100 Plastic Jesuses for Christmas

"Challenge Accepted"

My son is a unique individual. Unique. He sent me a Christmas gift; unique. The box came with no return address, nor did it list the sender. It came in one of the Amazon “gift wrap” bags and a note. It was a challenge of sorts. It stated that I was to receive a symbol of social confusion, combatance, and even consternation. This was an item to which individuals have debated and questioned for a couple thousand years, as our society will most likely to continue to debate and question, and perhaps his gift might invite reflection within an upcoming essay. Challenge accepted. However, my most immediate question would most likely be “What am I to do with it?”

And so I opened said “gift.”

A bag of plastic Jesus figurines. He was right: my foremost question was, “What am I supposed to do with these?” 100 Jesuses with a sash that reads “Jesus hearts you.” The sash comes in five different colors: I checked. There’s actually only 99 Jesuses in the bag, not 100. I checked. There’s an interesting twist in that Matthew 18:12 tells us that the Good Shepherd will leave the 99 in search of the 1 lost sheep. I’ll tell you right now, my Good Shepherd is better than I because I’m not searching for that last lost plastic Jesus; he’ll just have to be one more mystery in the Greatest Story ever told.

So the question balances: what do you do with 100 99 plastic Jesuses? Why, take up the challenge of course. Jesus is everywhere!

He’s in the laundry room:

In the microwave:

In the Christmas village:

And even in the Christmas goodies I delivered to neighbors around the condo:

I was having a blast with plastic Jesus. It reminded me of Flat Stanley (a picture of “Stanley” that would travel with a family on vacation. One time, I brought my friend’s soup ladle which I had accidentally packed on a cruise. I dressed him in a homemade felt tuxedo, drew a face on the ladle, named him “Jeeves” and then took pictures of Jeeves at all my ports and beaches). Whatever I was doing, I brought plastic Jesus with me and snapped a photo of him among my world.)

What a neat gift. My son brought me laughter among the mundane. I’m rushing to prepare things for my mom as I leave for more than 2 weeks on a wandering of the Eastern half of the United States over Christmas break. I’m a bit stressed, frazzled, worried, and impatient. Plastic Jesus to the rescue. For the rest of the evening, I gleefully worked my task list, snapping pictures of JC and giggling at what a goofball I have for a son. Life is better with Jesus in the middle.

End of story? Not even close. Day 2. With a pocket full of Jesus (12, like the apostles), my good intentions were to go about my day, out among the faithful and heathens and leave a little plastic Jesus wherever I go.

You know, like the painted rocks. Have you seen those? People paint rocks and then leave them for others to find. The idea is that you’re supposed to take the rock and then plant it somewhere else.

On cruise ships there’s a whole rubber duck “thing.” People bring rubber ducks onboard and “hide” them around the ship. If you find a duck, you’re supposed to hide it somewhere else. That never works on a cruise. People just take and keep them.

Anyway, back to Jesus. How hard would it be to show that Jesus is everywhere? How hard would it be for me to keep Jesus in the front of my consciousness, play this fun Christmas challenge presented to me by my son and leave a little blessing everywhere I ventured. Apparently, almost shamefully, pretty hard. As I finished my day, I realized that my pocket was still bulging with little dudes. How many? 12. I didn’t “bless” a single location.

I couldn’t keep my focus on Jesus, not even once, as I lived my daily routine! Jesus was an afterthought. Checking off “get groceries, change oil, take mom to PT, pick up RX, make dinner, pay bills, etc…” became the mantra for the day instead of “Jesus hearts you.” I wouldn’t call it fun. I wasn’t giggling this time. There were no silly snapshots of Jesus on the grocery cart, or being drowned in the oil pan, of trying to hold a pen to write a check. Imagine how different my day could have been! I’m positive if I had Jesus in the center of all that muck, it would have been filled with more joy than the dull drone of the neverending to-do list.

I’d like to think I’m someone who tries to put my faith in the center of my day. And yet, this humbling exercise clearly illustrated how far I must still travel to make that claim. I think of all the lost opportunities to leave a plastic Jesus behind and have his goofy sash tell someone that “Jesus hearts you.” I could have left Jesus on top of the gas pump at the station. When I bought a coffee at the Kwik Trip before my monthly infusion, I could have set one inconspicuously next to the “need one, take one” penny dish. That would be appropo, wouldn’t it? The gentleman in the infusion lab that is always at station 10 could probably use a silly giggle with plastic Jesus. He is there every single time I come in for my shot. For that matter, the scheduling lady at the infusion lab has filled her cubicle with an entire garden of gnomes. My favorite was an Elvis gnome, complete with dark glasses, bell bottom sequin pants and pompadore hair. Plastic Jesus would have been a welcomed change and he and Elvis could have had a jamming session. When “Cathy” eventually “found Jesus” among her garden gnomes, I bet she would have stopped for a moment to wonder. I blew it.

This silly little exercise has slapped me upside my cheek. The dichotomy of a plastic Jesus is a metaphor for the greater argument of faith. I’m not even sure my son knows there is a song from the 1960s called “Plastic Jesus on the Dashboard of my Car.” (Listen to Paul Newman as Cool Hand Luke sing it: )

It was written as a parody for a Christian radio station that was basically hustling Jesus for profit. However, for some, it’s the only form of Jesus they know and it’s just enough. In the movie, Cool Hand Luke isn’t singing it in jest. Instead, tears are flowing, his cocky bravado has vanished, and he is forlornly playing and singing the irony as he processes grief. The director has sweetly portrayed the ying and yang, the black and white, the truth and lies of faith in this two minute scene. The song became a hit. I have memories of my dad, my son’s grandpa, singing “Plastic Jesus” on his guitar and enjoying every minute of it. I’m sure my son didn’t know this, and how wonderful that this corner of my world can come full circle with his Christmas gift. I know one of my dudes will need to end up at my dad’s grave site, in honor of all the times he sang that song.

So the challenge isn’t over. I still have a good pile of the guys in the bag “made in China” but I’ll keep working on it. I certainly enjoyed my day more when I was spreading His message through those silly little minatures. Maybe in the laughter, God’s love can shine through. Perhaps 1, maybe even the lost 1, will hit a targeted heart. It’s a tacky little toy, but the message on the sash is, what I believe, the most important message you’ll ever receive, if you will accept it.

Merry Plastic Christmas.

God’s plastic blessings and good plastic wanderings.