My ex-boyfriend Jesus comes over for coffee

Time for my annual Jesus DTR.

Perhaps from my last two essays talking about how to take the Christ out of Christmas you would think I have some serious bad blood with Jesus.

But you would be wrong.

Our split was less messy divorce, more what Gwyneth Paltrow would call an “amicable conscious uncoupling.”

This mental image of a healthy platonic breakup with Jesus humored me this week, so I wrote a poem imagining how it would go if the Jesus of my past knocked on my door.

I hope you enjoy. And have a merry Christmas!

Jesus comes over for coffee

If the Jesus of my past knocked on my door, I wouldn't slam the door in his face and tell him to "get lost." I would smile. I would give him the kind of hug you give your ex after its been years and its genuinely nice to see them.

I would invite him in for coffee. I would ask how he's been. Maybe we would reminisce about that time in Rio when the Christ the Redeemer statue first came into view after hiking Sugar Loaf and felt so swept up in warm Jesus love that I wept.

Or how I would convince whoever I was dating at BYU at Christmas time to drive me the hour to the conference center to wait in the standby line for tickets to the MoTab Christmas concert because I loved feeling Christ-y at Christmas.

Maybe I would thank him for the feeling I got in high school staring at the poster I taped to the back of my door that said "You Are Never Alone" with his face on it. How it did make me feel less alone when I didn't get invited to the party or when my crush didn't like me back.

Maybe I'd thank him for standing up for the prostitute and throwing the prodigal son a party. I'd remind him how much that fictional party meant to me and how I wish that undeserved heaven party was discussed more in Sunday School.

Maybe as chats with exes tend to, the saccharine conversation would eventually turn sour.

Maybe he would apologize for all those guilt-inducing worthiness interviews conducted in his name. Maybe he would offer some remorse that I cried myself to sleep on my mission convinced I was disappointing him with my minor disobediences. 

Maybe in a moment of pettiness I'd tell him how I read out a poem about our breakup on a podcast and everyone really liked it.

Maybe we would laugh until our bellies hurt about how guilty I felt for not spending more time with him the week of Christmas. How I would sheepishly pull out Jesus the Christ on Christmas Eve at 1:00am like I was cramming for a midterm.

Maybe we'd roll our eyes together at the poignant irony that he spent his life correcting the religious and celebrating sinners and now the religious condemn sinners in his name.

Maybe I would call in some favors. "Hey remember Jelka in Slovenia? Is she alone this Christmas? Will you visit her and give her some warm fuzzies?" "Will you tell my mom she can hand over the weight of my salvation she's been carrying?"

Maybe as we wrapped up I would look at him and say, "Hey, thanks for the company" before saying

goodbye.