Jesus was just finishing up with her mom when Cathy got home from school.
"Who's that?" Cathy asked.
"That's Jesus," her mom replied.
"Oh." She should have recognized Him, she thought. She was suddenly very nervous. What was He doing here? Would He punish her for not recognizing him? Could she remember any bible verses to recite?
"We've been talking about you," Cathy's mom said, "among other things."
The "among other things" didn't soften the blow. She already knew she was probably going to hell, and now Jesus was here in her kitchen talking about her with mom.
When would she be able to defend herself? Tell her side? Certainly Jesus would know if she lied. But how could she tell the truth?
Tell the truth. She had to.
"I'm not sure I believe in you," she began. "No offence, I mean, you're here in my kitchen and all, and I don't mean to make you mad. I just never really thought about that. I didn't expect you to be talking to my mom, I mean. But now that you're here, I guess I believe… something. I believe in you, I mean, that you're really here, cause I can see you. I'm just not sure that I can believe the other stuff. Is it true?" she asked. Jesus was silent. She looked at him. He looked into her eyes. His expression was blank and non-committal. She looked away.
"I mean, I do the best I can." She sat down. Her mom was no longer there.
"I guess that's no excuse. Let me tell my side of the story, at least."
Jesus still didn't say a word. And so she told Him her side of the story. She let all of her fears, all of her insecurities, fall out.
Everything she had ever heard, been told, about Jesus, worried her now, and she was fishing for something. She talked about sin, and lying, and believing. She talked about being forced to believe, as if that was an excuse for not doing it. She didn't know.
"Is it?" He still said nothing. "I didn't know my mom knew you personally. She said she did, but I didn't know that's what she meant."
Cathy went on and on about how she knew it was wrong to drink caffeine and alcohol and to smoke pot. She went on to explain why she had had sex, it was fun. She couldn't lie, she liked it. More honesty: she was looking for love. She didn't understand why that meant she was going to hell. She searched the eyes of Jesus for a sign as she confessed what she was sure He already knew, searched for some kind of confirmation that He knew, that these things were or weren't a sin. She got none.
She went on. "I know my mom thinks I'm irresponsible, that I shouldn't be going out with "that boy", that I'm going to have a baby or something, and certainly that I'm going to hell because I don't mind her and my dad. I don't know why I do things like piercings and tattoos. It doesn't say those things are a sin in the bible does it? Oh, I guess I should know, but I don't read the bible as much as I should. I don't understand it, it's so hard. So does it? Does it say anything about piercings and tattoos?"
Jesus was a sponge.
"So did you talk to my dad too? Do you know my dad? He's not the nicest guy. It seems to me he's kind of sinful. Not that I want him to go to hell. Maybe I should just shut up. Sorry. I didn't mean to curse, I mean be rude. He believes in you. He believes in you a lot. But I guess you know that. I thought maybe that didn't matter. But I guess it does, right? Look, I didn't know, but now I know."
Now she knows. She expected a reaction so she would know. She thought about it and realized she wasn't going to get one. She didn't know after all! He was saying nothing, just like before. It was just as if Jesus had never come. It was as if Jesus had never been in her house, never to dinner, never to sit in her kitchen.
After he was gone she couldn't remember if she had made any promises, or if she had to keep them.
"Jesus."