Tart Tangerine #12
“You’re not what I was expecting.”
“You’re not what I was expecting either,” she said. She sat there, dressed like she was at some Hawaiian picnic in August, a couple of leis draped around her neck, a cigarette in one hand. She looked like an old woman, somewhere in her sixties or seventies. She reminded me of my Aunt Mabel. Then, what she said sank in.
“Wait…what?! How can I not be what you were expecting? You’re GOD!” I cried. And so she was. Five minutes ago I had been enjoying a nice steak dinner at the local Sizzler, when I felt a shooting pain in my chest and left arm. The last thing I remember was falling out of my chair and hitting the floor, the taste of a New York strip steak still on my lips. Then I blinked and was here. It looked like a cabin up in the northern woods of California. But the place was empty, except for this woman sitting there on a deck chair, smoking. She’d just explained that I’d entered the afterlife and introduced herself. I was so shocked at her appearance that I’d said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Why, free will honey. A lot is made down there about my supposed omniscience, but it’s a bit of a crock. Oh sure, I know everything that has happened, and I can tell you what’s happening right now, anywhere. But tell the future? If I could tell you what was going to happen, what choices you were going to make, why then, they wouldn’t be choices, would they? They’d be preordained, and that’s not the way I designed things.”
I was a bit rocked by this. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting a long theological discussion. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to die either. I was expecting to eat a nice steak and make it home in time for “House.” Instead, I get this – a personal audience with the Almighty, but not in any form I was expecting. She smiled at me, as if reading my thoughts, which she probably was.
“I know, a bit more than you were looking for.” She smiled kindly, with the infinite patience of someone who’s gone through this whole song and dance countless times. “You were expecting harps and clouds, perhaps? Maybe an old man with a long white beard? Perhaps a burning bush?”
I latched onto the familiar imagery. “Well…yeah. Or, based on some of the things I’ve done, maybe I was expecting pitchforks and horns.”
She chuckled loudly. “Oh come on now, you haven’t been that bad. Sure, you haven’t gone to church every weekend, and you could have shown your father more respect. But I grade on a curve, and you’re hardly near the bottom.”
“Well that’s a relief.” Then something clicked into place. “So does that mean the Christians had it right all along? It’s not Vishnu or Allah or Buddha?”
“Nope. They’re all right.”
“But how can that be? Each religion believes something different. And they all believe they’re the only one.”
“Marketing kid. Marketing. Old P.T. Barnum had it right. You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time. But you can’t please all of the people all of the time. So I don’t try.”
“But…that can’t be right!” I insisted, forgetting for a moment whom I was addressing.
“And why not? I’m powerful enough to create the universe, all-knowing enough to see into your soul, I can take any form I want, but I’m not smart enough to realize that it takes different strokes for different folks?” She smiled indulgently at me, like she was lecturing a four year old.
“But then…why is it a basic tenant of all religions that they are the one true path?”
“Exclusivity junior. You gotta have something to attract them to the faith. Why join one church when any will do? Why tithe 10% to the Tabernacle when the Catholics only want five bucks every Sunday. Why spend time being lectured to about the pits of Hell when the Jews don’t believe in it? Why give up your Friday nights when everything’s already closed on Sunday? You gotta give the folks a reason to come in. Gotta put butts in seats. But really, at the end of the day, the only thing that matters is that you believe.”
I was shocked at the bluntness that She was displaying. Needless to say, while I hadn’t been the most God-fearing man in the world, I still went to church enough to know how God talked and this sure wasn’t it. Alright, God can assume any form She wants, so if she wants to look like an old lady who you’d expect to see gambling in Atlantic City, who am I to say She’s wrong? But God didn’t talk about “butts in seats.” Not the God I knew. It was all “thees” and “thous” and whatnot.
“So let me get this straight…if every religion is right, does that mean those nutjobs who strap bombs to themselves and blow up discos are up here somewhere?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly. I said every religion was right, not that every interpretation is right. Plenty of idiots have done things in My name that I don’t approve of. Those are the sorts of people who fail the curve. I’ve always been about peace and love. So killing people in the name of peace…well that’s a bit like screwing for virginity, isn’t it?” She laughed at the joke. “I’ve always loved that particular turn of phrase. Now come on now, Junior. Our time is short and I know there’s one more question you’re burning to ask, so ask away.”
“Alright. So why do you let bad things happen to good people?”
“I don’t. I don’t ‘let’ anything happen. Einstein was right. I don’t play dice with the universe. Not for a long time. I set up first principles, gave you free will, then let the machine run on its own. I observe, I know, but I do not interfere. All the evil in the world, that’s just the depths of human depravity. Which is only exceeded by your capacity to do good. That, perhaps, was my greatest success. For every Hitler, there’s a Jonas Salk. For every Pol Pot, a Mother Theresa. And usually more than one. So when you see bad things happening in the world, and you feel that nothing can be done, look inside yourself and find some way to make the day a little better for someone else.
“And now,” She said, “our time is up.”
“CLEAR!” A jolt went through my body and my eyes fluttered open. “We’ve got a pulse! Let’s get him to the ambulance.” I was felt myself lifted off the floor and placed on a stretcher. And as I was wheeled out of the restaurant I struggled to thank the paramedic who was pushing me toward the ambulance.
“Don’t thank me, pal. Thank the woman at the next table who did CPR until we arrived. If not for her, you’d be talking to God right now.” I managed a weak chuckle.
"Brother, if only you knew."
“You’re not what I was expecting either,” she said. She sat there, dressed like she was at some Hawaiian picnic in August, a couple of leis draped around her neck, a cigarette in one hand. She looked like an old woman, somewhere in her sixties or seventies. She reminded me of my Aunt Mabel. Then, what she said sank in.
“Wait…what?! How can I not be what you were expecting? You’re GOD!” I cried. And so she was. Five minutes ago I had been enjoying a nice steak dinner at the local Sizzler, when I felt a shooting pain in my chest and left arm. The last thing I remember was falling out of my chair and hitting the floor, the taste of a New York strip steak still on my lips. Then I blinked and was here. It looked like a cabin up in the northern woods of California. But the place was empty, except for this woman sitting there on a deck chair, smoking. She’d just explained that I’d entered the afterlife and introduced herself. I was so shocked at her appearance that I’d said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Why, free will honey. A lot is made down there about my supposed omniscience, but it’s a bit of a crock. Oh sure, I know everything that has happened, and I can tell you what’s happening right now, anywhere. But tell the future? If I could tell you what was going to happen, what choices you were going to make, why then, they wouldn’t be choices, would they? They’d be preordained, and that’s not the way I designed things.”
I was a bit rocked by this. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting a long theological discussion. Then again, I wasn’t expecting to die either. I was expecting to eat a nice steak and make it home in time for “House.” Instead, I get this – a personal audience with the Almighty, but not in any form I was expecting. She smiled at me, as if reading my thoughts, which she probably was.
“I know, a bit more than you were looking for.” She smiled kindly, with the infinite patience of someone who’s gone through this whole song and dance countless times. “You were expecting harps and clouds, perhaps? Maybe an old man with a long white beard? Perhaps a burning bush?”
I latched onto the familiar imagery. “Well…yeah. Or, based on some of the things I’ve done, maybe I was expecting pitchforks and horns.”
She chuckled loudly. “Oh come on now, you haven’t been that bad. Sure, you haven’t gone to church every weekend, and you could have shown your father more respect. But I grade on a curve, and you’re hardly near the bottom.”
“Well that’s a relief.” Then something clicked into place. “So does that mean the Christians had it right all along? It’s not Vishnu or Allah or Buddha?”
“Nope. They’re all right.”
“But how can that be? Each religion believes something different. And they all believe they’re the only one.”
“Marketing kid. Marketing. Old P.T. Barnum had it right. You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time. But you can’t please all of the people all of the time. So I don’t try.”
“But…that can’t be right!” I insisted, forgetting for a moment whom I was addressing.
“And why not? I’m powerful enough to create the universe, all-knowing enough to see into your soul, I can take any form I want, but I’m not smart enough to realize that it takes different strokes for different folks?” She smiled indulgently at me, like she was lecturing a four year old.
“But then…why is it a basic tenant of all religions that they are the one true path?”
“Exclusivity junior. You gotta have something to attract them to the faith. Why join one church when any will do? Why tithe 10% to the Tabernacle when the Catholics only want five bucks every Sunday. Why spend time being lectured to about the pits of Hell when the Jews don’t believe in it? Why give up your Friday nights when everything’s already closed on Sunday? You gotta give the folks a reason to come in. Gotta put butts in seats. But really, at the end of the day, the only thing that matters is that you believe.”
I was shocked at the bluntness that She was displaying. Needless to say, while I hadn’t been the most God-fearing man in the world, I still went to church enough to know how God talked and this sure wasn’t it. Alright, God can assume any form She wants, so if she wants to look like an old lady who you’d expect to see gambling in Atlantic City, who am I to say She’s wrong? But God didn’t talk about “butts in seats.” Not the God I knew. It was all “thees” and “thous” and whatnot.
“So let me get this straight…if every religion is right, does that mean those nutjobs who strap bombs to themselves and blow up discos are up here somewhere?”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly. I said every religion was right, not that every interpretation is right. Plenty of idiots have done things in My name that I don’t approve of. Those are the sorts of people who fail the curve. I’ve always been about peace and love. So killing people in the name of peace…well that’s a bit like screwing for virginity, isn’t it?” She laughed at the joke. “I’ve always loved that particular turn of phrase. Now come on now, Junior. Our time is short and I know there’s one more question you’re burning to ask, so ask away.”
“Alright. So why do you let bad things happen to good people?”
“I don’t. I don’t ‘let’ anything happen. Einstein was right. I don’t play dice with the universe. Not for a long time. I set up first principles, gave you free will, then let the machine run on its own. I observe, I know, but I do not interfere. All the evil in the world, that’s just the depths of human depravity. Which is only exceeded by your capacity to do good. That, perhaps, was my greatest success. For every Hitler, there’s a Jonas Salk. For every Pol Pot, a Mother Theresa. And usually more than one. So when you see bad things happening in the world, and you feel that nothing can be done, look inside yourself and find some way to make the day a little better for someone else.
“And now,” She said, “our time is up.”
“CLEAR!” A jolt went through my body and my eyes fluttered open. “We’ve got a pulse! Let’s get him to the ambulance.” I was felt myself lifted off the floor and placed on a stretcher. And as I was wheeled out of the restaurant I struggled to thank the paramedic who was pushing me toward the ambulance.
“Don’t thank me, pal. Thank the woman at the next table who did CPR until we arrived. If not for her, you’d be talking to God right now.” I managed a weak chuckle.
"Brother, if only you knew."
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