Rite of Ways

"Don't give me that 'mysterious ways' bullshit."

"To be fair, it's my favorite U2 song."

"Yeah, but as far as theology goes, it's a cop-out."

"I agree. I've never quoted the cliché to my congregation."

"Oh, bullshit. No way."

"Truth."

"Yeah, well. Okay, riddle me this, padre."

"Shoot."

"Why would God do terrible things?"

"Does He, though?"

"Oh, okay, so He's not guilty, but far from fucking innocent."

"He Is What He Is."

"That's almost as bad as the mysterious ways bit."

"Yeah, but He said so Himself. Exodus 3:14, 'I Am Who I Am.' I didn't make that one up."

"Great, sure, okay. Somebody did, but listen. You heard about the guy who used to live in the villa, right?"

"The spot that looks like a cartel mansion?"

"Exactly."

"Yes, I saw on the news where a tornado flattened his outbuilding with him inside, but he was uninjured."

"And his dog. And it was an airplane hangar. In his back yard."

"Right."

"The guy was so rich he had an airplane hangar in his backyard, padre. Did he tithe?"

"He wasn't Catholic."

"Hmm. Anyway, sure. A miracle. His airplane had its wings clipped, the steel structure was in ruins, but there he was. Grinning on the nightly news, holding his little schnauzer, or whatever."

"I think it was a Pekinese."

"Whatever. Little fancy dog."

"Right."

"It was a miracle! He said. Thank God! He said."

"I recall. It made national news."

"So did you hear what happened later?"

"I don't think so, no."

"He was killed."

"You mean he died?"

"No, I mean he was killed. Made dead. Unalived."

"Murdered?"

"In a way, yes."

"Hmm. Go on."

"So there he was, minding his own business. Tornado was old news, he got himself a new airplane and rebuilt his little hangar. He was rockin' right along with his little hacienda (what the fuck DID he do for a living, anyway?)"

"I think he was a dot-com bubble winner."

"Sure. Whatever. Okay, so there he was in his yahoo dot com Spanish villa, not going to your church, living his best post-dorothy-goes-to-oz life, when he decides to take a trip over to his buddy's house or maybe the grocery store or whatever. Gets in his not-too-flashy ride and pulls up behind a couple of little old ladies in a stranded car."

"Oh, wait, I think I did hear about this, but I didn't realize it was the hacienda guy."

"So anyway, these little old ladies are in a shitty Geo that has decided to stall out on railroad tracks, of all places. I mean, what are the odds, right? It's, like, two feet of roadway in the MILES of streets somebody drives in a day."

"Closer to five feet."

"Hey, you fuckin this monkey, or am I?"

"You ever consider that you're in a church office?"

"You ever consider that I don't have to go to this church?"

"...go on."

"Yeah. Stand there and hold the tail while I wrap this up. So he parks his truck, walks up to lend a hand, and he's trying to get the car started. Hood popped and everything, he's all connecting wires and whatnot. Checking fluids or whatever. Only the thing is, where they're parked, it's on a blind curve of railroad."

"With no crossing arm or warning lights."

"Exactly. Not even a horn to sound the locomotive."

"So the train hits them."

"So the train comes around the corner, just like it does every day, only on THAT day, it was fifteen minutes early. Probably because they were running at a faster speed than normal, which put them ahead of schedule. One of the old ladies lived, that's how we know what happened with this whole story."

"What about his dog?"

"Jesus, padre. That's your takeaway?"

"Just curious."

"Dog was in the truck. Far as I know, he's a happy and healthy mutt with a new master."

"So you want to know why God would spare him to then let him die on the railroad tracks."

"Not really, no. Well, maybe a little? I mean, I think I know the answer. God doesn't give a shit."

"God is Love."

"So is a steak and a blowjob, but somebody has to pay a price. Especially the cow."

"I don't think that's what love means."

"Padre, I don't think we're the guy. I don't think we're the old ladies stuck in the car. I mean, they obviously were who they were, but I'm speaking metaphorically, here. I think God is the train, and we're that fucking dog that's left to just watch the center of our universe crumble and turn to red paste on an arbitrary stretch of old steel and county road, helpless and voiceless without a fucking vote."

"So you think God is a speeding locomotive."

"And we're just pets hoping for a good master when our last one gets flattened."

"How can God be our master, if He's a train?"

"Maybe the God we need is a warm bed, a full belly, a headscratch, and somebody who doesn't kick us. Instead, what we get is 100 tons of I-don't-give-a-fuck rolling towards us when our great boss tries to help little old ladies get out of the road. Then the best we can hope for is a not-shitty boss."

"Is it too late to drop the mysterious ways line?"

"I think maybe there is nothing more important in the world than knowing that He moves how He wants, and we better get out of His way."