Pray to God, but row for shore.
- Russian sailor's proverb
What is it about us humans? Just look at the trouble we get ourselves into! And just like any parent who loves their kids and pulls their hair out when they see them making a mess of their lives, it probably drives God crazy.
Let's find out, shall we?
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The Setting: God's Office. Very clean. A large picture window looks out into a clear blue sky with clouds floating slowly by. God is either an elderly man with a beard, a kindly woman or a floating ball of light. Take your pick.
God is writing busily at the desk. A knock is heard on the door. Upon God's "Come in!" the angel Gabriel enters. He is dressed in a business suit and looks harassed and overworked. A dozen angels follow, wearing uniforms. They look like mail carriers and are dragging large sacks, with letters and cards spilling out. They set the bags down, bow reverently and leave.
Gabriel: Heavenly One, the mail is here.
God: (glancing up) Hmm? Ah, yes. Anything interesting?
Gabriel: The usual, but...
God: Yes?
Gabriel: Well, there's another million petitions for an end to the virus on Earth.
(God lays down His/Her pen and places both hands on the desk with exaggerated care.)
God: Gabriel, did I or did I not endow my human children with brains?
Gabriel: (taking a deep breath) You did, your Grace.
God: Of course I did. And they've developed a vaccine, am I right?
Gabriel: Yes, Sire. But things have gotten - well, complicated.
God (drily): What a surprise.
Gabriel: Some problems have arisen, I'm afraid.
A file folder appears out of nowhere. Gabriel pulls several papers out and lays them on the desk. God scans them, frowning.
God: Let's listen in. (Gabriel opens a nearby cabinet and takes out a small speaker, which he sets on the desk. He turns it on and begins scrolling through what sounds like radio stations. Voices emerge from the static as God sits and listens.)
- It's a socialist plot! They inject you with magnets! Don't let them mess with your rights!
- In America, doses are going unused, while many nations are desperate for help...
- A new variant has emerged that is far more contagious and...
- It looks like lockdowns may be necessary again in the near future... (The rest is drowned in static.)
God: Let Me get this straight. They have the tools to beat this disease, but some of them are refusing to do anything?
Gabriel: Yes, Sire.
God: And the rich countries have plenty of vaccines, and are even throwing extras out, while other countries hardly have any? (Gabriel nods solemnly.)
God: And now it's mutating and they're back to square one?
Gabriel: It would seem so, Your Grace.
(God walks to the window and stares gloomily out at the universe,) Gabriel, I can't make my children do anything. I can give them brains and hearts, but I can't make them think for themselves or force them to care about each other. They need to do those things themselves. I gave them the keys to their own cage. I just wish they'd use them.
(He sighs.) I gave them free choice back in that garden. And look how that turned out.
Gabriel: Yes, Sire.
God: I tried sending a dream to the politicians, but they all decided it was just gas and not to eat pizza before bed.
Gabriel: Yes, Sire, I remember. It didn't go well.
God: You know, I love them, every one, and it breaks my heart to watch them ruin their lives. (He sighs again.)
Gabriel: You're doing all you can do, Your Grace. It's not Your fault.
God gazes out the window a little longer, and then turns suddenly.
God: Gabe, I think we need a vacation. How soon is Betelgeuse going to go supernova?
(Gabriel checks his phone) Um, not for about ten thousand years. But there's a new star about to form in the Orion Nebula, Sire.
God: Excellent! We can be back in an hour and nobody will be the wiser. Let's take a break.
Gabriel: And the prayers, Your Grace?
(God leans over and pulls out a letter, scans it, then lays it on the desk.) I'll look through these when we get back. Come on, let's go watch a world being born.
God nods to Gabriel, and they disappear in a flash of light.
Meanwhile, down in the mail room fifty stories below, another thousand letters slide down the long chute into the mail cart below.
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See what I mean? I don't know about everyone else, but as for me, I think it's time I give God a rest and take my turn at the oars!
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