If I were to sit with God, I would first tell him to sit across from me. We will be on equal ground for this. I will look at his face, I will study his hands. I will try to find his humanity in the way we find godhood in the set of oneâs jaw, in the veins of our arms.
I will stare critically, for a while, to look for the discomfort we find in human faces. I will look for signs of blemish, for baby hairs and crows feet.
(What god would I want, that does not smile kindly? I will wait to see if he will smile kindly.)
I will study the line of his shoulders, I will try to find a hint of the humbled curve born from failure, from fear, from grief.
I will try to find the humanity in his image, and I will be unsurprised when I do not find it.
If I were to speak with God, I would ask him-
And if he is as omniscient as he claims, he will know all the countless Whyâs encapsulated within the word.
Why are we here? Why do you let us ache, like this? Why did you create kindness and cruelty in unequal measures?
Why is it so easy for us to lose our humanity- to fool ourselves into becoming gods of damnation, of fire, of blood, of hatred?
I will ask, in words, if that is the image we were molded into.
I will allow him to respond. I cannot guess what he might say. He will try to stand, leave the conversation, and I will latch onto his wrist and I will make it bruise.
I will tell him No. You will stay. You will listen to this prayer.
I will look for a clenched jaw, I will look for narrowed eyes, I will look for any hint of the red shades of anger, of pride.
I will tell him what weâve done. I will tell him we are beautiful as much as we are ugly. I will tell him of the birds in the trees, and the grass under our feet, and how the gardens we create are as much Eden as the first.
I will tell him he did not banish us from Eden- we took it with us. We made better ones.
I would tell him of the music we create, how it fills us so full of emotion that we become star systems of life.
I would tell him of the stories we made for the constellations, I would tell him of the wonder and the loneliness that makes us look to the moon for any answer she might give us.
I would tell him of the horrors, and ask if he knows what it means to be frightened. To grieve for people you donât even know. I would see if he knows what it is to be asked what did you do to make this happen to you?
I would ask if he knows what it means to be blamed for the actions of others.
I would wait for an answer. I would be unsurprised and undaunted at his silence.
If I were to stand before God, towering above him, I would make him cower in my shadow.
I would look him in the eye- I would view the unending with a dispassionate stare.
I would tell him that we are in his image- I would tell him that we have made countless, unending things from images. I would tell him that the creativity he gave us has made us as much God as he is.
I would let him draw his own conclusions from this.
If I were to stand before God, I would scream until my voice faded, and still I would continue.
I would tell him he has lost his humanity. I would tell him he will never do enough to earn our forgiveness. I would tell him it is his turn, to be frightened of the end.
I would tell him he must ask forgiveness. He must stay there on his knees and beg our mercy.
I would tell him we have always been more than he intended- I would tell him that he made his first mistake, and there is no going back.
If I were to leave God, there, on his knees- I would turn my back to him.
Perhaps he will ask- how can I ask forgiveness if you are not listening?
Perhaps, even- you cannot walk away. You have given me these instructions, you must allow me the chance to follow them.
Unthinkably, even- Wait. Please. Do not leave me here.
Youâve found it. Felt it, just now. I would say, How does it feel, hm?
He would have no answer- there is none.
I would spare one last look to the heavens, so drenched in the blood of innocents, the ache of lost love, hope, life.
I would hear the cry, rising from the earth. I would listen to the endless unanswered prayers, supplications. I would shake with the rage of it, the grief, the overwhelming empathy, understanding.
I would collapse under the weight of it.
And then, to my surroundings, a utopia bought from suffering. I would view this utopia and find nothing worth saving. Nothing is worth the cruelty we have been shouldered.
And I would flood the heavens with tears.
