I have this theory that has absolutely no basis in fact, whatsoever. It’s just a notion I drummed up in my head one very long day ago. It’s not even theologically sound. Let’s just say it makes about as much sense as the Big Bang theory.
So indulge me, if you will. If not go have a beer and tell the bartender what a nut job you think I am.
I think God is mad at his mama.
Oh. I know there is no real evidence anywhere that God had a mama. But then again, some folks think God is just an imaginary friend of the weak-minded.
God claims he always was, and always will be, and we can count on that. (Doesn’t that just sound like something a man would tell a woman, about six months before he quits showing up?)
I believe the reason the world is so messed up is because God is acting out his frustrations toward his mama on the rest of us women. How else do you explain menstruation, childbirth and menopause? Name me one thing — just one — in a man’s life that is comparable to any of that.
See what I mean?
As far as I’m concerned that’s proof positive God is holding a grudge against his mama. Ask any mother you know — there is nothing worse than a son in a pout. Unless it’s a husband in one. What God needs in the worst way is therapy. Better yet, what he really needs to do is to honor his mama the way he’s always telling us to do.
I suppose God’s mama has no one to blame but herself for all this. What was she thinking going around treating her boy like he was the Alpha and Omega, like the sun rose and set on him, as if he hung the moon? Is it any wonder God goes about acting all high and mighty?
God’s mama gave him a bad case of the big-head. Who else do you know who goes around saying “I am the great I am.” Okay. Well, yes, Donald Trump. You’ve got a point there. I imagine it’s even more difficult being his wife, don’t you?
I suppose it’s not easy being God’s mother. It’s annoying dealing with anybody who thinks they are perfect all the time. And that fascination of God’s with snakes must’ve driven his mama apesht.
But what could she do? Giving God the stink-eye has never worked. Tell me, exactly how is a mother supposed to discipline a son who thinks he’s got the whole world in his hands?
You know what I think God is mad at his mama over?
I think she told him to get up off his behinney and quit procrastinating all the time.
“God, I done told you, now, I’ve had enough of you and those thunder-thigh cherubims you been running around with. The phone has been ringing off the hook! The same whiney people calling day in and day out, wanting to know when you are going to fix this mess you done made. I’m telling you right now if you and your good-for-nothing homies don’t do something about this lickety-quick, you can take your camel, and your devil-may-care attitude and go find some other tent to trash! I love you, but I be dadgum if I’m going to let you get all the praise when I do all the work around here, picking up after you all the time like some Hebrew slave.”
That’s when the real falling out occurred. All this time God’s been putting the blame on Satan, and you wonder where Adam learned the blame-game.
Listen, it’s really none of my business, but it occurs to me that if Johnny Cash and his mama can get along, shouldn’t God and his mama iron out their differences?
Isn’t it about time God put this grudge to rest?
Go on, now, God. Be a good boy. Tell your mama you’re sorry, and give her some flowers.
For Jesus’s sake.
And ours, too.