I was my dear mother’s only child, and long ago she used to tell me that, someday, I would meet Jesus Christ. Naturally, I believed her. I knew, beyond a doubt, that I was destined to meet the Son of God.
Well, last Wednesday afternoon, the tenth of July, at 8:37 PM, it finally happened.
You may find this farfetched. But I testify: I was setting out along the Detroit riverfront to pass out leaflets proclaiming God’s Word to the unbelievers, which is my usual evening work, and there He was, sitting right on the granite steps of Hart Plaza.
What does the Son of God look like? Perhaps you have a preconceived image of Him. A white man in a white robe with flowing brown hair? Well, I won’t judge you, because that’s what I thought too. But I’m here to tell you that the Lord most emphatically does not look like that.
The physical form of the Lamb of God, as He appeared to me last Wednesday, was that of an enormously fat African-American gentleman wearing a stained white T-shirt, baggy green corduroys, and dirty brown loafers on His Sacred (and sizable) Feet. When I say fat, I mean truly obese. I wouldn’t think of committing the sacrilege of asking Jesus His weight, but it was probably around four hundred pounds. He was simply…enormous. He wore His Holy Hair in long dreadlocks that draped over His Sanctified Girth. He was eating a hot dog with ketchup and mustard, and some of the Blessed Condiments had spilled down onto His Glorious T-shirt in long red and yellow blobs. He wore headphones attached to an iPod, and the Good Shepherd was “getting his groove on,” as the young people like to say. Yes, indeedy, He was nodding along as He chewed His Exalted Frankfurter, and I could hear the low bass tones of His Most Sacrosanct Music from where I stood. I believe Jesus was listening to what the young folks call “hip-hop.” It isn’t my cup of tea, but who am I to second-guess God’s Only Begotten Son?
How did I know this was the Almighty Himself? As I stood staring at His Holy Form, He turned and looked directly at me. He didn’t miss a beat – He just kept nodding along with His Music, and looked directly into my eyes. He gave me no signal, but I didn’t need one. I knew my Savior! Then he turned the Blessed Head back to watching the freighters on the river.
What did I do then? I prostrated myself on the ground before Him! I gave my life over to Him! I begged Him to forgive my sins! I even kissed the Blessed Feet!
My ecstasy was so great that it continues even now, in this small white room, in this hospital, surrounded by heathen unbelievers. I shall minister to them in the Name of Jesus Christ!
My dear mother used to tell me that, someday, I would meet our Lord and Savior. She was right. I met Jesus on the steps of Hart Plaza last Wednesday. I am blessed, and Satan hath no power over me!
This story was written by Brian Kirchner. He's 46 years old, married with three kids, and lives in Royal Oak, Michigan (near Detroit). He teaches Earth Science at a local community college and have a PhD in Geology. He's loved writing since childhood. A short story of his will be published soon in the online magazine "Inklette", and he recently won 9th place in a Writer's Digest international poetry competition.
