Last week God got drunk and shouted “To Hell with this world I created! I’m tired of the whole mess and sick of all the whining.”
He sang three songs with dirty lyrics before He fell into a drunken stupor of sleep. He pissed his pants and woke up angry and spiteful.
That’s usually a bad thing for Creation. God’s malicious when He’s hung over and in a snit. And He has no conscience because He’s God.
God gets drunk every now and then and neglects things. You know what I mean: World War II, babies with cancer, people’s pain…
What did you expect from God? We created Him in our own image, typically a big, bearded, muscular dude who looks like grandfather.
Grandfather got drunk maybe once a month, sometimes more often, and if we create a deity based on grandpa, He’s going to do the same.
Why else would God have created grapes and barley? Why would He have built this human race clever enough to assemble a distillery?
War, disease, famine, suffering, depression, loneliness. We insist it’s all part of God’s mysterious plan, but it’s not in the least mysterious.
We don’t want to admit that a cryptic part of His plan is to get drunk every now and then and let everything in Creation fall to pieces.
One of God’s favorite games, when He’s been drinking, is to goad people into hating one another. That’s His idea of good entertainment.
You know the game “My God is better than yours!” With variations: “My country is better than yours!” “My race is better than yours!”
He can’t help Himself. We made him into a God with human foibles. He tips back a few and enjoys war and sucker punches and football.
Theologians tell us there have been more than 4,000 religions since humans first stood upright, picked up a club, and needed a god.
Most of those tribal lays have created a god or assortment of gods who were as weak-willed as humans and took a drink every now and then.
That does not fit the persona of current gods because people tend to emulate their deities, and people who get drunk act in horrible ways.
Our God is kind and good and does not tolerate acting in horrible ways. Nor war, disease, famine, misery, babies with cancer, and people’s pain.
To make sense of it all we need Bacchus handing out the grape and barley brews to our gods who go into an occasional frenzy of madness.
Because if we believe in a grandfatherly God we can blame his hideous behaviors on the misfortune that He gets drunk every now and then.