The Jesus
The Jesus
Joe Plicka
Everywhere I look I see the Celestial Jesus. God Jesus. Iridescent, Robed, Glorious, Condescended, Placid, Unfazed, Holy, Resurrected, Omnipotent Jesus. And I love Him, I do. I need that Jesus to keep the planets in orbit and anoint my head with light and hear the wailing of my heart without getting too annoyed. I worship that Jesus.
I also love Dying Jesus. Pained, Pathetic, Brought-Low, Bleeding, Dust-Eating Jesus. On-the-Cross, Gone-Too-Soon, Stoic, Suffering, Altar-Hanging, Winter Light, Smoke and Incense Jesus. He absorbs my grief, sparks my compassion, redraws my faith, rescues my guilt and elicits my humble devotion, not to mention my morbid appreciation.
I even love Hallmark Jesus, sometimes. Calendar Jesus. Sunset Jesus. Soft-Focus, Lips-Pressed-in-a-Smile, Children’s-Hair-Tousling, Baby-Sheep-Packing, Color-Saturated Jesus. He indulges my wildest hopes and dreams—ease, certainty, prosperity, championships!—makes me feel safe. Reminds me of my grandma.
But I also love another Jesus. He’s hiding in plain sight. His sandals are held together with twine and his ankles smeared with mud and sometimes at breakfast a little goat milk dribbles down his beard before he can wipe it with the back of his hand. I’m not exactly sure what to name this Jesus. Human Jesus seems too obvious and too wispy, accurate but not sturdy enough. Jewish Jesus is too academic. Rogue Jesus: too romantic. Buddy Jesus: too glib. My Man Jesus: nah.
I’m talking about a feeling I get sometimes when I read the New Testament. Something just under the surface of the words, infused in the pulp of that tissue-thin Bible paper. Something I can’t quite touch but could ingest if I tore out a page and put it in my mouth. Brave Jesus. Joking Jesus. Hungry Jesus. Wide-Eyed, Sighing, Penniless Jesus. Fire-Breathing, Sarcastic, Trash-Talking, Righteous-Rage Jesus. Wise, Wry, Cryptic Jesus. (Sneaky Jesus remains my favorite unclaimed band name, suggested by a friend in college).
This Jesus is the Jesus who cursed a fig tree because one morning, famished, he saw it in the distance and walked all the way over only to find it fruitless. The Jesus who indirectly caused a passel of demon-possessed pigs, worth the modern equivalent of maybe half a million dollars, to go spilling off a cliff into a lake (although I do like the idea that they had a chance; “pigs are excellent swimmers” according to National Geographic), which resulted in the locals asking him to please leave. The Jesus who chided his friends for being stubborn and faithless and basically said how much longer do I have to put up with you? The Jesus who led a one-man riot in the temple courtyard, smashing stalls and destroying the property of dubious merchants hustling on holy ground. The Jesus who liked to answer a question with a question, like when the Pharisees asked what right do you have? and Jesus answered what right did John the Baptist have? and the Pharisees were like shoot, uhhh, we don’t know and so Jesus was like pffff, then I’m not going to tell you either. The Jesus who massively laid into those Pharisees after one of them pointed out he hadn’t washed his hands before dinner and Jesus just freaking reared up and put them on blast saying woe woe woe woe woe woe woe and you’re like an unmarked grave that people walk on and you’re in for some serious trouble with your cheating and lying and prophet-murdering. The Jesus who strutted into Jerusalem that last week with his crew all yelling and making a big ruckus and when the Pharisees said Rabbi, tell your people to settle down! Jesus just said sorry my dudes, I’m on fire right now, I mean I could tell them to pipe down but then these rocks on the ground will just start shouting instead. The Jesus who said I’ve done all kinds of good deeds and miracles. Which one are you going to stone me for?
The Jesus who slept through a storm in an open boat until things got so bad his disciples woke him up saying we’re all gonna dieeee! so he went ahead and told the waves and winds to calm down, then told everyone in the boat sheesh what’re you so worried about? The Jesus who kind of threw his mom and brothers under the bus in order to make a point about how the kingdom of God is something you choose rather than inherit. The Jesus who told everyone to eat his flesh and drink his blood, but didn’t necessarily specify that he was speaking metaphorically, and didn’t really seem to care when some people got confused and just gave up saying how does that even work and we’re out. The Jesus who came back all resurrected and saw Mary, someone very dear to Him, and probably couldn’t resist messing with her just a little bit, saying who are you looking for? even though He could see she was upset and crying and still thinking He was dead until finally He couldn’t do it anymore and He said Mary! in a voice I imagine to be high and warm and trailed by a solicitous laugh meant to soothe and disarm her because she was probably a little irritated that he didn’t say something sooner but of course she couldn’t stay mad at Jesus for more than a second in the face of that blinding, pulsing miracle of rebirth.
The Jesus.
In television’s Kim’s Convenience, a first-rate Canadian sitcom about a Korean family that owns a convenience store in Toronto, “the Jesus” is the charming English-as-a-second-language construction that matriarch Mrs. Kim often uses. “Do it for the Jesus,” she says. “Praise the Jesus.”
The Jesus who spoke Aramaic and wore a tzitzit and ate with his fingers and slept on the floor. The Jesus who blinked in the dawn and sneezed and spat and felt sore after walking twenty miles. The Jesus who in his concentrated passionate solitary journey back to God defied earthly authorities, even the religious ones. Especially the religious ones. The Jesus who died for his friends and launched a hundred trillion prayers, blessings, consecrations, kindnesses, rescues, aids, reconciliations, atonements, renunciations, restitutions, reparations, sermons, charities, blood drives, community meals, bake sales, fundraisers, and potlucks.
The Jesus I share with (some) Buddhists and Hindus and Muslims and Jews and Sikhs and Baha’i and Agnostics and Animists and Atheists and Others. The One (of Many) who taught the Truth, pulled back the curtain and touched the Infinite Eternal Real.
The Jesus. That’s the title I’m looking for. The. Just the.
Joe Plicka
Writer & Teacher
Joe has been published in Booth and Hobart
Photography by Greet Van Hootegem
