The Story of God (3 page)

God walked around the garden, looking for Adam and the woman. (Gen. 3:8) He knew where they were, obviously, but he pretended not to because he wanted to scare them a little. Which he did. (Gen. 3:10) God kicked Adam and Eve (he finally, reluctantly, had allowed Adam to name her) out of the garden, and as they trudged away, looking guilty and ashamed of themselves, God briefly felt sorry for them. He quickly killed some cows, rabbits, and goats, skinned them, and made clothes for his humans. (Gen. 3:21) They
were
bad, but he couldn't help but feel a certain affection for them. “Maybe their children will do better,” he thought, then instantly knew: No, they won't, they'll
never
do any better, they are bad and wicked and evil. This plan would never work. “Is my plan for my plan
not
to work?” he whispered to himself. Did that make sense? Why would he want his own plan to fail? “Because you hate yourself and want to punish yourself,” came a voice from somewhere deep inside him.

God forced himself to think of other things. He watched Adam and Eve exit the garden and enter the “real world” (which was, in fact, not a lot different from the garden. They acted like it was—but it really wasn't.) As Adam and Eve departed, God spoke aloud. “Now that man has become like one of us,” he said, “knowing good and bad, what if he should stretch out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat and live forever?” (Gen. 3:22) God stopped. Wait, what had he just said? “Become like one of
us?”
There was no us, there was only him,
God.
Why did he keep making slips of the tongue like this? It was strange and troubling; it touched on that dark feeling he'd had from the start that there were others around. No. Ridiculous. He was God, the sole creator of the universe and there was no one else around!

But what about that last question he'd asked: “What if he tries to steal from the tree of life and live forever?” There was a tree of life? God didn't remember planting it. Why would he
have planted it? Weren't Adam and Eve going to live forever anyway? Why would they need this “tree of life?” Was it really a tree of life, or was it like the so-called tree of knowledge of good and evil, which, in truth, contained exactly one piece of knowledge: Nudity is shameful. (Gen. 3:11)

The thought of Adam sneaking back into the garden to eat of the tree of life bothered God enough that he decided to station guards around the garden to protect it. These were God's first “angels.” They were muscular men with wings, dressed in short white robes, all of them quite handsome and fit. He gave them swords and also placed a fiery sword in the air, hovering over the garden, which looked quite frightening. (Gen. 3:24) If Adam tried to steal from that tree of life, God told the angels, cut his head off.

Adam and Eve quickly had two sons, Cain and Abel. “With MY help!” God noted—not 100% sure how he had helped. (Gen. 4:1) Cain grew up to be a farmer, Abel a sheepherder. The first time they brought God gifts was a day he would never ever forget. For the first time, God smelled grilled meat. It was the most incredible thing he'd ever experienced—that rich, smoky, mouth-watering aroma. God felt gratitude to Abel for introducing him to something so wonderful.

Cain brought him some fruit and vegetables, but God was so captivated by the barbecue smell of Abel's grilled meat that he didn't thank Cain, or even acknowledge his gift. (Gen. 4:5) This was, in hindsight, a bit rude, God supposed. It wouldn't have been all that difficult to say, “Oh, and this fruit is delicious too, thank you, Cain.” But then again, he was God so it was not rude, it was perfect!

Cain got upset, so God spoke to him. “Why are you upset?” he asked. (Gen. 4:6) He knew the answer, obviously—he always knew the answer; every question he asked was rhetorical in that sense—but he was certainly not going to apologize for liking barbecue so much. Cain didn't respond, he just looked mad. “Sin crouches at the door, waiting for you,” God said to him, then
nodded to himself, pleased. (Gen 4:7) Sometimes he said things that surprised him in bad ways (the “us/our/we” misstatements), but sometimes in good ways. “‘Sin crouches at the door, waiting for you?' Nice imagery, Lord,” he thought to himself.

Cain murdered Abel, exactly as God knew he would. But then—an unforeseen problem arose. There needed to be more children. Cain needed a wife, and there weren't any women on earth except for his mother, Eve, and God thought that was a bad idea. (“His uncle would be his grandson,” he murmured disapprovingly to himself.) Could God magically create a new woman to be Cain's companion? Of course he
could
do that, obviously—but he decided not to. What he decided to do instead was to magically create an entire tribe of people on the other side of the river, one of whom would become Cain's wife. (Briefly, God regretted having killed his proto-man and woman. “I could have used her here,” he noted wryly.)

God started to make the new tribe of people on the other side of the river, then hesitated. They seemed to already be there. That was peculiar. Had he created them at the start without realizing it? Did he not create them at all? Absurd. Of course he'd made them, he'd made everything. He'd simply forgotten when he made them, that was all. Would he create the entire universe and
not
one group of people? No, obviously not.

Still, this was strange. And when Cain quickly went on to form a city—a
city!
—the strangeness deepened. (Gen. 4:17) Again, the thought “Am I a fraud?” flickered across God's mind for an instant before he dismissed it out of hand. “Of course I am not a fraud, I am GOD.”

Several thousand years passed and they weren't pretty. First, angels started sneaking down to earth and having sex with human women, creating half-human, half-angel babies, which God did
not
approve of. Some of them grew to be absolutely gigantic. (Gen. 6:1–4) Thankfully, most of them had heart problems and quickly died off. But that wasn't the real problem. The real problem was this: Humans were bad. They were wicked and evil and did awful, nasty, lawless things. (Gen. 6:11) (“Wait. Can they be doing ‘lawless' things when I haven't given them any ‘laws' yet?” crossed God's mind, but he ignored the question.) Also, they lived close to a thousand years,
far
too long. “Eighty years is
plenty,”
God muttered to himself.

God decided he'd had enough; he'd given the humans a chance and they had failed (as he knew they would, obviously), and now it was time to wipe them all out. He probably should have killed Adam and Eve and started over back then, he now realized. He'd been a patient, tolerant father for a few thousand years, but that was over. “I'll kill everything,” God thought to himself.

But how to do it? He could burn them all up, that would be quick and easy—but it was a little
too
quick, he felt. He wanted the humans to suffer a little for their wickedness. Suddenly, he had an idea. “I will drown them all!” he cried out, a broad smile
crossing his face for the first time in a long time. “I will make it rain for forty straight days and nights and they will all slowly drown.” (Gen. 6:17) It was a simple, elegant plan and God loved it.

But a problem came to mind: How do you drown fish? Not to mention aquatic birds, reptiles, and mammals? Could he drown everything and then, later on, “electrify” the water and fry all those annoying seals and penguins and octopi? In a way, God realized, he would be giving aquatic creatures a huge amount of free food by killing everything else. Why should dolphins be rewarded for the wickedness of mankind? He didn't like the idea one bit, especially when he reflected on the fact that water had been there from the start. What, was he scared of water, intimidated by it, offering up a massive sacrifice of sorts to the giant sea monsters that he knew lurked in the deep?

Nonsense. That was not it, not at all. He simply liked the idea of drowning everything in the world, watching their panicked faces as the water covered their noses and eyes for the last time. And if sea creatures had to benefit in order for that to happen? Well then, so be it. He didn't like it, but he could live with it.

But what about after? God thought to himself. “After I've drowned everything, then what? Should I create two more humans and start over again? Or am I content with a world where sea otters are the most interesting things?” Definitely not. Otters had no ability to love and obey him; they literally didn't even know he existed. Also, he found them aggravating. “Too saucy and full of themselves!” he growled.

God realized he had to leave a few people alive to restart human life. He had to find one good man, that was all. A man he could trust to carry out this most important mission. A man of great strength and character—a truly
good
man.

After a bit of a search, God found a man named Noah who fit the bill perfectly. Noah's father, Lamesh, had killed a child for bruising him, which God heartily approved of. (Gen. 4:23) Noah and his sons Ham, Shem, and Japheth, along with all their
wives—God had no idea what any of the women's names were, nor did he really care (Gen. 7:1); he still didn't much trust or like women—would be the survivors of the flood and relaunch life on earth.

God's plan had gotten off to a rocky start perhaps, but now things were about to get a whole lot better. Yet another benefit of this plan: It would put that annoying meddler Satan to work by giving him
lots
of souls to punish in hell. Or—well, actually, it was called “sheol” at this time, and it wasn't much to talk about, just kind of a grey nothingness—but Satan had recently presented a gorgeous plan, a
magnificent
place of endless punishment for those who did not love God. For now, sheol would have to do, but before long Satan would get a huge influx of souls that he would have to attend to and maybe for once, God thought, “he'll be busy enough to stop irritating me.” (A question crossed God's mind: What would happen to the souls of all the animals who died in the flood? Wait—did they even have souls? How could he not know that? “Because I don't care, that's how! Animals don't care about me?—well, guess what? I don't care about them either.”)

God began to flood the world, dumping huge amounts of rain as well as unleashing giant underground fountains that he had conveniently set up at the start, apparently for this very moment. (Gen. 7:11) It was a glorious forty days: Watching things drown was wonderfully satisfying and, by the time it was over, God had the clean slate he wanted. (Gen. 7:21–23) All the evil and wickedness of mankind had been wiped out. With Noah, his one good man, he could start over, set things straight.

But dammit … it didn't quite work out the way God had planned. Or—it
did,
naturally, it always did. But sometimes his perfect plan—well, it didn't make perfect sense to him.

“Do I not want my plan to work out?” he would briefly wonder, before disregarding that thought. “Of course I want it to work out, but I work in mysterious ways!” That always made God feel better.

Still, it was peculiar. The
one
man who God had handpicked to survive, the one good man on earth, Noah? Well, he turned out to be, to put it bluntly, a drunken asshole. Sure, he was obedient, he never talked back once, he did exactly as he was told. “Is that the only reason I liked him?” God later wondered.
“No.
I also liked that he grilled meat for me as soon as he got off the ark.” (Gen. 8:20–21) God liked that so much, in fact, that he promised never to kill everyone on earth again (Gen. 8:21), which was a lot to promise, but damn that grilled meat smelled
so
good. “In case I forget this promise, Noah,” God had announced, “I will use rainbows as a reminder to myself.” (Gen. 9:13) God dug rainbows. He hadn't “planned” them exactly, they were more a by-product of rain and sunshine—but they were so pretty that they occasionally mesmerized him.

For a moment, sniffing that grilled meat, God considered softening his approach to the humans, dealing with them mainly through rainbows and pleasant breezes and falling stars. “I don't have to be so angry all the time. I can be gentle with them.” Men were not to be harmed, God announced (Gen. 9:6)—feeling a little weird saying that, given that he'd just killed all of mankind, but still—it was that kind of moment.

But as soon as the barbecue was over, what did Noah do? He got so drunk that he fell down, which caused his robes to fly up, which then revealed his penis and balls! (Gen. 9:21) That was bad enough—if there was one thing God could no longer abide, it was having to see
that
stuff, especially on a guy who was six hundred years old! That part of the body simply does not age well at all, God thought. But it got worse. When Noah's son Ham accidentally walked in and saw his father laying there, what did this belligerent old jackass Noah do? He came to and started yelling at Ham, and not just, “How dare you look at my penis?!” (which would have been acceptable to God because looking at penises was bad). No, it went way beyond that—the old man shouted that Ham's unborn son would be a slave. (Gen. 9:25) Which was crazy. Ham inadvertently walked in and saw his
father's penis and now his unborn son was going to be enslaved for it? God thought about scolding Noah for getting so drunk that he fell down. “Don't drink so much, Noah,” he considered saying. “Or if you do, wear undergarments.”

But he didn't, because … well, he'd already stated that Noah was a good man (Gen. 6:9) and how would it look if he turned on him now? “He wasn't actually a good man, I was wrong.” God couldn't say
that.
First of all, he wasn't wrong. Even if his plans sometimes didn't make sense to him, they were still perfect. He
knew
that. No, he would stick with Noah. So what if the only words God ever heard him speak were drunken, belligerent nonsense? Nakedness was a shameful, disgraceful thing. True, Ham had not “meant” to see his father naked, it was probably the last thing he wanted to see—probably, but not definitely. After all, homosexuality had been rampant in the world God had just inundated with water. Maybe Ham was a secret, incestuous homosexual? Could he prove he wasn't?