The New Yorker is not noted for theology, especially my favorite feature "Shouts and Murmurs." I read one recently that was in really bad taste but it, to me, was reminiscent of the nature of God.
It starts out with a guy walking into a bar and discovering a one foot tall man in a little tuxedo playing a little grand piano. The guy asks the bartender what gives and the bartender says there's a genie in the men's room who grants wishes.
But, the bartender went on to explain, the genie is hard of hearing. "Do you think I asked for a 12 inch pianist?"
The story goes on. It's long and convoluted. The bartender turns out to be depressed. The little pianist comforts him with his sonatas. And he brings in business.
In the end they discover that the genie isn't hard of hearing at all. He just knew what the bartender really needed.
What does this have to do with the nature of God?
Did you ever ask God for something you thought you wanted but it was a really stupid wish - and what you received wasn't anything like you ever even thought about but it was the best thing that could have happened to you?
I have.
***
It starts out with a guy walking into a bar and discovering a one foot tall man in a little tuxedo playing a little grand piano. The guy asks the bartender what gives and the bartender says there's a genie in the men's room who grants wishes.
But, the bartender went on to explain, the genie is hard of hearing. "Do you think I asked for a 12 inch pianist?"
The story goes on. It's long and convoluted. The bartender turns out to be depressed. The little pianist comforts him with his sonatas. And he brings in business.
In the end they discover that the genie isn't hard of hearing at all. He just knew what the bartender really needed.
What does this have to do with the nature of God?
Did you ever ask God for something you thought you wanted but it was a really stupid wish - and what you received wasn't anything like you ever even thought about but it was the best thing that could have happened to you?
I have.
***
