The Third Coming

Jesus

This the little-known story of Jesus (pronounced Hey, Zeus!).

It is written that in the beginning of home ownership, there shall be aspirations toward the happy and lasting marriage of comfort and grandeur.  Attempts shall be made to bringeth of the outdoors into the home, so that all may share in the enjoyment of the magical works of Mother Nature without journeying far into the unknown reaches of the Nether End of the garden.  And lo, house-plants shall be gifted, borne within plastic bags to the hearth of friends to signify goodwill and generosity.

Thus it was that a Cyclamen of pink flower took of peaceful residence within a small London flat in the approximate year of our Lard 2002.  And the residents occasionally bestowed upon him the gift of water, and he felt loved.

But the malevolent demons of the Aotearoan biosecurity authority spake their command that unauthorised plants be not granted entry to their domain.  Thus, when the residents embarked upon a great journey of some permanence to the outer reaches of civilisation, Jesus remained behind.  The residents spake momentarily of their sorrow, but entrusted that new residents, of the tribe Tenant, would look upon his needs with grace and favour.

The residents gave no further thought to Jesus, returning more than 36 moons hence.  And upon their coming they discovered that in their absence terrible trauma had been visited upon the flat.  Thus were they distracted with many trips to Bee and Queue Home Improvement Emporium, and there was much hammering and sanding.  And some cursing and taking of the Tenants’ names in vain.

One day, some time later, the residents discovered a sorry remains resembling a passel of pubic hairs in a plant receptacle.  The man determined to dispose of the remains, but the woman looked again, and both were amazed.

For despite at least one winter in the outside, which is known to visit death upon gentle Cyclamens, there was a tiny sprout visible amidst the ruinous wasteland of former glory.  Gently did the woman extract the dried up pubes to reveal life’s miracle, and she bestowed some new compost upon it, and crossed her fingers.

Over many weeks was there hand-wringing and hoping.  Finally, pink flowers were observed and there was much rejoicing.  It was a second coming!  Jesus was christened in ceremony befitting his status.

And the residents embarked upon a journey to the Suburbia.  Jesus accompanied them in rude health.

But then came a hot spell and the Windowsill of Roast tooketh of Jesus’ life force once again, while the residents had journeyed for a number of weeks to a transatlantic destination.  Upon their return Jesus was a dried up shadow of his former self and there was much belly-aching.  This time it seemed there could be no reprieve.

It is written that laziness can be a virtue, and it was this which saved Jesus’ life.  For both the woman and the man embarked on a not-throwing-Jesus-into-the-bin stand-off of supreme lethargy.  And on the fifth week, a sprout was observed.

It grew slowly but majestically, resembling the lopsided grin of a triumphant success.  For it is written: never let the bastards grind you down.

Observe the several sprouts at the base!

Here ends the story of the Third Coming of Jesus, the plant that will not die.  Now, let his spirit live in all of us.

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2 Responses to “The Third Coming”


  1. 1 Naomi B. July 8, 2010 at 11:57 am

    A story of miracles, hope and tenacity. Long live Jesus.

  2. 2 Suzanne July 8, 2010 at 5:36 pm

    A symbol of hope and renewal, Jesus certainly deserves his own holiday celebration of resurrection. But what would be the appropriate sacrificial meal? Ham? Lamb? Eggs? Hmm, I wonder…


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