Driving home last night from work after a long backshift, I accidently run over Jesus. I knew it was Jesus because he was not olive coloured but bright white (probably from shock), and he had a fulsome, flowing head of hair, and a rather well maintained beard. He was also wearing a white robe of the finest Judean damask, if a little blood splattered. Or it might have been a grungy black leather jacket. Hard to tell in the half light.
He also forgave me while he was dying, which was the real give away. I left him at the side of the road as he spluttered his last breath, because in Scotland it is not illegal to kill Jesus if you are a Calvinist.
I like that Jesus always dies for my sins.