HEY GOD,GOT A MINUTE?
Calls You In For A Chat
by Noel Carroll
To doubt everything or to believe everything
are two equally convenient solutions; both dispense with the necessity of
reflection.--Poincare
All of this is true; I swear to the big guy it
is. Well, maybe not exactly true. I mean, a lot of it is from memory and thus
could stray just a tad from what was actually said--by God as well as by me.
And maybe some of the feelings more represent my take than God's, like I almost
lost it when I saw the outline of a frown pushing through the glow surrounding
his face (even now it scares me to think how close I might have come to
encouraging the old heat treatment).
Anyway, what kicked it off was I fell asleep
one night a little down about life in general and weary of all the conflicting
thoughts that kept bouncing around in my head, thoughts about religion, why
we're here and what all this stuff means, I mean, really means. You know, one
of those times when you're flooded with doubts you gotta admit are there but
don't feel right about bringing up (you don't even want to form the questions
in your mind for fear you might actually ask them and in doing so tempt some
kind of lightning bolt your way).
But the doubts are there just the same, and if
you try to pretend they're not, it just makes you itchy inside, like somebody's
calling for boarding on the last train to heaven and you don't even know what
kind of ticket to buy.
Now don't get me wrong; it isn't like I doubt
the whole shebang. Heck, I'm not that far gone. I just doubt everything I've
ever been told by everyone I've ever known. I mean, there are a lot of people
out there screaming their heads off about what's what in this world and the
next, and most of them have no doubt whatsoever about what they're saying, even
when what they're saying goes against what other guys (who also have no doubt
whatsoever) are saying.
Until this thing with the big guy
happened--which I'm gonna tell you about in a minute--I had just about given
up. I had no one to turn to, no one to ask, no one who wouldn't hit me with the
same old platitudes and half-answers. "Just have faith, Harold,"
they'd say, which to them meant have faith in what they were saying, not in
what anybody else was saying.
Anyway, I just turned sixty, my back hurts
from all the exercises I did to strengthen my legs, and my hair, which had
already turned a horrible shade of dirty gray, is now falling out. Plus my feet
hurt, my eyes see a little less each year, and I'm getting shorter. This all
combines to tell me that I need to make sense out of what I am and where I'm
going and that I'd better do it soon before whoever's keeping score decides the
game is over. "Time's up, Harold. And oh so sorry, you should have
followed religion 5,642. Step closer to the furnace, please."
Anyway, the problem I'm trying to tell you
about started for me at an early age. I was even more confused about religion
then than I am now, and when I tried talking to my friends about it (I remember
asking, "If God can do no wrong but can do anything he wants to do then
why can't he do wrong? I mean, if he really, really wanted to?") all I got
was laughter and ridicule. They didn't much like the questions (and couldn't
answer them anyway) so they responded in the only way they knew: they attacked
the one doing the questioning. Enough episodes of this and I knew to bury my
curiosity in favor of going along with the crowd. I liked the guys who were
telling me the religious facts of life, so backing off was no big deal.
But one day I moved then came in touch with a
new set of friends who believed something different but who sounded just as
sure about what they were saying as the guys I left behind. When that happened
a third time, I got to wondering what gives. I mean, they were all good guys,
but what they said just couldn't be, not when you viewed it all together. Some
said black, some said white, some said something in-between--I was young, but
not so young that I couldn't see something wrong with that. When for the second
time in my life I got on their case about it, this time to question how so many
different religious opinions could be right at the same time, I got to see my
first funny look: a look that said, How could I not understand? How could I
question the unquestionable? (I figured out that the "unquestionable"
meant what they believed, not what my earlier friends believed.)
That's when everybody began picking on me. A
few guys got angry, but most of them just stared at me as if I had brain cells
leaking out of my ears. It was funny to watch the progression; their eyes would
widen and their smiles would become fixed and unsure as if they'd just cut one
loose and were afraid the teacher had heard. Then, and it's interesting how many
of them did this, they'd take a step backward to avoid an accidental hit from a
lightning bolt aimed at me.
But my playmates are not the guys I complained
to God about. I still like those guys, all of them. Besides, we were kids; we
didn't know any better; we'd all been brainwashed by our parents. The gut aches
I feel now come from grown-ups, the guys who are doing the brainwashing. The
guys who stab their fingers at the sky, reveal enough of their eyes to make
little kids fear the dark, wave whatever book they think proves their point,
and cry out their message to the world, a message that demonstrates love of
their own ideas, scorn for anyone who can't see the wisdom of those ideas, and
reasons why you should give them money.
What really bothers me is there are so many of
them and so few of me.
Anyway, getting back to the night I'm trying
to tell you about, I woke up in my dream (that's exactly what it was; I was
dreaming then there I was, as awake as I'd ever been in my life) and found
myself standing alone at the edge of a rolling puff of cloud watching rambling
rivers and winding roads run a neat pattern through multicolored patches of
farmland far below. The only company I had was a gentle breeze, which, because
there were no trees or stuff like that to catch the wind and make a noise, I
felt more than I heard. As I stood there watching, I began to feel a need to
make the most of this before the magic of the moment changed, before the
pushing and shoving of a celestial rush-hour began.
But before I had time to decide how to do
that, along walks the big guy himself, God. Because of the light radiating from
him, I couldn't see much, but I knew right away it was him. (Or her; I never
did get the answer to that one.) Well, I gotta tell you, this surprised me
some. It isn't often that this kind of thing happens, not to me it doesn't (to
the guys running around in robes collecting money, it supposedly happens all
the time).
But anyway, I seized on this great idea, the
idea that this meeting was preordained; I mean, it must have been, right? The
big guy must have guided us together just so I could hit him with my questions.
I felt pretty important at that moment, even holy. And I figured who am I to
risk angering God by passing up an ordainment, or whatever you're supposed to
call it. So I grabbed the moment and got the ball rolling. As you'll soon see,
once it started rolling it wasn't so easy to stop.
"Hey, God, got a minute?"
ONE:
This
"in God's image" thing: did you
evolve from
apes like we did?
"What is it, Harold?"
"Hey, this is great; you talking to me, I
mean."
"Yes, Harold, I understand. But I am a
bit busy..."
"Oh yeah, God; didn't mean to hold you up
and all. I just got a few things on my mind. You know, things I can't make
gel."
"Gel?"
"An expression where I come from, God.
But you see, that's part of what's bothering me. I thought you would know
that."
"You think the way you speak should rank
high in matters that occupy my mind, Harold?"
"Well, that's what we're told all the
time. That you know everything, I mean, even the things that aren't worth
knowing."
"I know you, Harold."
"Ha! Good one, God. I'll remember that--I
mean, if you let me remember it."
"You have questions, Harold?"
"Yeah, a few thing I been thinking
about."
"What kind of things?"
"Well, like ... now, you're not gonna
take offense, are you, God?"
"That depends."
"Yeah, well I don't mean this the wrong
way, you understand. I'm just ... well, sorta confused. I don't want to get my
buns scorched for stepping outta line."
"Get with it, Harold."
"Yeah, no sweat; I've been standing here
writing it all down. Hold on a second, God."
"Harold."
"Yeah, God?"
"You said 'a minute.' How many sheets of
papers do you have there?"
"Now see, there you go again. You're
supposed to know things like that."
(sigh) "Pick one, Harold, and let's get
on with it."
"Yeah, okay. It's just that I have
trouble believing all I'm told and I need a little help sorting it out--oh
yeah, move on; right, God. Eh, how about this one: Now as I understand it, you
made us in your own image, right?"
"What is your point?"
"Well, what image are we talking about?
Homosexuals have..."
"That's 'Homo Sapiens,' Harold."
"Homo Sapiens; got it, God. Well
Homo-what-you-said have changed a hell ... eh, a heck of a lot, even in the
last million years--we don't look anything like we did back then. And go all
the way back to the time of the dinosaurs and you see us looking like mice. Eh,
you're not telling us you're a mouse are you, God."
"I beg your pardon."
"Hey, no way I see you that way; I just
said that to prove a point. But you know, with all that glow, I can't tell what
you do look like--you couldn't turn down the power a little could you,
God?"
"Maybe you haven't really tried to see
me, Harold."
"That's exactly what I'm getting at, God.
I mean, that's the point of this whole talk. I wanna try harder; I wanna know
how to see you, how you want to be seen."
"Is it so important that I have a
specific image?"
"Well, no, but that's what we're taught
all the time, that we look like you, I mean. All I want to know is whether it's
true. Or whether you're evolving like we are and, if so, what you have in mind
as the end game--eh, you got pictures, maybe?"
"Maybe I want to leave that up to you, to
permit you to see me as you wish."
"'Maybe' don't exactly pay the rent,
God."
"You want to run that by me again,
Harold?!"
"Hey, no offense; I really want to
understand. There are a bunch of guys out there saying all kinds of
contradictory things. And these guys, they don't say 'maybe;' they say 'this is
how it is and there isn't any question about it.'"
"But you do question them."
"Yeah, but I question them, God, not you.
I mean, they come up with way-out stuff, stuff they've got to have made up.
Like this 'in your image' thing. I mean, mankind has gone all the way from
one-celled creatures to what we are now--there's a lot of in-between there,
God. Heck, we've changed a lot even since your guy Jesus came on board. We're
taller now by a lot of inches. Eh, how tall are you, God?"
"Here's another 'maybe' for you, Harold:
Maybe I 'evolve' your image because I don't like you looking so much like
me--you people are not something one can easily take pride in, you know!"
"Present company excepted, right, God?
Eh, just a little human joke there. But why do you let these people tell us
something like that if it isn't true? I mean, they say they got it straight
from the horse's mouth--no offense. They say they're just passing on what you
want us to know?"
"Your minute's up, Harold."
"Oh, yeah. Well can I come back and see
you later, God? I got a lot more of these questions."
"I can hardly wait."
"Hey, great! I was afraid you'd be
offended."
"Goodnight, Harold!"
"Eh, right; see you later, God--Oh, one
quickie, if I can?"
"'Quickie,' Harold?"
"Yeah, that means like..."
"Do me a favor, Harold."
"Yeah, God?"
"Don't explain."
"Oh, yeah, sure. I guess I really don't
have to. I mean, you would know that like you know everything, right?"
"Your 'quickie,' Harold?"
"Yeah, Eh, is 'God' your first name or
your family name?"
(sigh)
TWO:
If you're
guiding us and we do bad,
whose fault
is it?
I woke up at that point, but let me tell you,
I thought about that little get-together all through the day. I felt really
good about it; that holy feeling came over me again; I even walked a little
lighter. Not exactly on tiptoe but lighter, like I was already on my way to the
big K-Mart in the sky. (That thought triggered another question which I quickly
wrote down on my list of stuff to ask God. It's always good to know where
things are in advance of a major relocation. I mean, if I got to heaven really
close to Christmas and had to waste time figuring out where K-Mart was, I
wouldn't have time to shop.)
I figured questions like that wouldn't hit him
the wrong way--he seemed a little testy about that image thing. They're easy to
answer and a step below heaven-shaking. Another good one is whether he still
rests once every seven days, and if so, whether he'd like us to worship him
when he's back on the job. I mean, there's nothing worse than being interrupted
a billion times on your day off.
I couldn't wait until bedtime. My friends
must've thought I was wacko, the way I treated them that day, like I had a big
secret they wouldn't guess in a million years--not unrealistic timing
considering where I was and who I was talking to. When they pushed me for an explanation,
I took on my best holy look, one that spoke of the notch I had risen above
them, then started humming. Not a hymn or anything like that; just an old
Beetles' tune. At one time, I thought of hitting them up for money, you know,
like those guys in the tents do when they talk to God. I didn't, of course. I
loath those guys and don't want to do to people what they do to people,
especially people I like. Not only taking their money, but taking advantage of
their human weaknesses: preying on their superstitions, their fear of the
unknown, their fear of dying. If I did that, I wouldn't be able to sleep
nights. And then I wouldn't get to chat with God.
By the time I climbed into bed I was too
excited to sleep. I tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up and
going out to the kitchenette for a drink, hoping it would calm me down--I live
in a two-bedroom apartment when I'm not on a cloud with God. Funny thing,
though: all the while I was drinking this late-night cocktail, I couldn't help
thinking of it as holy water. I mean, look at what it was leading me to.
Holy water or not, it didn't help; I still
tossed and turned. It got to me, the amount of night I was wasting, I
mean--suppose God got tired of waiting. I fought harder, at one time pressing my
eyelids down with such force that it gave me a headache.
Then it was the headache that kept me awake.
It must've been three in the morning before I
finally calmed down enough to let go, but before that I went though a period of
thinking that God was keeping me awake on purpose, this so he'd have more time
to think up answers to my questions. I understood that; it's what I would do.
Anyway, I finally got there, there being the
same cloud as before, overlooking the same scene. Except now it was raining down
on everybody.
"Hi, God, It's me, Harold."
"How could you possible think I don't
know that, Harold?"
"Yeah, gotcha, God. And that leads to
another question of mine, this one about people being a pain in the ... eh,
neck ... at times, some more than others."
"Funny, I was thinking along the same
lines."
"Ha! Good one, God. You'd be great at
parties."
(sigh) "Your question, Harold?"
"Eh, yeah. Eh, this one has to do with
why we're the way we are. I mean, not so good at times. I mean, if you're in
the driver's seat, God, why don't you change us into something more to your
liking? For that matter, more to the liking of each other?"
"Don't you think I try?"
"Now that I don't understand. What's
'try' got to do with anything if you can wave a magic wand and make it
happen?"
"There is no magic to any of this,
Harold. Not with respect to what you are, and more importantly, not with
respect to what you are not."
"Well, how do you do it then?"
"The details would be beyond you."
"Yeah, but you did do it; make us, I
mean. Right? And some of us are made better than others. Some can't be other
than a pain no matter how hard they try."
"Have you taken into consideration that I
might be testing them? And you, Harold?"
"Well pardon my asking, God, but why
would you do that unless you goofed in the production phase? I mean, if you
made us, and if you can do no wrong, then by definition, we don't have any bugs
in us that you didn't put there in the first place. So what's with the test?
And why punish us if we fail? That's like making a car with three tires then
getting mad when it drives on an angle."
"I work in mysterious ways, Harold."
"Yeah, I can believe that, God, but
still, I gotta ask."
"(sigh) You don't think mankind should
have rules to go by?"
"I got no problem with rules, but if you
made us weak, then I figure you expect us to be weak. If we act like we don't
like the weaknesses you gave us, it makes us look kinda unfriendly, know what I
mean? Like we disapprove of your handiwork."
"You're not always easy to understand,
Harold."
"Just one of my weaknesses, God. How am I
doing with it?"
"Not funny, Harold!"
"Yeah, sorry, God. But you don't know
what they're saying about you--well, maybe you do, but I gotta believe you
don't like it."
"Saying about me?"
"Yeah. Like we should be afraid of you,
afraid you're gonna burn our butts if we act like what we are. They say out of
one side of their mouth that you guide us through each day, that anything we do
is really you pulling the strings, then when we do something they don't like,
they change over to us being in control and you about to zap us in the butt for
doing it. What happened to the guide-us-through-each-day bit?"
"I help you with the good. Do you think
it reasonable that I should also help you with the bad?"
"Well as I see it, if you're in there
guiding us, how can we think of anything bad? And how can we get started doing
something bad if you're in there guiding us?"
"Did you ever think of entering the law,
Harold?"
"Well, if you're guiding me, God, maybe I
should ask you that question."
"I can't see it making matters
worse."
"Hey, I'll go with whatever you decide.
But getting back to the us-being-guided thing, what sense does my whole life
make if all I am is a puppet on a string--yeah, I know, except when I'm being
bad, which I don't know how I can be with you pulling the strings?"
"Are you saying being alive doesn't make
sense?"
"Hey, it beats the alternative--at least
I think it does; I don't have much experience with that particular alternative.
I mean, I don't remember what I was before I was born. But that's not what I'm
asking, God. From where I sit, I'm in a movie house watching your grand plan
for me unfold. And all the while I'm thinking that if you wind up not liking
how that plan turns out, I stand a good chance of getting torched--this is what
they'd have us believe, God."
"Exactly who is this 'they,'
Harold?"
"The guys I've been wanting to tell you
about, the guys with loud voices, funny eyes and fingers that keep pointing up,
regardless of what side of the world they happen to be on when they get fired
up."
"The ones who speak of me, you
mean?"
"Hey, I'm not talking about all of them,
God. Just a heck of a lot of them. Well, maybe most of them. It's just that
they don't think through what they say or do. I mean, they don't even feel an
obligation to. They make up stuff then toss it into the crowd as if, having
said it, it's gotta be true."
"If you are referring to a time when they
gather in worship, it is likely that the one doing the speaking feels he or she
is being guided by me."
"Well, that's what I mean about thinking
it through, God. He thinks he's being 'guided' into saying 'black' at about the
same time a guy in a place down the street thinks he's being 'guided' into
saying 'white.' I mean, I got enough smarts to see a problem with that, why
don't they?"
"They don't have your genius,
Harold."
"Yeah, I see your point, God. I mean, you
only had so many brains to pass out, right?"
(sigh) "Go on, Harold. You were telling
me about 'making up stuff,' I believe."
"Eh, yeah. Anyway, their audience just sits
there nodding and smiling, as if there couldn't be any doubt about the truth of
what they just heard. I tell you, God, this gets me to thinking that there's
nobody out there who has any idea what the real skinny is. They come on like
they do, but it's obvious by what they say, and by what other guys say about
what they say, that they don't."
"You have needs as they have needs,
Harold. When you feel strongly inside--as you do now--rather than keep those
feelings to yourself, you endeavor to pass them on, to encourage others to
believe what is very real and very valid to you--this does not in any way refer
to the validity of those feelings, only to the imperative nature of them. There
are certain people who feel a 'need' to instruct, Harold. Does it hurt so much
to have others practice this need on you?"
"Hey, I still got things I don't know,
God. But the kind of guys I'm talking about don't instruct as much as they
bully. They tell you what to believe, how to believe it, and what's going to
come down on you if you don't. I once had a guy hand me a list and say, 'This
is what we believe. You want to join us, you gotta believe it too.' Now how
does a guy tell his mind what to believe? I mean, a mind looks over all the
facts and arguments then tells you what it believes, right?"
"They are encouraging you to open your
mind to their words, Harold."
"Yeah okay, but it doesn't sound to me
like they got much room in those words for debate, and that means that they
intend the opening-of-the-mind thing to be one-sided. You should hear these
guys, God."
"I should, Harold?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess you do hear them. You
hear everything, right? But doesn't it pis ... eh, get you angry some of the
stuff they come up with?"
"Are you saying they are being
dishonest?"
"Well, no, I guess not; not 'dishonest,'
I mean. More that they're being ... irresponsible. They gotta know people are
afraid to question them, afraid the sky's going to fall in on them if they do.
When somebody does question them, the first word out of their mouth is
'blasphemy.' Then they tell that somebody he's got a problem 'opening his
mind.'"
"Unlike you."
"Hey, like I say, God, I still got things
I don't know. But I don't see these guys having a open mind when the kind of
answers I get from them are 'all I know is' and 'that's good enough for me!' If
a guy admits 'all I know is,' I don't think he should come on like he knows
everything. And saying 'that's good enough for me' tells me he's not interested
in hearing anything but the echo of his own voice."
"But you do want to be heard."
"Well, I always got an urge to, but I
don't give in to it all that often. I mean, if I argue, it just gets a lot of
people looking at me funny like. Easier to just let it go."
"I understand."
"And it isn't just guys in tents; it's
anybody with a loud voice and the idea that you've called on him to
"spread the good word," even if that "good word"
contradicts the next guy's "good word." I gotta ask you, God, doesn't
that ever ... eh, get you mad? I mean, it's like these guys think you have a
split personality, that you hand out contradictory callings?"
"You think I'm confused, Harold?"
"Hey, no way. I'm talking about them,
God, not you. But when these things happen, I get to feeling like I'm the only
one out there who's not either hypnotized or blinded by fear, the only one able
to see the 'light' that my neighbor thinks I don't see when I disagree with his
version of what that 'light' is--maybe that didn't make as much sense as it did
in my head before I let it out, but you know what I mean."
"I appreciate the clarification,
Harold."
"Yeah, well I figured you might need it,
what with me working in mysterious ways at times."
(sigh)
"Anyway, these guys can also be found in
basilicas, bethels, churches, mosques, synagogues, tabernacles, temples, you
name it--I mean if you want to. It doesn't matter what you call it; what
matters is what they say and how they say it; what they claim and how willing
they are to think through those claims."
"I see, Harold. But why complain to me?
How much you believe of what 'they' say is up to you."
"That's just it, God, I want to believe
in you, but I have trouble figuring out how all the noise down there figures
into this. Like there's this guy from the orient who tells me you want him to
have a fleet of Rolls Royces--he's way up there on my 'they' list, God."
"There will always be the gullible,
Harold."
"Yeah, and the guys who take advantage of
them--pardon me for saying it, God, but they could use a little straightening
out. There are more of these guys popping up every day."
"You hint at indifference, Harold. I see
other than that. Look for signs."
"Yeah, I know, thunder and lightning and
birds carrying snakes, stuff like that. But it seems to me a better sign would
be one written in a common language on a giant billboard."
"Are you questioning my methods?"
"Hey, no way, God! It's more like
pleading. I mean, I see things down there as pretty screwed up. We could use a
little help."
"And if I clarify everything for you
today, what about tomorrow?"
"I don't follow you, God."
"The minds of humans are fickle, Harold.
What you believe today, you are inclined to modify even ten minutes from now.
If I enlighten ten of you, within twenty-four hours these ten will have begun
to modify their thinking. Even as they stood together during the lecture, they
will express varying interpretations of what they heard me say. Given enough
time, they could well form ten entirely new religions."
"All the more reason why I can't put
stock in what they tell me, God. Besides, can't you keep reminding them? A
daily newsletter, something like that? Heck, I'll even help you print it."
"Too tedious, Harold."
"Tedious?"
"Yes, like this conversation."
"Oh yeah. I get your drift, God. It's
just I feel this great need to know."
"Why do you 'need' to know, Harold?"
"Well, I guess you would know that better
than me, God. After all, you made me."
(sigh)
"I guess I'm tired of holding it inside
me, God. Tired of being told that to pose too tough a question is blasphemy.
Tired of people bullying me with their smug looks and knowing smiles when in
truth they don't know any more than I do. Tired of the comfort these people
take in the large numbers of people around them who believe as they do, like
these numbers make them more right than me."
(sigh) "Okay, Harold, go on."
"You know that 'seek and ye shall find'
stuff, God. Well think of this as me 'seeking.'"
"I said go on, Harold."
"Oh yeah. But, eh, I got a little request
first."
"A little request?"
"Yeah, about the guys who cry 'blasphemy'
every time I question their way of thinking. I thought maybe you might zap
their tails a little. You know, throw the fear of you into them, keep them from
coming down so hard on the rest of us."
"Condemnation reflects one's own
inadequacies more than it advertises another's, Harold. You should pity them
for that. But in strict answer to your question, I offer what I said earlier:
Ten minutes after being ... zapped ... they would be right back at it. Better
is for you to assume more responsibility for protecting yourselves. I've given
you the means; it is up to you to employ them."
"Some of us have more 'means' than
others, God."
"It happens, Harold."
Now at that point, I began to wonder which
kind I was. Did I have more "means" or less "means"? I
don't like the loudmouths, but I don't feel strong enough to take them on
directly. I mean, all kinds of people would come down on me if I even hinted
that I thought these guys, as popular as some of them are, smelled like they
walked through a chicken coop in their bare feet. So I guess I have enough
means to protect myself, but not enough to win out against the harm these guys
do.
"Yeah, I hear you, God. And I know I
gotta go along with whatever you say ..."
"What exactly do you mean by that,
Harold?"
"Well, you know; the butt-burning
thing."
"Is that the only way you can believe,
Harold? By fearing punishment?"
I though about that some. I have fears like
the next guy, but I don't know that it makes me more religious. Or less. And I
don't know how much of it comes from being too close to the funny-eyes guys
when they let loose--in speech, I mean. For years they've been telling us we
gotta fear God, that he has some kind of holocaust going and that we're going
to be tortured in a horrible way if we don't fall into line. Even if that was
true, which I don't think it is, why is it so holy to give in to fear? If on
Earth we keep from doing something just because we're afraid, we're branded as
cowards--I don't think anybody is going to say I'm 'good' or 'holy' just
because he sees me trembling in fear. No, when fear strikes, we try to get hold
of ourselves, even when, as in wartime, it might cost us our lives.
The same thing could be applied to the
morality thing. What kind of sense does it make to say a guy is moral when the
only reason he keeps from doing something bad is because he's afraid of being
punished? I'd say he's more chicken than moral. Moral is a guy who keeps from
doing something bad simply because he thinks it's wrong.
Are we supposed to go through all eternity
afraid to speak our minds? Me, I don't think so. I mean, no two people think
alike, and assuming we aren't given a brand new personality after death, there
are going to be a whole bunch of contrary opinions flying around heaven, all of
them at the same time. (If we are given a new personality, then what was the
sense of having the old one?) It doesn't change anything if you keep those contrary
opinions to yourself. If God looks into your heart, he's going to see them and
know.
I think the funny-eyes guys don't give God
enough credit. They infer that he feels threatened by diversity of opinion,
even way-out opinion. Me, I figure he isn't worried, that if it comes to a
verbal boxing match, he knows he'll come out ahead.
I sure wish I could've gotten an answer to the
"guided-through-life" thing. When am I a puppet and when am I not a
puppet? Am I worrying about stuff I can't do anything about believing I have
decisions to make when in truth they've already been made for me, that
everything is preordained?
I don't think anything's preordained. I mean,
if "preordained" means God knows everything in advance, seems to me
he would do something to prevent the bad from happening. Like a cop who knows a
crime is going down; if he does nothing to block it, we'd get all over his
case.
But I had already come close to being
"tedious" on that subject, so I decided to move on to something else,
something sure to be close to God's heart.
"Where exactly is heaven, God?"
"Where do you imagine it to be,
Harold?"
"Well, in the past, people used to think
of heaven as up in the air. I mean, there are a lot of paintings, some of them
showing angels with wings and others showing you pushing clouds out of the way
so you can point a finger down at us. But now we know that the higher you go,
the less air you get, and that you can go on forever in any one direction
without this changing. That tells me that heaven's got to be sandwiched between
Earth and the start of space. I mean, otherwise, why give angels wings?"--Hey,
why are you laughing, God?"
"You take things too literally,
Harold."
"But that's what I mean, God. We got
people out there preaching that we have to take what is said in the Bible
literally."
"I am afraid, Harold, that this is
something else you must work out by yourself. I say again, what you believe is
up to you."
"But I don't see 'believing' having
anything to do with truth. Aren't we supposed to go for truth?"
"Truth is something humans only give lip
service too. More important to them is what they wish to believe."
"But you'll scorch our butts if we
'believe' the wrong thing."
"Will I?"
"That's what they say."
"Then to you, that is what will happen.
However, I caution you to open the entirety of your mind when regarding the
arguments of others. What 'they' say may have little to do with what I expect
of you."
"They claim they're only repeating what
you say to them."
"They talk to themselves and attribute it
to me."
"Don't you talk to people, God? I mean,
you're talking to me now."
"Am I?"
It was at this point that I woke up. And did
that ever leave me with an empty feeling! I knew I had been awake all that
time--in my dream, I mean--but the doubts began to pour in big-time. The day
that followed was nothing like the one that preceded it, the one where I felt
some kind of holy. Now I felt like an empty-headed worm. And I couldn't put my
finger on why.
THREE:
When you
said, "Let there be light,"
who were
you talking to?
The next night I decided to be even more
careful about what I said--no telling what God might do if I really pissed him
off. I figured he was getting tired of hearing about all the bad from Earth and
could use a little cheering up, so I went through my list of questions and
picked out a few that weren't so heavy.
"Hi, God, I'm back."
"Joy to me!"
"Yeah, that's cool, God. Good to see you
in a better mood. You know, last night might've been a bad day for both of us.
Maybe I said things that didn't come out the way I thought about them when they
were still floating around in my mind. You follow me?"
"Incredibly, I think I do."
"Well, I didn't mean to be hard-nosed or
anything, I just...."
"Harold, are you apologizing?"
"Eh, yeah, I guess I am, God."
"Well, don't. I see genuine confusion in
your mind, and however obnoxious you are in expressing it, there is nothing
wrong with your reaching for answers. Indeed, you have a me-given need to do
so."
"Yeah, well thanks a heap, God. That's
mighty nice of you. And you know, I do have a little more of that 'confusion'
to work out."
"I am overwhelmed with surprise."
"Ha! A God joke, eh, God?"
"Proceed with the questions,
Harold."
"Right on, God. Eh, here's an easy one.
Why does everyone look up when they're talking to you--I mean, you see it all
the time? If a guy is on the wrong side of the Earth when he's doing this,
isn't he looking away?"
"I'm everywhere, Harold."
"Well then, why look up?"
"Next question, Harold."
"Oh. Yeah, sure, God. But do you ever
think about things like that?"
"Next question, Harold.
"Eh, well I read where you said 'there
shall be no other gods before me.' What I wonder is, why would you say that if
there are no other gods?"
"Figure of speech, Harold, an expression.
Don't think about it too much."
"Yeah, but if there's only one god and
you're it, no need to be jealous, you know?"
"Good point, Harold. Next question,
please."