Saving Jesus: A Confession

I was raised Catholic. This fact is relevant to the story but more of it later. On a late afternoon run in mid-December, I headed up Highland Ave and across to the grounds of an old convent not far from my house. At one time the religious community had been home to a thriving kindergarten and grade school but the secular life had taken its toll on interest in a spiritual education. With dwindling enrollees and finances, the nuns had to sell off many of the buildings no longer in use. Today, the main building is the last one in use, and functions as a retirement home with nursing care.

One of the buildings on the grounds is the former school and I read in our local rag that the town had recently bought it with the idea of creating more public-school space. I decided to jog around the building before continuing on my regular route and stopped at a window to see if there was anything of interest. I am by nature a very curious person.

There is an excitement that comes with curiosity, which, when added to the cold weather of that December afternoon, led to a sudden filling of my bladder and an overwhelming need to pee! 

I started to squirm. Desperate, yet worried that I would be seen by the nuns or the elderly residents of the retirement home and with no easy toilet solution in sight, I walked to the other side of the school where the bushes, the building and the low light of winter's early dusk would provide enough cover to answer nature's very insistent call.

As I relieved myself behind a bush, and looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was coming, I noticed a white “something” in another bush maybe twenty feet away. 

After I was done, I walked over to the bush and parted the branches. There, standing at four feet  tall and with wide open arms was a statue of Jesus on a pedestal facing the school. He did not seem happy and I don't think it was just me. Years of neglect in this suburban wilderness had left the white paint peeling all over his body. He had a discoloration under his eyes that gave the appearance of him crying and immediately I put my hand on his head and said “sorry Jesus.” I noticed a twinge of guilt at having relieved myself in front of him, but I knew he would forgive me.

Fast forward a few weeks to Christmas Eve: I hadn’t been to Mass in a long time. My relationship with Catholicism had been and remains complicated and not relevant to the matter of this entry, nevertheless I thought that it would be great to go to midnight Mass and connect with the community of faithful who were celebrating. I asked my 17 year old if he wanted to come with me and I was pleasantly surprised when he said “yes.”

After Mass, he said “hi” to a few of the young people he recognized from school and overall, despite the lateness of the hour, seemed in bright spirits. We got in the car and an unexpected thought popped into my head. It may have been best for it to have stayed in my head but instead I blurted it out “Hey! I have an idea! Do you want to go and save Jesus??” I told him about my run and finding the statue of Jesus slowly decaying at the abandoned school.

I knew that there was something wrong about my idea but there also seemed something right.  He smiled and said "alright," but then as we approached the convent he asked: “Dad, if you think we are doing the right thing, why are you turning off your headlights?” He had a point.

I parked as far away from the main building as I could. We got out of the car and quietly closed the doors. I walked him over to the appointed bush and Jesus had not moved. Instead he stood, sad and cold on his birthday. “What are we going to do?” whispered my son. “Let’s take him and put him in the gardening shed at home,” I suggested excitedly. “That way, he’ll be out of the cold and then maybe we can find some paint and fix him up!” "Shhh," he said pressing a finger to his lips, "too loud."

We tried to lift Jesus. He was heavy but movable, but just then the voice of reason emerged from my son: “Dad what the heck do you imagine will happen when mom opens the shed and finds a statue of Jesus staring back at her from inside?” Another good point. “Also, there is something wrong about stealing Jesus, and leaving him in the shed especially on Christmas Day!”

“We’re not stealing him; we’re saving him so that that he can be restored to his glory!” Jesus was getting heavy so we put him back on the pedestal. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we put him in the car and take him to the Church? We can leave him on the front steps!”

He thought about it for a while and finally said “Dad, it’s a good idea, but it’s too weird. Can you imagine the parishioners finding Jesus on the steps on Christmas morning? What if the cops stop us? What are you going to say to them? That you were bringing Jesus back to Church? Let's leave him. He’ll be OK here. He’s been through a lot over the past two thousand years, he’s going to survive a little snow and rain and flaking paint.”

My boy! 17 and so wise. With that, we wished Jesus a happy birthday and headed home, my heart filled with the joy of the shared experience with my son on the blessed night.