KOREAN JESUS

I. CALL TO WORSHIP

When I finally find Korean Jesus, I can tell who he is right away. I can tell he’s Korean because of his face and also because of his accent, but the Jesus part I don’t get until after listening to him preach for a while.

It’s late summer, Tuesday night, early evening, Central Park, Pasadena, California. It’s hot. The hottest day of the year so far. It’s looking to stay hot all night. I’m hot. I’m standing in the sun. I’m wearing long pants and a sport coat. I have the coat on for fashion, but also because I’ve got something under my coat that I don’t want anybody else to see. Jesus is in the sun too. It doesn’t look like the heat is bothering him. He’s sitting at a concrete park bench. It’s not really a bench but more like a picnic table. It’s a picnic table with benches connected to it. Two benches connected to it, one on each side.

There are twenty, twenty-one people with him, mostly white, or actually about fifty-fifty white and Asian. Most of them are standing. Six are sitting at the table with Jesus. They’re all young. Except for Jesus. Jesus looks older, like thirty-something or forty even. Older than me, and I’m already older than most of the crowd here. Most of the crowd here looks young. They’re dressed in what looks like beachwear: board shorts and swimsuit tops or tank tops, sunglasses, visors, stuff like that. Some of the men not even wearing a shirt. Jesus is sitting in the middle of everyone. He’s preaching. It’s like a monologue. Like he’s giving a lecture, but casual.

Jesus says: This all starts when you’re little, like really little, too little to understand consequences.

Somebody says: How old?

Some other people laugh when that person yells out, how old. Jesus laughs too.

Jesus says: How old? Oh dang. Come on. I mean, I don’t know. It’s not like a specific number. It’s just little.

Jesus puts his hand out in front of himself to sort of show how tall of a kid he’s talking about. The people around the table nod.

Jesus says: When you’re still little like that, we come around to each of you and ask you what you want. And whatever it is you wish for right then, we do it.

The people around the table laugh.

Jesus says: I’m being serious here, you guys. Totally serious. Every kid, when they’re little, gets one wish, and whatever that wish is, we grant it. And I mean whatever it is. Anything. Whatever it is that they want right then.

The people around the table laugh again. Jesus laughs too. But it’s not the kind of laugh to show that he’s just joking around. It’s the kind of laugh to show how this whole thing could potentially get really fucked up.

Jesus says: You can probably guess what something like 80 percent of the wishes are.

Somebody says: Candy.

Somebody Else says: Toys.

A Third Person says: Puppies.

Jesus says: Puppies? Who said puppies?

The person who said puppies raises her hand. Jesus gets up halfway from his seat and reaches out his hand. The person who said puppies doesn’t seem to know what he wants. Jesus motions for her to come closer. She comes closer. Then Jesus gives her a hard high-five. The high-five makes a loud slap sound. The person who said puppies rubs her hand like it really stings.

Jesus says: There you go! Puppies! Little kids love puppies. Fluffy, downy, googly-eyed puppies. Who can blame them. Right? Can I get an amen?

Everybody says amen. Even I say amen. Everyone says amen right away except for this guy next to me. He doesn’t say amen right away. Then he suddenly says amen after everybody else says amen. It just comes out. It’s awkward and real loud. The people around him look at him like they’re mad or judgmental, or maybe just surprised.

Without thinking too much about it, I reach out and pat the guy who didn’t say amen on the back, like a friendly pat. A chummy pat. Like how you’d pat somebody on the back to show them that you appreciate them, like they’d just done something that you appreciate. He sort of drops his head a little bit and smiles as if to show me that he appreciates me too, that he appreciates the pat on the back. Then Jesus goes on.

Jesus says: So, all those 80 percent of wishes. Let’s call them puppy-wishes. All those puppy-wishes, we just go ahead and do it. We don’t even think about it, we just go ahead and do it. But . . .

Then Jesus pauses and looks around. It’s almost 8:00 p.m. but it’s still one hundred degrees out, maybe more. It’s still light out too. Mostly light. Just a little bit dark. Jesus can see everybody. Everybody can see everybody else. We can all see Jesus.

Jesus says: It’s the other 20 percent though. That’s when things get sketchy. Because we still have to grant their wishes. Whatever it is. Even if it’s, excuse my French, but even if it’s really jacked up. We still do it.

Some of the people gasp out loud like they’re cartoon characters. I laugh. Then pretty fast I stop laughing because I realize they’re not being sarcastic. They’re really gasping because this is really scary to them.

Jesus says: Yeah. You know it. I mean, sometimes these little kids, bless their hearts, they don’t know any better. How can they? That’s the whole point. If they knew better, it’d be too late to give them their wishes. So, they don’t. They don’t know any better.

The crowd starts shifting around and grumbling. Some of them are whispering to each other under their breath like muttering. Jesus raises his hands like to have everybody settle down.

Jesus says: Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. Don’t let your imaginations get carried away. It’s not some kind of sociopathic stuff. It’s not kids wishing for people dead! Come on! Is that what you guys are thinking? Little kids wishing their dads or baby brothers to drop dead or their moms or their teachers? No!

There’s a kind of collective sigh of relief. Then there’s a little bit more rumbling. People are getting restless. They’re probably getting restless because this thing is going kind of long and also, it’s just so hot out. I shift around. I’m sweating all over. I wipe my forehead with my coat sleeve. I pull at my waistband. My waistband is especially uncomfortable and sweaty because I’ve got a gun tucked in there. I want to take the gun out, but I can’t because I don’t want to alarm anybody. So, I leave the gun there. But it’s not at all comfortable.

Jesus says: No, no, no, I mean, I’m just saying, there’s some bad people out there. I sometimes wish these kids would just go ahead and wish them dead. But they don’t. They’re still little. Too little for justice, unfortunately. And you get it, right? I say unfortunately because it’d really make everybody’s life a lot easier if we could just get rid of a bunch of the bad guys right then and there. You know what I mean?

Some people nod in agreement. I don’t nod because I’m not really sure I agree. It might seem like I would agree or that I should agree, and it’s not that I disagree. I just don’t know for sure if I agree.

Jesus lets us all think about this for a couple more seconds. Then he starts up again.

Jesus says: Okay, okay. All right, folks. Okay. So, let me tell you a story. An illustrative kind of story. It’s what us preachermen call An Illustration. And this illustration is a true story. A true story of a kid I know. A man named Reginald, Reggie for short. A sweet kid. A sweet, sad, kinda scared little kid. Can I tell you Reggie’s story?

Jesus looks right at me when he says this. I feel weird. I feel really weird because my name is Reginald. Also, I go by Reggie for short. But he can’t mean me. I don’t know Jesus. I mean, I know who he is, but I don’t really know him. So, I don’t see how he can mean me when I don’t even know him.

Jesus says: This is Reggie’s story. But I want you guys to think about it as if it’s your own. Because even though this story is just an illustration, you might come to see that the point of any illustration is this: That when you really think about, the story, the illustration, is really about you.

II. THE ILLUSTRATION

The Illustration goes like this: There’s a little orphan kid named Reginald, or Reggie for short. Reggie wasn’t always an orphan though. Reggie starts out with his parents. Then his mom dies. He doesn’t know much about how she dies. The little bit that he does know is that his mom and dad had been fighting and then something happens and then his mom dies. That’s all Reggie knows. But the fact is Reggie’s mom and dad fought a lot. They fought a lot and most all their fights were about the same thing. Most all their fights were about affairs. And by affairs, I mean infidelity. That last fight, the last fight before his mom dies, is about Reggie’s mom having had an infidelity with their local church preacher. Reggie doesn’t remember that. He’s too little. But that’s what that last fight is about.

So, as it goes, after his mom dies, Reggie’s dad leaves and he never sees his dad again, at least as far as I know, he never sees his dad again. And Reggie’s alone. Not completely alone. He stays with people, family members, his grandfather, I think, adopts him or something like that. So, Reggie isn’t literally, physically alone, but in his heart, he feels it. That aloneness. In his heart. He feels it.

Reggie especially feels it when the people around him are arguing, fighting. Doesn’t matter what the fight is about. Reggie feels this terrible bad, nervous feeling in his stomach and, strangely, in his arms, like his arms go cold and tingly. But he never says anything, because he doesn’t know what to say or who to say it to. Reggie doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t understand why he feels like that, but you and I might have an idea. Because you and I might understand that Reggie’s in kind of a vulnerable situation. He’s an orphan. His mom’s dead. His dad’s gone. He’s living out some kind of Oedipal nightmare from his proverbial preverbal childhood. Some kind of existential insecurity that he’s too little to have the executive functioning to process . . .

Sorry, that got a little heady, but you all understand.

So, Reggie’s just this ball of nerves. Just nervous and not knowing what to do about it. Stomach hurts. Arms cold. Feet and legs cold too. Head hurts. Not hurts so much as feels like he can’t think, like his head can’t get organized. Reggie doesn’t understand why this all is happening to him. He feels like a crazy person. A crazy person pacing around the house. Not saying anything. Not knowing what to say. Just pacing around.

That’s when we all come around.

We say: Reggie?

Reggie looks at us. He looks surprised to see us.

We say: What is it in your heart of hearts that you most wish for right now?

Reggie rubs the eyes on his little face.

Reggie says: I don’t know.

We say: You can just say it.

Reggie says: I don’t like people fighting.

We say: You want to make people not fight?

Reggie says: Yes.

We say: Why do you want to make people not fight?

Reggie says: Because it scares me.

It’s sad to hear Reggie say this, but you probably wouldn’t be surprised to hear that a lot of little kids say something like this. Sad, right?! So many kids scared of their parents fighting, just not feeling safe in that kind of environment. I mean, think about it! These little kids, so vulnerable. Their very lives at the mercy of their parents, or their parental substitutes.

So, so many kids have this same wish. So many that we made a protocol around how to grant this wish. The thing we do, and this is gonna make perfect sense when you hear it, the thing we do is we give these sweet little kids a kind of a super power. A gift. A talent. We give them this special talent where we turn them into a kind of an emotional firefighter. We make it so these kids are always looking out for fire, emotional fire. Listening in, checking your face, your voice, your posture, all of that, so they can figure out how you’re feeling. Then they figure out if you’re upset and they jump right in with firehoses and CPR, but you understand, it’s not firehoses, it’s more like smiles and back pats. It’s smiles and back pats and everything’s all okay. I mean, all okay as far as that kind of thing is okay.

This is the thing we do for kids like Reggie. We don’t ask him if he’s sure. We never do that. We just ask him what he wishes for and then we just give it to him. That’s the deal. And by that we abide.

III. THE HIGHLIGHT

One of the people sitting next to Jesus takes out a guitar and starts playing. She plays a song by a popular folk-rock band, not their most popular song, but another song that I don’t remember the name of. I try to figure out the name of the song, but I can’t figure it out. I’m a big fan of that band, but I can’t remember the name of that song. It’s like my head’s having a hard time organizing my thoughts. I rub my eyes. I hum along to the song. The people at the table sing along. Some of the standing people also sing along. One guy has a little basket that he carries around. Some people put money in the basket. He tells the people who don’t put money that he’s got a swipe thing for credit cards.

Jesus stays seated. He lifts his hands up and sways to the music. This all goes on for maybe a minute or maybe less and then the guitar player plays a sort of wrap-up riff and Jesus starts talking again.

Jesus says: Ok, friends. Let’s wrap this up. Let’s get to The Highlight of my message, okay? The Highlight. The Point. The Moral of the story, so to speak. So, this is it. This is The Highlight.

Everybody starts to settle down. Jesus waits for them to get organized. They redirect their attention back to Jesus.

Jesus says: So, this wish that we grant. This wish we grant for whatever it is that you want when you’re still little. That wish. That wish is not the end of it.

People seem to get a little energized now. Maybe because they can tell this thing is almost over.

Jesus says: Because, that first wish, that first wish is almost always a mistake. Can you see what I mean? You always wish for the wrong thing, even though it seems like the right thing at the time. That’s why we give you that wish when you’re too little to know better. Not because then you’ll wish for something good, but because we already know you’ll wish for something bad, but you’re still little, so at least you won’t wish for something that’s too, too jacked up, you see what I mean?

There are some people now with kind of confused looks on their faces.

Jesus says: We give you that first wish then, when you’re still little so as to protect you from yourselves. But that is not when it ends. There is more. Am I right? There is always more.

Jesus slowly gets up from the bench. He steps back and stands up straight. As he stands up, we can all see how big he is. He’s a big man. Very, very tall and also thick, strong looking. He looks like some kind of middle-aged Korean lumberjack surfer.

He starts talking again, but quieter now. Much quieter.

Jesus says: There’s a second wish.

We all lean forward to hear him.

Jesus says: And this second wish only comes to a few, just a few, and by just a few, I mean those few who didn’t wish for puppies and candy. I mean those few who wished for something else. Something desperate. Those are the few who sometimes come to be ready to be little again. You get me? To be little again. To be innocent again. And the way we know that they’re ready is that they’ve used up that first wish. They’ve used it all up. And it’s kept them safe for a long, long time. But all that time, they didn’t know it, but all that time, using that first wish, it was taking a toll on them. On their bodies, on their minds, on their hearts. Wearing them out. Using them up.

Jesus pauses and sort of takes a deep breath.

Jesus says: So, this second wish, when they get it, you want to know what? Every single one who gets that second wish, the thing is, they all wish for the same thing. The same thing. They don’t wish for money, even though most of the time they could use it. They don’t wish for revenge, even though most of the time they want it. They don’t even wish for the end of poverty or the cure for cancer, even though those are good, good, noble things. They don’t even wish for that. Do you want to know what each and every one of those that get a second wish wish for?

Most everybody nods their heads, including me.

Jesus says: They wish for the only thing that really matters. They wish for the only thing that ever really mattered. They all wish to know what it feels like to be truly and completely, unconditionally loved.

Right when he says that, I laugh out loud.

I say: Ha!

I say ha pretty loud, but nobody notices. Nobody notices except for the Amen Guy, the guy who said Amen at the wrong time earlier and that I then patted on the back. That guy notices. He looks at me and kind of nods. I nod back. He waves at me. I wave back. He makes a kind of a motion with his hands like he’s pulling on the collar of an imaginary jacket.

Amen Guy mouths the words: Aren’t you hot?

I shake my head.

I mouth the words: No, I’m okay.

The person with the guitar starts to play another song. This song is a song by a guy who was the singer in an old punk rock band. But this song is not a punk rock song. It’s a pretty song called “Fields of Gold.” I like that song. It’s pretty, especially the way the person with the guitar sings it. I sort of get lost in the song for a second. The sun is setting and there is a kind of goldenness to everything. The people around Jesus start to bunch in closer. Some of them put their arms around each other. I think some of them are even crying. Actually, I’m sure of it. Some of them are definitely crying.

The Amen Guy starts to walk over to me. I look down and then look back up. He’s still walking over to me. He waves at me. I wave back, but I also start to back away. He looks like a nice guy. I think he looks like a nice guy. But I still back away. He waves. It’s a little kid wave. He waves a little kid wave and smiles at me. I nod back at him. I keep backing away.

Amen Guy mouths the words: Thank you.

I nod.

Amen Guy mouths the words: I’m glad you came.

I nod. I nod again. I back away. I then I turn and walk. I walk away, checking back until the Amen Guy stops looking at me. I’m just far enough so that it seems like I’m probably not there for the Jesus thing anymore. But I’m still close enough to see. I see Jesus. He makes his way through this little circle. He puts his hands on the Amen Guy. He puts his hands on the top of the head of the Amen Guy. He puts his hands on his shoulders. He puts his hands on the back of his neck. He leans in and says something to him. The Amen Guy gets emotional when Jesus does this. He starts crying and wraps his arms around Jesus. All the while, the guy with the credit card swipe and basket is going around.

IV. THE PASSING OF THE PEACE

This ends after a short while. It’s dusk now, still enough sunlight out to keep the streetlights from switching on. Most of the people leave. Jesus still hangs out. He talks to the two, three people who stay. He looks like he’s praying. Then he’s joking around. Then he’s drinking a Diet Coke out of the can with a straw. When he’s done with the Coke, he gets up from the bench and gives the few people left a hug and then starts to walk toward the street.

He walks toward a kind of fancy sports car that I don’t know the name of. I follow him. He takes out the car remote and unlocks the car. I start running. I run toward him and his car. He doesn’t see me running.

As he’s getting in on the driver side, I open the passenger door and jump in too.

I’m sitting in the passenger seat. Jesus is sitting in the driver seat. He looks at me like he’s not all that surprised. I grab my gun. I point my gun at him. He puts his hands up.

I try to say something, but I’m out of breath. I hold my hand up to him to signal for him to wait because I’m out of breath. He nods. I keep pointing the gun at him. He puts his hands down. I motion for him to put his hands back up. He puts his hands back up. I catch my breath.

I say: You fucked my wife.

Jesus says: I’m sorry. I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.

I say: You fucked my fuckin’ wife, man!

Jesus keeps his hands up. He keeps his hands up and his eyes on me.

Jesus says: You’re Genna’s husband.

I say: Jenny! Jenny, not Genna. Jenny!

I rub my face, then I quickly stop rubbing my face. I point the gun at Jesus again.

I say: You fucked my wife.

Jesus says: Well, I didn’t technically fuck her.

I shake the gun in his face. He doesn’t seem to freak out about this. I shake it again

Jesus says: Okay. Let’s just say I did make love to your wife.

I say: You fucked her.

Jesus says: I did not fuck her.

I say: The fuck you didn’t.

I wave the gun around the car so as to say that I’m going to go crazy and shoot up Jesus and his fancy car.

Jesus says: I’m not trying to aggravate you. It’s a necessary distinction. I didn’t fuck Jenny. I didn’t fuck her. I don’t fuck people.

I say: What?

Jesus says: I don’t fuck people.

I say: What?

Jesus says: I’m a virgin.

I’m about to say what again, but I don’t. I think he’s telling the truth. Then I think he’s probably a really good liar. I say, fucking shit, and Jesus smiles and I don’t know why, but I’m not so mad for a second. Then I picture this big, giant, old-ass, lumberjack Jesus having sex with Jenny, and I’m mad again.

I say: The fuck kind of name is Jesus?

Jesus says: It’s my name. It’s a very common Spanish name.

I say: You’re Korean, man.

Jesus says: I’m Chinese actually.

I say: I thought you were Korean.

Jesus says: I get that a lot. Because of my face or because of my name?

I say: Name. But also face.

Jesus nods.

Jesus says: I’m glad you came today, Reggie.

I point the gun at him, really sticking it in his face now.

Jesus says: I’m sorry about your wife. But you gotta know, that’s something that’s been a long time coming. And you’re gonna see, it’s better this way. The two of you. Well, the two of you have run your course.

I don’t know what to say about that.

Jesus says: What do you want, Reggie? What do you really want?

I say: I don’t know.

Jesus says: You want my car? You seem to like my car.

I say: It is a nice car.

Jesus says: Okay. Let’s say, I give you the car. But you sure that’s what you really want?

I say: What are you doing, man! No, that’s not what I said. I don’t want your car.

I press the gun up against Jesus’s forehead.

Jesus says: Is there something else then? What about revenge?

I keep the gun up against his head.

Jesus says: Or what about, I don’t know, Jenny? You want Jenny back?

Jesus smiles. I think he’s smiling because he’s making a joke at me. But then I think he’s not really making a joke at me. He’s smiling because he’s happy. I think that’s what it is. He’s smiling because he’s happy.

My arm starts to get tired from holding up the gun, but I keep it held up, up to his forehead. He doesn’t seem to mind though. He doesn’t even seem to notice anymore that I have a gun to his head. He just smiles and looks at me. He looks me in the eyes. I can see his eyes. They’re dark brown and kind of wet like he might start crying, but not the upset kind of crying, but the compassionate kind of crying.

He starts to lower his hands.

I say: Don’t move.

I press the gun hard enough against his forehead to push his head back a little bit.

Jesus says: It’s okay.

I say: Did Jenny tell you all that about me?

Jesus says: All what?

I say: All that in The Illustration.

Jesus says: Oh, I don’t know. Probably. I got so many stories. It’s hard to keep track where they come from. You know what I mean?

I sort of laugh, but my mouth doesn’t work right so it comes out weird.

I say: Well, that is my story.

He nods. He nods like he understands. Like he understands that it’s my story. Like that’s the whole reason why he told that story in the first place. The he goes on lowering his hands. He lowers his hands until he’s got his hands on my shoulders. He’s holding me by the shoulders. I shrug to get him to let go of my shoulders, but his hands are really strong.

The radio in the car comes on. I don’t know how Jesus got the radio to come on, but it does. It comes on and there’s a song I don’t know, but it’s a pretty song. It sounds like the “Hallelujah” song, but it’s not. It’s maybe the same singer. Maybe, but I don’t know. But it is pretty. It’s a sad pretty piano song and then a guy singing like he’s also sad. But the guy’s not really singing. He’s sort of sing-talking. The “Hallelujah” song sounding guy is sing-talking and the words start with something like: Do you believe in an interventionist God, do you, don’t you?

I’m getting lost a little bit in the music. Meanwhile, Jesus keeps holding my shoulders steady. The way he’s holding my shoulders goes well with the music. I start to realize that my shoulders have been really tight. Jesus squeezes down on my tight shoulders. I feel my shoulders go a little weak. But not a bad kind of weak. It’s a good kind. Like my shoulders just relaxed for the first time in a long time.

The music gets louder. It’s at the refrain, and the refrain goes: In my arms of love, hold on. This repeats over and over, and now I know what song it is. I don’t know who sings it, but I know the song. I know the song. It’s “Arms of Love,” which is pretty much the exact right song to come on right now. I don’t know how Jesus got it to play right then, but it’s playing. “Arms of Love” by this “Hallelujah” song sounding guy is playing, and I’ve got a gun to Jesus’s head. I’ve got a gun to Jesus’s head, but my arm is tired from holding the gun to Jesus’s head. I put my other hand on my gun hand to help hold the gun up, but it doesn’t help. My arm is so tired. My arm and my shoulders and really all of me. I’m just really, really tired now. I want to put the gun down. I want to put the gun down and really all of it. I want to put everything down. But then what? Then what?

Then Jesus moves his hands off my shoulders and on to my face. He’s holding my face with both his hands. Cradling my face in his hands. His hands are warm and soft. Warm and soft and strong.

Jesus says: What is it you really want, Reggie? Go ahead. You can tell us. Whatever it is, whatever it is. Whatever it is in your heart of hearts that you most wish for right now?