On Bullies & Gods

On the eighth day of my trek across Death Valley, I saw God. At least I supposed him to be God, and he seemed inclined to agree with my supposition. Clambering up a steep precipice out of a dry wash that hadn’t appeared all that deep when I’d entered it from the other side, I was within just over an arm’s length from the top when my grip failed and I slipped.

Several things happened during the next second or so: I realized I was falling; I thought of home and how easily I could have been sitting on my couch watching television instead of falling fifty-some feet into a craggy, dry creek bed; I considered the irony of my situation—that, had I obeyed the common wisdom of desert travelers and walked after dark rather than during the heat of the day, I probably would have been somewhere else, somewhere safe; and I felt the welcome trauma of a sudden jerk on my right elbow and shoulder as someone or something grabbed my wrist.

I looked up into a weathered face, framed in a full head of white hair and a full, white beard. He was smiling at me. My first thought was how wonderful it was that such an elderly gentleman still had all his teeth. I verbalized my second thought: “Thank God!”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

My savior hoisted me onto the crumbling shelf of rock and dirt, then pulled me to my feet. “There. Safe and sound. You should be more careful.”

I bent to slap the dust off my jeans. “That’s the understatement of the year. Thank you, by the way.”

He smiled. “You already said that.”

That’s when I noticed he was dressed in a long, flowing, white robe. I glanced around. No car, no jeep, no helicopter, no commune full of societal drop-outs. “Are you alone?”

“In the way you mean alone, yes, I suppose I am.” The grin still hadn’t left his face, but I didn’t feel at all threatened either, as I might had he been an insane mass-murderer or some sort of cannibal eyeing his next meal. But even with the nearly maniacal grin, he seemed serene, and it was obvious he found my situation humorous.

“But what’re you doing way out here?” I asked.

“Currently? Nothing. A moment ago I was involved in keeping you whole, and in the next moment or so I’ll be engaged in other matters. Want some coffee?”

My first instinct was that it was foolish to drink hot coffee in the desert during the heat of the afternoon; then I realized it was evening and relatively cool. A shudder drew cool fingernails through my body. The half-moon was almost directly overhead, and the old man was still smiling, a twinkle in his eyes. I wanted to ask how he’d done that—how he’d caused the day to turn into night—but I couldn’t quite believe he was responsible.

“Now do you want some coffee?”

“Sure.” I hadn’t noticed the campfire before, either. How long was I out? And who is this guy?

“You didn’t sleep at all,” he said. “And you know who I am. C’mon, lighten up. And drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

When I’d finished the coffee, the smile and the twinkle were still on his face.

“So Lord—may I call you Lord? Is that okay?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Well, if I’m not dreaming... if it’s really you... would you mind a question or two?”

The twinkle in his eye increased and the smile broadened. “Shoot.“

“Well, I’ve always wondered. The creation—was that really intentional or did it all just sort’a happen... you know, like a mistake?”

That’s the first time I heard him laugh. Thunder rumbled across the low expanse and a light rain, more of a mist, fell for a few minutes. “No, no... nothing intentional, and certainly nothing so decisive as a mistake. That would imply a conscious attempt on my part. No....” He stroked his beard, looking wistfully up at the high cirrus clouds that mimicked the topography of the desert. “Have you ever heard that you should be careful what you wish for? Well, it’s true.” He swept his arms in a wide arc. “This world—the sky, sand, oceans, rocks, mountains, birds, fish... even you humans—was all the result of an errant, fleeting thought. Couldn’t have lasted longer than a nanosecond. And it most certainly was not intentional. Who needs the pressure?”

“But millions of people have spent their entire lives counting on the creation theory! They argue about it, study it—they even go to war over differing versions of it, for Christ’s sake! Oh! Sorry!”

He laughed again. “That’s okay. It’s a faulty reference anyway.”

Faulty reference? Never mind. Time enough for that one later. “But the creation was unintentional?”

“Completely.” He shook his head. “I was a little cocky back then. Some of the boys and I were sitting around playing a friendly game of Sezyou, similar to your poker, when I popped off to Nike: ‘I’ll bet the whole world you’re bluffing,’ I said. Of course, Zeus always had to put in his two-cents worth. He laughed at me. ‘Get real!’ he said. ‘You don’t have a world to bet!’ Well, that gave the others a good chuckle at my expense. And in a flash of humility, I suppose I let a thought escape. I thought of the world I’d bet if I did have one, and there you have it.” He wagged a finger at me. “Never underestimate the impact your thoughts might have on other people and worlds... even worlds you don’t know about.”

“What? You mean all of this came into being as a result of your wish that you had a world?”

“Well, as I said before, I didn’t actually wish I had a world, but yeah, I think you have the basic idea.”

“But how—”

“Oh, come on.” He slapped my shoulder. “Even you guys know thought is the beginning of creation. Your own bible bears me out.” He shrugged. “I didn’t say all that eloquent ‘Let there be light’ stuff, but you don’t see any evidence in Genesis of me actually building anything do you?”

“Well, no but—”

“But what?”

He seemed irritated, so I decided to change the subject. “What about the Garden of Eden? What about the Tower of Babel? Heaven and Hell? Christ?”

He raised his hands. “Whoa! You want them one at a time or all at once?”

“Sorry. It’s just that there are so many questions—”

“I know.”

“Frankly, the majority of us have counted on you in one way or another for thousands of years.”

“Well, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind you counting on me for most things, but your insecurity as a species really gets out of hand sometimes.”

“Insecurity?”

“Sure. What else would you call this insatiable need to have all your questions answered immediately? I mean, you guys have a real problem with patience. Don’t you agree?”

“I guess so. I never thought about it. But—”

“And come to think of it, if you didn’t need so much to have a Supreme Scapegoat, I might not even exist. Ever think about that? If you didn’t need me so much, I might not even be here.”

I shrugged. “I guess... but what about the Garden of Eden?”

He sighed. “Okay, what would you like to know about the Garden of Eden?”

“Seems to me that knowledge is the real hangup throughout the Bible. When Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, their eyes were opened and they were cursed.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Pure poetic license. Why would I create two such beautiful objects as Adam and Eve and then start right out tempting them with something I knew they couldn’t resist?”

“But you said you didn’t create them.”

“No, I said I didn’t create them intentionally. There’s a difference. I’ll give you Adam; he was part of the original errant thought. I guess that’s where your Genesis author got the idea that I created Adam out of dirt.” He looked away “Like I wouldn’t have been more original than that.” The smile returned and he met my gaze. “Anyway, as soon as I realized what I’d done, I quit the card game and began watching after my world. The only intelligent being on the world at the time was Adam, so I went to visit him. He was still a baby, of course, intellectually. But after a few weeks, he had grown intellectually and spiritually. Seemed awfully lonely though. That’s when I created Eve to accompany him.”

“Out of his rib, right?”

He smiled again. “More of that same poetic license. Actually, since I didn’t really know the specifics of how Adam came into being, you could say I took great care in creating Eve. Since Adam represented the earth, more or less, I decided his helpmate should represent the universe. I combined the best of earth, air, water, and fire, then added a sprinkle of starlight, the rhythm of the lunar cycles and the allure of the sirens I lusted after as a young god. I finished her off by giving her a touch of immortality: the ability to create life. She was my greatest creation, intentional or otherwise.”

I thought I had him. “But it takes a man and a woman to create life.”

He laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. I made Adam think he was part of the process purely to assuage his ego. The truth is, women who need to bear children give birth to children who need to be born. They work much more closely with me during the whole process than they do with men. Besides, different species can’t interact that way. Even you know that.”

“But—”

He held up one hand. “I know... you think men and women are different genders of the same species. Actually, they’re different species who are similar enough to get along in most cases and to interact socially. Think about it—have you ever met even one woman you fully understand or who fully understands you? Of course not. Different methods of creation, different species. No great mystery.”

“So you didn’t boot them out of the Garden either?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Like all children, they grew up, had to try things out on their own. The fact is, I liked them both quite a lot.”

“So what about the Tower of Babel? The story goes that you were getting nervous over humans drawing so near to heaven so you separated everyone into different races and languages so they couldn’t communicate.”

He laughed. “Pure baloney, to use one of your more colorful phrases. Almost from the beginning of time humans have had a need for chaos. Everybody was still getting along pretty well up to that point, so a few disgruntled types took it on themselves to invent differences and then advertise those differences to achieve their own ends. If you want to learn who’s really responsible for the separation of humanity, I suggest you take a closer look at the folks who came away owning more property after the dust settled.”

“Okay, but what about Heaven and Hell? You said before that Christ wasn’t real, so how are we supposed to get to Heaven? Or in the alternative, how are we supposed to avoid going to Hell?”

“In the first place, I never said Christ didn’t exist. I just said referring to Jesus as Christ was a faulty reference on your part.”

“So he wasn’t your son?”

“Not that it really matters, but actually he wasn’t, at least not any more so than you or any other male human. As even your scientists know, he was actually the son of Mary and her husband....” He snapped his fingers. “Joseph! That’s it! A good couple, as I recall. And strict. That’s why Jesus was such a good kid. Smart too. But hanging around the temple so much got him thinking he was a lot more than he was. Well, at least that’s my theory. I think the whole Christ thing came about as a result of his occasional reference to me as Father.”

“But many of our religions are based on a belief in Christ as your son. Basically, if we believe in Christ and accept him as the savior of mankind, we’ll go to Heaven to live with you when we die, and if we don’t, we’ll go to Hell.”

He laughed again, lightly, and shook his head. “I’m aware of your concepts of Heaven and Hell. Frankly, I’ve never heard such a ludicrous proposition.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, man. I’m supposed to be a kind and loving god, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“And omnipotent and all that?”

“Yeah.”

“So figure it out. You’ve got a kind and loving father figure of a god, who also happens to be omnipotent, and who supposedly created you with all your faults, yet he’s so mean spirited and weak that he has to force you to act in direct opposition to your nature. Does that make sense? Sounds more like a ruthless, petty dictator to me.”

“I guess I’m still missing something.”

“Okay, let me lay it out for you as a parable. As I recall, you guys like parables. Say you’re in a bar having a beer after a particularly hard day. A biker comes in, shoulders you out of the way like so much fodder, then offers to buy you a beer. ‘No thanks,’ you say. ‘I was just about to leave.’ ‘Nonsense,’ he says. ‘Have a beer with me just to show there are no hard feelings.’ ‘No, really,’ you say. ‘I only wanted the one.’ ‘Look,’ he says, drawing himself up to his full seven foot two. ‘The beer is on me; it’s a gift. Now you can either accept it, or I’m gonna take you outside and wipe up the parking lot with you.’ See what I mean?”

“Well, when you put it that way—”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah... I guess.”

“Look, do you like Mark Twain?”

“You mean the writer? You know Mark Twain?”

“I know everybody. Twain was a good writer. Had a good head on his shoulders. Get a copy of Letters from the Earth and read it. One of the best things he ever wrote. And get some rest. That lump on your head isn’t getting any smaller. I have to go now.”

That’s about the time the thunder started again. Or it might have been the sound of the search and rescue helicopter, or even the sound of my head throbbing. Thought is the mother of creation kept running through my mind. Be careful what you wish for; you never know whom you might affect. Maybe I spoke with God, and maybe I didn’t. But I’m going to get a copy of Letters from the Earth. And I’ve learned to be very careful with my thoughts.

* * * * * * *