If Jesus had survived to get old, would his career have turned out like Mick Jagger’s rather than Jimi Hendrix’s? Would he have started to tour the world repeating his biggest hit miracles? If he tried to perform a new one would his followers have started booing and yelling out: “The new stuff sucks! Wine into water! Wine into water!” After reading the Gospels would they have bored each arguing that the acoustic version of the Sermon on the Mount was way better? Or maybe, with the involuntary moderation of old age, he would have given up the orgiastic weekends of amateur alcohol production and curing of (the perhaps resultant) blindness and become a recluse, like a piece of paper consumed by fire curling up at the edges rather than, as happened, a too-long folded up poster pinned open on the wall with thumbtacks. In any case, fortunate as his fall into imperfect life may have been, it’s probably best that he got caught on that two-armed tree branch rather than crashing any farther down the tree of life. A savior with a tail might still get displayed in the position of honor above the mantlepiece, but probably as a trophy head rather than on a crucifix.