Articles of Faith

     One day God and his angels were engaged in a heated debate.

     "I know what you mean," God was saying. "I've said it myself many times before."

     Michael was shaking his head.

     Gabriel was silent. He stood with his back to a cloud and his arms folded. Clearly, he was troubled.

     "The thing is, though," said God, "that time does go on, and people…

     God looked pointedly down, a habit of his when saying the word "people."

     "… grow skeptical. After all, how long has it been – eons, I suppose – since I last appeared to them. I think they have every right to begin to wonder."

     Gabriel shook his head and sat on the cloud, a rare breach of etiquette for him. His bright and beautiful face looked dark and stormy.

     "I know what you're going to say," said God. "You said it so often before."

     "Well," said Gabriel, turning his angelic countenance god- ward, "it's only a matter of truth. You know that, sir."

     "But, Gabriel…"

     "People…"

     Peter gave only the slightest hint of a gesture downward.

     "… need their faith, sir!"

     "I know, Peter, I know," said God kindly.

     "And if you go down, it will destroy that faith, just like all the other times."

     "Or renew it," put in Raphael, who was over in the far corner, grinning. "Nothing like a good miracle to keep people honest and to the point."

     Gabriel continued, ignoring him. "Every time you’ve gone down in the past, it's wreaked havoc among the strong and inspired the weak to all sorts of nonsense. That's why you stopped doing it."

     God nodded in calm understanding. "I know, I know. But times change. And, after all, I am God. I'm the one who has to make the decision. And let's face it, things aren't going too well."

     "Something's got to give," added Raphael benignly.

     "Uh!" grunted Michael in exasperation. "It took centuries for things to quiet down after the last fiasco."

     "But look at all the good it did," countered God.

     "Things really did get better in so many ways," Raphael chimed in.

     Nobody had anything to say to that. Nobody could deny that there'd been some merit to the idea.

     "So I think I shall go," said God. And nobody said anything further. They knew when he got that tone in his voice all argument was at an end.

                                                                 .  .  .

     "I wish I remembered what I did with last month's stock report," Charles Mason grumbled. He was a big man, approaching fifty and owner of a successful cosmetics firm in the nation's capital. They had just gone international, and it was a busy time for everyone.

     His secretary buzzed him. "Telephone for you, sir."

     "Yes, what is it?" Mason spoke  into the phone using the gruff cordiality that most people knew him by.

     "Have you seen the news?" His wife asked him.

     "What?"

     His wife paused, as though she didn't know quite what to say.

     "Well, it's… it's God."

     "God?" Mason echoed dumbly.

     "You're not going to believe this, so you better turn on your television. It's all over the news. God's come back."

     "Huh?"

     Then the words poured out of Miriam Mason. "No kidding, I mean… no question about it! This guy's hurling thunderbolts, cutting cloud formations like cookie dough, and… well, you name it, he's doing it. A miracle a minute. And right on top of that big tall monument."

     "Are you nuts?" Mason asked his wife.

     "Just turn on the TV," she said, "or the radio or the Internet. Heck, just look out the window!"

     Something that looked a lot like lightning seemed to crackle near the edge of Mason's peripheral vision.

     "Oy vey!" he said.

                                                                 .  .  .

     The President greeted the man cordially. After all, what else could he do? Someone had to take charge of the situation, and he was the logical candidate. Indeed, that had been one of his slogans during the last campaign.

     The man strode gracefully into the room. His hair was mostly white, but in no way that detracted from the very obvious force of his personality. He was tall, but not in a threatening sense. Rather, his presence perfectly embraced the room, the way a warm and supple glove might feel to your hand on a cold winter morning.

     "Hello there." The man smiled a smile that would've lit up the corners of the Oval Office, had there been any.

     "Why don't you sit down," suggested the President, in a tone replete with cordiality and tact.

     "Thanks," said the man, who with a mere wave of his hand managed to wipe away all pretense of formality.

     This guy knows I'm curious, thought the President. There's no way I'm going to hide it from him. So I might as well just be curious.

     "Uh, that was some pretty amazing show you put on over at the Washington Monument," said the President, staring at the man over his steaming cup of tea.

     The man nodded benignly.

     "Do you mind me asking how you did it?"

     "Not at all," said the man. "I am God. I can do anything."

     "Uh huh," said the President. "Well, that's certainly one explanation. But do you mind me asking," he continued, "well, if you're, uh, 'God,' that is…"

     "You'd like to know my intentions," the man helped him.

     "Ah, yes, I guess so," said the President, who usually didn't like having his mind read.

     "None in particular," God temporized, stretching his legs expansively, and thinking he'd like to try out that green chaise lounge on the other side of the room. "Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

     "Listen, sir," said the President, experiencing a sudden spasm of conviction, which, it might be added, was almost entirely out of character, "… may I call you 'sir'?"

     "Fine," said God.

     "Well, sir," continued the President, "we have a lot of problems down here, as you well know…"

     "Yes, indeed, that's why I'm here."

     "Well, you don't want to add to them, do you?"

     "Of course not," said God, raising an eyebrow.

     "Then you should go back to where you came from."

     "Eh?"

     "Yes. Just leave. Disappear. In a few weeks this will all blow over, and nobody will remember exactly what happened. We'll put just the right media spin on it," the President added, smirking. "A few of our experts working around the clock will be able to morph most if not all the video footage."

     "Oh, I see," said God. "You mean you'll take care of it."

     "Exactly," said the President, uncomfortable that the man still seemed so clearly competent. And worse, totally unruffled.

     "Say," continued the President, "do you play sports?"

     "Sports?" asked God. "Well, uh… you know, it's something I gave up quite a while ago."

     "Reluctantly?" prompted the President.

     "Well, no, I wouldn't say that," God answered, but somewhat hesitantly. He actually wasn't quite sure where this was leading.

     "Racquetball," said the President gleefully, on his part now certain that "impromptu" would be the way to go here.

     "Uh, yes, racquetball, "uttered God, whose turn it was to be mystified.

     "You hit the ball, the ball comes back."

     "Yes," said God, eager to be polite.

     "You hit the ball, the ball comes back," repeated the President happily.

     "Uh, huh."

     "And then, of course," continued the President, "sometimes you miss the ball, and sometimes you fall down and skin your knee." The President's eyes were aglow; he almost looked inspired.

     "Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. Sometimes the game is called off on account of rain." The President chuckled at his little joke. He was on a roll now.

     "But the point is, you hit the ball and the ball comes back. That's a given. That's what ties it all together. Without that, everything would fall to pieces.

     "Now," said the President, pausing for effect and looking pointedly at his guest, "what would happen if, right in the middle of the game, the walls caved in, a big hand appeared and scooped up the players, and a deep voice said, "From now on, it's okay whether you hit the ball or not, because the ball's going to come back, anyway. No matter what you do, I got it covered."

     God looked rather impressed. "It ruins the game."

     "Exactly," said the President, and he sat down, quite pleased with himself.

     "So what you're saying is, any interference by me down here would do more harm than good."

     "Exactly."

     "Hmm." God thought this over. "I don't know. It seems to me somebody’d like to see me every now and then. Morale, you know."

     The President shook his head adamantly.

     "No, sir. With all due respect, it would wreck their faith in the status quo."

     "Is that so bad?"

     "The status quo is themselves, sir."

     "Oh, I see. And I suppose people must believe in themselves. Hm?"

     "You got it, sir. And even an honest defeat is better than victory with, uh, outside help. You’d throw a wrench into the entire system."

     "Let me ask you something, son," said the visitor, casting a rather withering eye at his host, "assuming everyone actually does play by the rules – a rather questionable assumption I might add – when did all this supposedly come about?"

     "What's that, sir?"

     "This bit about people believing in themselves, which can still be quite a powerful draw, I take it, even now."

     "Yes, sir. Well, it happened because, well, to be completely honest, it happened after people sort of gave up on you."

     "I see. And you're sure it's me they gave up on?"

     "Well, they said they did, sir, though… maybe not in so many words."

     "Not enough miracles?"

     "Uh, I'm not sure about that, sir." The President sensed that his visitor might be trying to trap him. And even if he wasn't, the President suddenly felt a bit lost. A minute ago he felt in command of the conversation, but now he wasn't quite sure what they were talking about. This sort of abstract negotiation had never been his forte. Still, the problem was, well, he had to figure out some way of dealing with this man, or whoever he was, if for no other reason than the fact he was a one-man field-artillery unit. Perhaps some other tack might be called for.

     "How about a game of golf?"

     "Don't play."

     "Rummy?"

     "Nope."

     "Cribbage, then?"

     The other man shook his head.

     "Come on!" said the President, wheedling a bit in desperation. "If you are who you say you are, certainly you must know all these games."

     "Sorry. I just don't keep track of trivia. I mean, it's really all the same, isn't it."

     "Huh?"

     "And there's no end to it, either, if you know what I mean."

     The President balked. How could he beat this guy if he wouldn't play anything. Except God, of course. The President wasn't one hundred percent sure he could beat this guy at playing God.

     "You see," said his visitor, "I have a slightly different angle on the thing. People are meant to compete, it's true. After all, who would've gone to all the trouble to build this beautiful world if he didn't think it would include things worth having?"

     "Huh?" said the President. For some reason he suddenly felt sleepy. He was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't call in the Vice President. Truth be told, public relations fell more into his job description.

     "After all," the man continued, "it's the value of things that stimulates –"

     "Look, sir," the President interrupted, simultaneously stifling a yawn, "could we get to the point? Why were you standing on top of the Washington Monument hurling down all those lightning bolts? And how did you get up there in the first place?"

     "Have you forgotten already? I am God," returned the stranger. "And I am on a mission. A mission of mercy. Or at least I thought I was. You see, you people just aren't getting it."

     "Getting what?" asked the President. His fingers eagerly toyed with the hidden, twenty-four-hour on-call button to the Vice President.

     "Well, in actuality, the way it's set up, you could keep on playing these games forever, competing, accumulating. Forever, that is, until the stuff ran out.

     God shook his head.

     "I mean, admittedly, there's a lot of it. This is no small planet, by any normal measure. But somewhere along the way you were supposed to realize that it wasn't up to me to tell you when to stop ripping it off." He blushed slightly. "Uh, sorry, but some of the angels have started to talk like that."

     "Wait a minute," said the President, his fingers leaving the button, "that's just what I was telling you a minute ago. You can't just come down here, showing off like this– if you really are who you say you are, that is – without disrupting everything. You'll wreck everyone's self-confidence."

     "Self-confidence, self-schmonfidence," said God. "Look around you. What do you see?" He waved his hand, and for a minute the President had a strange impression that he could actually see everything.

     "Chaos!" He blurted before he could stop himself. "Uh, creative chaos," he managed to amend.

     "Uh, huh,” God said sarcastically. He knew what the man had seen. He'd been looking at it himself for months. "More like a big boat careening around the ocean without a paddle. Or with ten million paddles all moving in different directions. Same thing."

     The President smiled wryly. He was back on solid political ground. "I suppose you would prefer totalitarianism."

     God sighed. "No, of course not. It's just that the stuff does have a limit." He waved. "Oil. Water. Air. Etcetera." Then he paused for a moment, as if for effect, or so it seemed to the President.

     "You're using it all up, and the fact is, I've always thought that, if it ever came to this, I’d have no other alternative but to let you. As you say, interference ought to be out of the question. But now that it's actually happening…" Again, he shook his head. "I don't know. Frankly, I'd always thought you'd pull it out by now."

     "Huh?" said the President.

     "Pull out of it. Figure it out. You know?"

     "Figure what out?"

     The visitor nodded like a lawyer who's just made his case. "Obviously I was wrong."

     The President laughed hysterically. "God, wrong? God can't be wrong!"

     For the last time, God shook his head. "Well, prove me right, then."

     The President's fingers convulsed on the button. "There's someone I'd like you to meet," he blurted, a bit after the fact. "My Vice President's a very good man. I think he could help us here."

     The President looked up to smile winningly at his visitor, but the chair was empty.

      Lee Strauss (Copyright @ 2018)