I have four arms.
That is a very bold statement, I know. Nevertheless, I am telling you, as a simple matter of fact, that I have four arms. There are the two that are obvious, that you can see and touch, but there are also two others that you cannot perceive through normal means. Only a chosen few can see them, and I choose who those few are. I will not tell you if you are among them.
I have four arms and I use the extra arms to make things easier for certain people to reach things or scratch their backs. These people do not always know that I am helping them, but I am. Sometimes people catch the barest glimpse of something moving out of the corner of their eye; something they can’t explain. That’s me. If you’ve experienced anything like that, then you need no further proof of the fact that I have two extra arms. Go with your feelings. They ring true and are therefore all the proof you need.
Should you require further proof, please re-read the previous paragraphs. They tell the whole story. As you can see, I’ve written it all down for you. I labeled it as truth; therefore, it is true, and if anyone tries to tell you otherwise, they obviously cannot see the extra arms and are jealous of those who can. Don’t trust them. Don’t listen to them. They don’t love you. I do. My extra arms are hugging you right now. Can you feel them? I bet you can.
I have four arms. You don’t need to see them; you must only believe in them to make them real for you. You must trust that they exist, or they can’t help you reach things. I can absolutely guarantee that if you want to grab something and you raise your hand and reach for it, and you stretch your arm to its limit, stand on tippy-toes if you have to, and believe that my invisible arms are helping you, you will grab whatever it is you’re reaching for. If it doesn’t work, however, if you just can’t seem to reach that jar of peanut butter that’s on the top shelf, or that tin of sterno in the back of a drawer, it simply means you are not trying hard enough to make my invisible arms real for you. Of course, it could also mean that I don’t want you to eat that peanut butter. I’m only looking out for you because I love you. Otherwise, there’d be no problem with me grabbing that jar for you.
Okay. I’ve beaten this horse to death, I think. You get it. There is not a single person reading this harboring any illusions that I might be telling the truth. You all know that I do not have invisible arms. If anyone in the room you happen to be in right now were to suggest that I might be telling the truth about my arms, the rest of you can laugh them out of the room. And yet, these same sorts of claims are being made by every televangelist, preacher, and Sunday school teacher every day all over the country and everything they say is considered the absolute truth by at least fifty percent of the people listening to them at any given time.
I find it fascinating that if you adhere to any religion, then, you must believe that every other religion in the world is wrong but yours. The degree to which you might believe this varies from religion to religion, but it will be there. You might laugh when it is explained to you that the African God Mbombo vomited up the sun, moon, and stars, and after the sun had evaporated the waters on earth enough to make clouds and land, he vomited up the rest of the things that live on earth. When you are done laughing, you will then turn around and patiently explain, as if to a child, that God – – your God – spoke the world into existence in six days and had to rest on the seventh. And you will see nothing wrong with this picture.
Protestants scoff at Catholics who worship and pray to the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, but they totally believe the entire virgin birth story, based solely on the writings in a two-thousand-year-old book with no clearer claim to validity than Aesop’s Fables or Gulliver’s travels.
Proof. That’s all I’m asking for. Evidence. You can make any claim you want. You can believe anything you want. But if you want to convince me, if you want me to lay down my nets and follow you, you’re going to have to supply some proof.
Do you know what is funny? To someone who is religious, my earlier statement sounds silly. What makes me think that I can ask God for proof of his existence? What gives me the right? Well, I’m not asking God for anything. if you are claiming to have some kind of knowledge about the will of God, or even of his existence, I’m demanding proof from you. God is not making claims, you are. And if you’re making amazing claims, then I’m going to need amazing proof. If you say, “I go to church every Sunday.” I see no reason not to believe you. Good for you. But if you say, “I go to church every Sunday and speak directly to the supreme creator of all things and he answers me all the time,” then you’re going to have to back that up. You should at least be driving a better car.
And you had better be prepared for my incredulity. If we can both laugh at the silliness of Xenu, the scientologist’s three-trillion-year-old warrior God responsible for the creation of humanity, then you cannot be surprised when I laugh at your belief that If I confess that Christ was risen from the dead I will live forever in perfect bliss and joy. To me, it’s all the same thing. Myths and stories, interesting, thought-provoking, funny, sad, whatever, but not truth.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a wicked itch right in the small of my back that can only be reached by one of my invisible arms.
Amen.