Short Story / The Decoration Salvation
Maria Jabez was a woman. She was a single woman. She wasn’t always a single woman, but she was now. Maria had 3 children, a small family by the standards of her community. Unlike other families in her community, Maria had managed to send all of her children to college, and good jobs after that. As a result, all of her children had moved very far away, and visited her exactly twice a year. They were not bad children; they called once a month, they remembered birthdays, and they would support her when she could no longer work.
Maria could not do all of this alone; she had a friend in Jesus. She was a woman of unerring faith, and that faith had seen her through so many a dark time that she lived a life completely without doubt in her beliefs. She was lucky in this way, for faith can move mountains and do many other things that we don’t ever see or discover. Maria, hovering on the precipice of awakening to a cold Wednesday morning, was about to be saved again by her faith.
She woke up late. Thirty minutes late. She skipped showering, and was in the kitchen making breakfast when she looked at the clock. It had just struck 8:45. Panicked, Maria grabbed her coat and purse and whipped herself out the door. Single women cannot afford to be late for work, it goes without saying. What she neglected to do, in her haste, was remove the toast she had placed in the toaster.
Maria was a Catholic of the firmest ilk. This does not really have any relevance to her toaster, but it has great relevance to the rest of her apartment. The apartment had 2 bedrooms, a small living room, a meager kitchen, and a relatively generous bathroom. Thank goodness for small favors. The paint on the walls was faded, occasionally cracked, and the color varied slightly from room to room. The only consistencies between the rooms, actually, was a kind of loose brown shag carpeting, and Jesus.
Jesus, while his name did not appear on the lease, had asserted a sort of de facto control over the living space. There were at least two cross figures in every room. On some of them Jesus appeared quite rested, on others, he looked like he had what bland office small talk would refer to as “a case of the Mondays.” There was a portrait of Him next to Maria’s bed, as well as next to the small end table in the living room and the guest bed. They were all different pictures too, and Jesus would inevitably look calm or calmly concerned over some issue or another. The living room housed a large china hutch – but where there were once dishes, now there was only Him. Twenty three of Him precisely, resurrected in the form of miniature ceramic figures and scenes. Maria’s favorites included Jesus delivering the famous beatitudes sermon, and Jesus comforting a woman. There were many other objects of the Jesus nature throughout the house, and they all had resonance for her, they were all important in their own way. But chief among them all was the nativity scene that stayed on her kitchen table, a centerpiece of sorts, carved by hand out of wood.
It was the presence of so many precious items that made the drama all that greater as the toaster began to combust the imprisoned bread, and the flames slowly grew higher. It was just when it seemed like the flames would reach the ceiling and spread to the entire house, that Jesus decided to intercede.
Specifically, baby Jesus from the nativity scene. He rose, fully able, and blew a cool mist from the table over to the toaster, abating the flames and preventing what just seconds before had seemed like disaster. “Whew,” he said, and began hovering back down to his manger, ready to resume resting on the somewhat uncomfortable hay-lined makeshift cradle. Suddenly, another voice cracked the silence and smoke.
”Hey, what do you think you’re doing,” hollered a Jesus on the cross, from the kitchen wall. “You can’t go around doing stuff like that. Miracles aren’t really our thing these days. Or have you been sleeping in that wooden manger so long that you forgot?”
”Oh cut me a break man, you know what the deal is. This lady has barely any money, nobody else around, and she’s put half her life into collecting stuff like us. She deserved a little help and you know it.”
”That’s not the point. We’re here to inspire, not to do favors. If you’re so keen on favors, why don’t you mop the floor while you’re up?”
”Hey back off buddy, I’m a savior, not a janitor. And maybe I like to get up once in a while. Has it ever occurred to you that this manger is full of hay, and not down feathers? It gets pretty uncomfortable. I won’t even go into the itching.”
”Sorry, my mistake. What would I know about being uncomfortable, I’m only tacked up on a cross permanently. Do you think I like being posed like the letter T all day? I feel like I belong in the Village People.”
The two Sons of Men glared at each other intently, threats of more sarcasm sparking between their eyes. They were about to launch another salvo, when still another voice chimed in.
”Will you two shut up in there? I’m trying to look calm, and you guys are really grating on my nerves. How am I supposed to make Maria calm when you two are clucking like hens.” These words had issued from a photograph of Jesus on the living room end table, His calm demeanor now a disgruntled scowl.
”Forgive me Father,” shouted the Jesus on the cross in the kitchen, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your life on easy street. It must be exhausting sitting there looking like a lobotomy patient in a nice gold frame.”
Rage seized the figure in the picture frame. “I look placid, asshole, not brain dead. It’s not my fault you’re all mopey up there. Your job is to juxtapose the cruel intolerance of our death with the loving and life-affirming power of the resurrection. I didn’t hand out the jobs, you just got stuck with a bad one.”
They continued to banter back and forth, with the other similar items taking sides. The Jesus figures on the cross all banded together on one team, and the pictures on the other. Nativity Jesus had thankfully drifted back to sleep amidst the crossfire. However, one more figure was still to enter the fray. From the china hutch in the living room, a small voice drifted into the conversation.
”At least you people are accurate.”
Despite the fervor with which the pictures and crosses were arguing, this lone voice cut a clean swath and attracted the attention of all.
”I’m sorry,” said the cross Jesus in the bedroom, “Can you speak up? It’s hard to hear you from all the way back here.”
”I said, at least you guys are accurate.” The source of the voice was one of the ceramic figures. The figure depicted Jesus with a shepherd’s staff and a flock of sheep following close behind. “Seriously, look at me and tell me this is not pathetic.”
”What’s wrong with you,” one of the photo Jesus characters inquired.
”Oh I don’t know. Maybe some of you can recall Us herding a bunch of sheep around Galilee, but I sure can’t. I have to herd these stupid sheep all day. I was a carpenter, for God’s sake. I only herded metaphorical sheep! My whole life is a waste. I’m just a metaphor. A piece of figurative language in a ceramic prison.”
At this, all the figures were silent. In the kitchen, the smell of burnt toast still wafted up slowly from the miraculously extinguished appliance.
”Aw come on, cheer up.” One of the pictures was calm and consoling again. “You might feel silly, but you are one of her favorites.”
”He’s right,” affirmed one of the cross Jesus figures in the living room. “Plus, you get to hang out with those friendly sheep all day.”
Ceramic Jesus contemplated this for a moment, then agreed. “I suppose you’re right.”
”Hey guys, guess what I just noticed!” A new voice echoed vibrantly from Maria’s bedroom. “We outnumber the pictures of her kids by like 6 to 1. Her own kids!” A triumphant roar echoed throughout the house.
“We’re number One! We’re number One!”
The victory chant might have gone on for hours, but suddenly Maria burst through the front door, in an even greater panic than when she left. Half way through her drive to work, she had realized the serious toast related error. She had rushed back immediately. Seeing the smoke and black mark on the wall, her heart jumped a vertical mile, but then calmed down when she realized it was fine. Maria said a small prayer, and didn’t even notice the dozens of eyes smiling down at her.
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you should add a black velvet jesus, and maybe a touchdown jesus like at notre dame.
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I loved the banter between the several Jesus’ and the whole concept of them bemoaning their fate as “metaphors.” I didn’t like the ending, however. This is probably due to my own caste of mind which doesn’t encompass any “spiritual” beliefs whatsoever. Given the choice I would much rather watch “The Life of Brian” rather than “The Greatest Story Ever Told.” I think you ended it too soon – a deeper discussion between the Jesus’ about religion, especially Christianity, would have been great. Take your courage in both hands and take this story to its logical conclusion – I will certainly read it.
I thought this piece was very humorous, in strange, twisted way. Very imaginative to say the least. Some may take offense, but I think every now and then it refreshing to find someone with a sense of humor about religion.
This was an awesome read—I loved it! If people find this offensive, then there is something wrong with them. Overall, the work was very well written, with just enough description to get your vision across.
You should; however, watch how many times you use names in a single paragraph. Than can be a little aggrivating for the reader. My rule is usually once per paragraph.
Also, in the first paragraph and a few of the subsequent ones, you use sentences like: ”.....was a woman…..was this kind of woman….” and so on. That gets to be very redundant. Try rephrasing everything to read something like: “Maria Jabez was a woman; single, but hadn’t always been.”
Other than that, great job! Definately one of my favorite pieces.
This was clever and insightful. I truly laughed out loud as I was reading this. :) You came up with spectacular personifications of the images that my neighbor has all over her house. :) Beautiful!
I thought this was pretty funny, a tongue in cheek look at religion and faith and the strangeness of it all when viewed from a distance. one line i didn’t really understand was: “Single women cannot afford to be late for work, it goes without saying.” maybe i’m just dense but i dont really get it. anyway overall very fun stuff.
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