April 2010

Are you the same God I grew up with,

The fire and brimstone guy,

With Santa Claus beard,

Who keeps a big book up there on that throne

With my name on it,

With all the black marks cataloging my sins?

The one who, if I should die before I wake

Would send me to some awful place

Where I would never find water to wet my burning lips,

Let alone Chapstick?

Are you the same God who let my Sunday School buddy

Die of leukemia when he was just 11,

The boy whose life you might have spared

Had we prayed harder?

Are you the one who is much nicer to those who say nice things about you,

And get all shaky just hearing your name,

Than you are to those who have not even heard your name?

Are you the one who can be bought off

By making a large contribution to the church,

Or mouthing the right creed,

Or becoming a minister?

If that's the God you are, count me out.

I'm looking for a different one.

One who likes me just the way I am,

While suggesting a few adjustments here and there,

The God who isn't pushed around by a multiplicity of prayers,

Who doesn't play favorites,

Even to those who kowtow to him, or her.

Who doesn't care what label we go by,

Or even what we believe,

Who isn't impressed with how saintly we act,

Who rejoices when we rejoice,

Cries when we cry,

Who listens and plays along with Mozart and Bach and U-2,

And sings with Elvis and the Beatles and Aunt Martha in the pew.

Who embraces all of creation and all creation's creatures

With the same indefatigable and irrepressible love.

If that's the God you are, sign me up.