The Ranting Boy

A boy met Jesus and was startled by this fact. How could he, of all people be talking to God. He was just average, distinguished in nothing much. He liked to read books and had a keen eye for poetry but didn't fancied to waste his life in a school or University as a lector. He wasn't very fast and agile either. His idea of a work-out was eating a grilled sandwich with baloney; ketchup and cheese. Wearing glasses a hipster beard, he didn't feel alright in his black T-shirt exclaiming “Prague” he once bought as a souvenaire. And yet there he was.

“What am I doing here?”

“Asking for questions!” was the reply and puzzled the boy even further.

“What need would I have to ask for questions?!” The boy was annoyed by such a seemingly rude and stupid remark.

“Perhaps you need guidance?” stated Jesus and walked away, forcing the boy to accompany if he wished to have a meaningful conversation, and didn't wanna resort to yelling into the depths... of what ever this place would even be. Perhaps it was simply a badly digested meal or a wet dream. Ain't these supposed to be pleasing and erotic in nature, the boy found himself to wonder.

“Why did you die on the Cross?” The boy was shocked to have uttered that question and Jesus stopped. Standing there, Jesus in silence and the boy panting, as though he had just run out a thousand mile lap on a stadium. He waited for the answer afraid and eager to know, what would Jesus say.

“Why would you ask this?” was Jesus remark

“Hey! It's not nice to answer a question with a question!!” the boy angrily shouted. Making two fists with his hands, he stood there and stared into Jesus, who was a towering form of serenity. Immovable in any shape or form.

“You think so?” asked Jesus again and the boy rolled his eyes.

“Why did you die on the cross? I really need to know!” those last words there quenched through the teeth, the boy was surprised he didn't bite his tongue.

“I mostly don't know how much people understand me, so I must verify, if my answer is suitable for you. Therefore I answer questions with questions...”

The boy was sulking, discontent at this notice.

“I am not a child!”

“Compared to what?” Jesus asked again.

The boy stared at Jesus unable to speak. What was the meaning of this? Why was he here, and why was he tormented like this? Why didn't seem Jesus to be able to answer the simplest of questions? After all he's the King of Kings and Lord of Lords! Shouldn't he be able to explain himself, what the point of it all was!

“Compared to other boys your age, you might be adequate, but compared to God you're quite young, if I may say so.” Jesus didn't seem quite interested in this conversation, yet here he was, and it didn't seem to end. He didn't remember to want something like that, although he did remember some prayers, what could have been guilty.

“What makes my death on the Cross so interesting?” asked Jesus again, then the silence seemed to become overwhelming and the boy felt, he would burst like a bubble.

“It doesn't seem a good idea, in order to fight off evil; convince the people of your divinity and invite them to Heaven.”

“What would be a better way then?” Jesus was sitting on a rock and the boy recognized, they there on a familiar field, from his childhood.

“Since you're the son of God, wouldn't it be better to summon those legions of Angles, you didn't use against the Roman soldiers, who captured you and mop the floor with the devil? Surely the people would have bowed down in front of you – even the Pharisee's and Zadokite would have worshipped you – not kill you on a cross and make a perversion out of your teachings!

“Better to whom?” was Jesus reply. “I don't need more servants, I can create or destroy an angel, then ever I please. They are really like writing poetry to me.”

“When why was man created in your image, if you need nothing?”

“Why do you write poetry, if nobody, not even you, really need it? Surely the world can make it quite without it, and yet you do.”

“Well, because I can, and I want to become better in it. But that doesn't matter! I am not God like you!”

“Who says that?” Jesus looked me in the eye and it scared me to Hell and back again.

“Well, everybody does!”

“If everybody jump off the cliff or ask you to put your head into the burning oven, would you do it?”

“No, but that doesn't change the fact!! I am not You!” the boy was irritated. How could have Jesus been so stupid. If he was God, he would be better off and do something about his life and surroundings. He would know, how to solve all the problems of the World.

“Yet, once I said to you: “You all are like Gods, still you will fall like mere mortals.”

And Jesus walked away and the dream was gone.