Finding Jesus in the Kitchen
This piece of prose was written over twenty years ago. While religious groups aren’t openly demonising Magic anymore, the themes it covers are still relevant today with the prevalence of other self-proclaimed “Guardians of Morality” who would have missed the mark.
Thank you, Rabbi.
First published in Inquest Magazine #37 (#38) May 1998, Swan Song Column
It was 3:25 in the morning. I was busy sawing logs when Cow Nose the fifty-pound cat decided it was feeding time. She stood on my stomach and yowled incessantly. I finally caved, crawling out of bed and lumbering into the kitchen.
“No mouse waffles for you,” I mumbled, opening a cabinet. She rubbed my legs, licking her lips. “You’re getting Cat-O-Vittles.” I rummaged through some cleaning bottles, an old sponge, and a pair of gym socks, looking for the bag, until I cut my finger on a coffee can.
“JESUS CHRIST!” I exclaimed, sucking on my bleeding finger.
“Yes, my son?”
I gulped. That voice. Could it be?
Slowly I turned. There, not five feet away, stood a man with a soft brown beard, wearing a spotless white robe.
“Oh, my!” I exclaimed. “Y-your Lordfulness!”
He smiled benevolently, hands cupped in front of him. “What is it you wish, my son?”
What is it I wished? I swallowed hard. I had mistakenly summoned Jesus. I had to think fast.
Cow Nose pawed at my foot. I kicked at her; no time for Cat-O-Vittles now. She hissed at me and scrambled from the room.
Panicked, I looked around. What was I going to do? “Uh, well, uh…” Think!
And then it hit me. I grabbed a deck of Magic cards that I’d left on the counter.
“These cards,” I stammered. “There are some people who find them evil, Your Sacredness. But I believe these people to be wrong. Could you please Your Holiness, reveal unto me the answer?”
Jesus extended his hand. “Let me see.” Trembling, I gave him the cards.
Cow Nose peeked around the corner. She was dragging a bed sheet. “Beat it, Cow Nose,” I whispered. She ignored me. Stupid cat.
Thoughtfully, Jesus examined the cards, studying the text, perusing the illustrations. When he was finished, he handed the deck back to me looking puzzled. “I do not understand, my Son. Clearly these are the components for a game, a clever game at that. What is evil about it?”
“Well, for one thing, Your Magnificence, some people find some of the pictures, uh… well, objectionable.”
Jesus cocked an eye. “Such as?”
I rifled through the deck. “Well, such as these, for instance.” I handed him Demonic Torment and Demonic Tutor. Jesus took them, looked at them, handed them back. He shrugged, “Big deal.”
I was surprised, confused. “B-big deal? But I don’t understand…”
Jesus shook his head. “You have Wars. Starvation. Disease. Many problems that are real. I wouldn’t worry too much about a game. Besides, Demonic Tutor kind of looks like Judas.”
“You mean…?”
Jesus smiled. “Don’t worry about it, my son.”
Cow Nose had dragged the bed sheet across the floor. She had pried the lid off a can of red paint and was dipping her paws in it. There was going to be a heck of a mess, but I wasn’t worried about that now.
“May I quote you on that, Your Wonderfulness?”
“Of course, my son.” Jesus glanced over his shoulder. “But as for now, I think you have a pet to attend.”
I looked at Cow Nose. Across the bed sheet, she had written “FEDD MEE” in big red letters.
“Oh, absolutely, Your Splendidness.” I turned back to the cabinet to fish out the bag of Cat-O-Vittles. “And if I may, I want to thank you for your-“
But it was too late. He was gone.
I poured a bowlful of Cat-O-Vittles into Cow Nose’s dish as she drooled in anticipation. I thought about what had just come to pass.
What had I been thinking? It was silly to worry about the pictures on Magic cards, especially in light of all the real problems in the world, all the wars and diseases and such. I vowed never again to let that stuff bother me. Life is too short. I mean, Jesus Chri-
Er…whoops.
 Rick “St. Rickolaus” Swan is the patron saint of Battle Cattle.
