The Gospel According to Dad

The Gospel According to Dad

I have a son named Jesus. Perhaps thou hast heard of him. Perhaps thou hast read the quartet of eyewitness account of his life, written by Matthew (“The Cute One”), Mark (“The Funny One”), Luke (“The Quiet One”), and John (“The Non-Synoptic One”). Perhaps thou hast seen his image in one of the paintings or sculptures forming the small subgenre of Western art known as Everything Before 1750. Perhaps thou spendest one morning a week in a special building dedicated to him, hearing tales of his glory, while secretly fretting over the Raiders’ porous secondary. (I do, sometimes.) Perhaps thou hast seen The Greatest Story Ever Told, a good film, though given the title, a bit disappointing. Or perhaps thou hast seen The Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson, whom my son, as a Jew, will never work with again. Perhaps thou hast heard thy public figures use his teachings to justify or condemn various political causes, especially in America, whose Constitution he co-wrote with me and James Madison. Perhaps thou hast even viewed his face appearing miraculously on French toast, or pancakes, or waffles. (He appeareth only on breakfast foods, for lo, it is thy most important meal.)

And particularly likely art thou to know something of the manner by which Jesus entered the world and the manner by which he left it. For the tale of his Nativity is heralded in song continuously for a month in thy home electronics stores. And his birth in a manger is re-created on lawns up and down thy street each December to celebrate him and to send a message to the Hirschfelds next door. And thy very calendar is commensurate with his age, though he was actually born in 5 BC, so it would be more accurate to say thy very calendar is commensurate with the age it would be polite to tell him “he doth not look a day older than.” As for his death, the story of his miraculous Resurrection and subsequent discovery of dozens of chocolate eggs is celebrated annually. And the cross on which he spent his last agonizing hours trails only the swoosh as the most recognizable symbol in the world.

Yea, I venture to guess thou hast heard the story of Jesus told in dozens of ways: by apostles, and carolers, and priests, and filmmakers, and even former Chicago front man Peter Cetera, on his 2004 Yuletide classic, You Just Gotta Love Christmas. But thou hast never heard the story of Jesus as told from the perspective of He Who Sent Him. Because for me, the story of Jesus is not that of a prince and redeemer saving the world, but a father and son saving their relationship. — God

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