The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy by Duncan Whitehead

what he is saying.
    “What are you telling me?” I asked, looking Walter directly in the eyes. Walter’s eyes squinted. I have heard that is a sign of affection, but I am no cat expert.
    “I am telling you I am sorry for abandoning you as a child, for being an absent father, for not being there to guide you and help you develop. I should have organized a training package, but I didn’t,” said God.
    “Are you,” I began, “trying to tell me that what my mother said is true? That I am your son? That my father is not my real dad? That I am Jesus?”
    “No,” said God. “You are not Jesus.” That was a relief. Though I was still tense, I felt a little better. I wasn’t Jesus; phew, that was something.
    “What I mean by that,” said God, “is that technically you are not Jesus.” Oh no. The tension was back. My relief was short lived. “Jesus is his own man. In fact, he is up in Heaven; he is a member of the committee. No, you are not Jesus. However, you are Christ. You are my son, as he is, but you are Seth, not Jesus. Jesus was my vessel, who did an excellent job; I hasten to add, but he you are not. You are the Messiah, though, if that helps.” Helps? Oh yeah, that helped.
    “So you forgot about your son?” I asked, sounding incredulous.
    “I know, I know, I know. It looks awful, I agree, but it was so quick. The whole thing was rushed. I was in a hurry, and like I say, my so-called staff is not the best, I assure you. I am not passing blame or shifting responsibility, but I rely on these people, you know? Anyway, the long and short of it is that the Universe is a big place. This planet is not my only venture. There is a lot of undeveloped real estate out there, and it takes time and planning to build a civilization. There are certain conditions that have to be met, and honestly; I can’t trust anyone up there to help me with that. That is my responsibility. I do not delegate creation. Anyway, this place I was ‘prospecting,’ in your terms, is five hundred million light years away, which even for me is a hike, so you can imagine I was not readily available to come back at a moment’s notice. I had it all planned, booked, and organized. I really couldn’t cancel. Anyway, I had people watching you. I asked Saint Peter to watch over you, and apparently he didn’t get my memo, and blah, blah, blah, you get the picture; a total mess. A cock-up from start to finish.”
    “Anyway,” God continued. “No real harm done. Well, nothing we can’t sort out between us. All you need to do now is to listen and learn. You’re a bright man; I am sure you will pick it up as we go. I am sorry for my tardiness, but I am here now, and I have never been one to dwell in the past or to pass blame, so I am happy to proceed and move forward. Even I can’t change the past. I have been a bad father, and I can understand any resentment, but you need to get over that. You have done well without me; I read your file, and though you’re obviously not there yet—far from it— we have something to play with. Something to mold. My boy, I’ll make a Messiah out of you yet! Never fear! Now, there were a few things I needed to mention straight away, and I am sorry to do this, but please believe me when I tell you time is at the premium. Hold on, let me think; that’s right, you’re masturbating a little too much I’m afraid. You’ll have to watch that. It’s a bit more than the committee would like. It’s draining your energy apparently, and there is no need for the excessive amount of time you waste. Just an observation, but the committee felt it important that we get that one nailed down immediately.”
    First of all, I feel I need to point out that I do not consider myself an excessive masturbator. Whilst I am unaware of any guidance notes or recommended daily dosages, I am pretty confident that my personal habits are not outside the norm. Where God was getting his information from, I did not know, but I would have