Jesus – there’s no place like ‘home’ at Easter time

Yay! It’s Easter

So you (mom) wake the kids up early (for the sake of argument we’ll say: twins, a boy and a girl, age range: 8-10) … “Wake up. Wake up.”

“Mom! It’s Sunday! Nobody gets up early on the weekend!”

“It’s Easter. We’re going to church.” … 30 minutes later they’re at least up. 30 minutes following (there’s a reason you got them up early) …

“Mom! What is this?”

“It’s your new Easter outfit.”

“It’s a dress! I’m not wearing a dress!”

“Mom! What is this?”

“It’s your new Easter outfit.”

“It’s a suit! I’m not wearing a suit!”

30 more minutes later – all conflicts resolved (including hubby’s: “This suit must have shrunk from when I wore it last year.”) – you’re finally on you way.

A couple of hours later you’re back home.

Mom to hubby: “Now wasn’t that a great service!”

Dad to mom: “Yes. Boy that Brother Don (now, now, it’s just a coincidence he had the same name as me) really ‘brought the Word’ (although he has no idea what that means, he just heard a deacon say it on the way out).”

A dozen Easter’s (even before kids) have played out this way. This one, however, turns out to be different as a few minutes later …

“Uh mom. You need to come into the dining room.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s Jesus.”

“Jesus?”

“Yes, he’s sitting at the table.”

“Jesus is sitting at the table! Is this a joke? Is this like the one time you broke that lamp and said ‘Jesus did it’?”

“No. I’m serious! Jesus is sitting at the table!”

Mom walks into the dining room and sure enough: There’s Jesus! Sitting at the table! She smiles and awkwardly backs out.

“Honey! Come here!”

Dad walks in.

“Jesus is in the dining room, sitting at the table.”

“Jesus? Is this like that one time when you backed into the garage and said ‘Jesus did it’?”

“No. It’s the real Jesus! Well he looks like Jesus from all the pictures.”

He thinks.

“Hmm. (Still thinking it’s a joke …) Might not be all bad. He can say the blessing. Maybe he can perform a miracle over your mom’s dressing. It’s as dry as the desert.”

An hour later, lunch is over, small talk at the table pretty much consisting of talking about Jesus … ahem, talking “to” Jesus.

“All right kids. Time to hunt eggs. Who’s ready?”

“Me!” (boy)

“Me!” (girl)

“Me!” (you know who)

“Uh … Jesus … you want to … uh … OK. Only if I’d have known you were going to be here, I would have bought you one of these beautiful baskets like the kids have. But … uh … Is this Wal-mart bag OK?”

He accepts (adding something about the “foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head …” But you just think he’s talking about hunting).

Shortly after the eggs have been hid and the kids – and Jesus – have set about the business.

“Mom!” (boy)

“Mom!” (girl)

“What is it?”

“Jesus isn’t playing fair!”

“What do you mean he’s not playing fair?”

“He knows where all the eggs are!”

Sure enough, a minute later here comes Jesus … with “all” of the eggs.

“Uh Jesus, maybe you should just help hide them.”

He does. A few minutes later.

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

“What is it now?”

“Jesus hid an egg out in the middle of the pool. He says we can walk out on the water if we want to get to it.”

Moving right along. Eggs have been hunted. Kids are content in their rooms. Supper is out of the way. You (dad this time) decide it’s time to slip out back for a cigarette. No sooner have you got it lit than you’re startled … “Jesus! I mean (softly): ‘Jesus.’ You scared me! How long have you been there,” you quickly hide the cigarette behind your back but wonder if he saw (all the while not considering the fact he already knew). “I thought you had left.”

You go inside, grab a beer and sit in your favorite chair. Time for some channel surfing. “Let’s see: ‘Naked and Afraid,’ a little skin, that might be promising. I’ll come back. ‘Jerry Springer.’ Nah. Not while the wife’s around. What’s this? ‘Friends with Better Lives’ Whoa! Are they in bed together and … and … Is she really talking about his private parts!” It’s just then you notice Jesus sitting on the couch next to you.

“Jesus!” Beer goes flying out of the can as you confuse it for the remote and quickly try to turn off the TV with it. It spills onto Jesus. Not the first time he’s been in a like situation. Last time it was when some guys spit on him. (And we know how that turned out.)

Finally … eventually … “thankfully” … it’s time to turn in. You pull back the covers and climb into bed.

“So what’d you do with him,” the wife asks.

“I finally convinced him to stay out in the guest house.”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know?”

Mom: “Somebody should have just told him up front. It was all nice and great at church and all that, but he wasn’t supposed to actually come home with us. We would have seen him again next year.”

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