Jesus Was An Alien

Jesus Was An Alien

 “Give him some air,” someone said.

“He’s coming around.  Help him sit up.”

I was back.  I didn’t want to be back.  There was the has-been Santa, smiling at me as if he knew every secret in my heart.  I struggled to get up and someone offered me a chair.

“Some delegate,” the Secular Humanist said. “He fainted dead away.”

 His name was Richard.  How did I know that? 

“He has gone and come back again,” the old man said.  Then he looked straight at the Secular Humanist.  “And he has survived.”  The delegates became quiet.  The old man looked around the room until he got to me.  Then he smiled. 

“I believe that you have a report to give us of your interview with my Son,” he said.

“Uh, I…..I’m not sure what to say.”

“Tell us what is in your heart.  What did you make of my son, Jesus?  What was your impression of him?”

“Jesus….” I said, “.was an alien.”  

It just came out.  Even I was surprised.  I didn’t know what to say.  Silence reigned for the time it took my words to register, and then a loud guffaw came from the Secular Humanist, Richard, as his hand slapped the table hard. 

“I knew it.  Jesus was an alien.  I knew it was something like that.  All this talk about God and the supernatural and it was aliens all along.”

Richard was certainly relieved but I couldn’t believe what I had just said. 

“Well, that is….what I meant to say….”  But I couldn’t seem to say anything else.  I looked quickly at the old man but he was looking at Richard with a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, his hand propping up his chin as he slouched in his chair.  He didn’t say anything.

“Well, if Jesus was an alien,” Yohann Schiebert, the Jewish delegate, said, “then God must be an alien as well.”

“And Allah,” someone else said.

“Perhaps all of the great prophets and wise men were aliens.”

The comments chased each other around the room for a moment but then quieted down as every eye, growing wider, turned toward the old man.  A question was waiting to be asked. 

Richard, the Secular Humanist leaned forward, sweat on his brow. His right hand shook a bit but he pressed it firmly down on the table.  “Are you, Sir, an alien?” 

“Sir, is it?” the old man said.  He stood up.  His fingers made tents on the table top as he leaned forward to gaze at the gathering.  He seemed to grow taller and stronger.  His presence filled the room. 

“I think you are ready to hear his report now.”  His voice resonated with power.  This was no has-been Santa in flip flops.  That much was clear. 

He turned away but then stopped to look at the young man who sat against the wall.  He was the one who had given him the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the apple. 

“Are you ready, my son?”

“Yes, Lord,” the young man said, a smile bright on his face.  “You know I am.” 

He stood up and joined the old man, standing arm in arm, their backs to the table, facing the big set of double doors that opened wide of their own accord, a brilliant light shining through them into the room.  The two of them walked forward into the light while the doors slammed shut behind them.