A Short Muse on Churches

I'm not a religious man, but I love churches. They say it's where God lives. If I were God, it's the kind of house I'd have. Only, with less seating. I don't cherish a lot of company. A stray sinner or two with a nice bottle of wine would do it for me. And no kneeling benches. The sight of people kneeling before me would leave me feeling too important. My God is a humble sort. I'd have hammocks strewn about where folks could have a lie-down. I'd want my worshipers to be comfortable.

No. Worshipers is the wrong word. Only false idols have worshipers. And they're mostly dopey teenagers. I would have appraisers. I'd simply want people to come and appraise me. To tell me how I'm doing. Good or bad. To rant and rave when I've rained too hard on their lives. And to cheer me on when I’ve brought you some lovely weather or a newborn babe. Despite all His faults, and God has many, creating man in His own image was a major fault. His vanity must have gotten the better of Him. My God would have made you all kangaroos. But once the damage was done He couldn't seem to get rid of us. No matter how hard He tried. We're like cockroaches. But I digress. Let's get back to churches. I like churches.

Churches have lovely acoustics. Great for singing. And I do like to sing. Whether anyone thinks I can or not is of no importance. It's the act itself. The simple joy of singing can get me out of the lowest of doldrums. Put a guitar in my hand and the package is complete. I feel in control and at peace.

While we’re on the subject of churches, I’d do something about the statues. Too many relatives and acquaintances if you ask me. Saint-this-guy and saint-that-guy. Shameless nepotism. Me? I’d have statues of some of my best work: Mark Twain and Louis Armstrong, for instance. One who tells it like it is with words and the other with a horn, and a voice that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I always turn to those two when I want to set the world right in my head. There are others, but those two will do for now.

Also, I would rid my church of confessionals. My God would have a sign posted at the door that reads:

Leave your shame at the door.
You’ve been pardoned.
Love,
God

And wouldn’t that be a lovely way for a God to behave?