Author’s Note: As a dedicated fan and often poor imitator of Jesus Christ, I’ve sought to “follow” him as he so famously requested in scripture. As I find myself identifying with his social proclivities I’m curious as to what really went on at all the parties and events he attended. So I’ve decided to write fictional accounts of all of the parties Jesus went to, as modern-day emails to God the Father.
For more biographical information on the life of Jesus, read this. For the Biblical account of this event, read this. And for the first two installments…seriously, do I have to do everything for you???
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)
Hey Dad!
It’s been a while since I sent you an email. I know, I never call, I never write…I just commune with you constantly because you and I are one. Not that I don’t love our dance with the Spirit. I know you know that I know that you know that I do. But it would rage to have all of our children dance with us again too. In fact, that’s the story I wanted to tell you today.
I recently went through Jericho on my way to Jerusalem. There’s this guy who lives there, Zacchaeus. How can I describe him…well, for all intents and purposes, he used to be a major asshole. Like, he was kind of the worst. He’s a tax collector and built his fortune around extorting money from his fellow Jews on behalf of the Roman oppressors occupiers government. He’s also short–which is nothing against him–so there’s a whole lot of overcompensating going on. But…he’s OUR Zacchaeus. And so I went to go find him.
Here’s the thing about Zacchaeus: for all his–shall we say, assholery–he was curious about what I had to say. Is your mind blown? Of course it’s not. You already know all this. Anyway, call me a hipster, but I love me off the beaten path finds. Listen, I invented irony! Only instead of collecting vinyl from obscure 80’s French neo-punk bands, I look for people. Especially the ones no one wants, who are scratched up and ridden with sin. As if I can’t or won’t clean off their metaphorical crap so they can be who we always wanted them to be in the first place.
Courtesy of The Cool Hipster