A Real Hail Mary

"That was one booby Jesus," I remarked to myself, as I wound along the thickly wooded road on my way to pick my little sister up from the pool.

I heard what I said, of course, but I'd gotten caught up in the bright leafy air and the stately oaks whizzing past, and I wasn't really paying myself as much attention as I otherwise might've been. It wasn't until I'd gone another half-mile or so that what I'd seen - and said - had truly hit me.

I stomped on the brakes and pulled into a grade school parking lot. Had I really just driven past a church with two large pictures of Jesus with boobs?

It seemed impossible, but, despite my slightly delayed reaction, I was certain of what I'd seen. It had been the classic, transfixed figure - arms outstretched, eyes gazing heavenward, head crowned with rays of radiating glory.

And, well, the boobs. And not just any boobs, either. A man may be distracted, he may not be paying his usual close attention to his surroundings or to himself, but there are certain things in the world that cannot possibly escape him. At the head of this list, obviously, are perfect boobs.

Jesus, in this church's marquis and side sign, at least, had had them. Was it some obscure denomination that believed Jesus had been a woman? Were they trying to break down the classic, patriarchal stereotypes? Did they believe in topless worship? Obviously, and from a strictly theological perspective, an immediate investigation was in order.

I turned out of the parking lot and headed back the way I'd came. I hadn't seen a speed limit sign in a while, so I presumed it was about 65. I was back at the church in thirty seconds. There it was. Again. The modern, glass-and-steel building, the big sign, the little sign. The boobs. So what was this wondertemple called?

I turned into its crowded parking lot and squinted in the bright sunshine.

Wait.

What?

The actual name of the Church of The Holy Chest was almost impossibly disappointing, on both a spiritual and a carnal level:

"Radiance: A Private Outpatient Surgery Center"

I said a couple of decidedly unholy words and, for the second time in a few short minutes, turned out of a parking lot to reverse my course. At least I'd been right about the boobs. Perfect.