Rat Jesus

Last night, I saw Rat Jesus.

I first spotted him as I stopped at a red light at a busy intersection. I noticed a lump of gray flesh and hair followed by a thin tail scurrying across the street toward the median.

I cheered him on hoping he would make it safely across the great divide.

To my horror, five feet away from his safe haven, a car mercilessly ran him over tossing his frail body a couple feet forward into the air only to slam down to the pavement and immediately be followed by another car that tossed him back up once again to fall back down to his final resting place in a lifeless heap.

In the shock of witnessing this murder, I broke into tears.

He was so close to his dream rat life. He just had to cross to the other side of the street. Would endless cheese and other rat pleasures be waiting for him? I would never know.

I started to craft a silent prayer for his transition into the afterlife. But before I could finish, his lifeless body reanimated, and in even more shock, I watched him dart to finish his journey, finally crossing the great divide.

I screamed in celebration. I had witnessed a miracle. He had been resurrected.

I guess the Christians were wrong. There would be a coming of a new messiah. But the Jews were also wrong. It would not be a man.

It was a rat.

I wondered what awaited Rat Jesus on his return to this world. He had crossed two great divides that night: one was the intersection of Clark Street and First Ave, the other was the intersection between the physical world and the afterlife. Would he be rewarded with those endless cheeses, no rat traps, and ginger chef curls to control as far as the eye could see? I doubt Rat Jesus had a need for these earthly luxuries.

I also imagined that he would radiate divine forgiveness and compassion for his rat apostles who sold his whereabouts to the cars that ran him over.

Coincidentally, I had just returned from a Mormon wedding. In their speeches to the bride and groom, they spoke about God and Jesus. However, no mention of Rat Jesus.

Is it up to me to spread the good word? Is it my responsibility to write the New New Testament and spread Rat Jesus’s message as far and wide as possible?

Or should I try to forget what I saw? I’m afraid the story of Rat Jesus might require too much reorganizing of my beliefs.

But how long could I live in this cognitive dissonance? I had, in fact, witnessed the resurrection of Rat Jesus that night. 

No, I must answer the call of this miracle. It has wound its rat paws into the tapestry of my fate.

It’s time to share it with the world.