So I'm walking through the park thinking about whether
"under God" should be a part of the Pledge of Allegiance. "I wonder,"
I say to myself, "what God thinks about it."
And all of a sudden I fall into a religious swoon.
Next thing I know I'm sitting on a bench under a tree and
this Big Guy in a white beard and a white bathrobe is reaching down
out of the tree with His forefinger pointing right at me. So I reach
out and point my forefinger at His forefinger.
"God?" I say to the Big Guy.
"What do I look like?" He says, climbing down out of the
tree. "A hippie who's been hiding up there since 1968? Of course I’m
God."
"You look just like Michelangelo's painting on the Sistine
Chapel ceiling," I say.
"Yeah," He says. "I like the way I look in that one, but
sometimes I get a touch of acrophobia up there."
"Well, I'll be darned all to heck," I say, watching my
language, "here I am talking to God Himself."
"Calm down," He says. "I've talked to you before. Just a
couple of weeks ago—on Father's Day at the Super Saver. Remember the
little bitty girl who hollered 'Gampaw!' at you?"
"Sure," I say. "Got my attention."
"That was Me," He says. "Sometimes I kid around like that.
And sometimes I don't. Remember the picture of the Vietnamese girl
running down the road with her clothes burned off by napalm? That was
Me too."
"But those were girls," I say. "You're a Boy."
"I am large," He says. "I contain multitudes."
"Hey," I say, "I'm an old English teacher and that's Walt
Whitman's line."
"So?" God says. "Where do you think he got it? I gave Walt
some of his best stuff."
"Funny You should show up," I say. "Just before I fell into
my religious swoon I was wondering what You thought about the Pledge
of Allegiance thing."
"Can you say Divine Omniscience?" He says. "I already knew
what you were wondering."
"So whaddya think?" I say. "Should 'under God' be part of
the Pledge?"
"Who cares?" He says. "Nobody means anything by it—any
more than they mean anything when they say "God bless you" when
somebody sneezes. So I don't bless people for sneezing any more.
It’s just a bit of ceremonial deism unconnected to any cogitation
about transcendence."
I think about that.
"And that doesn’t bother You?" I say.
"Nah," He says. "I knew it would be that way. I'm amused
by the presumption. That’s the main reason I created all you
twerps—to give Me a celestial guffaw every now and then. And it's a
real hoot to see you all getting your underwear in a knot about 'under
God' and never worrying about the words that come after that."
I have to say the whole thing to myself before I can
remember what comes after "under God."
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of
America," I think, "and to the Republic for which it stands, one
nation under God, invisible, with liberty and justice for all."
|
The Truth, Mainly
"It's 'indivisible,' dummy," God says. "Invisible—that
knocks me out."
"I knew that," I say. "So why should we worry about
'indivisible, with liberty and justice for all'?"
"Think," He says. "Does anyone in the whole country really
believe you're indivisible? Jocks indivisible from nerds? Democrats
indivisible from Republicans? Rich indivisible from poor? You're
all so divisible that most of you are afraid to go out at night. Your
divisibility is what keeps the NRA in business."
"Hah?" I say.
"And liberty and justice for all?" He says. "Get real."
"Hey," I say, "the Declaration says we’re all equal."
"You've got the kind of equality Anatole France wrote
about," God says, "the kind that 'forbids the rich as well as the poor
to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.'
Good line. Guess Who gave it to him."
"Hah?" I say.
"Poor guy steals a car and thereby goes to jail," He says.
"Rich guy cooks the books so he can steal his employees' retirement
funds—and thereby goes to the Caymans to live tax-free on his $100
million severance deal. Justice for all?"
"Hah?" I say.
"Woman does same job as man," God says, "for 75% of his
salary. Straight guy marries girl and gets all sorts of marriage
benefits denied to gay guy because Amendment 416 outlaws gay marriage.
Liberty for all?
"That’s democracy," I say. "Amendment 416 passed by a 3-1
majority."
"Every citizen of your country," God goes on, "is guaranteed
legal representation, no matter the charge—unless he's the
dark-skinned US citizen with the Muslim name who's been in jail for
about a month now and denied a lawyer."
"Hey," I say, "that's what we did with our Japanese citizens
during WWII, and that worked all right, didn't it?"
He gives me a look.
"Cosmically amusing," He says, shaking His head. "And to
think I created monkeys and beagles because I thought I might need
more comic relief."
He climbs back into the tree and by the time I point my
forefinger to where I think His forefinger might be, I'm out of my
swoon and the Big Guy's gone.
Retired English Professor Leon Satterfield writes to salvage clarity
from his confusion. His column appears on alternate Mondays. His e-mail
address is:
leonsatterfield@earthlink.net.
|
