Millions of years ago, on this evolving planet, tiny animals and plants died, sank to the bottom of the swampy waters, and were gradually pressurized into coal, oil, and other nasty-seeming substances.
Quite recently (in geologic time) humans began to play with fire and found it helped to stay warm and cook food. Not long after that, we discovered that digging, drilling, refining, and combusting those nasty substances provided astonishing amounts of energy.
Soon, basketballs, varnish, nylon tents, plastic bottles, airplanes, asphalt, and cozy homes began to seem a birthright for many of us. Even though it’s now obvious that extracting, refining, and burning these nonrenewable deposits of ancient life is dangerous, destructive, and ultimately deadly, we can’t seem to stop.
“Nice summary,” God says. “Though a tad simplified.”
“Fine,” I say. “Go ahead and complexify, God. You always do.”
God offers me an apple and leans back into the gathering clouds.
“I got my first doctorate in chemistry,” he says. “Technically, you should call me Dr. God. But I’m not hung up on titles.”
“Right. Or maybe I should call you Dr. Denial,” I say. “I got my first doctorate in psychology, and you are diagnosable.”
“That’s rich!” God chuckles. “Isn’t your diagnostic system just a primitive description of being alive? Coping?”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But there are better or worse ways to cope. You seem to cope by rolling the dice a lot. And we’re the dice.”
“Vegas, baby,” God jokes, rubbing his hands. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“Ah, c’mon,” I say. “Not funny.”
God grins. “Fine. Actually, nothing that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. You probably don’t know this about me, but I bathe in untouched oil reserves. I rub Myself with chunks of coal and float in pockets of natural gas. They let me be. I let them be. I love what they were and where they are, but you should leave them alone. They’re not worth the gamble.”
“That horse has left the barn,” I say.
“Oh, I know,” God says. “I got my second doctorate in statistics with a dissertation on probability.”
“So, with our selfish, exploitive, nature, we’re screwed, aren’t we?”
“Likely,” God nods, then adds, “I often root for the underdog, but it doesn’t look promising. I’m working on my third doctorate. It’s in theology. I’m exploring the concept of black holes and infinity, and I’m totally transfixed. Want to be on my examining committee?”
“I think I already am,” I say.
“I knew that,” God says with a big grin. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Short visits with an honest God 