A conversation with God

Hey God. Can you hear me? It’s me, Chris. Oh, wait. Should that be “it’s I?” Should I drop the contraction altogether? Does it matter? I guess it probably doesn’t matter. You’re all forgiving, right? Omni-something? Benevolent is it? Yeah, so sorry. I’ll just get on with it.

You know the universe is a complicated place. I guess I just have a few questions. Like why do bad things happen to good people? Well, I guess that isn’t the biggest of my concerns. Why do bad things happen to me would have to be number one. Yeah, so why do bad things happen to me?

Well, sure, I know there are people better than me. But let’s be honest here. I’m sure you get that first question all the time, but you just know they’re actually thinking “Wah wah, boo hoo, look at me, I’m so sad, why me?” Well of course you just know, you know everything. That’s another omni. Do you really want the pretense of charity and caring about other people when you know I’m just in it for myself? Honesty is the best policy, right? Is that one of yours? No, yours are all “shalt not.” False witness against thy neighbor! Got it. I don’t know what number that is though. I only know number eight is stealing because there was this Simpson’s episode where—well, never mind.

I mean I understand the whole free will thing. I like that; I’m going to be honest. But can’t there be free will where I get what I want? There has to be a way around free will. I’m not asking to, like, control people, you know? Just a little more power in your realm. For example, let’s take that flowerpot that fell on my head yesterday. I couldn’t do anything about that. But let’s say I build up enough good points over the course of the week. Shouldn’t I be able to avoid the flowerpot? Would that put such an irrevocable rip in the universe? Would particles start disintegrating all around me because a potted plant hadn’t crashed down on my head? The gates of Hell would just open up and unleash a flurry of bloodthirsty demons on the world had I not received a flowerpot to the cranium. Must have been vital to prevent the delicate fabric of creation from being torn to shreds by forces of chaos and darkness, I assume.

All right, all right, I’m being sarcastic. I apologize. There’s no need for that. But do you see what I’m saying here? Now I acknowledge I don’t have the same perspective on the world that you do. There’s no question about that. But I would have to guess that give or take a flowerpot, the universe would be able to sustain itself. A flowerpot being tossed off the roof of a thirteen-floor building, careening to earth, and landing squarely upon my head just doesn’t seem like one of those earth-shattering events caused by the hand of God to ensure order and goodness prevail. But then what do I know.

That’s not my only gripe either. I hate to complain, blah blah blah, gift of life and free will and whatnot better than Paradise, etc. But seriously, do we really need insects? I mean really need them? I’ve always suspected that whole “pollination” thing they teach us in elementary school was a scam. But that’s for another column. Really, though, even if we pretend pollination is real, is it really necessary? Couldn’t you work something out up there? I don’t know, little flying seeds? No blood sucking or flying around the head. Like little heat seeking missile things. I have a lot of these kinds of ideas. I’ll write them all down if you want me to.

Could we get some real, indisputable guidelines for admission into Heaven? I mean we have the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, the Scientologists—where is a confused deist to turn? Jesus the only way to Heaven? Expensive training sessions to free clusters of extra souls from our body? Take out as many infidels as possible? Give us a little help down here. I’ll be honest with you. I want to get into Heaven, but I’m not about to go the extra mile to be a good person if it’s not getting me any advantages. Hey, who wants to, I don’t know, honor their mother and father if they don’t have to? That’s not for me, you know? I see morality the way I see eating healthy. I’ll do it if I have to, but until I hit, say, seven hundred pounds, I really don’t see the point.

That brings me to a semi-related point. How in God’s name (err, sorry) did Jared Fogle become a celebrity? The guy loses some weight losing sandwiches and all of a sudden he’s a superstar? The big pants are a freaking cultural icon! Isn’t there something wrong with this picture? Doesn’t this strike you as a little odd? How am I supposed to believe in a just and loving You when this guy is making more money endorsing sandwiches with a giant pair of pants than I’ll make in a lifetime?

Well I have to go. I have to get down to the soup kitchen. All right, so that was I lie. I’m really just going to sit around and—well, you know.