After two millennia, the church finally got what they waited for. Jesus returned. Sure, there was a conspicuous lack of earthquakes, blackening suns, horsemen, riders, or any of those other apocalyptic accoutrements… but it was definitely him. Rather than crashing in on a cloud to the soundtrack of heavenly fanfare, he just appeared one day, carrying on in much the same way he’d carried on two thousand years before—teaching and healing and multiplying foodstuffs across the Middle East. The only difference seemed to be that this time he had an Instagram profile. He’d had to go with @therealjesusofnaz33, as @therealjesus, @anointed_one, and @theonlybegotten were all spoken for.

As luck would have it, Jesus’s return fell on a US election year, so as one might expect, there was a powerful push for him to run for US president. Some commentators pointed out that Jesus didn’t meet the thirty-five-year-old age requirement. Others pointed out that he had neither been born in the United States, nor had he hadn’t been a resident for fourteen years (although the Mormons held he had long since filled this residency quota). Most seemed to agree, however, that these were extraordinary circumstances, and merited extraordinary considerations.

Jesus 2024 signs started springing up on lawns and street corners across the country, their owners hoping to pressure him into the race. Jesus, meanwhile, was reluctant. Political commentators and religious scholars alike pointed out that the last time people tried to make him king by force, it hadn’t turned out so great. After some deliberation, though, they convinced Jesus that times had changed, that hardly anyone got crucified anymore, and that he should take part in one town-hall style debate, at least. Jesus gave only one stipulation—that no cross-shaped pieces of jewelry be allowed. For reasons people had trouble comprehending, he found them off-putting.

When the big night came, every seat at the Yale Repertory Theater was packed. Behind-the-scenes maneuvering had ensured that the seats were filled with influential Catholic and wealthy Protestant groups, though there was a small spattering of liberals for the cameras. 

Stage managers decorated the stage in an odd blend of stars, stripes, and icthuses. They set out three podiums rather than the traditional two—one bearing an elephant, the second bearing a donkey, and the third bearing a lamb carrying a white flag. This last image had been another point of contention with Jesus, who insisted that the whole logo thing blatantly violated the second commandment.

The mere fact that there was a third podium in the first place confused many who simply assumed Jesus would run as a Republican. It had been more than a little embarrassing when Jesus had turned down the Republican nomination outright. The spin doctors chalked it up to divine eccentricity.

Soon, they closed the doors and dimmed the lights, and the crowd watched excitedly as the digital clocks on the stage counted down to zero. Three seconds… Two seconds… One… Zero…

Fanfare played above the sound of the crowd and a boom camera came down to face the moderator at her desk in front of the stage. “Good evening,” she announced, “and welcome to the second debate of the season. For the first time in the history of our network, there will be an unprecedented third-party candidate, for whom, truly, no introduction is needed. It is now my honor to welcome the distinguished candidates to—”

Thunderous applause drowned out the moderator’s last words as the three candidates took to their podiums. First was the Republican nominee, a white man in his mid-seventies, dressed in a baggy Armani suit and a red tie. Following him, the Democrat, also a white male in a nearly identical suit except for the tie, which was blue. Then, finally, in a burlap robe and knock-off Birkenstocks, was Jesus of Nazareth. The crowd went wild.

With his unkempt black hair and Middle Eastern complexion, Jesus stuck out like a sore thumb among the nominees. The other two candidates looked understandably tense.

The roar died down as the moderator explained the rules. “There will be eight questions from the audience,” she said, “each pre-approved by the network. Each of the participants will be called upon to address the candidates, and then each candidate will be given two minutes to respond.” She went through time limits, rebuttals, and more until finally, it was time to begin. “Our first question,” the moderator said, “comes from Jenny Shore from right here in Connecticut. Ms. Shore?”

The runner handed a microphone to a woman standing near the front. “Um, hi,” she started, fumbling with the card in her hand. It wasn’t everyday one got to ask a deity a question and actually expect a direct answer. “I just wanted to ask, um, well, with the wildfires in the west and increasing draughts in the global south, how do each of you intend to address the rising threat of climate change?” 

There was a groan from the audience. Jenny Shore handed the mic back, and the moderator invited the Republican candidate to speak first.

“The idea that humankind could have such an impact on the earth’s climate,” the candidate drawled, “is, quite honestly, absurd. The planet goes through cycles of climate change which are quite natural, and things will eventually move back to equilibrium. My opponent,” he gestured to the Democrat, “would use climate change as a fear-mongering technique to get your vote, but ‘global warming’ is only a theory cooked up by corrupt scientists and politicians, and the strength of our future lies in a strong economy and strong values, not in solar energy that would eliminate thousands of American jobs.”

The crowd cheered. The moderator nodded to the Democratic candidate. “Your response?”

“Regardless of what my opponent will have you believe,” the candidate began, “climate change is a very real existential threat. It is a challenge we must meet with strategy and resolve. Over the next several years, my administration would be dedicated to working towards incentivized solar development and carbon taxation that would get us all moving in the right direction.”

At last, the moderator turned to Jesus.

“Yes, thank you Ms. Shore,” Jesus said. “I hear your concern, and you’ve spoken with courage and compassion.”

“What did he say?” someone in the audience asked—a bit too loudly. It was clear they weren’t expecting Jesus’s accent, although, as English wouldn’t exist until five hundred years after his death, it should’ve impressed them that he spoke English at all.

“When God gave humankind dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and every living thing that creeps on the earth,” Jesus continued, “it was not for humankind’s unbridled consumption. It was for our responsible stewardship. In our lust for comfort and fear of death, we have forgotten this, and we believe our wealth will save us from the wrath to come. It will not. I tell you now, repent. Otherwise, the darkness is coming, and the darkness will be inescapable.”

Jesus addressed the Republican candidate. “When Israel did not heed the voice of her prophets, what befell her? If you, my friend, do not heed the voice of your own, what will befall you? And you,” he addressed the Democrat, who suddenly looked like he wanted to hide under his podium, “you claim to know the day of judgment is at hand. You claim to understand the way your sin takes food from the mouths of children, the way it pulls families from their homes, yet you speak in decades while the world burns today. Repent. I tell you, do not be slaves to your craving and fears. Serve God and become a balm for the healing of the world.”

When he finished, there was absolute silence. No one knew what to do with this answer. He hadn’t even invited her to accept him into her heart as Lord and Savior. He was doing it wrong. 

“Our next question comes from Dave Farmer of Georgia,” the moderator broke the silence. “Mr. Farmer?” 

Eyes scanned the room as the microphone went to a stocky man in his mid-forties. Jesus took the chance to take a sip of his water, which, at some point, had become a cup of wine. The Southern Baptists in the audience shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dave Farmer said, taking the mic. “I had a question about national security, particularly about threats posed by the Middle East and immigrants coming up from the south.” Both candidates squirmed as they became hyper-aware of just how brown their new opponent was. “I want to know,” Mr. Farmer continued, “how you intend to protect the United States from terrorists and the influx of criminals and drugs.”

“Well, I’m not ashamed to say it,” the Republican candidate jumped in first (carefully avoiding eye contact with Jesus). “There are some very dangerous people out there, but by God, we have the best damned… I mean, the best military in the entire world. Over half of our national budget is allocated to military spending, and that should be a point of pride. We can bomb our enemies back to the stone age and secure our borders against all unsavory invaders from the south, or wherever they may come from.”

“Well, hold on there,” the Democratic candidate broke in. “I’m proud of the strength of our military too—I had two sons that served.” He held for applause. “But these are delicate situations. They must be approached with diplomacy. I’m confident my administration could engage in productive peace talks abroad, and create effective, rigorous vetting processes for immigrants wishing to come into our country.”

“Thank you,” the moderator said. “Now we’ll hear from Jesus Christ.”

“Josh,” Jesus corrected.

“Pardon?”

“It’s Joshua,” Jesus clarified. “Well, Yeshua, really, but Josh is fine.”

The moderator made a note. “Okay then,” she said, “um, over to Josh.” Then, for good measure, she added, “of Nazareth.”

Jesus addressed the crowd. “I grew up in a nation struggling to breathe,” he said. “It was a nation struggling under the boot of a military empire, much like the United States. Rome relied on a military the likes of which the world had never seen, as you do. They conquered by force and ruled by fear of violence, as you do.” The moderator reminded the crowd to keep quiet. “Your shared mistake,” Jesus went on, “is that you fail to see God’s image in those you call ‘enemies,’ who are typically more in need of food than guns. If you overcome evil by evil, then will evil not win either way? If you live by these weapons, you will die by these weapons. And those ‘unsavory characters’ you speak of,” he addressed the Republican candidate again, “that was my family. I know what it is to flee violence. If Egypt’s government had treated us anything like you treat those who come to you for shelter, then these books you call the gospels would be short indeed.”

“Good Lord, Josh,” the Democratic candidate joked. “You sure you’re not a Democrat?”

“I am,” Jesus said. “Republicans may use fear to amass power, but you use shame, which is no better.”

The Democrat looked like he’d been slapped.

“Thank you! Thank you, gentlemen!” the moderator interrupted. She tried to calm the increasingly tense crowd. “Let’s have the next question, please.”

Things went on like this for several more rounds—each round making the crowd more uncomfortable. By the end, no one knew what was going on. The conservatives thought Jesus sounded more like a socialist than the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. The liberals thought Jesus might be far too progressive. No one really wanted him up there anymore, but no one dared to admit it.

“Our second to last question comes from Rita O’Connor of Virginia,” the moderator said, grateful to be at the finish line.

“Yes, hi,” Rita O’Connor said. “Can you please describe your stance towards abortion and how you intend to protect the next generation of unborn?”

The Republican looked like someone had tossed him a slow ball. 

The moderator looked like she wanted to bang her head against her desk.

“Now this is an area where Ol’ Joshua here and I are on the same page,” the Republican candidate said. “I believe we can both say with absolute confidence that abortion is an evil and despicable act, and we both pray to God it will one day be a footnote in America’s history books.”

“Yesh— er, Josh?” the moderator said. “Your response?”

“Who among you knows the story of Adam in the garden?” Jesus asked the crowd. 

Hands shot up. Sunday school habit.

“Then is it not written,” Jesus asked, “that ‘Elohim formed the human from the red earth, and breathed into their nostrils, and the human became a living being?’ Now, if you were truly concerned with the scriptures, as you claim to be, then you would say that ‘life’ begins at first breath, as countless generations before you have said, or that it begins when a mother first feels her child move, as generations have also claimed. But this is not what you say. You easily abandon generations of tradition rooted in these scriptures. Why is this?”

The crowd only stared, no clue where this was going.

“I will tell you why,” Jesus said. “It is like the man and the rival tribesmen. One day, an ambitious man overheard a shepherd mention that they had lost a sheep in the mountains, and the ambitious man pounced. He warned the people of rival tribes lurking in the mountains, stealing sheep and murdering shepherds. He created enough alarm that people began gathering under his banner. He even began preaching that God had ordained them to hunt down rival tribesmen, and the ambitious man became powerful indeed. In truth, he cared for neither sheep or shepherds, but cared a great deal for power.

“In the same way, you call yourselves ‘pro-life,’” Jesus went on, “but in truth you care little for life and much for power. You use this label to rally under a banner of fear and outrage, yet you have little regard for the justice God desires. If you were truly pro-life, then would you have executed twenty-two of God’s children last year? Would it cost a small fortune to gain access to healthcare in your country? You must ask yourselves, each of you, do you truly serve the God of life? Or do you serve the gods of power? Because I tell you, you cannot serve two masters.”

What began as murmuring had risen to a cacophony of yells. Before this debate, no one would have believed that a bishop would be boo-ing the Christ Jesus off a stage, but there he was, boo-ing away.

“We have one more question!” the moderator tried to shout above the crowd. “We have time for one final question! Please!” 

The audience only quieted when John Jeffries of Houston, TX, took the mic. He looked as confused as they all felt. “Look, I don’t know you,” he said, clearly agitated. His pre-approved question was crumpled up in his fist. “This is a Christian nation. Your followers here get oppressed more and more every day, but I’m not hearing anything from you about family values or prayer in schools or the takeover of liberal political correctness… I guess my question is… who the hell are you?”

Jesus had been here before. He’d seen this look in people’s eyes. 

He knew it was time to bring it home. His time was up.

“I am Yeshua of Nazareth,” he said, “and you have buried me so deeply beneath your lust for power that my legacy bears no likeness to my image. I run on a platform that brings good news to the poor, that proclaims release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, so what does it tell you, I ask, that even if you had another two millennia, you would never, ever elect me to lead your so called ‘Christian nation?’”

That was when they lost control of the crowd. 

Frantic producers cut the feed. People stormed the stage. They brought down stage lights. Candidates were whisked away to waiting limos. It was hours before the situation was back under control. By the end, several red-faced Americans sat zip-tied on the stage, and Jesus was nowhere to be found. Security tapes later revealed footage of him passing through the crowds, shaking the dust from his feet, and disappearing.

It was months later that a reporter happened upon Jesus in the Republic of South Sudan and published a video from her smartphone. “Do you ever plan to return to the United States?” she asked.

“You can find me wherever people gather in my name,” Jesus said, “but–”

Most people scrolled on before they heard anything else.