beans and bacon with The Saviour Himself, and heard how Jesus blessed the man with a modern house crammed with every amenity known to man, plus lots of nice furniture and a BMW for the garage and a nice amount of money in a good no-load mixed bond and stock index fund, he wished Jesus would visit him someday. It would have to be a day when he was alone in the house because his parents would call the police at once. His Daddy would grab Jesus by the scruff of his dirty neck and toss him on his butt in the snow. Take that, you pan-handling maggot, is what his Daddy would say. Yes, Little Globule's Mommy and Daddy were rich, and they lived in a very nice part of Houston, in a subdivision with its very own police force and security cameras on every street corner. You weren't very likely to find a dead baby in your dumpster here. How Jesus managed to get through all the security and find his way to the Globule family's door was a miracle in itself. He would give Jesus cream pie and steak, or pizza and fried chicken-- whatever they happened to have in the kitchen. There was no telling how they might be elevated, since they were already so much better off than almost everyone else! He felt sorry for people who only had some beans to share with Jesus. You had to sort of laugh at them, really. This HAD to be Jesus! He looked just like the pictures! Except his eyes were different. If you ignored the hair and beard, you'd think it was some kind of maniac.
"Hey, uh, yer Dad around anyplace?"
"My Daddy's an attorney, and he's in court today. Mommy is home, though. She's beautiful, and she's taking a long shower right now. Can I help? Are you hungry?" Little Globule wanted to cut to the chase.
"Wow! So you and yer, uh, beautiful mom are all alone?" He glanced around nervously. "You know, I could use a little grub, whatever you got to spare, you know, maybe I could do some odd job, or..."
Little Globule beamed at the Divine Face. It was just like the nuns at St. Poofter Academy said! "Please, come in!" And he stepped back to let Jesus enter, stifling an impulse to bow his head. If you let on you knew it was Jesus, it probably didn't count.
"Well, just imagine that," Jesus said, beginning to grin hugely. "Handed to me on a platter. Outta sight." He looked speculatively at Little Globule's boyish rear end as the boy led him to the kitchen. Little Globule felt that Jesus would not mind eating in the kitchen as opposed to the dining room. Jesus said, "You're not a bad lookin' kid."
Little Globule took his Divine Visitor by the hand and led him to a place at a breakfast nook. He was feeling excited. Just wait until he threw open the doors of the Amana! In the kitchen, one could hear the rush of water, since his mother showered in a bathroom directly above the kitchen. Then the water stopped. Jesus looked feverish. He imagined a tanned and toned rich bitch, stepping out of a shower the size of a bedroom, naked, admiring herself in a huge mirror on the wall, in an ocean of hand-painted tile. The front of his pants began to bulge. Little Globule heaped the table with food. Jesus peered about, as though trying to locate something. He eyes focused on a knife rack on the wall. He grabbed a chunk of cold ham in his fingers and crammed it into his mouth. He really was hungry. He was very hungry.
"Here," Little Globule said, "let's cut some of this banana cream pie."
Jesus said, "Great, lemme get this here knife--" he pulled a butcher's knife out of the rack-- "and let's start the cuttin'!" He positioned himself behind Little Globule, letting the bulge in his pants push against the boy's butt. Little Globule felt something strange going on, and then the knife was in his belly, just under his breastbone, in and out, just like that, and as the knife jerked out his blood spattered across the clean white creamy surface of the pie.
Jesus had other things on his mind. The kid might be fun later. First things first. He quickly found the stairs, a handsome curving staircase in fact, and bounded up, taking two steps at a time. In just a little while the screams began.
Commentary:
If little Globule could speak to us, he would certainly complain: "It wasn't supposed to be like that!" And if he could think, if were still alive to think, he might think that he made a mistake, that he perhaps had offended Jesus in some way, or carried some unsuspected and unrepented sin in his boyish breast. Or, he might blaspheme and suppose that perhaps HE made a mistake. Maybe He went to the wrong house, like a drug bust gone wrong. Maybe someone in another part of town was supposed to be punished for unspeakable sins, of impurity and impiety. And it might even cross his mind that the stranger at the door had in fact NOT been Jesus at all, but a wandering maniac, just as the man's eyes suggested!
Little Globule might have died in some other fashion. It could have happened that he stabbed messily at the cream pie with the small table knife he had intended to use. And he might have offered the messy slice, saying, "Have some of this pie! It's good! Look, look!" And at that moment Jesus could have snatched the small knife from his hands and plunged it into his throat. Little Globule would surely have tried to scream, but it wouldn't work. He would instead have blown blood bubbles from the wound in his throat. He would have collapsed, gurgling and thrashing, blinded by heaving gouts of his own life's blood. His thoughts, before they disappeared forever (going to a place that we do not only not understand, but to a place we CANNOT understand!) might have taken him to a realization that he, Little Globule, had made the mistake, and that the visitor at his door had indeed not been Jesus, but a maniac, as the man's eyes suggested! And he might have lived long enough to hear his mother's screams begin.
In fact, it is all OK. Everbody had good intentions, and there was no fault on anyone's part. Yes, the stranger at the door had been Jesus-- with good intentions! But putting on the mortal and finite human dress introduced the sorts of limitations we are all familiar with, from our own experience. Just as the finite and mortal garb reduced a Messiah to a not quite coherent wandering fanatic/magician, so too the mortal garb manifested in this instance as a wandering sex-slayer. The outcome could never have been otherwise. And the essential point is that the arrow was shot into the sky (so to speak) and the heavens were aimed at,a transcendant destination was the goal. What does it matter then, if the arrow finds its mark in a beautiful nude woman's bellybutton, and what does it matter, THEN, if the archer decides to buttfuck the poor slain beauty?