Sunday, March 26, 2017

Dear God

Dear God
Why did you make me so unlike you?
Why did you hand me this body
    that itches and hungers and breaks out in panics?
Why did you weight me with gravity
    to bring me down each time I strive 

    to rise up?

Oh God, couldn't you have made me

    more like your angels,
    light-filled and tuneful, free-floating and serene?
Couldn't you have given me clouds and a harp?

Why, dear God, did you deliver me into temptation?
    (And please not that story again about Eve and the snake 

    and free will: there's nothing free about will!)
Why, to give just one example, 

    did you plant in me the taste for chocolate
When you must know how bad it is
    for my waistline, hips and teeth?
Why give me these endless, raging cravings?
    They do my head in God, they really do.

Why, with that all-powerful power at your disposal,
    and the infinite wisdom,
    and the boundless mercy,
    and the heaven knows what else,
Why then, dear All Mighty God, didn't you get it right?

What, I must ask you, dear God, was the point
    of putting the aptitude for hate into my heart?
    plus cruelty, jealousy, envy, greed - and all the rest -
    all variations on the same hateful theme
Why God, why? How could that possibly help anyone?

Why, Lord God, did you set me up 
    to be forever your slave,
    begging for forgiveness,
    praying to be better and more worthy,
    to be cleansed, to be made whole,
    to be liberated from 
    all the fears and failings that afflict me?

Why did you make me Catholic, oh sweet Lord?
What possessed you to fill my soul with this wretched guilt?

Was it all a big mistake, dear God? Is that even possible?
    Or did you think it would make a juicy story,
    a lifetime of entertainment guaranteed?
    (Well, I guess you were right there:
    no shortage of drama or thrills in this human saga).

Dear God, 
I know, I know, I know,
I am a dreadful whinger,
I know you've heard these questions 
    like, a million times before -
    and from all your minions, not just me;
You must be so weary Lord, 
    of our selfish insults and our loud laments;
I can't believe you relish hearing all the moaning
    all the gnashing of teeth 
    and the beating of breast
You must be sick to death of the lot of us.

If you had only made us perfect, God, 
If you had only built transcendence into our DNA 
We'd now be in a galaxy of wall-to-wall beauty
    and non-stop peace:
Life would be the dream we love to dream.

And so I put it to you God, 
    Our Lord and Saviour, 
    most respectfully:
        Will you not relent?

And at risk of grave impertinence, 
    dear God, most divine, 
    I do beseech you:
        Please, will you repent?

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