For more than two decades Cool Jesus has been right by my side. He’s got a big toothy smile, he hates my Church, and he’s always telling me I’ve got it all wrong. But he never tells me what’s right.
By Rebecca Robinson
I first saw Cool Jesus in the form of a shiny little picture—the Protestant version of a holy card—that a Sunday school teacher gave me as a prize for memorizing Bible verses. He smiled blindingly out of a sun-tanned face under masses of ‘70s rock star hair. Sometimes when he starts annoying me, I remind him of that picture. He blushes and digs at the carpet with the toe of His Chuck Taylor All-Stars. “Aw, dude, you know,” he says sheepishly. “That wasn’t one of my best looks.” But he gets over it. Cool Jesus is just way too cool to be embarrassed for long.