The resurrection

Jesus appeared on my doorstep a few days ago. Elvis sent him. Actually it was Elvis Furniture, a major used appliance store in the notoriously tacky east end of Montreal. My dryer had stopped drying my clothes and so I called the store to send a repairman. They cautioned me that it would be a "petit immigré qui s'appelle Jesus." Translation: a little immigrant named Jesus. The way he said it, I could only assume that he was keeping with the theme of persecution.

In any case, Jesus rang my doorbell and if he hadn't had a paper with the word "Elvis" on it, I wouldn't have let him in. He looked like he had been brought back from the dead. His hair was matted in such a way that he had four enormous, unintentional dreadlocks. He face was smudged with grease and head-to-toe of his barely-five-foot stature was covered in a brown powdery substance. Had he just emerged from the fabled cave?

In any case, I greeted him as I would anyone who had arrived to help me. He approached my ailing appliance with familiarity and said assuredly, "there is nothing wrong with this dryer."

"What do you mean? It doesn't work!" I said, convinced it was an evil plot from Elvis headquarters to avoid honouring the King's guarantee. But, he simply laid his hands on it, turned the dial and pressed the start button. Lo and behold, I heard a great rumble of another dry cycle beginning. In days like these, God has to get a word in when he can. Those of us who aren't especially religious benefit from lots of little miracles if we choose to believe in them.

The real theme of Easter has always creeped me out a little bit, but now I see that resurrection can truly be something beautiful. If Jesus can fix my problems that easily, count me in!

Now what about the rest of the world?