Need a Reverend

(Signs of the Times is a work of fiction based on true events. Views expressed are the characters’ own. Viewer discretion is advised.)

Jesus Christ died and was entombed. He got bored or perhaps spiritually subdued. Not enough water to turn to wine in that holy sepulcher.

He came out after a few days. Cracked the garden tomb, perhaps, and flew the coop. Did he look at the world with indifference? Or did Jesus, as the father and son and holy spirit, move stoicly forward? Did he smile?

Did his joints ache? Or does Jesus not feel the failure of corporeal form?

Did he know he’d be so lonely?

Would he forsake knowing eternity to be able to walk in the moonlight? To feel a zephyr blow through his hair? To know that it will all end — and smile?

I’m sure there’s a logic. Jesus logic. Neat, closed-loop, and awesome. An answer to my questions lurks in the visions and revisions of churches millennia.

What it must have felt like that first moment he decided enough was enough — ascend.

If he knew what would happen, would he still do it? All the death in his name. The suffering in his name. The waste.