Gone Magazine

April first, 1992, Christ returns in the ineffable image of himself; a threat to no one and nothing save perhaps green leafy vegetables, a rabbit.  In realizing his fate he knew that the word could not be silenced.  His burden?  Testify.  He ran back to the rabbitry and searched hutch by hutch spreading the news.
“I am the Christ, the Light, returned to you”, he called to the congregate.  “I have come to bring peace.”
As the crowd gathered to the commotion, the din of bunny whispers swelled.
“Who does he think he is?”
“He’s mad as the March hare!”  One young bunny girl giggled.
“This is just like last year when Sal thought he was ‘Harvey’ and kept daring us to find him.”  Added an old scraggled hare, and the throng began to demand, “Something must be done about this blasphemy.”
“Not blaspheme, BLESSINGS!”, Christ called to his kin.
“BANISHED!!” came the congregation’s response.
Finally the first elder spoke, “We cannot entertain any more antics in our community.  Indeed, Sal still sits beside his stump believing himself to be invisible and six feet tall.  Jenny the small calico went to her grave swearing she was the Easter Bunny, dragging eggs from near by nests, enraging the robins and finches.  We cannot suffer sermons from your mound as well.  We are truly sorry, but for the best of the bunch we must ask you to leave.  You must go.”
The elder’s words fell hard on the young rabbits ears folding them back in submission, and Christ left the rabbitry.  Saddened at the blinded response to his revelation; his revival exiled to the barren wood skirtting his homeland.  Lost, lonesome, and forsaken Christ prayed for the guidance and providence of ultimate wisdom; what to do?  The answer came as thunder, the world should know, and with that knowledge the rains came down.
In the deluge our Hero had an epiphany, rabbits are rodents, and what do rodents know of Heavenly matters?  Nothing.  He must find humans, they would hear the word and rejoice!  It is well known that humans gathered together in towns and cities, stacking each other side by side and top to bottom in these communities.  They talk and debate and yearn for knowledge and salvation.  Where else could the truth be heard.  “I must find a road”, he thought.  All roads lead to Rome.  A logical deduction.
When he reached the road, Christ met another trial.  Which way?
Puddled and muddy the road seemed daunting and relentless.  As the lop eared savior sat by the side of the road, he heard the solution.  A man walked grumbling in the down pour. Now his chance to reveal his fate.  Traveling the trail came a lanky figure; shoulders sharp as plow blades cradled an old rifle. Thin fingers wrapped the barrel that lead up to the hammer, which rested beside his long spindly neck.  Bouncing behind large round ears, the butt of the gun.
Luke.  Lucky Luke, to be sure.  He had been hunting early this Easter morning, with not as much as a snake in his sights.  He was not worried, he was wet, his wife Lucy had made plenty a fine feast from their garden, and tonight would be no different.
Christ heard Luke long before He saw him.  He scampered into the middle of the road and waited for Luke to crest the hill.  When Luke sloshed over the gulley and started up the slope our rabbit sat upon, Christ hopped up to his heels, and raised up on his haunches.  “I am the Christ and the light”, he called up to the young father.  “I have been sent to deliver mankind.”
Luke looked at the bunny rabbit couriously.  He did not understand.  After all he spoke no rodent at all.  To Luke, Christ’s declaration was a squelch of horrible pain.  He knew something needed to be done, so he lower his old rifle.

That night, Lucy cooked the most magnificent feast the family could remember.  This Easter dinner would be talked about for years to come. the succulent roast rabbit, the carrots and peas, and candied new potatoes an inspiration.  Luke and Lucy’s four children would cherrish their Easter presents for the rest of their lives, after all rabbit’s feet are a pure sign of luck.  As for Luke, well, his wife would swaer to the end of her days that her Easter gift of 1992 was the softest powder puff that she had ever owned, and that, of course, is the fluffy tail of Christ the Lord.

THE MORAL:  Take all you want, but eat all you take.
OR: Just because it’s a rodent, doesn’t make it unholy.

c   2001  j=vp