34 A.D.

Dear Jesus,

I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I haven’t been able to find the right words to say this. The DNA test result came back, and it turns out that you’re not my son. I know you must be feeling surprised, shocked, and possibly less divine, but just imagine how I feel. You may be wondering why I waited so long to go through with the test. The truth is that I wanted you to be mine. I wanted to believe in you, but it turns out you’re just a sham. So yeah, I dropped the ball on this one. You’re just some Nazarethian Milkman’s bastard. I guess that does explain why you’re so tall. This must be hard to take, especially after you went to such great lengths to earn my acceptance.

Anyway, I was just writing to let you know the alimony stops now. No more turning water into wine and curing leopards, I’ll save the miracles for my real illegitimate kids, like David Copperfield, Johnny Damon, and Fabio. Sorry buddy. I hope was can still be pals; maybe we’ll go to a ballgame or catch that new Mel Gibson movie, just like a real family would. If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you keep that whole “Before Christ” thing; I think you’ve earned it. But the good news is you don’t have to anything crazy like dying to absolve all of humanity of their sins.

While I could just appear to you and tell you this, doing it face to face just seemed too awkward. This letter is coming to you via that whore Mary, who I think I may have gotten confused with your mother when I was on that bender way back in nine months BC. Explains the whole mix-up, though. Anyway, I sure do hope this gets to you soon before you do something you might regret, like martyrdom, because frankly kid, I don’t have your back anymore. Good luck with all your future endeavors, but please stop asking me for guidance. Pester your real dad, insead.

Someday I know we’ll all look back on this and laugh, what a crazy mix-up. If I don’t speak to you again, know this: I never really loved you. The love thing was going to be your gig, but that doesn’t look like it’s going to work out for you, either.

All the best,

Yahweh