We seem to expect shelter, food, stars and planets to watch and wonder about; work of our choosing (which makes our work our art); too many clothes; and leaders who like to keep secrets.
We’re a tender species and not without our issues. If anger management were as regulated as a fishing license, maybe we wouldn’t be so full of ourselves. You know, count to ten and let it go. Releasing anger would make our beauty way, way, deeper than skin.
Many of us are familiar with Biblical teachings, and curious about those frisky monks who were told to transcribe, not translate, the gospels. There were versions in Hebrew, Greek, Coptic, Aramaic and Catholic. But boys will be boys, especially around each other. It just took a letter change here and there. For heaven’s sake, monks drank wine while transcribing from papyrus to parchment with ink made from soot and water – in candlelight. Mistakes could’ve been made.
What if we could attend John Rankine’s Dinner for Six with God as the host? It could go something like this:
“God, would you pass the plate?” Phrasing was awkward, common during dinner parties. “If you spend much of your time forgiving sinners, why even have sin?”
“Evil and ignorance don’t have to exist,” God replied. “Only joy and celebration. Free will was a good move on my part, but it got corrupted by greed on your part. I’m just the ref.
“You all are just like me – image and likeness. Except you don’t like eternal life as much as I do. You haven’t figured out that when one of you messes up, all of you mess up. You are all one. As long as there is war, each of you is responsible. Soldiers, intellectuals, teenagers and dictators, the homeless, girls, all of you. Until you stop killing, whether in anger or conquest, you will be clobbered with doubt, sleeplessness, dreams you don’t understand and incomplete relationships.
“You’ve built your lives on believing others’ misunderstandings,” God continues. “Nothing was ever meant to confuse you. All the beauty you need is right here. Recognize it. Seek it.”
“Okay, then what about those two people in the garden and the apple and the snake? What did that even mean?”
“Snack. I clearly said snack. Who among you is not tempted by a snack? Eden was the backdrop for a nature encounter, a picnic. I was misquoted. Snakes neither talk nor tempt. All of you give way too much thought to poor you and how much trouble you’re in. I thought I was being helpful.
“Look,” God pontificates, “I did say it would take me seven days to cremate the world. What I meant was I noticed a ball of ice floating in space and decided to warm it up with sunlight to provide water to grow food, trees and herbs to keep you alive. You humans are my proudest achievement. Your species is the only one with the ability to grow and spread love.
“Monks changed one letter in several old texts that conflicted. I didn’t intend this. I was the cremator first, and from that, the creator. Sure, you’re my experiment, so I need you as much as you need me. I wanted you to have a place to thrive so I could be proud of both my humans and my art.
“But y’all are really losing my interest with your anger. It’s more than a sugar diet and ancient typos that have you so botched up. Be full of yourselves, you should be. But think clearly before you consider anger as a solution or even an option. Anger isn’t just personal, it’s like smoke and fire, felt and smelled by everyone, everywhere.
“Each of you has a story. It’s all you really have, but you all have one. Tell it. Live long and prosper.”
He passed the plate.