God sits on his throne. He absently drums his fingers, causing an earthquake in Malaysia.
His secretary, Neville, looks at him. “You appear distressed, sir.”
God shakes his head. “Neville, I’m afraid I screwed up when I made man.”
“But sir, you don’t make mistakes. With the possible exception of Jello.”
God points earthward. “I look down there and I see people running around without the sense I gave a goose. I’m depressed.”
Neville is concerned. “Might I suggest, sir, that you do something to cheer yourself up? Take a hot bath? Listen to some music? Create a solar system?”
There’s no changing the subject with God. “I should’ve learned my lesson after Yugoslavia,” he says. “Iron-fisted rule came to an end. The people were free. And what did they do with their freedom? Kill each other. Neighbor against neighbor. Ethnic hate, religious hate.”
“Humans have rather elevated hate into an art form, haven’t they, sir?” Neville flicks celestial dust off his steno pad.
“Now it’s the same damn story with Iraq. Iron-fisted rule came to an end. And they’re slaughtering each other. Mainly in my name!” God groans and a thunderstorm breaks out in Portugal.
“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself for human shortcomings!”
“Why not? I made those creatures, didn’t I? Obviously my recipe needed more tweaking! They’re half-baked!”
“I must respectfully protest, sir.” Neville draws himself up. “You equipped people with everything they need. Intelligence and compassion. A sturdy planet. Prophets. If they can’t get along with each other, it’s their fault, not yours!” Neville stamps his foot, causing nothing whatever to happen on earth.
God is amused. “Thanks for your loyalty, Neville. But I underestimated the capacity of humans to hate each other. Also, to hate themselves.”
“Oh, I just knew you were going to bring up that Haggard fellow.”
“Apparently I’m not the only omniscient one around here. Yes, Neville, that Haggard fellow. He certainly hates himself now. Always has, since he realized his loins point toward men.”
Neville sighs. “There does seem to be a never-ending supply of clergymen who preach against homosexuality and are themselves homosexual.”
“Yup,” agrees God. “Some might think that’s just me having my little joke, but I have nothing to do with it. These guys are filled with shame. They’ll do anything to prove they’re not gay.”
“Mr. Haggard assuredly played the role to the hilt, spawning a large family, supporting Colorado’s anti-gay measure and leading that national evangelical association.”
“Yes, he was a busy boy. Amazing he found time to diddle the hooker. Ah, Neville, how time-consuming it is to be a great, raging hypocrite.”
“His hypocrisy isn’t all that bothers you, is it, sir?”
“Bingo. It’s the cause of their self-loathing that eats at me. These pastors are told as boys that if they’re gay, I’ll abandon them. They fight their nature so I’ll love them. They preach the same baloney to their flocks. They persecute other gays. All that shame, all in my name! Hey, that rhymes.”
“You have a touch of the poet, sir, but I wouldn’t quit your day job.”
“What I’d really like is all the hating to stop. If I can’t have that, I’ll settle for being removed from the equation. I’m sick of humans hating themselves or each other on my behalf. From now on they should just count me out. Neville, take a memo.” |
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