gotten extra credit in our Homiletics class, too,” one said, looking disappointed. “And a definite ‘A.’”
“Get an ‘A’ by doing you lessons and studying hard,” I scolded, “not by trying to unlawfully capture de Almighty.”
“But God is wanted in every state!” one of the youths protested.
“He’s a fugitive from justice!”
“He’s on the run from the Feds!”
“You still can’t come here and think to capture God without getting a bitch lick from patriotic Jamaicans. Now go ’bout you business and leave de Almighty alone.”
They turned, shuffled partway down the woodland trail, paused, and hurried back looking hopeful.
“Do you think you could drop-kick me again?” one of them asked.
“Me, too,” the other seconded. “That was the most fun.”
“No. I don’t drop-kick tourists. Dat is harassment.”
“We don’t mind being harassed!”
“I said no! Idle brutes! Go ’bout you business!”
Why was Almighty God wanted in America? What law did He break, and how dare the American government encourage its citizens to travel to Jamaica and try to capture the Creator?
I asked God one day after we’d enjoyed a brisk river swim and were sitting on the banks sunning ourselves, but He shrugged and said there were basic differences between Him and the Americans, that they had sent umpteen delegations to Him, arguing that a hell was needed, that common decency demanded celestial pain and suffering.
“Pain and suffering?” I asked, amazed. “Dey want you to put pain and suffering in heaven?”
Yes, God said, and they were quite dogmatic about it, too. They wanted to hang a criminal and make him stay hanged, with a broken neck that hurt like the dickens even in the afterlife. They wanted bombing that would make the bombees bawl bloody murder. They especially hated the three universal laws of heaven.
I asked God please to explain these universal laws.
He numbered them for me, and I write them down in the exact words of the Almighty’s thoughts that flowed into my brain that afternoon on the river bank.
Law 1: Water shalt find its own level.
Law 2: Thou shalt feel good no matter what.
Law 3: Thou cannot capture the Lord thy God.
After the Almighty was finished, I asked for clarification of meaning.
“What it mean dat water find its own level?”
God replied that if thou was a wretch, a lowdown thief, a-nasty and unrepentant dog, thou wouldst find other thief and-dog of thy bosom to cleave to and keep thy company in heaven and wouldst not have to consort with well-spoken clerks and sanctimonious churchgoers while pining for the companionship of other dirty-minded thief and dog.
“So dog and thief can walk together and make each odder happy. Hallelujah! Give praise! What law two mean?”
That law, God said, meant that no matter what thou doest in heaven, whether thou shouldst buck thy toe on a rockstone or fall off a mountaintop and break thy neck, thou wouldst find the experience sweet, wouldst feel no pain, ache, injury, hurt, discomfort, or twinge in thy bones, for thou wouldst be always blessedly happy in heaven.
I digested for a moment the meaning of this powerful law, for it explained why even a busted head in heaven was pure bliss and delight.
“And law three?”
That one was easy, said God, for that meant that thou couldst move heaven and earth with thy science and industry, but no matter what thou didst, thou wouldst not be able to capture, lay hands on, extradite, or repatriate the Lord thy God, no matter whether thou tried obeah or butterfly net—thy God was immune to thy perversions of capture.
“God,” I asked, after a long moment of ingestion and digestion, “how come you talking so funny?”
God laughed and asked if He was putting on an American twang. I said no, He didn’t have a twang, but He was “thying”
and “thouing” and “theeing” up the whole place.
He said He was sorry, but whenever He talked religion, “thou” and “thy” and
“Get an ‘A’ by doing you lessons and studying hard,” I scolded, “not by trying to unlawfully capture de Almighty.”
“But God is wanted in every state!” one of the youths protested.
“He’s a fugitive from justice!”
“He’s on the run from the Feds!”
“You still can’t come here and think to capture God without getting a bitch lick from patriotic Jamaicans. Now go ’bout you business and leave de Almighty alone.”
They turned, shuffled partway down the woodland trail, paused, and hurried back looking hopeful.
“Do you think you could drop-kick me again?” one of them asked.
“Me, too,” the other seconded. “That was the most fun.”
“No. I don’t drop-kick tourists. Dat is harassment.”
“We don’t mind being harassed!”
“I said no! Idle brutes! Go ’bout you business!”
Why was Almighty God wanted in America? What law did He break, and how dare the American government encourage its citizens to travel to Jamaica and try to capture the Creator?
I asked God one day after we’d enjoyed a brisk river swim and were sitting on the banks sunning ourselves, but He shrugged and said there were basic differences between Him and the Americans, that they had sent umpteen delegations to Him, arguing that a hell was needed, that common decency demanded celestial pain and suffering.
“Pain and suffering?” I asked, amazed. “Dey want you to put pain and suffering in heaven?”
Yes, God said, and they were quite dogmatic about it, too. They wanted to hang a criminal and make him stay hanged, with a broken neck that hurt like the dickens even in the afterlife. They wanted bombing that would make the bombees bawl bloody murder. They especially hated the three universal laws of heaven.
I asked God please to explain these universal laws.
He numbered them for me, and I write them down in the exact words of the Almighty’s thoughts that flowed into my brain that afternoon on the river bank.
Law 1: Water shalt find its own level.
Law 2: Thou shalt feel good no matter what.
Law 3: Thou cannot capture the Lord thy God.
After the Almighty was finished, I asked for clarification of meaning.
“What it mean dat water find its own level?”
God replied that if thou was a wretch, a lowdown thief, a-nasty and unrepentant dog, thou wouldst find other thief and-dog of thy bosom to cleave to and keep thy company in heaven and wouldst not have to consort with well-spoken clerks and sanctimonious churchgoers while pining for the companionship of other dirty-minded thief and dog.
“So dog and thief can walk together and make each odder happy. Hallelujah! Give praise! What law two mean?”
That law, God said, meant that no matter what thou doest in heaven, whether thou shouldst buck thy toe on a rockstone or fall off a mountaintop and break thy neck, thou wouldst find the experience sweet, wouldst feel no pain, ache, injury, hurt, discomfort, or twinge in thy bones, for thou wouldst be always blessedly happy in heaven.
I digested for a moment the meaning of this powerful law, for it explained why even a busted head in heaven was pure bliss and delight.
“And law three?”
That one was easy, said God, for that meant that thou couldst move heaven and earth with thy science and industry, but no matter what thou didst, thou wouldst not be able to capture, lay hands on, extradite, or repatriate the Lord thy God, no matter whether thou tried obeah or butterfly net—thy God was immune to thy perversions of capture.
“God,” I asked, after a long moment of ingestion and digestion, “how come you talking so funny?”
God laughed and asked if He was putting on an American twang. I said no, He didn’t have a twang, but He was “thying”
and “thouing” and “theeing” up the whole place.
He said He was sorry, but whenever He talked religion, “thou” and “thy” and
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