You really have to stop making Jesus smile.
He was on the fucking CROSS. With fucking nails through his wrists and feets. Fucking asphyxiating. Getting fucking feces thrown at him while thorns cut into his forehead.
Dude was probably NOT a happy camper.
So why do you keep teaching your kids that he was all smiling and happy and whatnot while being tortured on the cross?
HE WAS IN PAIN, BEING TORTURED TO DEATH. That shit is not fun.
Look, you guys.
I don’t even believe in the divinity of Jesus, or that he was the son of God, or in his virgin birth, or that he came back to life. But for the purposes of this article, let’s pretend that I *DO* believe all that shizzle.
Let’s say it’s all true, all the way.
Under these circumstances, there is absolutely no way I can buy the image of a smiling Christ on a cross. And you’re lying a-holes for even trying to trick me. Stop that. Stop making Jesus smile, because there’s no way it happened.
Let’s start with the duke.
You have to stop making Jesus smile when shit is being thrown on him. At the very least — GRODY — because poop is stinky.
If you’ve never changed a diaper, you really need to experience this because otherwise you’re just a lucky bastard and I hate you. Or go scoop a litter box. Have you ever seen the steam that rises out of a freshly laid dog log?
No smiling happening here. If you are having a hard time with the problem of how to stop making Jesus smile, consider instead drawing him with a nose wrinkled in disgust.
At the very worst, we’re talking the beginning of a massive toxic infection. I think we call that septicemia or something along those lines? Maybe I’m wrong. Too lazy to visit the Googles but you know what I’m getting at here. Poopoo can cause infections. Especially if it gets into open wounds, of which he probably had quite a few.
Now let’s talk about the asphyxiation.
I lost my breath one time as a kid when we were bouncing on a trampoline, and I came down too hard on my tail bone or something so all the air whooshed out of me and I couldn’t inhale for like five hours.
Or maybe it was only like 30 seconds.
Still, scary shit.
I don’t know what asphyxiation feels like.
But I know what it feels like to not be able to breathe. And I’ve seen the look on my sister’s face when she had asthma attacks in our childhood.
You seriously have to stop making Jesus smile during asphyxiation.
Not being able to breathe is not fun. It doesn’t feel like you’re giving someone a birthday present. It feels like someone opened all your birthday presents in front of you, broke them into a thousand pieces, shat on them, and forced them down your throat. Or something.
Now let’s get with the stabbing.
I was stabbed with a needle. More than once. Over the course of my life, I have received various and sundry shots and inoculations. I have donated blood, both out of generosity at drives as well as at labs for my own personal medical issues.
And then there was the time I stepped on a pointy dog bone that went ALL THE WAY THROUGH MY FOOT. Much the way a nail might pierce your lord and savior’s body.
I also was accosted by a doctor bearing a huge stabby instrument filled with some kind of medicine that would supposedly make the bursitis in my hip stop hurting. My screaming as he plunged the needle into my body raised an alarm and sent medical staff running to see what kind of terrorism was occurring.
“Nothing to see here, folks,” said my hubz.
“Just my wife being a baby. Carry on.”
Just kidding. He didn’t really say that. He was too busy trying to find his eyeballs, which had fallen out of his face since he had opened them WIDE in shock at the size of that fucking needle.
Other stabbings I have endured:
- I got my ears pierced.
- I got my navel pierced.
- I chopped off the tip of my toe when a set of super-dee-duper sharp clippers fell off a shelf.
- I am hypoglycemic and thus have had my blood sugar level tested multiple times. Granted, this is more of a “prick” than a “pierce”, but I certainly was not smiling when it happened.
- I have stepped on glass and other sundry forms of life shrapnel.
- In more angsty times, I was a cutter.
- I was raped, which I consider a stabbing because an object entered my body without my express permission.
People do not grin when their skin is invaded by uninvited items.
When you depict Jesus Christ all happy with his decision to be a martyr, you’re doing a grave disservice to the very miracle in which you’re asking me to believe. If he was excited to be tortured and murdered, that kind of defeats his status as “innocent”. If he enjoyed that shit, there was something seriously wrong with him, and that pretty much goes exactly AGAINST the idea of a reluctant hero.
And our hero definitely has to be reluctant.
Otherwise he’s an arrogant ass-hat. He should not be portrayed as a guy who likes picking up a sword and who gets off on pain. He should, rather, be depicted as a dude who is enduring this shit ONLY because it’s the right thing to do. It’s no laughing matter. His bravery and his sacrifice is only 100% authentic if he isn’t thrilled to be there.
Now I’m not trying to compare myself with the Holy Son or whatever.
Obviously I’ma feel that shit and it’s gonna hurt. And obviously if the Baby Hayzoo wants to turn off the ouch, as the magical progeny of Big Daddy God, he is certainly capable of doing that. I assume. But enduring the trauma all the way through to the end is kind of his selling point, right? Don’t rob him of that status.
Stop making Jesus smile.
If you don’t stop making Jesus smile, you’re basically not really understanding his story. And that means you’re peddling nonsense and fairy tales. Not that I can buy most of the other ridiculous portions of dude’s weird history, but this one really bothers me more than the rest for some reason.
Make me understand.
Why do you think Jesus is smiling in so many paintings? Were the artists high? Or were they maybe picturing a version of Buddy Jesus instead of that one guy who supposedly died for our sins? What annoys you most about pictures of Jesus?
I swear to you I saw lots of images of Jesus smiling while he was hanging up there on those sticks. But now I can’t find a single one. My hubz says I’m crazy, and that since I have nothing to back up my stance, I shouldn’t post this article. I’m going to do it anyway.
So now you have an example of me admitting when I’m wrong.
Or, me admitting that Jesus wants me to look stupid so he hid all those goddamn images.