The other day I went to the supermarket to buy some fresh vegetables and daisies. And much to my surprise, in the pasta aisle, there was Jesus of Lakeview!
Jesus of Lakeview is a man in his late twenties (?) who walks around the city dressed in a long white robe over his jeans and scuffed white sneakers. He has grown a long dark mane and a scroungy beard. "Oh, that's no big deal," you may be thinking. "Lots of hippies look like that." But the difference here is that Jesus of Lakeview is the only guy who walks around with a big cross over his shoulder. Not a plastic cross or a small veneered one, but a full-blown, splinter-filled, life-sized cross. He doesn't do this only during Easter or Halloween; he plays the Son of God all year long.
For a moment, put yourself in his mind: this guy essentially a method actor who wakes up each morning and really does think, What would Jesus do? You can't help but wonder how many decisions suddenly become weighty. Whether you are religious or not, you have to admit that much of the Bible doesn't specify how to handle certain modern dilemmas. Jesus of Lakeview, in emulating Christ's life, has to assume or intuit how the actual Jesus would live every day. Would you want the pressure of choosing whether the savior would use paper or plastic?
But back to the story. I'm all for seeking truth and wisdom, so I decided to stalk the guy. I tiptoed behind Jesus of Lakeview, tracing him through the dairy aisle and the frozen food section. Although he showed interest in some Bird-Eye frozen peas, he ultimately just dragged his cross to the express lane. I gently pushed my cart behind him and tried to act casual and dodge the cross, which threatened to maim me with the man's slightest movement. I had a brief flash of the horrific possibility: somebody in a neighboring queue would say, "Jesus, Lurlene, I told you to lay off them Steak-Umms. Good god!" Like the superhero of superheroes, Jesus of Lakeview would whip around to mightily strike down the blasphemer. The cross would whack me in the torso, flinging my puny body into a rack of tabloids. I'd live in infamy as the first to go down as Armageddon commenced at the supermarket.
That didn't happen, and the rest of the spy operation was uneventful. My reconnaissance did provide some nutritional information, which I willingly share here. If you'd like to eat like Jesus of Lakeview, a single grapefruit is the ticket! Not pink grapefruit, just a plain one. That is all our fake savior bought before scurrying off to proselytize, to spread the good word, or maybe to have some "special brownies" at the Phish concert.
Jesus of Lakeview is a man in his late twenties (?) who walks around the city dressed in a long white robe over his jeans and scuffed white sneakers. He has grown a long dark mane and a scroungy beard. "Oh, that's no big deal," you may be thinking. "Lots of hippies look like that." But the difference here is that Jesus of Lakeview is the only guy who walks around with a big cross over his shoulder. Not a plastic cross or a small veneered one, but a full-blown, splinter-filled, life-sized cross. He doesn't do this only during Easter or Halloween; he plays the Son of God all year long.
For a moment, put yourself in his mind: this guy essentially a method actor who wakes up each morning and really does think, What would Jesus do? You can't help but wonder how many decisions suddenly become weighty. Whether you are religious or not, you have to admit that much of the Bible doesn't specify how to handle certain modern dilemmas. Jesus of Lakeview, in emulating Christ's life, has to assume or intuit how the actual Jesus would live every day. Would you want the pressure of choosing whether the savior would use paper or plastic?
But back to the story. I'm all for seeking truth and wisdom, so I decided to stalk the guy. I tiptoed behind Jesus of Lakeview, tracing him through the dairy aisle and the frozen food section. Although he showed interest in some Bird-Eye frozen peas, he ultimately just dragged his cross to the express lane. I gently pushed my cart behind him and tried to act casual and dodge the cross, which threatened to maim me with the man's slightest movement. I had a brief flash of the horrific possibility: somebody in a neighboring queue would say, "Jesus, Lurlene, I told you to lay off them Steak-Umms. Good god!" Like the superhero of superheroes, Jesus of Lakeview would whip around to mightily strike down the blasphemer. The cross would whack me in the torso, flinging my puny body into a rack of tabloids. I'd live in infamy as the first to go down as Armageddon commenced at the supermarket.
That didn't happen, and the rest of the spy operation was uneventful. My reconnaissance did provide some nutritional information, which I willingly share here. If you'd like to eat like Jesus of Lakeview, a single grapefruit is the ticket! Not pink grapefruit, just a plain one. That is all our fake savior bought before scurrying off to proselytize, to spread the good word, or maybe to have some "special brownies" at the Phish concert.
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