Sometimes you are handed a gift, in this case, a funny and talented writer named Papa Joe Grappa. A mutual friend sent me Joe’s Substack column titled “Questions for Jesus When He Comes Back.” It is really funny, as it should be for a guy who was Jay Leno’s head writer for 20 years.

Here’s the thing, as I was reading Joe’s questions, I was hearing Jesus’s answers.

I couldn’t help it. It was like the Spirit was moving through me, guiding my writing — and maybe pulling a prank on the other third of the Holy Trinity. Sibling rivalry? I don’t know. Psychography is all new to me.

So this is my (our) response to Joe’s questions. I hope he approves. At any rate, I’m not worth suing.

You can read Joe Grappa’s Substack column here.

As they say on Public Radio (before the funding is pulled): “There are un-beeped curse words in today’s column.” For a clean version, write your own.

(The image above was generated by Artificial Intelligence with no input from me.)

---

Dear Papa Joe Grappa,

I want to thank you for all your questions. I should have thanked you earlier. Being omniscient and all, I knew you were going to write them. But as my counsel and wingman, the Archangel Michael, so rightly observed, “There’s a right time and a wrong time to thank mortals for their behaviors. You need to wait until they finish whatever they are doing. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re a loon.”

I’m sure you’ll agree I’m no loon, and even though I knew Michael would say that, I didn’t interrupt him. Because basically, he’s correct.

Sometimes when I interact too soon, jump the gun as you say, humans start shouting “Miracle! It’s a miracle!” And the next thing you know, they’re building cathedrals, charging a fine penny for relics and souvenir pamphlets, and beheading heretics.

It’s all a bit unseemly. Embarrassing really. 

While I’m on a roll, let’s talk fashion. Do you see what my reps wear these days? Purple suits, brocade robes, silky things with gold stitching. 

What is that? 

Are they supposed to be in my image and likeness? I wore simple robes of wool and cotton, and sandals, and no underwear because there was no such thing in those days. God knows what’s under all that extravagance these days.

Mercifully, God won’t tell me.

I don’t even want to talk about the milky complexion and Saxony tresses I get in all those paintings..

But enough of all that. You had some questions. 

I liked them. Snarky and funny, and that is great. These Christian pastors and clerics all act as if you people are going to hurt my tender baby feelings. “Don’t be snarky to Jesus.” Whiners.

Nonsense. I mean, Jesus Christ, I’m Jesus Christ. If I can’t roll with a little snark, how do they think I’m going to put up with all the evangelicals? 

Speaking of which, the Second Coming. I’m really undecided about that just now. It just doesn’t mean as much as it did when I pulled off the Resurrection. Back in the day, the Big R was plenty – no TV, no CGI, no Internet, no influencers, no conspiracy theorists, no podcasters, no media A-listers.

A guy rises from the dead, and, believe me when I say this, the world went nuts. I was a rock star. That last meal with my bros after I came back? Didn’t have to pay a dime. On the house, the whole thing. And they drank a lot.

Makes me think that today, if I came back, 50 percent of the people would be stoked, and 50 percent would be on talk shows calling it a hyped-up Artificial Intelligence scam.

Believe me when I say, belief is a very complicated thing these days.

But enough about me. Let’s get to your questions, um, about me.

When you fed the multitudes by multiplying the loaves and fishes, were drinks and utensils included?

Funny, most people ask, “How did you multiply the loaves and fishes”? But OK, I’m guessing that you worked in restaurants a lot before making it as a writer. (Love your stuff, by the way. I want to show you a script I wrote later. Maybe we could do something together.) Booze and forks? Short answer: Yes and no. You can’t hold an audience without drinks. Assuming you tried stand-up comedy, you already know that. Drinks just make you funny – and funny, even in my day, seems critical to everything. So yeah, I pulled the old Wedding at Cana thing, only this time with wine fountains stationed strategically around the grounds. And, um, oh yeah, utensils. I suppose if we had plastic forks back then, we would have used them, but it was all about the hands. Eat fish with the hands. Wipe hands on the bread. Soak bread in the wine. Eat bread. Easy-peasy, no pollution, no 2-billion-year half-life in a landfill. Oh, and Barb and Hyme from the Cana wedding? Still married, still my friends. They do a Winedown Social once a month on the outer edges of the heavenly body. We love it. I bring a few bottles of my best to share. Just kidding. I flip the water jugs! They love it. Never grows old.

If you fed the multitudes today, would you offer vegan and gluten-free options?

In fairness, that is a question for the Dark Lord, my main competitor.

If you can turn water into wine, can you turn urine back into beer?

Did I mention the omniscience thing earlier? I know beer. Given some of your major commercial beer brands, that would be a bit redundant, wouldn’t it?

Since you can walk on water, can you ski down a mountain on bare feet?

Did I mention the omnipotent thing earlier? No? Here’s a question for you: Would you rather be omniscient or omnipotent? Well, you see, I have both, so yes, I can do that thing because I’m omnipotent, but no, I don’t need to because I’m also omniscient.

Were you ever bummed that Christmas and your birthday were the same day?

A most sensitive question. There is a special place in Heaven for people who share birthdays with holidays. If I were the meddling type, two-for-one presents would be banned.

Did the 3 Wise Men ever come back to celebrate your other birthdays?

No, but I got cards and less-extravagant gifts from two of them. Don’t ask, they are private people, and airing their challenges helps no one. Let’s just say that if the Silk Road weren’t paved with opium, we would have gotten on much better.

When you were a carpenter and you hit your thumb with a hammer, whose name did you yell out?

Cute story in that. I used to shout, “Oh, Harold!” Why, you ask? Because our neighbor was Harold Hark, and I just found his name as amusing as Hell. Commissioned a song once, in his honor. Maybe you’ve heard it? (Jesus hums a few bars. Papa Joe stares at him blankly.)

Did you ever say to Joseph, “You’re not my real dad”?

I did. Once. And he beat the living Christ out of me. Corporal punishment is a complicated issue, but I assure you, we got along respectfully after that. Oh, I admit, once in a while, I’d turn his coffee into tea. Things like that. Small vengeance-y things. His erectile dysfunction and premature balding were not of my doing. I’m not evil.

While up in heaven, how often did you have to visit your mother? Was it just Sundays?

It is more like, when does she have time to visit me? Like all people who hang on to their virginity just a bit too long, she went through a wild period. To this day, she seldom remembers my birthday. Oh, I get those, “Hi darling, your Mom is on a cruise ship! Guess where?” Or “Our group just took the Seniors Pickleball Championship – guess where?” I jokingly say, “In Hell, Mom?” Which she finds hilarious. But, again, the omniscience thing? Very few surprises in my life.

When you rode the donkey into Jerusalem, did you make its manure disappear, or did you just let it stay in the street?

Everybody was an organic gardener back in those days. Nothing stayed on the streets or in the chamber pots long.

If you rode into Jerusalem today, would you be in an EV or a gas-powered vehicle?

An Uber. And don’t judge me.

At the Last Supper, who got the Kosher meal?

The first Last Supper or the last Last Supper? See, there is some confusion. It’s like saying The Who’s Farewell Tour. The night before The Thing happened, we all got together and it was a nice catered affair. Little-known fact: the neighborhood was thick with very good delis. We ordered a la carte off the menus of several of them, some kosher, some Chinese, some German, and of course a trunkful from Abe & Sons, the best Jewish deli for kilometers. Kosher? Yes. No. Who knows. I provided the wine, excellent stuff and don’t ask. After a few bottles, who knows kosher from what?

Are you still Jewish, or did you convert to Christianity?

I like to say that I’m all things to all people. Did you ever hear me say, “Convert, or your nuts will burn in Hell”? Never! I mean, Vishnu, Shiva, Odin, Amaterasu, and I play cards together every other Thursday. And, yes, I turn the omniscience thing off. Nobody likes a know-it-all when you are playing cards. Listen, and you heard this from me, religion is highly overrated. Now faith, good works, and humility – these will get you places.

When you brought Lazarus back from the dead, did he get a refund on his tomb and burial shroud?

If you’ll remember, he never got laid in his tomb. Wait, wait! There’s a joke about that. Oh, that  Lazarus, he was a randy swordsman. Let me think. Something like, Never go laid in his tomb? Well, that’s the only place. (Ta-dump!) Or something like that. The shroud was very nice. I bought it from his wife at a very good price. Very sturdy. You might have seen it in Turin.

If you can raise the dead, can you restore Jeff Bezos’ hair or Lauren Sanchez’s lips?

You may have noticed that I don’t go out of my way to cater to people with self-inflicted vanity wounds. Can you believe it, all that I did for Bozos – incalculable wealth, a nice yacht, a good workout regimen, a hot chick – did I get an invite? Well, answer me this: at the Bezos-Sanchez wedding, was God in the room? I don’t think so. The other team got invites up the patootie – Kardashians, Oprah, Leo, Tom Brady (another of my proteges), Ivanka and Jared. I haven’t heard, did they run out of wine? Serves them right if they did.

Would your belly button lint be considered a holy relic?

I think that’s a question best reserved for Donald Trump. He’s turned everything else into a “holy relic,” so its only a matter of time til he figures out how to make belly button lint scalable for commodification. 

Since you had so many apostles, did you ever think of pulling a heist like Ocean’s 11?

What heist? My guys couldn’t pull in a fishing net. You’re venturing into sit-com territory. But there’s a funny story about how I came up with that title, “Oceans Eleven,” for the original move, not the other one which is derivative crap, in my opinion. I’ll tell you some time. Also, I vociferously objected to making an “Ocean’s” crossover with the “Magic Mike” franchise. Hate the idea. But you know Hollywood, they listen to nobody. Tasteless bastards.

The Romans beat, scourged you, and stuck you in the side with a lance. But did they ever kick you in the family jewels?

Where did you do your research, the Mel Gibson School of Fetishized Violence? That self-righteous fuck did more violence to my name than a handful of centurions with bone-tipped scourges. You know what hurts? How much money “The Passion of Christ” made for that sordid piece of celluloid flatulence. I’m surprised they didn’t make a sequel. Gibson is getting laid with money he made on my back by hyper-dosing brutality for developmentally delayed MAGAs – now that feels like a kick in the balls.

(Are we allowed to say that on radio? Are we on radio? How big is your following? Well, never mind, this feels therapeutic. Better you than my shrink.)

Now that you’re back in modern times, would you ever wear a golf shirt?

Sure, why not? But to be truthful, I need to rein in the gut a little before putting on a golf shirt. Have you seen Trump on the golf course? Wearing white, no less. He looks like a beached whale. No shame. The man should definitely be wearing black. It hides the folds. And a girdle. Have him talk to Bill Shatner. (Or Bill Shakespeare. He was an early adopter of the girdle.)

If you healed the sick today, would you take Medicare?

If I healed the sick, I’d be Medicare. Sad how healing the sick has become such a huge moneymaker. Did you ever see me charge anyone for raising them from the dead, or curing leprosy, or resetting a broken arm, or curing erectile dysfunction? No. Never. Healing is a high art and a path to Heaven,  not a profit center.

If things go south and you’re put to death again, will future artists be doing paintings and statues of you getting a lethal injection?

Is that what they do these days? I’ll bet they describe it as merciful. (Jesus chuckles.) Is it a Southern thing? They’re big on smiting their enemies in the South. I’ll bet it is. Like I said, in the face of powerful and strident social media, we’re rethinking the whole Second Coming. At the least, I want to wait until Jimmy Kimmel and Conan O’Brien are out of the picture. I don’t think I could deal with their jokes. I mean, anything in this day and age that is called “Second Coming” is just asking for trouble. Any suggestions for a new name? Well, think about it. 

Would we Christians have to start wearing little golden syringes around our necks?

I think I covered this pretty well in the last answer. But maybe tell me this, why do people use vape pipes? Do they know how stupid they look?

Lastly, will I end up in Hell for asking this stuff?

Not at all. I seriously enjoyed the give and take. What if I set you up with a cush script doctor gig that automatically gave you seven points at the back end of every deal, plus an assistant? Eh? Eh? Nah. I’m just messing with ya. 

You’re going to Hell.