By James Kavanaugh —
Raised As I Was
Raised as I was with devils and angels and a giant computer in the sky, I used to worry about God and aferlife and unquenchable fire.
Unlike Pascal, I finally decided that if God is as mean and petty as mean and petty Christians say He is, then it’s just a crapshoot even for mean and petty Christians.
And if God is a meticulous and malevolent moron who conditions salvation on Sunday morning TV terms, then a lot of Jews, Buddhists, Muhammadans, and guys like me are in deep trouble.
Which is probably why a lot of decent people refuse to believe in God. Since I can’t accept that option with any great composure, I decided to create my own theology like everyone else.
Granted I don’t yet have a bible or a sacred mountain, not to mention my own TV show or even embossed stationery and a box number which is how anything worthwhile begins.
I do have a very friendly God who loves and understands everyone, and has provided an afterlife which matches Muhammad’s wildest dreams.
Now my friend Dubie says that I’m crazy not to face the fact that there may not be such a God or such an afterlife, and I asked Dubie when facing facts had anything to do with anything.
As I look over the world, people who seem the happiest are the ones who are sure there is an afterlife, or those who are convinced there isn’t one. It’s the wonderers who do all the worrying.
Dubie’s going to get me a P.O. Box tomorrow.