Jesus in the toy store

You know that whole WWJD thing? “What Would Jesus Do”? I’m hopeless at that. If I ever stop and think to myself “What Would Jesus Do?” in a situation, and try to engage my imagination, I find either it’s a cultural leap too far (would Jesus let his 10 year old son go and watch Tron: Legacy at the movie theatre?), or Jesus says something enigmatic which doesn’t help at all, like “oh, I think you know the answer to that already, deep down”, which leaves me bleating “I don’t, I really don’t” to an elusive vanishing mental image of a face with a beard.

However, it is a laudable exercise, and in that spirit, I have tried to envisage Jesus in the toy store. This is how it goes.

He comes in, and I say “Hi!” enthusiastically (we greet all our customers). Then as he walks towards the counter, I ask my usual line “Can I help you find something?” and he replies “Actually, I was wondering if I could help you find something”. See? Right there? We haven’t got beyond our opening exchange, and he’s already gone all enigmatic on me.

I persevere, and start showing him round.

“Why’s everything in this corner pink?” he asks.

“This is what we call 'Girlie World',” I reply. “Girls like pink. Girls’ clothes are mostly pink these days. I know your mother always wore blue, but these days, it’s pink.”

“My mother didn’t wear blue actually. Not until the Renaissance artists got hold of her”, Jesus says.

“Oh. Sorry. Well, anyway, girls nowadays wear pink. Trust me.”

“ ‘Trust me’? Did you say ‘Trust me’? That’s my line.”

See again? I just can’t get this whole WWJD thing running smoothly at all.

I move on to the science kits.

“We sell a lot of these,” I say, “especially in the run up to Christmas. Your birthday. It’s so commercialised these days. I’m sorry about that. Do you mind?”

He’s reading the blurb on the back of a science kit box.

“This says it encourages an enquiring mind in a child. That’s good. I like that.”

I feel a little glow of pleasure. “Lots of our toys are educational” I point out, but it sounds a bit more smug than I meant it to.

“Enquiring minds is good. What do you have for enquiring hearts and enquiring souls?”

For a panicky moment I am at a loss for words, but then Lego comes to my rescue.

“Look. This stuff is really fun for kids. It encourages their imaginations. They can build anything they like. You can buy a Star Wars kit like this… (Star Wars? Oh… yes, a little after your time. Never mind.) Or a tub of bricks like this… Or a board game like these.” I pick Lego Creationary off the shelf. “You’d enjoy this one, I think.”

I get a smile from him with that.

The Lego is next to the magic kits, which catch his eye.

“What are these for?”

“Magic kits? Oh, you know. Tricks. Like changing an object into something else, or making things disappear,” I tell him.

“Ooh, that sounds right up my street!” exclaims Jesus. He looks at the price label. “I don’t think I’ll be needing to spend $29.99 on it though.”

How does the visit end, I wonder? Do I show him the small crusader knight figurines, and lament with him the dreadful things that the church has been responsible for in its history? Do I browse the board game section with him, and use Fact or Crap (yes, there really is a game called that) to strike up a dialogue about the discernment of truth? Does the play-pretend doctor’s kit give me the opportunity to ask him why there’s evil in the world… cancer, might be one example I’d toss in… and tell him how, frankly, if I was almighty, I’d jolly well have found a way to create a world that would stay perfect? Or do I take him into the back office and offer him a cup of tea (Hello?... Yes!!... Duh… of course Jesus likes a nice cup of tea…) and witter on at length about my life, not letting him get a word in edgeways?

What? You think it’s the “wittering on at length” ending? Why would you think that?