I unwrapped a packet of sliced bread (has there been a greater invention?) trying not to hear my friend Roland.
‘Why did Jesus never have sex?’
I knew nothing good came from thinking about sex. I searched for the matches I hoped was in my jacket pocket.
‘He did all kinds of things. He got angry, felt pain, be bled. He even drank wine,’ Roland had become increasingly argumentative since he found Jesus in Liverpool city centre.
With trembling hands, I lit the gas on the grill.
‘I cannot see that Jesus had no desire, no lust. Not even a schoolboy crush.’
I found a sweaty piece of Cheddar in the cupboard and stabbed it with a blunt knife.
‘What would Christianity look life if Jesus had been a sexual being?’
I engaged myself putting bread under the grill, fearing Roland was about to tell me.
‘If Jesus had loved a woman, made love, had desire, then sex wouldn’t be shameful. And if sex wasn’t shameful, people wouldn’t need forgiveness.’
The bread was taking an inordinately long time to brown. At last, I was able to flip over the slices and cover them with shards of cheese.
‘If we didn’t need forgiveness, we wouldn’t need the Church. It was the smartest move of the Catholic Church, keep the saviour pure so the rest of us feel dirty.’
I put the Welsh rarebit on a plate, sat on the edge of the bed, and waited for the first thunderbolt to strike.
Click here for more stories involving Roland
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 