I wonder what would happen if God reached down from His celestial pedestal and touched the world. What might occur? I suppose the world would shake, and tremble, and grow still in the glory of His light. No, that is what the ancients, and the prophets, and the mystics say would happen. But as for me, I have my own theory.


Maybe we live in a large rubber ball. One that, when prodded, would sink in slightly at the site of contact and then bound joyously back into place. “Oh darn!” God would mutter very un-deity like. Why did I create the world this way? He would wonder. Well the world is round, and we, the imperfect humans, run pell-mell within it like rodents on a wheel. We scuttle and cluster, and then reappear in masses. All the while God tries to touch the world. But our atmosphere protects us. It protects us from gravity and the sun’s harmful rays, but unfortunately, God forgot to put an “emergency escape” door in one side so that he could open it and peer in every once in a while. I imagine He is running behind our large rubber ball now, which bounds gaily down Mt. Olympus, and all the while he has no idea that he has missed two world wars and the Monica Lewinsky scandal. Soon the world lands at the bottom of the giant mountain, a little breathless from the chaotic flight, and God sits beside it on a stone bench. He fingers a large pencil pensively in his hands. Then poising the point just perfectly, he readies himself, and goes in for the kill. “Pmp!” squeaks the pencil point pathetically, as it is sent careening across the room, repelled by the impenetrable rubber. God’s pensive visage has now been replaced by one of pure fury, and he gets up with purpose and heads off to his personal supply shop. Emerging with a flamethrower, he contemplates the effects of burning the contemptible ball in one blow. “Now, dear, would that be a wise thing to do?” asks God’s wife knowingly. “No dear,” God mumbles, being reluctantly brought back to His senses. “You spent 7 whole days creating that world, maybe you should have thought of using plastic wrap instead of rubber...its far less resilient you know..” trailed off God’s wife. This was the age old regret, especially now that those 7 days were long gone. God put the flame thrower back with a menacing glare in his wife’s direction, but she just shook her head, her frustration having been replaced with placid acceptance. He was back to square one, and didn’t know if a massive flood could wipe out his problems this time. All the while, the little humans bounce around in the little ball, safe in their rubber world, wishing that God could come down and touch them. But clearly, this would require more planning. To this day, God sits on his stone bench, writing and re-writing new strategies for opening the determinedly closed world that he created so long ago. I am assured that he puts all of his efforts into these plans, although once, I do recall hearing him say, “Well, that’s enough of that, I guess I’ll move on to Mars…”