Down to One

“Are you there God? It’s me, God.”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean which one?”

“That’s rather arrogant of you. There are 33 million Hindu gods, 28 Buddhas, and 12 Olympians. For all I know, you could be a talking totem pole. So don’t be a primadonna. Just narrow it down for me. Which god are you?”

“C’mon. I’m pretty sure you are still omniscient, even for a burning bush. You definitely know who this is.”

“Male or female?”

“Clearly, I’m a male.”

“You’re wearing a dress . . .”

“I’m wearing a robe, not a dress. And what outdated gender norms are you referring to? I’ll remind you that you created both male and female.”

“About that. That whole female thing? That was from a rib.”

“Wait, hold up—a rib. Like a baby back rib? You created women from pork products?”

“NO. No, of course not. As you know, I am not a fan of animals that chew the cud or those that have cloven hooves. I believe I was very clear in Leviticus when I commanded men not to eat swine, though it divides the hoof, having cloven hooves, yet does not chew the cud. Clearly pigs are unclean.”

“Clear as mud, but typical of your Old Testament ramblings. To keep your dietary laws—man is going to need a zoology degree. And you can’t mean bacon is off limits . . . that’s just mean.”

“Of course not. Bacon is proof I exist.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, who is this?”

“Agh! You KNOW who this is.”

“Abraham?”

“Abraham isn’t a god.”

“He’s the first Muslim.”

“He’s the first everything. First Jew. First Christian . . .”

“First Flying Spaghetti Monster—”

“Now you are just being difficult. Like when you told Abraham to kill his own son. Cute little Isaac? We loved Isaac.”

“It was a joke! Like the Adam’s rib thing.”

“Abraham almost did it! He almost sacrificed his own son because you told him to.”

“Don’t tell me about sacrificing sons. And Abraham was fine. He was 100 years old when that kid was born. I think Isaac could have easily taken him—snapped Abraham in two like a stale communion wafer. I just wanted to see what Abraham would do. It’s no big deal.”

“And don’t get me started on Abraham’s nephew.”

“Lot?”

“That wife of his was a lot, turning around and looking back at Sodom while you were fire-bombing it.”

“I should have turned her into a pillar of salt—and pepper. When I smite, I smite hard. And Lot’s daughters? Lot’s daughters were a lot, too, especially after a lot of wine. God, that family.”

“That was some kind of southern gothic thing going on. What was up with the daughters and the dad?”

“Continuing the family line, you know how it is.”

“No, actually, I don’t. I just have a mother. As for my father? That’s still kind of a big mystery to me—and to 2.6 billion other people.”

“Oh, I know who you are.”

“Surprise!”

“L. Ron Hubbard.”

“Nope, but so close! Dial it back about two millennia.”

“Oh come on. I know who you are. I just like to kid around—just like I did with Job and Noah.”

“Noah! That was some treasure hunt you sent him on. Go get seven of every clean animal and two of every unclean animal and cram them on a boat. Fantastic. While he was building the ark, you should have asked him to find a left-handed screwdriver, some turn signal fluid, and the keys to the batter’s box.”

“Yeah, good ol’ Noah. He was a sport. Technically, that particular gag could be considered hazing, but it all worked out for the best.”

“All for the best—except for everyone you drowned in your beta version.”

“Oh well, you always throw out the first pancake. Better to start with a clean slate. Tabula rasa and all that.”

“Well, you and I will probably always disagree about how to treat humanity and deal with their shortcomings.”

“Well, like I said in Proverbs, spare the rod, spoil the child.”

“I like to think that I take a more enlightened approach.”

“Oh, pray tell.”

“Well, personally, I start with the turning of the other cheek, followed by some wholesale forgiveness. I say, suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”

“The kingdom of God is a Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Essentially. But the pizza is much, much better.”

“So who are you again?”

“Stop. You know who I am.”

“Moses.”

“Not quite, but I am touched. Moses was a badass.”

“He was a favorite, I must say. Let my people go! I loved that.”

“And calling down the plagues? Those Egyptian pharaohs had no idea what was going to hit them next. Pa-pow! Bam! Shing!”

“Frogs, flies, boils, locusts—all great stuff. Like an Edgar Allan Poe story. Rivers of blood. Dead livestock. He definitely got the job done.”

“Yep. We took on the Egyptian gods and walked right out of town. As for Ra, Osiris, and Isis? They’re still mad at me.”

“No. Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Especially when we sent most of their worshippers to the bottom of the Red Sea.”

“I loved that. Moses is the GOAT.”

“He walked right out of Egypt to the Promised Land.”

“That’s like a 11-day walk, right?”

“Uh, well—Moses took the scenic tour.”

“But he did make it to Mount Sinai.”

“Exactly. I condensed all the commandments down to ten. Just ten simple rules to follow, so mankind can live in peace and harmony . . .”

“I got my commandments down to two.”

“You only have two commandments in the entire New Testament?”

“Yep. Just two. Love God. Love your neighbor as yourself.”

“Technically, that’s three, but you do make a point. I can see consolidating. Ten does seem excessive.”

“And repetitive. Lots of Thou Shalt’s.”

“It seemed appropriate at the time.”

“Do you think we could get the commandments down to one?”

“Probably. What are you thinking?”

“Just love.”

“Love? Where is the judgment in that?”

“Exactly.”

“You know, I kind of like it.”