No Go Zone

Who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen. (1 Timothy 6:16)

It must get lonely sometimes being God. There you are, burning in all your glory like a gazillion watt bulb, and nobody can stop by for a visit. The doorbell rings, you answer, and your wannabe guest is vaporized. You’ve tried a personal rheostat, but even on dim you can melt a galaxy if you’re not careful. It ain’t easy being deity.

And there are all these people you made. You hoped they could figure out the God thing, but since they couldn’t see you they were slow to catch on. You had to do a few sideshows to get their attention, but even those, as mild as you thought they were, tended to scare the crap out of them. So you sent some prophets their way, but that was a bust from the start. First of all, those guys were human too, which meant that they were as unreliable as the other dweebs you were trying to communicate with. Besides, being human, the prophets definitely had small hard drives. You had to simplify yourself so much it almost always came out weird, too much compression or something.  All those visions with lampstands and statues and locusts and such—they only served to confuse folks. The prophets didn’t appreciate a lot of your attempts at creative expression either. In the end, that whole revelatory enterprise sort of sucked, though you did manage to eek a nice book out of it.

Finally, after a few thousand years of frustration, you decided to go for the full-blown incarnation thing. You’d been mulling it over for, like, forever, but it never seemed like the right time. There would be lots of prep work to do beforehand, what with more prophets to hire, angels to rehearse, astronomical adjustments to make, homicidal kings to put in place, donkey’s to reserve—that kind of thing. Besides, funneling yourself into human form would be very tricky. I mean, how do you take an immortal, infinite being that cannot be seen and stuff all that into a clump of mud that’s 60% water? You suspect that even if you could pull that off (you are, after all, God), the resulting disguise would probably last only 30 years or so. (And even then you almost blew yourself up once on that mountain. Peter, James, and John were that close to being UV’d into oblivion.) It would be a close call no matter what.

But then, after the messiah stint, you’re right back at square one: the glory is at full throttle and a whole mess of humans are planning on moving in and staying forever. You like the idea of company (you’ve always been a multiple person kind of supreme being), but now for sure you’ve got to give them something to look at. Even for you the angels get boring after a while, and you can only keep everybody occupied with sing-alongs for so long. What are you going to do for the rest of eternity?

In the end you’re just going to have to break it to them. You are too freaking God not to be God. You’ll have to refract yourself through the Boy, who is flaring out impressively and could himself burn a few retinas if he’s not careful. As for you, you’re going to be living in the filament on full dazzle. That’s just the way it is when you’re as out there as they come. It’s as good as you can do.

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