Fall In Love With Jesus This Sunday

So, the church sign says, and has said for several weeks now “Fall In Love With Jesus This Sunday”, which I though was sort of an odd call to worship. But I was walking by this afternoon, and I heard loud dance music coming from inside, and my queer little feet just automatically walked right in the door to see what was happening in this otherwise boring looking little church.

Oh. My Oh My. Oh My God. We’re obviously holding one hell of a revival, exclusively to bring the wanton women back into the flock.

They were holding rehearsal, I’m assuming for tomorrow mornings service. A loud, thumping, disco version of “Yes, Jesus Loves Me” was blaring out loudly. And on the stage, around the altar, everywhere you looked, was Jesus. Dancing.

I’m talking every Chippendale’s fantasy Jesus you could ever imagine. All had long brown hair and some sort of facial hair, much like the Sunday school pictures all us white kids grew up with. And I’m sure there comes some point in every good little Christian girls life where her hormones are doing extremely strange things to her body and Jesus starts to become — sexy. And our goal here, in this particular church, is apparently to make every single version of that fantasy come true.

There was Typical Jesus with long brown hair and brown eyes and abs of steel. There was the more teen-age version of Jesus, with even longer brown hair, and scruff, and a perfect little ass you could eat off of. There was Bad-Ass Jesus, with shorter, unkept brown, hair, brilliant blue eyes, a biker moustache, and biceps as big as most guys legs. There was Short and Sweet Jesus, who still had one tight and fine body. There was Tall and Lanky Jesus, who had shoulders you could not only cry on but also sleep on. There was Gothic Jesus, with black eye-liner and a crown of thorns and discrete bleeding. There was even one Black Jesus, with piercing green eyes and a whole lot of movement going on under his loin cloth.

They were obviously professionals. They were rehearsing their opening number, all dressed in the typical long white robe that slowly came off to reveal more and more Jesus flesh until they were down to their white linen G-strings. These guys made Magic Mike look like open-mike night at the local comedy club. These guys made the professionals at the boy go-go bars in Washington D.C. look like open auditions for American Idol.

These guys put the Gee in Jesus.

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