I'd invite Jesus in and ask Him to remove his sandals, as all our guests are accustomed to doing before entering the house. Then when He was barefoot, I would acknowledge that He's probably used to having His feet washed by adoring worshippers. Since I would want Him to feel at home, I would probably make one of those awkward sounding offers to wash His feet for Him, but only in that "I'm just saying this to be polite" kind of way. Surely Jesus would be clued into that and He'd reply "oh no, I couldn't, but thank you for asking!"
The foot washing business being settled, I would invite Jesus to have a seat and ask Him what He would like to drink. Jesus is supposed to be a cool guy, so I imagine He might make some crack about my not being able to turn water into wine or something. I'd laugh, as any polite host with a sense of humor would, but then I'd tell Him about the time my sister-in-law Ruby came over and said, in all seriousness, "you got any daiquiris?" I'd tell Him about how I did in fact have the ingredients to make Ruby a daiquiri, and then Jesus and I would laugh, long and loud.
Having supplied Jesus with a refreshing beverage, we would discuss the pros and cons of going to sit in the back yard under the ornamental cherry tree vs. remaining in the living room. Sometimes it's too cold or too buggy out back. But we would make the appropriate choice depending on the time of year and the weather. I always imagine it being summer when Jesus is around on accounta the climate He was born into and all.
We'd sit for a few and talk about what exactly He's been up to recently while seated at the right hand of God the Father, until I would jump up and exclaim "well you must be starving after that journey! What can I get you to eat?" Now depending on how hungry He actually was, I imagine Jesus would protest my needing to do anything, or at the very least offer to order take-out for us. I would thank Jesus for His concern, but really it would be no trouble. Then I would go into the kitchen and possibly make Jesus a quesadilla. Or, if I didn't have much in the way of provisions, I'd bring out our folder of take-out menus for Jesus to peruse.
All this talk of food would have made me thirsty again and so I'd make another round of drinks. I'm not clear on Jesus's stance on drinking these days. I know He drank wine, but that was more for sustenance and not to catch a buzz. I don't think He'd have a problem with the bottle as long as it was in moderation. So I'd fix us a couple more appletinis on the rocks. (Jesus wouldn't like them straight up, methinks.)
Once the food was ordered, we'd start in on our serious conversation. I would review with Jesus that He only gave us two commandments to follow: 1) Love God above all else; and 2) Love your neighbor as yourself. Now being a lawyer, I'd be able to say all sorts of clever things that would enable us to interpret those commandments in the light most favorable to me. And I don't think Jesus would disagree with anything I had to say, although I'd certainly welcome Him to. But mainly I would tell Him about my concerns regarding the religious leadership's failure to pay attention to those commandments.
Jesus would weep.
But then we'd be saved by the bell when the food arrived. Jesus would dry His tears and chow down with me. And then Jesus would say His polite "thank yous" and would ascend back into Heaven.
Overall, Jesus would be an awesome guest with impeccable manners and I would continue to love Him for it. And He'd never forget to use a coaster, either.
I am Coaster Punchman and you have just entered my world. I rule it with an iron fist, so if you're looking for First Amendment protection, you will not find it here. I have a now deceased crazy Chinese mother-in-law, and sometimes I wear Crocs around the house. I don't like flip-flops or Mormons. I'm also a cyberstalker by trade -- so I could look up all sorts of random shit about you if I wanted, but I probably won't because I'm pretty lazy.