A few years ago I thought I'd be funny and buy my Jewish friend a Moses action figure for Hannukah. I always forgot to wish him happy Hanukkah. The year I bought Moses, Hanukkah fell close to Christmas, and so I remembered. I'm culturally sensitive like that. So to atone for my not-paying-attentionness, I bought my friend the aformentioned culturally sensitive gift. He in turn bought me Jesus. It turns out Moses was two dollars more than Jesus, because he had a staff and the Ten Commandments with him. Jesus just has his hands, which, I suppose, are all he needs. And he also rolls on wheels, or glides if you prefer.
We thought about discussing who would win in a fight between the two action figures, but then we decided not to. I concluded anyway that Jesus would probably rather take Mo to the nearest water fountain, have a glass of wine, and talk about it. And the fight would totally suck anyway. Jesus would touch Moses, heal his anger, and take the fight right out of him. (As you can tell I am assuming Moses would start this fight since he is the one carrying around weapons.)
I bring this up because I found Jesus yesterday in a box that (1) had been sitting on my parents' porch since February then (2) had been sitting in the corner of my living room since late July. Before his box stay he stood vigil on my two-dollar coffee table in my former, much smaller, much quieter apartment. He faced the door. His loving face and outstretched arms, though plastic, were poised to shame any burglar who tried to break in. And they were poised to welcome me home. It turns out the people who wanted to take something from me tried to do so in other ways, or they burgled and realized I had nothing of value. OR, Jesus saved.
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