Imaginary Jesus Read online

  “Take the theological forcefulness of Bonhoeffer, combine it with the imaginative whimsy of C. S. Lewis and the wit of Charles Spurgeon, and you get Matt Mikalatos. He is a gifted writer, a true Christian, with a first-rate mind. Imaginary Jesus is a startlingly original, comedic, and theologically true tour de force. It marks the debut of one of today’s most prominent young Christian writers.”

  Gary Thomas—author of Sacred Marriage and Pure Pleasure

  “If there is such a thing as a holy romp, this is it. I laughed, I applauded and cheered, I thanked God. Every Christian I know will want to read this one!”

  Phyllis Tickle—author of The Great Emergence

  “Matt Mikalatos writes like a happy-go-lucky C. S. Lewis. Imaginary Jesus is relentlessly funny, with surprisingly profound spiritual insights.”

  Josh D. McDowell—author and speaker

  “Matt Mikalatos has written a funny, surprising, gutsy tale. Through his writing, I recognized many of my own false assumptions and shallow beliefs, and possibly even more importantly, I really enjoyed the journey.”

  Shauna Niequist—author of Cold Tangerines

  “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started reading Imaginary Jesus by Matt Mikalatos. By the second page, I was hooked by its humor and challenging insights. Be prepared to have your relationship with Jesus enriched and enlarged by this fun and fascinating look at how we tend to picture Jesus on our own terms.”

  Tremper Longman—Robert H. Gundry Professor of Biblical Studies, Westmont College

  “Imaginary Jesus not only entertained me to the point that I was embarrassed by my public outbursts of laughter, but it also challenged my faulty thinking on who Jesus was and is. Matt’s zany sense of humor was only outdone by the fact that he made so much sense! I’m grateful he let us into his wacky universe!!”

  Chris Zaugg—Campus Crusade for Christ; executive director of Keynote

  “Warning: Reading this book can cause one to lose their false faith. In Imaginary Jesus, Matt Mikalatos confronts the images of Jesus he created over the years in order to reveal the radical rebel who came to redeem the world.”

  Becky Garrison—author of Jesus Died For This?: A Satirist’s Search for the Risen Christ

  “Wise and profound—and I don’t say that lightly. Creative in its use of the surreal, this imaginative tale is also that rare thing: a glimpse at what the process of maturing in Christian faith looks like. Matt Mikalatos’ book will hold up long after the imaginary Jesuses in current vogue have shuffled toward the history section.”

  Anna Broadway, author of Sexless in the City

  “Crazy and creative and utterly captivating. Imaginary Jesus is an entertaining annihilation of all the false and frustrating idols that need to be kicked around a little more.”

  Dale Ahlquist—president of the American Chesterton Society

  “Matt Mikalatos is a crazy man. But he is a wise crazy man. Imaginary Jesus is a crazy book. But don’t let that fool you. It has a powerful message that is desperately needed for our insane times. So just go with it and let Matt take you on a hilariously serious journey through the oddly firing synapses of his brain. And don’t be surprised if you lose some unnecessary baggage along the way.”

  Coleman Luck—Hollywood screenwriter; executive producer of The Equalizer and Gabriel’s Fire; author of Angel Fall

  “Matt Mikalatos has an incredible gift that is highlighted throughout Imaginary Jesus. While this book is hilarious, it will also cause you to stop dead in your tracks and evaluate what you really believe about Jesus.”

  Pete Wilson—pastor of Cross Point Community Church, Nashville, TN

  “With uncompromising awareness and hilarious creativity, Mikalatos delivers a tour de force that is accessible, entertaining, and thought provoking. You’ll laugh out loud at Mikalatos’s brilliant humor, but watch out—while you’re laughing, he’ll hit you square in the jaw with a solid right hook when he presents you with your own mythology about Jesus.”

  Coach Culbertson—editor-in-chief, Coach’s Midnight Diner; ccPublishing, NFP

  “Perhaps the funniest Christian book of all time. Including the future. But more enjoyable if read in the present.”

  Keith Bubalo—national director of Worldwide Student Network

  “Imaginative, thought-provoking, funny, and especially convicting. This book exposes my own imaginary Jesus, as well as the many others out there. It reads like an updated version of Phillips’s Your God Is Too Small, only with a lot more wit and creativity. Matt helps all of us see our own propensity to idolatry, and brings us back to the real Jesus.”

  Dr. John E. Johnson—associate professor of pastoral theology at Western Seminary; lead pastor of Village Baptist Church

  “Imaginary Jesus is the most powerful and clever book I’ve read this year. I am already recommending it to everyone I know. Which now includes you. Read it.”

  Lead singer of Page CXVI

  “Imaginary Jesus is a fast, wild, unnerving ride. Think J. B. Phillips (Your God Is Too Small) on six shots of espresso running crazy through the streets of Portland, Oregon.”

  David Sanford—author of If God Disappears: 9 Faith Wreckers and What to Do about Them

  “When I read Imaginary Jesus, I laughed so hard milk came out of my nose . . . and I wasn’t even drinking any.”

  Adam Sabados—just some guy

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com.

  TYNDALE is a registered trademark of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Barna and the Barna logo are trademarks of George Barna.

  BarnaBooks is an imprint of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Imaginary Jesus

  Copyright © 2010 by Matt Mikalatos. All rights reserved.

  Cover photo copyright © by Bob Thomas/iStockphoto. All rights reserved.

  Author photo copyright © 2009 by Griffin Gibson. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Beth Sparkman

  Published in association with the literary agencies of Wes Yoder of The Ambassador Literary Agency, 1107 Battlewood Street, Franklin, TN 37069 and Esther Fedorkevich, Fedd and Company Inc., 9759 Concord Pass, Brentwood, TN 37027.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, King James Version.

  Some names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. In fact, that’s a major plot point of the book. Others are based on the author’s memory of events and experiences, though he has changed these when it pleased him or the story demanded it. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which is which. Hint: the talking donkey is made up.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mikalatos, Matt.

  Imaginary Jesus / Matt Mikalatos.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3563-6 (pbk.)

  1. Jesus Christ—Fiction. 2. Imaginary companions—Fiction. 3. Portland (Or.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3613.I45I43 2010

  813'.6—dc22 2009044448

  Printed in the United States of America.

  16 15 14 13 12 11 10

  7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  TO THE HATE CLUB—

  the most bitter, vicious, mean-spirited, poorly tempered, merciless friends a guy could ever hope to find.

  Keep up the excellent work.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ZERO: At the Red and Black

  CHAPTER ONE: Following Jesus

  CHAPTER TWO: A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, and Pete

  CHAPTER THREE: Imaginary Gardens with
Real Toads in Them

  CHAPTER FOUR: In One Year and Out the Other

  CHAPTER FIVE: A Doctor in the House

  CHAPTER SIX: Matt Mikalatos, Donkey Disciple

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Something’s Going On Down the Road over Yonder

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Lamb on the Lam

  CHAPTER NINE: Jesus Will Never Leave You (If You Tie the Knots Tight Enough)

  CHAPTER TEN: Behold! I Stand at the Door and Knock!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: !!!!!

  CHAPTER TWELVE: The Secret Society of Imaginary Jesuses

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Thy Kingdom Come

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Onward Christian Soldiers

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Boy Meets Bunny

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Healing in the Bedroom

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Every Cowboy Sings a Sad, Sad Song

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Emergency Room

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Death and All His Friends

  CHAPTER TWENTY: Learning to Listen to Your Inner (Tube) Voice

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: One Jesus Down . . . Way Down

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Oooooooh! TREE!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Return of the Frog of Hate

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: A Burning in the Bosom

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Mormon Jesus and My Jesus

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: The Atheist Bible Study

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Laurel and Hardy Meet Mohammad

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Back in (the Red and) Black

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: The Parable of Zombie Boy and Werewolf Boy

  CHAPTER THIRTY: Portland + Jesus = Love

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Stupid Atheists and Their Stupid Insights

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Oh Yes, Jefe, You Have a Plethora

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: It Takes a Village

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: In the Labyrinth

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: Holy Mother of God

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: Dinner with the President

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: The Center

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Craft Time with the Apostle John

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Function at the Junction

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from Matt’s Next Book

  CHAPTER ZERO

  At the Red and Black

  Jesus and I sometimes grab lunch at the Red and Black Café on Twelfth and Oak. It’s decorated in revolutionary black and red, with posters and pictures of uprisings on the walls. The menu is vegan, which means that there are no animal products in the food. No meat, in other words. No honey, for that matter, because we don’t want to steal from the hardworking bees.

  The employees run the restaurant like a commune. There’s no manager, and no one’s in charge. I like to pick up the books and zines they sell and pretend to be a hard-core Portlander. Jesus likes the funky Portland vibe, and he thinks the socialist ethic that runs it is cute. He also likes the painting of Bruce Springsteen next to the counter, which has the caption, “The Only Boss We Listen To.” He laughs at that every single time.

  I was sitting by the round table with the chessboard painted on it, and Jesus was sitting across from me, his legs crossed and one sandaled foot bouncing to the music. I had my Bible open in front of me but sort of pushed behind a notebook so no one could see it. If someone figured out it wasn’t a copy of Marx, I was pretty sure I might get stoned, and not from the secondhand smoke. Jesus had just put his earbuds in when the waitress brought me my vegan chili. This is the price you pay to be cool in this town. I took a bite, wished it had some meat in it, and poured as much Tapatío into it as I could stand. As I stirred the taste into my food, I realized that the worst possible thing had happened. They had forgotten my chips.

  “They forgot my tortilla chips.”

  Jesus tossed his hair back and pulled an earbud out. “What was that?”

  “They forgot my tortilla chips.”

  “I thought that might happen.” He smiled.

  “I’m going to ask them to bring some out.”

  Jesus smiled that same serene, knowing smile and shook his head. He does that sometimes. He doesn’t overtly disagree with my actions, but I still get the feeling he’s unhappy with me. Which annoys me. I took another bite of chili, and around my (meatless) mouthful I said, “What? What’s wrong with asking for my tortilla chips?”

  “Leave the poor communists alone,” he said. “So they forgot your chips, so what? Show them how a nice Christian doesn’t throw a fit when he’s wronged.”

  “Humph.” Under my breath I added, “Maybe you could turn my napkin into some tortilla chips.”

  “Then how would you wipe the chili off your chin?”

  He was right. Chili was dripping off my chin. I wiped it off with my sleeve, just to teach him a lesson. He smiled and replaced his earbuds, and I turned my attention back to my Bible, which was weird with him sitting right across the table. It was like giving him a chance to talk when here I was, talking to him.

  “You seem cranky today,” Jesus said. “Are you angry with me?”

  “You should know, Mr. Omniscience.”

  “I’d like you to tell me,” he answered kindly.

  “You know why I’m upset with you,” I said darkly, not liking the turn this conversation had taken. I tried to find something to distract me, which is always easy at the good ol’ Red and Black.

  The best thing about the Red and Black is the customers. I worked at a comic book store back in the day, and I miss the steady stream of weirdos, misfits, and losers tromping through to talk about Dr. Doom. No one at the Red and Black wants to talk about Dr. Doom. That childish comic-book villain has been replaced by whomever happens to be president of the United States at any given moment. I sometimes hope that a future president will become fiercely disfigured and choose to wear a scowling metal mask to disguise his acid-scarred face. It would add a little melodrama to the Portland political scene.

  The other best thing, if I could be allowed two best things, is that no one notices Jesus when we’re at the restaurant together. He sits there with his iPod, smiling to himself, and no one notices the way he’s dressed or the shiny glow of his halo getting all over everything.

  A commotion at the counter broke my concentration. Commotion at the counter is part of life at the Red and Black, and to be honest, this is the third thing that is best: I often get distracted from my Bible and see something exciting. The most common source of commotion is the fact that the Red and Black refuses to take credit cards. To add to the insult, they will allow you to get money from your bank account by typing your ATM code into a pad connected to the cash register. After charging you a monstrous fee, they hand you cash out of the register. Why you can’t use the same ATM pad to merely make a purchase is unclear. The downtown Suits who eat here get bent out of shape because the Red and Black doesn’t participate in our financial system the way Big Business requires.

  But the problem today came from a big-boned man, knotted with muscle, his black beard streaked with gray and spilling onto his wide chest. He wore dirty work jeans and a dark blue shirt that strained to contain him. “What do you mean ‘no salmon’? This is the Pacific Northwest.” He leaned in close to the woman taking his order, who gave him a look so weighted with disdain it could barely make it the seven inches from her eyes to his.

  “We’re vegan,” she said. “Vegan. No meat. No animal products. Fish are animals.”

  The man looked like his eyes were going to bulge out of his head and slap her, but he took a deep breath and leaned back. “No fish. Okay. I’ll get a glass of water and think about it.” He walked to the side of the counter and poured himself a cup, then, to my chagrin, looked over and caught me staring. His eyes darted to my table, saw my Bible, and a wide grin broke out on his face. Oh, great. He was a Christian.

  There aren’t a lot of Christians in Portland, which means that when we see each other there’s an obligatory minority dance that goes on. At the very least you have to raise your eyebrows and tip your
chin up at one another. Some genres of Christian require that you talk about how hard life is in Portland (which it isn’t). Some want to sit down and talk about their favorite book or the latest thing they learned on The KROS. That’s our radio station. It’s like a Christian ghetto on the airwaves. Safe for young people, positive words, okay music.

  “Jesus,” I hissed. “Keep that guy from coming over here.”

  Jesus looked over at the guy, who was only a few steps away now, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, man. Not him.” He stood up. “Listen, I’m going to go check the parking meter.”

  I almost spilled my chili. “What? You can’t leave me here with him.”

  Jesus looked at me sternly. “You prayed not to get a ticket while parked illegally in front of the café.”

  “I also prayed that there would be some quarters squirreled away in my car and someone didn’t provide.”

  Jesus pointed his finger at me. “Watch it, Mikalatos. You know I don’t care for your back talk.” Then he stood up, and with a swirl of his robes he walked out the door, just as the hairy bear of a Christian man squeezed himself in at my table.

  “Pete Jonason.” He held out a powerful hand as wide as my plate. I shook it, doing my best to look incredibly busy. I could tell he worked the docks or something. A pungent smell of salt, fish, and ocean hung around him.

  “Matt,” I said.

  He took a drink of his water, made a face, and spit it back into his cup. “They put some sort of chemicals in the drink.”

  He was right. The water had a weird taste. “I think it’s rose water or something. They’re completely organic here. I assume they wouldn’t use chemicals.”

  Pete leaned back, his dark eyes staring at me with an unblinking ferocity that made me uncomfortable. I took another bite of chili. “You make a lot of assumptions, Matt.” He forgot about the water, took another sip, grunted, and spit it into his cup. He nodded in the direction of the door. Jesus stood out there, talking to a traffic cop who appeared to be writing a ticket for my truck. “I see that Jesus is wearing the traditional robes and powder blue sash today.”