Dirty Feet

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“You know that sweet virgin guard up there” Jesus hinted. “She belongs to me. She doesn’t know why, but she does. That’s what devotion is all about. She sneaks down here and begs me to let her wash my feet with her hair. Not like in my time, more like the 70’s hippie type worship. Patchouli and Sandalwood all over my ankles. Whose feet really need to smell that good?”

“She came down a couple days ago and let me hold her electric device. I knew what the damn thing was. But I piled it on, oooing and aaaing in wonderment and fascination. Add a little piece of metal wire that fit under the door and I’m in.”

“So the last few days Barnaby, I’ve been listening. Legions of rescuers have died and been replaced since my death. They are awaiting my Word.”

The bishop was growing tired. This hippie as he called himself, was arrogant and would destroy everything. Their perfect world of ordered chaos just couldn’t be threatened. Human kind can only survive in this delicate environmental Eden of conflict.

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