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Dear George,
God here. Just what do you think you’re doing down there? I have an image to maintain, you know, and you’re not helping.
Here’s the deal, George – in order to keep things in balance (remember the “two of everything” deal with Noah?) I tried to balance the tall with the short, the men with the women, and (well, let’s be honest) the bright with the not so bright. Obviously, you came out of the womb part and parcel of the latter group. Jesus (hey, I made a joke!) – what choice did you have? Not exactly swimming in the deep end of the gene pool there, what with Mommy being twenty minutes short of midnight and Daddy learning Nazi 101 from dear old Prescott. Oh, and nice job with the bar code scanner back in ’92, Poppy. Hell, I don’t even shop and I figured that one out. What a crew.
So here I am, George, meeting with the image consultants and setting out strategies to increase the flock. Conventional wisdom is to go with a smart guy, someone who can sing with the choir but still stay in tune, you know? Someone who actually practices all that stuff in the book. Someone who gets it. Hell, someone who can conjugate verbs and connect premises and conclusions. The marketing side of the cloud says skew young, the bean counters want establishment. We make a list, we check it twice – we’re making progress. Looks like we may even meet Q3 recruitment goals.
Then YOU show up – Oh Happy Day.
Thanks, George. Thanks a lot. My new poster boy is now the idiot savant to the upper class. How do you think I feel George, watching a liar like you attach himself to me at the waist. How do you think I feel that you, a man who couldn’t identify me in a line-up, is walking around like we have each other on speed-dial. Don’t you think it’s bad enough that scum like Falwell and Robertson actual have people believing I talk to them – do you think I really need another albatross?
George, here it is, in a nutshell. I don’t take sides. Geography never enters into my thinking, nor does color, or race, or national origin. I do not protect one side at the expense of another. When I see people like you bastardizing every thing I stand for, I weep. When I see people like you using my name to glorify death, I weep. When I watch the word Christian become nothing more than an election slogan designed to carry West Virginia, I weep. Not in my name, George, not in my name.
This Thursday, you will find yourself on stage with the man who wants your job. Look long and hard at him, George, for he is what I’m all about. In order to have me in your heart, you see, you must keep me there. I am not available for rental, and I am not brought out on demand to cover the stains of a life lived at the expense of others. I am every religion and I am no religion at all. I build, George, I do not destroy, and the poor mean as much to me as the wealthy. Buddha and Yahweh are friends of mine, and you know that silly saying “all God’s children” – I believe it.
If you’re looking for Christian values, George, they reside in the good people working so hard to rid the world of your leadership. If all goes well, it will be a new dawn this November, and I can once again walk with pride. As for you, well, I have this nasty habit of smiting people, and even though I haven’t done it in a long time I believe I still know how.
If you don’t believe me, read my book – for once.
Regards,
God
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