Are you looking for Jesus Two?

No matter how advanced we become, no matter how far up the evolutionary ladder we think we have clambered, there is one thing we continue to do. Look for the next man-god. Someone we can put on a pedestal. Someone to worship. A perfect being who can do no wrong, who will carry us in dark days. Someone to wash away the pain. It doesn’t matter if you are scientist, or a voodooist, there is a part of you that wants to believe the next Jesus is out there, ready to light our way.

When Obama got into the White House, we anointed him in holy oil, made him the messiah for a new generation. He was the man who was going to bridge colour and creed. Half Christian, half Muslim, half black, half white, he was a man of four halves, that’s twice the man the rest of us are. And oh how we bowed. We gave him a Nobel Peace Prize before we had really met him. We ordained him in extraordinary powers. Some even said he would announce the arrival of aliens. Shepard Fairey captured him in red, white and blue. An icon in the original sense of the word.

Before Obama we did the same to Che, John Lennon, JFK, and even the young Tony Blair, evangelist of a new Britannia. See him on telly now, he doesn’t look so pucker any more.

Then there was Julian, with his flowing silver hair, who said unto us: “It is only when we are truly transparent that all sin shall be removed.” We flocked to his feet, attributed to him to every manner of power. He freed Egypt! He freed Tunisia! (Sorry Facebook, sorry Twitter, you’ve got competition.) We cast away his status as a man and adorned him with messianic robes. We cried out, take me, Julian, take me … just use a condom, oh, and oops, he didn’t. But never mind, he doesn’t appear to like Jews, and that’s always a good starting point for a bit of religious fervour.

Can I get a chuckle from the non-believers … hehehe, we don’t fall for those old tricks, we’re atheists … nope, sorry, but you do, you worship at the other spot down the road, the church of Darwin, with his high priest, St Dawkins. Dare anyone speak against your church, and you’re breathing fire and brimstone, calling them the great unwashed, scientific heathens and cursed luddites. It all begins to sound very familiar. Like the words spoken from pulpit of the Westboro Baptist Church.

So why is it that we do this? Why is it that we are so quick to announce the next chosen one? Are we just monkeys lost in the dark, calling out for mama ape? Primates who have woken up to find themselves in the middle of a meeting discussing next year’s sales, and thought: WTF? I am a long long way away from the jungle and I have no idea how to get back.

Or maybe we are just sheeple? Like the pretty lambs, in the paintings, that sit on Jesus’ lap. Or maybe we don’t have that backbone? The one we so readily accuse religious people of not having. Or maybe, there is a real Jesus? And we just want to be the first one to call him out. To be the first one to say: Yo, little baby Jesus, I’m over here! In the left pew. In the corner office. No, no, over here … ag, maybe that wasn’t him. Next time.