A swarm of denominational Jesuses trampled New Age Jesus in their hurry to get to me. Catholic Jesus and Protestant Jesus argued the whole time. Baptist Jesus was dragging an enormous bathtub full of water behind him. The various Orthodox Jesuses were carrying tasty treats from Russia, Greece, Romania, and all over the world. Stern Jesuses, laughing Jesuses, Emergent Jesus and Emerging Jesus (like good and evil twins, I guess . . . but I can never remember which is which), a few Jesuses who barely fit the description like Universalist Jesus (dressed like Buddha, six arms like Shiva) and the six-inch-tall Bahai Jesus, and all of them wanted a piece of me. Health Nut Jesus came running out of the health section wearing tennis shorts and a headband.
I pulled away from them all and raced into the Purple Room, the mob of Jesuses on my heels. A few more Jesuses from the archaeology section joined us. One from the 1800s was strenuously disagreeing with another from the 1970s about whether the Hittites existed. A Jungian Jesus came barreling up from the philosophy section, Political Jesus and all his friends came from the politics section, and then the Military Jesus crowd joined in, loudly declaring their passionate approval of whoever was victorious in war. Gay and Lesbian Jesus came along too, assuring us that he didn’t care about sexual orientation and that he would gladly talk about it to the exclusion of any other topic. There must have been fifty of them now, babbling, yelling, pushing, shoving. I ran down the stairs to the Rose Room, where the scientific Jesuses marched behind us, doing their best to prove their own existence. “Scientific evidence proves that Jesus exists and is God!” they shouted. Perpetually Angry Jesus shouted them back down. In the back of the crowd someone had found Feminist Jesus, and she was biting Patriarchal Jesus in the shoulder. He yowled in pain but wouldn’t hit a woman in public. All of the children’s book Jesuses swarmed around us, their strange, incomplete stories and simplified theology shining through their white, simple faces. Their scars were hard to see, but they loved children and had a consistent message. “Obey your parents!” one of them screamed, while Liberation Theology Jesus screamed in frustration, “Parents should not create a lesser, unempowered class out of the children!” We burst through the automotive section and, like water spewing through a pipe, shot into the Orange Room. CEO Jesus came running toward us, saying I wasn’t organized enough with my time and didn’t I want Jesus to bless my business. Feng Shui Jesus offered to rearrange my house so that the spirits would be pleased, and Cooking Jesus grabbed me by the arm and said, “If you follow my first-century dietary tips, you can live a long and happy life!” I shook him frantically and shouted, “You only lived to be thirty-three years old!” We crashed like a tidal wave into the Gold Room. Some of the superhero Jesuses popped out of the graphic novel section in the Coffee Room: Super Jesus and Godman. “We’re strange visitors from another planet,” they cried. “Let us use our superior powers to help, you poor, backward earthling. Your primitive emotions and tiny problems baffle us, but we’ll help get the cats out of your trees.”
Mikalatos, Matt. My Imaginary Jesus: The Spiritual Adventures of One Man Searching for the Real God (pp. 181-183). Tyndale House Publishers. Kindle Edition.