If, in our little fraction of Vastness, there’s a god who demands we worship him above all other gods, I think, well, how about those other gods? What do they have to say for themselves?
And if we continue to destroy our fragile home spinning in the Vastness and end up extinct, I think, well, that’s not very nice, is it? And not at all wise.
And if there are universal laws or holy suggestions about how best to live, I think, well, such guidance should be readily apparent, right? Who would design the creatures of Vastness and hide the best ways?
Then I think, well, the best ways aren’t hidden. We just don’t want to love our neighbors, let alone our enemies. We convolute and complicate to disguise our greed and justify our cruelty. This has been going on for a long, long time. We borrow other people’s sacrifices to quell our fears.
Apparently on crack, the Apostle Paul wrote Oh death, where is thy sting? Well, Paul, I’ll tell you where it is. It’s wrapped in a shroud at the border between the haves and the have-nots. It’s screaming in civilians blown to smithereens by war machines. It’s plastic in the bellies of hungry, hungry children. In fact, Paul, death stings like hell down here most of the time.
And then I think, well, who’s fault is that?
The Silences parade by. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. The Excuses slither by. Phony, ignorant, gluttonous. The Hierarchies hail themselves. The Meek stand at attention. The Humble avert their eyes and bow their heads.
“Hey, Happy New Year!” Big God bounds into my consciousness like an exuberant dog.
“Hello, God,” I nod.
“What’s shakin’ baby?” God jiggles her large bottom. “Got some money? I have a few charities in mind.”
“It’s not that easy,” I protest.
“Ain’t that the truth!” God exclaims, rubbing my head with affection. “Who’s a good monkey, huh? Who’s a good monkey?”
“Stop it!” I laugh. “No one’s a good monkey.”
“You got that right!” God proclaims. “But get out there and do something nice anyway. Eat some greens. Time’s a-wastin’.”
I shake my head. “I’m tired of greens. And besides, money and time are just abstractions. They’re not real.”
Big God raises an enormous eyebrow. “Hmmm. Let’s see how that works out after you’ve ordered your ice cream. It’s warm today.”
Coins jingle in my pocket as the blazing sun drags my remaining hours across the southern sky.
“Okay,” I admit. “I see your point.”
“I’d like a scoop of salted caramel,” she grins. “And two of coconut crunch.”