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Jack's Fables

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God’s a Good Bloke.

“There is a problem here,” declared John, “Some people believe in a benign God, one who, by giving us free will has to leave us to our fate. In their world, all is at any given moment as it should be. Clearly that is not the case.”

 

“Well,” shouted David indignantly, “Is God vengeful, angry and almost despotic, ruling over us with a rod of iron?”

 

“My experience is that God abandoned me. How else do you explain my appalling childhood, my constant battles with people, and my betrayals?” sighed Ruth, with an air of desperation.

 

Older residents of Cornfields House could often be heard debating the nature of divinity.

 

Most of the carers and full-time staff couldn’t get their heads around it all. The majority were very sceptical about ‘God’ and saw ‘Him’ having little relevance to their lives.

 

If God existed, they might occasionally pray at times of stress, and if ‘He’ heard the prayers, he never let on. Sometimes things turned out for the best, sometimes they didn’t. So what, wasn’t that the experience of everyone? If he didn’t exist, it was another ‘So what?’ Earthquakes happened in China, Tsunamis in Asia, bombs exploded in the Middle East.

 

But how could a benign God let thousands, millions die? ‘Good’ people, innocent kids, great leaders, peacekeepers, saints, blameless victims all died. Scum, ba**ar*s, thieves, murderers all thrived.

 

Ruth was getting in her stride. “So, God loves us does ‘He’? He ‘lets’ the world go to pot, because we have free will. Well, I’d take away the free will of people like my dad. Castration was too good for him. I’m glad those thugs got him. That was ‘God’ doing his real work if you ask me.

 

I was an innocent kid. What had I done wrong? Eh? Karma you say? Well I must have been Hitler in a previous life. And here’s another thing, I’ll be a vigilante in the next.”

 

John was philosophical, as usual. He reasoned that everyone could create a world view, a paradigm if you like, that suited their situation, and those in it. Priests who abused kids could be talked about as if they had ‘fallen in with the devil.’ Or they were scum who should be put down. Or to some, rehabilitated. Just because no-one had found a ’cure’ for paedophilia, didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

 

To others, the kind John had a real issue with, free will was free will. How could ‘God’ intervene every time people had a problem? These ‘New Agers’ explained it all way by people learning lessons, by karma, by us being spiritual beings having a human experience, by everything being an illusion. Yes, the therapist loved everyone, the policeman suspected everyone, and the lawyer would defend anyone for the right price.

 

But John did wonder if there was a cure for paedophilia, the chances are it would never become known. He also thought if Jesus had existed, and came back to earth now, he would be a victim of ‘extraordinarily rendition’ and sent to Guantanamo Bay.

 

For David, Cornfields was his sanctuary. Some people got it easy, like Prince Charles. A life of luxury, unimaginable wealth, more plants than you could ever get to talk to, people to squeeze your toothpaste, and thousands fawning around you. Others-like him-got the sh*t*y end of the stick. Life was a series of grim episodes. God? Who the hell was that?

Life was a lottery, and he had lost at birth. Met a series of absolute sods along the way. Kept meeting them. God, if he had a plan for him, had forgotten about it when he went for his celestial lunch.

 

Like John, no amount of spouting could convince him of a loving God. His life was nearly over, and he was bitter and twisted. Any attempt to let go now would mean the whole of his life had been a waste of time.

 

He knew it had been, but hanging on to this rage, guilt and anger was better than conceding defeat. These powerful emotions were all he had left. What was so wrong with a predictably miserable life anyway? There were few surprises. His daughter would never come to his funeral. That was certain. He had given strict instructions to his brother that when he died, she should be kept away. Hating the bas****s, shunning his daughter, and being right was what got him out of bed every morning.

 

“Let God do his worst? He already has!” was David’s breakfast mantra in Cornfields.

 

Sileache visited her elderly mum in Cornfields. She hadn’t worked for 14 years. And why should she? She had a car taxed and insured by the government, the odd trip abroad, looked great for her age, and thought when she came to the home-‘Look at this lot. They have been stressed out of their minds working for a living.’ Her husband took the stress; his job gave them with a reasonable life style. In return he got his ‘nuptials.’

 

God to Sileache was someone you thought about when a tragedy occurred. Until then, b*lloc** to it, make mine a pint.

The dinner bell rang. The carer shouted out to John: “Come along John, what do you want today?”

 

For once in his life John was speechless. The dinner menu was as text1as newspapers carrying ‘celebrity’ gossip. He had never been asked what he wanted at Cornfields. The carers made the meals and served them. They were mostly very good, healthy and well presented. They sustained him, and he looked forward to meal times.

 

Occasionally, as a ‘treat’, some of the residents would go out as small groups to local restaurants and indulge themselves in exotic stuff. John rarely deviated from his preferred choices, no matter what was on offer.

 

Never one to take things as they were, and always the taker of opportunities to reflect, then debate, John began to wonder:

‘God has brought me to here. God has treated me badly? I suppose he has. I know he has. I was abandoned. My step-parents didn’t want me, so I felt lost for most of my life. My wife put up with me, so when she left, I could hardly blame her.

 

I read somewhere that the Americans have created things that can change the weather. So powerful are they that there is suspicion that they caused the Asian tsunami and Chinese earthquake.

 

If that’s true, we are talking mass murder, genocide, again. No loving God could ever permit that!’

Sileache always visited her mum every week just before meal times. That way she could leave, knowing she was enjoying her food, and not being stressed about her daughter’s going.

 

She spotted John with a quizzical look on his face. They had got to know each other over the last few months, and liked each other’s company. She because he was a deep thinker and challenged her intellectually. He loved the way she would bring him down to earth, without trying to score points off him.

 

“Has God been bothering you again John?” laughed Sileache as he came over. “Aren’t most religions of the world based on things written by people over 2000 years ago? Don’t you think it’s possible some of it might be outdated?”

 

“Outdated? Possibly. But it strikes me most if not all are saying the same things. There is only one God, we are all connected, none of us is better than anyone else, and there is enough to go around. ‘Free will’ has led to insane competition, a belief that in an infinite universe, only one planet has life on it, people fighting wars saying their God is better than someone else’s, greed beyond comprehension, a tiny percentage of people controlling most of the world’s wealth. You know the score. So, given the state we’re in I can’t get my head around what God is up to. So I doubt even he exists.”

 

“So, you’re waiting for God to come down from heaven on a white unicorn or something and rescue us from the bad guys?” asked Sileache.

 

Just then David heard God being discussed, and he chipped in:

“Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Mugabe, Saddam, Bin Laden, Bush, Blair. Who was responsible for that little lot?”

 

“Maybe we were,” opined Sileache. “None of them just came out of a space ship did they? And if God did create us all, he must have created them too. What kind of a world would we have had if Hitler had won? Controls over everything, an imaginary enemy that justifies massive military spending, surveillance cameras on every street corner. People being asked to spy on each other, even family members. Data and records about everything on everybody. Token political oppositions that essentially say the same thing, only the personnel are different. Trivial distractions through ‘celebrity’ and a blind eye turned to the biggest part of the internet, pornography.

 

Makes you think eh?”

 

Ruth’s daughter had also been tuning in to all this and she too

decided to join in. Despite her mother’s fragile and vengeful mental state, Chrissy was almost too good to be true.

 

Intelligent, modest, sensitive, concerned, and in possession of the most extraordinary insight and wisdom. Which she only ever used to challenge positions that contributed to making the world a desperate place.

 

“David, how would you describe yourself?” asked Chrissy.

David was a little taken aback, but after 75 years had seen it all, done it all and bought & sold the T-shirt company.

 

“Me? I’m bitter, angry, resentful and hurt. I want revenge but know I won’t get it. Life’s a bitch, and then you die.”

 

“And if God exists, what kind of God is he?”

 

David paused to think for a few seconds and said:

 

“I’d like to think he is vengeful, angry and almost despotic, ruling over us with a rod of iron. Has his favourites, and I’m not one of them.”

 

“And you John, please describe yourself if you don’t mind,” said Chrissy.

 

“Oh, that’s not easy. Are you sure you want to know? I suppose I’m thoughtful, enjoy thinking, avoid taking sides, and keep my options open. Each to their own I suppose. But I’m very sceptical about those who tell us God is a good bloke.”

 

“And so what kind of God do you imagine?”

 

“I’m continually wondering if all this, the universe, this planet, the beauty of a flower, the joy in a baby’s laugh, the love in a pet’s greeting, the sight of a sunset, the feel of a warm summer breeze isn’t all by chance. I reckon God’s a bit of gambler really, and can’t have all the power, can he?”

 

“I’m told you want to come back as a vigilante in your next life Ruth? So, from that you believe in past lives, and vengeance can span centuries, indeed forever?” suggested Chrissy.

 

“If you like.”

 

“Well,” said Chrissy, “You will be wary of me John. I bet one thing we would all agree on is that the world needs a bit of healing. My God’s gender doesn’t bother me, nor what she looks like. My God is your God and everyone else’s God. But millions would fight me, literally, to prove me wrong.

 

Isn’t the idea that the things you describe John are some kind of cosmic mistake is laughable. Those who believe God is out to get us always get a hearing. Didn’t Christ, to name a prophet I’m familiar with, tell us to love our enemies?

I know successful people, and not those who have had a privileged childhood, who have woken up the fact that the world they experience is the one they help create. Not all of them believe in God. If they did, guess what kind of God it would be? Yes, benign, loving, creative, expansive and giver of freedom to choose.

 

If someone can survive the horrors of Auschwitz,* which is most people’s worst nightmare, and probably the nearest to hell we can imagine, and still believe we have free will, then don’t you think he might be on to something?

 

And wasn’t it Einstein who said the most important question of all is ‘Is the universe a friendly place?’

 

We have the kind of world most of us want within our grasp. Maybe those of us who have woken up could say we have a difficult job on our hands, helping the rest of the world turn away from fear and hate. Yet we have an advantage. God’s not only a good bloke, but he’s decided enough is enough.

 

Can we grasp the opportunity?”

 

JS, May 08.

* Viktor Frankl, ‘Man’s Search for Meaning.’

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