Yet again, thanks for this joke go to Roland.

Could it be you?

One evening Jesus had a little feeling, if not exactly a premonition (it was not unpleasant), that something was about to happen at the Pearly Gates. He wafted over to the gates and saw dear old St Peter, very busy as usual, welcoming the faithful and turning away the disbelievers and the undeserving. St Peter’s kindly face looked a tad care-worn and tired as Jesus approached.

“Why don’t you have the evening off?” asked Jesus, “I’d be happy to take over from you and give you a well-earned break. Besides, I have a strange feeling that I should be here tonight…”

“Well, if you don’t mind?” answered St Peter rather pleased, “You’re quite right to follow your instincts. Remember that ‘God works in mysterious ways’!”

St Peter flew off and Jesus took over as gatekeeper. After a short time – it could have been a week, a month or even a year or more (time was immaterial) – Jesus thought he recognised a face in the gathering that was waiting outside the gates.

The face was extremely ancient but lined in a nice way, as if the man had spent a lifetime smiling and having pleasant thoughts. The hair was white and wavy, quite thick for one so advanced in years, and it looked soft and nice to stroke. Under his large red nose was a big moustache as white as his hair. On his nose was a pair of spectacles, which he peered over with benevolent eyes; originally brown, they had faded to a pale greenish blue with the passage of time but in those faded eyes were chinks of reflected light, which had not dulled, and showed a lively sense of humour. Instead of wearing a cloak over his clothes, he had on a brown apron, like one worn by the carpenters of old.

“Surely I know that lovely face,” Jesus said to himself and his excitement grew as he waited for the old man to reach the gates.

“Don’t I know you?” said Jesus taking the old man’s hands in his own.

“I don’t know,” replied the old man, “my eyes are not so good these days – and my glasses don’t work so well as they used to.”

“Would your name, by any chance, happen to be Joseph?” inquired Jesus.

“Yes, you could say that it is, indeed, Joseph,” answered the old man after a little ponder.

“Tell me,” asked Jesus, welling up with excitement and love, “do you have a son?”

“Why yes, I do!” exclaimed the old man, sensing the momentousness of the occasion.

“And, by chance, does he happen to have some small holes in his hands and feet?” asked Jesus hardly daring to hope.

“Yes, of course he does,” the old man nearly swooned with joy.

“Oh Father,” began Jesus, “it’s me, your little boy!”

“My boy?”

“Your beloved boy,” Jesus wept.

“Oh my dear boy,” the old man took Jesus in his arms, “my dear Pinocchio!”