God felt a peculiar twinge the moment Jesus died, but couldn’t spare any time to grieve. He was scurrying about the living room with his feather duster, making sure everything was spotless before the devil arrived. There couldn’t be a speck of dust. What if Satan was wearing his little white gloves again? God would never be able to show his face at the Country Club again!
The doorbell rang. “Oh my! He’s here, he’s here, he’s here!” Quickly, God took off the apron, turned on the coffeepot, and opened the door.
“So what’s the big emergency?” Satan asked.
“It’s not really an emergency. We just haven’t played cards for a while.”
“I thought you gave that up for Lent,” Satan sneered.
“Well, we just don’t hang out like we used to. We never talk anymore, just shout out absolutes across the moral divide.” God ushered Satan in. “So I thought we could play a friendly hand of cards.”
“Stakes?”
“Well, I could use a little resurrection.”
“And if I win?”
“What do you want?”
“Hmmm…if I win, I get to be God on the next planet.”
“Hey! No fair!”
“Resurrection cards ain’t cheap you know. The deal is one a year, to be saved for big miracles. I’ll have to pull in some favors.”
“Fine. Let’s play.”
They sat down at the table. Satan produced a Get out of Death Free card and placed it on the table while we and God worked out the details of the surrendering-divinity contract. Then they signed it and God dealt the cards.
An ace, a four, a pair of jacks, and a two. Not a good hand, God thought. Especially not with Jesus dead and in desperate need of this resurrection. He had to win this hand. He had to have that card.
He glanced out the window. “Look!” he shouted. Satan spun around. God sucker-punched him in the guy, grabbed the card, and ran. Honor and desperation made poor bedfellows.
So when the disciples arrived at Jesus’ tomb Sunday morning, they did so to find him up and about, with mimosas ready and fish frying on the grill he’d had installed over the weekend.
“Breakfast anyone?” he smiled.
A few weeks later was the Jewish feast of Pentecost. While the Israelites spent those forty years in Sinai, they’d needed any excuse to party, so it seemed like every other weekend was now time for joyous celebration; in fact, some younger Jews were clamouring for every Sabbath to be a stat, but they hadn’t had much success yet.
Just before Pentecost, Jesus took his disciples out into the country for a picnic. They’d been keeping their missionary work quiet, because God has told Jesus that a third resurrection that year just wouldn’t be feasible. As it was, God was facing both civil and criminal charges in court for his fraudulent attainment of the second resurrection. Penalty for divine fraud could be as high as death by gooseberry bush, and if you’ve ever actually eaten a gooseberry, you’ll know what I mean.
“The time has come for me to leave you,” Jesus said. “I’m leaving on a jet plane, and following Mr. Tambourine Man to infinity and beyond. But don’t cry for me Palestinia. I’m your Messiah and always will be.”
Then to the sound of a thousand angels singing the Hallelujah Chorus, Jesus vanished in his standard puff of smoke.