Barista Jesus

The Heretic’s Catechism Production Co.

Presents

Barista Jesus

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

God the Father      Bill Clinton

Barista Jesus, Son of God    Nicolas Cage

Holy Spirit       Big Bird

Gabriel the Archangel  Samuel L. Jackson

Linda the Customer    Emma Stone

SCENE:

(The camera zooms in on a bustling coffee shop in the heart of Manhattan. We focus on a tattered board of a sign hanging over its door with the words “Barista Jesus” inscribed by spray paint. Perhaps some Reggae-infused French Canadian Polka accompanying the picture to set a hip mood.  We then fade into a shot inside the shop, and the Divine Barista, garbed in hemp rope sandals and a faded green poncho sits a Triple Carmel Shot Latte with Unicorn Sprinkles in front of Linda, a frequent customer.)

Barista Jesus:  Here you are, sister. A shot of espresso diluted with Valley Girl condiments. Drink up.  I blessed it myself.

Linda: Thank you, Jesus. You sure know how to bless the heck out of things.

Barista Jesus: (Chuckles) Yeah, that’s kinda why I’m here. (Pulls out a chair and sits with Linda.) So what’s up, girl?

Linda: I’ve got a problem. I haven’t been to church in a while. I don’t feel like a devout Christian when I stay home Sunday morning binge-watching Jane Austen adaptations through Netflix.

Barista Jesus: Hey, hey. It’s all right. Barista Jesus knows it all. And who needs church anyway? A sofa’s much more comfortable than a wooden pew.

Linda: But isn’t going to church how we all learn about you? I mean, Christians usually meet at churches don’t they? To get together, read the Bible, pray, and partake of the Eucharist?

Barista Jesus: Whoa. That’s only one way. I haven’t heard of people going to church to learn about me in a while. (Pats Linda’s hand.) They’ve got documentaries on the History Channel for that now. I mean, reading is hard work. I’d rather watch flashback scenes of me walking on water and a Unitarian Harvard professor named Gerda wearing bland pantsuits explaining emphatically that my being God had nothing to do with it. She explains rightly that I had just found some water noodles at the dock before the storm hit and tied them around my feet.

Linda: But? The Bible?

Barista Jesus: Again, reading is a drag. If you must read the inerrant book that my Dad and I wrote by inspiring people with Our Holy Spirit, it’s best to listen to the audiobook version read by Johnny Cash.

Linda: But Johnny Cash read the KJV! I’m not from Elizabethan England? I can barely understand the Victorian soap operas I watch.

Barista Jesus: How dost thou not understand? Even to the melodic lyre of the Man in Black’s “I Walk the Line”?

Linda: Sorry, no.

Barista Jesus: Crap. Just scratch the scriptures. If you can get that cool comic book version they sell nowadays, that’d be cool. But no worries.

Linda: (Sighs.) What a relief! I needed to catch up on my Cosmopolitan issues anyway. So, the Blessed Sacrament? Is that altogether necessary?

Barista Jesus: Eh. You know, I think that’s caused too much confusion among everybody. I think my Body and Blood is something we ought to forget about.

Linda: Why?

Barista Jesus: Because I started the whole bread and wine business to party. I never thought my squad way back in 33 AD would take me so seriously. I shouldn’t have said I was the Manna come down from Heaven or the True Vine—I love meaningless metaphors. (Palms forehead.)

Linda: So how should we have Communion?

Barista Jesus: Like you’re sharing an appetizer, sis. It’s like passing around sangria and spinach artichoke dip at Applebee’s.

Linda: So no bowing, wine in a chalice, or making a sign of a cross?

Barista Jesus: I’d like to think of the business as taking grapey shots with Jesus, not of Jesus. If it were the other way around, you might end up being a Christian, and that’s risky.

Linda: Quite right. I’ve always said I’m spiritual not religious. (Jesus nods sagely.) What made you switch to Welch’s?

Barista Jesus: I started Prohibition last century. Or something like that. Ditched the chalice for disposable Kool-aid cups. The FDA really liked that—less chance of swapping spit. So I thought that Saltine crackers could accompany them as a cute “kid friendly” touch. Nowadays, I’m all about the ratings.

Linda: I see. I’ll just stay at home then. So can I have a maple bacon cinnamon roll with this, Jesus?

Barista Jesus: (Raises brow.) Elohim! Is that even Kosher? Wait. Yeah, I did away with that. (Snaps fingers and a pork pastry appears on a plate at the table.)

Linda: Thanks Jesus. But I have one more question.

Barista Jesus: Go ahead.

Linda: I see you right now. How is that? Aren’t you in heaven with God the Father?

Barista Jesus: Sure. But you know, you can see me in everyone. And I make encore appearances every now and then before the Apocalypse. In fact, I think I promised Joseph Smith that would happen when I came back to Independence, Missouri. (Puzzled expression, then moves on.) For example, I see me in you, sister.

Linda: You do?

Barista Jesus: Certainly. And I, in you, inspire me to greatness. I think I may have to do something grand.

Linda: What could be more spectacular than the Resurrection?

Barista Jesus: (Eyes glazed over in thought.) Yeah, yeah. Linda, you make me want to pull off a political scandal. (A literal light bulb appears over His head.) I’ve got it!

Linda: You do?

Barista Jesus: I’m going to steal the Declaration of Independence.

Linda: What?! Isn’t that breaking a commandment?

Barista Jesus: Um, well. You know, I can’t remember.

Linda: But you’re God.

Barista Jesus: Ssh! Don’t listen to what Fox News tells you. Listen to Gerda. Like her, I’m only a good teacher.

Linda: You are? What do you teach?

Barista Jesus: I teach people to make macramé. You know, with hemp? We make some gnarly bracelets with shark teeth and seashells. (Pulls out a bracelet and puts it on Linda.) What do you think?

Linda: Wow. That’s knotty. You ought to see if you can get on PBS. It’d put This Old House to shame.

Barista Jesus:  Nah, I’ve a better idea. I’m going to kidnap the President of the United States.

Linda: (In shock.) Why?!

Barista Jesus: It’s just a gut feeling. Something a Hollywood executive would approve of. Do you ever ask yourself, “What would Jerry Bruckheimer do?”

Linda: No?

Barista Jesus: Hmm. WWJBD? Has a ring to it for an acronym.

(The Barista’s cell phone goes off. The tune of “Hail to the Chief”.)

Barista Jesus: I’ve gotta answer this. (Clicks phone to answer.) Hello, Dad? No, no, no, I don’t know where He went off to. Why don’t you wait a minute? No, you don’t need to come down here, I’m sure He’s fine—wherever He is. (Angry babbling can be overheard.) Just take a deep breath. One. Two. Three. Wait, are you sneezing?

(A clap of thunder and a cloud of smoke. God the Father, dressed in a black suit and American flag necktie, sits down with Linda and the Barista Jesus.)

God: You know, I don’t have time for this, Son. But this is an emergency.

Linda: (Extending her hand to shake to God.) God? I’m Linda. I’ve heard so much about you. Jesus says you’re great.

God: (Touches her index finger with his own.) That’s how I handshake, Linda. Michelangelo got it right in the Sistine Chapel. He saw an ancient alien named ET hanging around the Vatican do the same and assumed it must have been me. Pleasure.

Barista Jesus: What’s going on, Dad? You’re ruining the vibes of my shop by scorching my freshly waxed floor.

God: (Sighs deeply.) It’s the Holy Spirit. Gabriel tells me He went off to Arkansas with a Gospel Choir.

Barista Jesus: We have to be tolerant, dad. He can do what He wants to. He’s God.

God: I know, but you doing macramé is one thing, Gabriel tells me that the Holy Spirit is—

(God is broken off when Gabriel the Archangel barges into the shop screaming, holding a rattlesnake in his hand.)

Gabe: AHH! There be too many gosh-darned snakes in that gosh-darned choir!

Barista Jesus: Dude, quiet down. The customers don’t like reptiles.

Gabe: God!?

God: What is it?

Gabe: The Holy Spirit was singing at a snake handling convention! I brought this ‘un to you as proof. (Allows snake to slither away.)

Barista Jesus: Now I have a slimy and scorched floor. Gotta hire a janitor.

Linda: Gross. Just gross.

God: Janitor? That’s cutting into your allowance, Son. Did we consult the Holy Spirit on this?

Barista Jesus: But Dad?!

God: Not buts. I’ve supported you on everything, even that Incarnation business, but a hiring a janitor to mop up the tears of starving artists is where I draw the line.

Gabe: HELLO? I said, there be too many gosh darned—

(Gabriel is interrupted when the Holy Spirit descends upon Jesus like a dove…er, like Big Bird, and squashes the Barista out of His chair.)

God: So there you are! What do you have to say for yourself?

Barista Jesus: Feathers from above? Righteous! I love it. (High fives the Holy Spirit, Who is now up and about humming “This Little Light of Mine”, clad in black choir robes.)

Linda: Oh. My. God. What’s happening?

Gabe: Honey, I’ve been asking myself this for a few thousand years. They be crazy.

God: Son, can you get the Holy Spirit away from the bar? We need to set up a date to talk about this janitor business.

Barista Jesus: Yeah, is Sunday good for you?

God: Sure.

Barista Jesus: Breakfast?

God: Yeah, at that little diner by St. Patrick’s. They have a good omelet there.

Barista Jesus: (Hollering.) Hey, Holy Spirit, omelets on Sunday good for you?

(The Holy Spirit does an about face. His beak drops. The Holy Hummer is offended.)

Barista Jesus: Too many chives?

God: Must be. How about eggs Benedict? I love a good Hollandaise.

(The beak lowers further.)

Barista Jesus: Agh. Poached eggs. Better just to fry them. How about some over easy, Holy Spirit?

(The Holy Spirit faints.)

God: What’s His problem?

Barista Jesus: Now the floor has feather carpet. Are you sure we can’t hire a janitor?

Linda: Uh, I think I’m gonna go.

Barista Jesus: Yeah, you’d better. The Holy Spirit will come around. Eventually. Maybe He just needs a good frittata to settle His stomach.

Linda: I’m not so sure. Thanks for the latte.

Barista Jesus: No problem. Next time, I may show you my poi skills. LED lights with those lasso thingies in the dark get pretty trippy.

Linda: (Skirting towards the door, awkwardly giving a fake laugh) Gee, can’t wait, Jesus. Bye. (She runs out of the shop).

Gabe: I need a pay raise.

(At that moment, the Holy Spirit comes to, clucking wildly.)

Barista Jesus: (Claps a hand on God’s shoulder.) What a guy! I knew He’d come through it. He might be sick, though. Let’s go fix him some egg drop soup.

(The camera’s focus then narrows on the Holy Spirit’s countenance, Who at the mention of the soup, faints into unconsciousness again. The vignette narrows into oblivion.)

THE END