
(The following is an excerpt from my unpublished novel, Middle-Aged Messiah, in which Jesus convinces __od to allow him to come back to Earth in Mississippi in the early 1960s and grow up as a typical human, with no miracles or special powers just like you and me.) And away we go…
Most folks think I never met Paul. After all, I was dead when he came on the scene, guns a’ blazing, according to the book of Acts. But I did meet him once and a saint he ain’t.
You remember that story in the Bible about when I was thirteen and got left in Jerusalem by Mama Mary and Daddy Joseph? How when they realized it a few days later and came rushin’ back lookin’ for me and found me in the Temple sayin all kinds of amazin’ crap to the ol’ rabbis? Paul was right there, too. His name was “Saul” then. Most folks know him as Paul now. He was a couple of years older’n me. Those wiley ol’ rabbis had secretly set us up to do a kinda “point counterpoint” debate. They’d ask questions and me and Paul would take turns answerin’.
Paul knew the Law. There wasn’t nobody who could outsmart him on that. He’d about got it all memorized. For hours me and Paul fielded the rabbis’ questions. Paul’d answer ’em real black an’ white an’ he was right—every time. He didn’t miss one single point of the Law. I, on the other hand, answered from the standpoint of the spirit of the Law.
Everything was friendly enough the first day, but as time rolled on things started gettin’ tense. By the third day Paul was royally pissed and he let us know it. He was standin’ up yellin’ and screamin’ at me. He was yellin’ so hard that his face turned a bright, bright red. The veins on his neck and forehead were poppin’ out like canned biscuits (which are an abomination to the Lord and the Southern Food Alliance, by the way). His eyes was bulgin’ out to the point I was scared they were gonna bust wide open.
I, on the other hand, was just sittin’ there watchin’—which wasn’t easy to do since Paul was about an inch from my nose an’ was spittin’ on my face with every word. I thought, “What if his eyes and veins really did bust open?” I imagined him with busted eyes and veins, but his mouth still agoin’ ninety-to-nothin’ and I got tickled. I tried not to laugh, but the more I thought about Paul’s mouth just a’ goin’ an a goin’ ‘til his eyes and veins busted, the more trouble I had keepin’ a straight face.
I finally started hootin’ an howlin’ and rolled over on the floor bustin’ a gut. Some of the rabbis got tickled, but to laugh out loud woulda been anathema. Those who didn’t get it just sat there like one of ’em had farted and nobody was gonna own up to it! The others, like Paul, stood up all high and mighty, stuck their big ol’ noses in the air, and marched out like I’d put a turd in the middle of their prize winnin’ bamanna bread! Yeah, I said “bamanna bread.” That’s whatcha get when you use bananas and manna to make bread. Bamanna bread.
Then I was kinda summin’ things up for the remainin’ rabbis. That was when Mama busted up all huffy and puffy. She grabbed me by the left ear and pulled me outta the Temple, giving me hell all the time for puttin’ her and Daddy Joseph through such worry and trouble. I smarted off. “I didn’t leave y’all. Y’all left me!”
Mama twisted my ear so hard I belly-flopped in the dirt. I looked up at her and she was starin’ down at me like she wanted to give me the cussin’ of my life. Mama looked back at the rabbis glarin’ at us and came back eye-to-eye with me. She barked, “C’mon, Jesus. We gotta move if we’re gonna catch up with your Daddy!”
So, yeah, I had a real close encounter with Saint Paul the Constipated quite early in my second incarnation.
…and that’s the View from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, Board Certified Telemental Health Provider, Certified Shamanic Life Coach, ordained minister, singer-songwriter, actor, and writer. He has a tangential mind.
