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#MondayManCrush: The Risen Christ
Inside the gloomy sepulchre, sometime around unto the third hour on Easter Sunday, Jesus squinted at his day planner — which didn’t even say “Easter Sunday,” heads were gonna roll over that little slip-up — and sighed with frustration.
Three days in this stupid cave, absolutely splitting headache, stigmata throbbing like the dickens, the Stone Angel’s late again — and not even an out-of-date copy of National Geographic or Puzzler to relieve the tedium.
Honestly, he thought, this was so typical of good old Galilee-with-a-G, the Backwater-with-a-B.
Right? You were expecting maybe entertainment? Fat chance. You had one option — Mary Magdalene, that was it, dude. And after your first five visits, even she was like, “All right, bubbaleh, time we switched things up. Just close your eyes and, umm, I dunno — think of Bathsheba!”
Why had he let himself get sucked into this whole incarnation trip? “You’re gonna love being human!” they’d insisted at Word Made Flesh, the travel agency of record for the heavenly in-crowd.
“On Earth, it’s all about the binary, dude. You’ll be a “man”, like, male human, but don’t worry, you’ll still be God. But not God. More than God. You’ll also, and hear me out with this one, occasionally be an annoying dove that appears with a circle of gold rays around its head…
