Even Jesus has been priced out of Manhattan.

In Riverdale, The Bronx, on the second highest peak in all five boroughs, sits a mansion fit for a king — and we don’t mean LeBron James.

The house, variously known as Chapel Farm, Fair Hill or Chapel Hill, was built in the 1920s for one special resident to live in: Jesus Christ.

The idea was, when Jesus returned to earth (via the 1 train, presumably), he would decamp to The Bronx and rule from this opulent, 17-room dwelling. It’s a promising sign for those living in the northernmost borough, which will apparently survive the wars, famine, disease, earthquakes and anarchy the Bible predicts to signal the end of days.

And soon, all this could be yours. It’s set to hit the market in February for $10 million.

“The house has such a history to it,” current owner Sandra Galuten tells The Post. “It is really interesting.”

It was constructed beginning in 1928 by Genevieve Ludlow Griscom, the wife of Clement Acton Griscom Jr., a wealthy executive whose company made ship heaters.

Genevieve was a member of a religious order — some say cult — colorfully called the Outer Court of the Order of the Living Christ.

The group attempted to fuse theosophy with Episcopalian beliefs. Followers believed in reincarnation and Christian mysticism, but also adopted mainstream Episcopal teachings.

It invited “all men and women of whatever caste, creed, race and religion” who, “seeking a higher life hereafter, would learn to know the path to tread in this [one],” according to a journal published by the group.

The property was built as the group’s summer retreat and was surrounded by a high fence, leading neighbors to speculate that it was home to strange rituals.

Although Genevieve supervised every detail of the mansion’s construction, oddly enough, she never lived there. Neither did anyone else involved with the Order of the Living Christ. Genevieve resided in a simple shack a few hundred feet away from the main house and heated by a stove. Other members lived in cottages on the property.

The main house was, er, religiously maintained. Members reportedly dusted regularly, and the floors were kept polished, in anticipation of Jesus’ return. Genevieve would enter for an hour or so every day and play a large pipe organ.

She died in 1958 at age 90, and the order reportedly disbanded soon after. In 1960, the property was sold to a developer for $700,000. At the time, it was said to be the last undeveloped plot in The Bronx, and it mostly remained that way.

The estate was eventually given to the Archdiocese of New York, who then sold in 1969 it to nearby Manhattan College. The school intended to build dormitories on the lot, but the plan was abandoned when another site was chosen.

The house lay derelict for more than a decade when it was purchased in 1987 for “practically nothing” by Galuten and her husband, Jerry, an entrepreneur with a long list of interests, including importing tropical fish and producing a version of “Duke of Earl” by the doo-wop group the Dukays.

The house was a shell of its former self. Its front door was boarded up, the windows had been shattered and a group of raccoons was living in the attic. Vandals had burned the banister and other items, and the interior was blackened by flames.

The shack where Genevieve Griscom once lived had long since been destroyed by fire or weather, though some of the surrounding houses remain. So does the Order’s chapel, which was built around a tree trunk. (Those structures are no longer part of the main property and are owned by others.)

Jesus, as we know, had simple tastes. As such, the house originally had just one bathroom. It now has five full, with three halves. There are seven bedrooms — though it’s unclear which was intended for the son of God — as well as a gym and sauna. In fact, in light of the order’s disbanding, few details of how they envisioned Christ’s life on Chapel Farm are known today, as most of the records have been lost to history.

The only hint of the house’s strange origins can be found in the backyard. There, hidden among rock outcroppings is the broken base of a large cross that once stood on the property.

Despite the renovation challenges, the Galutens decided to buy the property, in part because it was large enough to store and display Jerry’s toy train collection. The restoration took more than a decade in total. It was finally completed in 2001.

“It was a labor of love,” says Galuten, a former marketing executive who lived in the Hotel Delmonico at 59th and Park before moving to the Bronx. “I called the place ‘Wuthering Heights’ — or ‘The Money Pit.’ ”

The exterior, made of stones nearly 2 feet thick, had held up, but very little of the original interior could be salvaged. The original black-and-white floors made of 3- to 5-inch thick slabs of marble survive to this day.

The pipe organ that Genevieve used to play anticipating the Lord’s arrival had been damaged by fire, water and time. It was dismantled, and its various parts donated to churches.

The other details were down to Galuten. The intended owner’s tastes are carpenter chic. Hers are more Palace hotel.

In the upstairs hallway, she installed mosaic tiling from the same Italian maker that does the Vatican. The sconces in the game room once belonged to Clark Gable. (“They were a gift,” Galuten says mysteriously.)

One of six wood-burning fireplaces, made of carved variegated marble, is the same as can be found in the White House.

“The estate reminds you of a bygone era,” says Halstead broker Ayo Haynes, who has been involved with Galuten’s efforts to sell the house. “It’s very ‘Downton Abbey,’ down to the servants’ staircase.”

The house has been offered for sale previously, but no takers. Galuten is hoping an appropriate buyer will come along in the spring — though the next popularized date of a possible Armageddon isn’t until 2020.

“Jesus would probably love [the house],” insists Galuten, who claims to have never felt any Godly presence in the home. “I redid it in very elegant taste.”