Bark, The Herald Angels Sing

I wouldn't mind believing in God.

I say this because people troubled by my lack of faith seem to think I'm just being stubborn. I could really believe in God if I wanted to, they seem to think. They seem to believe. Like I have a button on me that says FAITH. All I need to do is press it, and, VIOLA, I'm religious.

The closest thing I have to a button is this unsightly mole on my back. If I ever get some extra cash, I think I'll have it removed.

It would be much easier to believe in God if there was, like, a God. If you want to believe something exists, if kind of helps to have it, like, exist.

I'm not saying there is no God. I'm just saying if he, or it, were right here right now, in front of me, where I could see and hear him, it would go a long way toward making me believe in him, or it.

Some think God is going to punish me for my agnosticism (See? I didn't say atheism. I'm not that far gone.) I've never understand this whole idea of God punishing someone for not believing in him, or it. If someone didn't believe I could talk, I wouldn't punish them for it. I would just talk. That person would would be converted faster than you could say "road to Damascus". Actually, faster than you could say "Damascus" all by itself. Or "road". Or "to". I suppose once that person was convinced I could talk, they'd ask for my forgiveness for ever doubting me. My reply to that? No forgiveness necessary. I've always been on the quiet side, so it's understandable someone might make that mistake.

There are those who will say that if I just prayed, or took a leap of faith, or opened up my heart and looked inside, I would know God exists. But why go through so much trouble? I mean, there are a lot of things I know exist because they have the virtue of existing. The keyboard on which I type I know exists, as well as this chair that I'm sitting on, and the library I'm sitting and typing in. And for all you grammarians out there, I also know that proposition that ended the preceding sentence exists. I just couldn't figure out any other way of ending it.

Of course, all those things I just mentioned are man-made, including the proposition. Especially the proposition. But God is more intangible than that,
you say. You have to look beyond material things. OK, fine. Let's move away from material things to nature. Beyond taking a stroll through the Cleveland Metroparks, I've never been one much for communing with nature. But nature at least exists. The Cleveland Metroparks exists. The plants exist. The trees exist. The scrunched up condom in the middle of the bike path exists (scratch the last one. We're back to material things.)

Some of you will say, "Can't you see God in nature?" I don't want to see God in nature. I want to see God like I see nature. I mentioned trees. Why can't God exist like a tree exists?

I don't have to pray to know a tree exists. It's there.

I don't have to take a leap of faith to know a tree exists. It's there.

I don't have to open up my heart and look inside to know a tree exists. It's there.

I don't have to eat wafers, light candles, light incense, pass the plate, clap my hands, bathe in the Ganges River, bow to Mecca, dance around a totem pole, or shave my head and wave a tambourine at the airport to know a tree exists.

It's there.

I can touch it, climb it, stand under it, pull twigs off of it, hang a tire and swing from it, chop it down, or take too much cough medicine and drive my car into it. Empirical proof of the tree's existence.

So, God, if you do exist and want to prove it to me; in fact, even if you don't
want me to prove it to me (I mean, I don't think the keyboard, chair, library, or scrunched up condom cares one way or another in their repective existences) make yourself obvious to me.

As obvious as a tree.

I'm waiting.

Hmmm.

OK, how about a sapling?