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God’s Final Interview

In an imagined “final interview” with God, a man must face the reality of wars made in the name of God.

“So, it’s…You?”

“It is I.”

“Wow. God. Wait a minute—-should I be bowing, kneeling? I…”

God interrupts. “What do your warriors say? ‘At ease,’ son.”

“OK. Thanks. So…I…made it?”

God flips what looks like a large limb back and forth. “We’re still working on that.”


“One—-how did they say it around your office?—’final interview.'”

“God, did I do…something? I tried to live a good life. I took care of my family, loved my kids and wife, took them regularly to church. OK. There was this one time. God, you saw her. She was built like a….”

“If I jammed you all up for those sins—” God turns behind God, behind a gate where people stroll—”this joint would be empty.”

Guy wipes his brow. “Whew. So then God, why the, uh,…”

God turns back to Guy. “Final interview?”

“Yes, sir. Or should I say Ma’am? No offense, it’s hard to tell.” Guy was going to mention the shadow on the face too—with nothing around to create one—but he doesn’t.

God raises what appears to be God’s eyebrows. “Lot of war down there, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me, God?”

“War. Lot of killing. A lot in my name.”

“God, I never harmed anyone.”

“You supported it.”

“We saw them as being against what you’d want.”

“How so?”

“They called you something else.”

“So you did it for country—something you devised, killed others over, to then support as ‘patriotism’?”
“But isn’t that in the Bible—-where you’ve ordered the slaying of nations?”

“The what?—-Oh, those old guys who said I talked to them? Great beards but—-look, you do know I don’t have favorites, right?—-that I’ve not ‘chosen’ one over others?”

“God, they’ve killed, mistreat their women.”

“You may have noticed you weren’t in the room alone. Did you see that photo of a baby’s head being blown off, his father holding him? It was on your internet. Great contraption, by the way.”

“Well,” Guy drops his eyes, “yes.”

For the first time God raises God’s voice: “YOU THINK I ORDERED THAT?”

Guy’s shaking. “But they were firing rockets—indiscriminately.”

“Would this be after their land was taken?” God’s calm again.

“God, that fight has been going on for thousands of years…”

“Thousands of what?—-Oh, you allude to those nincompoops on your TV who say they speak for me too. Great show, some of them. But how do I say this succinctly? They don’t.” A child behind them peers through the gate, calls out to God, waves. God waves back. “You see he’s whole now.”

“God—I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“The interview is over.” God claps large limbs and the man who brought Guy to God materializes. Guy had wondered where the man—-someone no taller than what he’d call a midget—had gone. “He’ll take you back. I’ll decide and he’ll bring you before me again.”

“God, it’s hot in that room.”

“I know, son, I know.”

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