A higher authority’s views

I was working in the gazebo on a morning as sweet as heaven when a glowing bald man in a white robe floated by on the quiet street that edges our property.

While glowing bald men in white robes are not unusual in Topanga, I had not seen one float since the harmonic convergence of 1987, when it was not uncommon for mystics to gather on a hilltop to await the end of the world.

On this particular morning, I was exploring ideas for a column when the robed figure drifted down our driveway and into the gazebo. It was then I realized who it was and exclaimed in surprise, “My god!” and he said, “Right.”

I wasn’t sure whether I should genuflect or ask forgiveness for years of sinning, but God, reading my mind, said, “Forget it. What can I do for you, as if I didn’t know?”

He often appears in different forms. Once he came as Tom Cruise, but gave it up when Cruise became a Scientologist and began bouncing on couches.

“Well,” I said, “I’m thinking of writing about the Pope of Hollywood and I’m not sure if there’s anything left to say about him.”

“Ah, yes,” God replied, rubbing his chin, “that would be my boy Baloney Mahony, the wily old coyote of kingdom come.”

“That would be him, all right.”

Under normal circumstances, I don’t write about my conversations with God due to suspicions among editors that I’m faking it. They allow it only because they’re afraid that I actually am talking to him and making me stop might infringe on my religious freedom. Better to have a wacko on the staff than the ACLU at the door.

Asking God a few questions about Cardinal Roger M. Mahony before writing about him seemed only appropriate. They’ve known each other a long time.

“Mahony is suffering the old kiss-my-ring syndrome,” God said before I could ask. “It often affects those who come to believe that they actually are my messengers on Earth instead of ordinary dudes with good-paying jobs.”

“But even so,” I said, “he still seems to want to protect priests who are guilty of molesting children. Isn’t that some kind of a moral crime against, well, You?”

“The arrogance of power,” God said, shaking his head. He looked up. “You want a martini?”

“At 7 in the morning?”

“I can make it 7 in the evening if you prefer,” he said, preparing to snap his fingers. While it is well known that he can turn day into night, it is not a miracle my wife is likely to accept if I come to breakfast drunk, so I declined the offer.

“If he is truly a holy man,” I said, once more referring to the Pope of Hollywood, “wouldn’t he worry more about protecting the children rather than shielding the sexual predators in the priesthood?”

God leaned back in his chair. There seemed a terrible weariness about him. “Truth is lost in the pursuit of the status quo,” he said. “I created the human race, but I cannot be responsible for its conduct. You kill, you torture, you lie, you steal, you save yourselves at all costs. Thus it has been, thus it will always be. Free will has its violators.”

“But You, being God, know what he’s about to do.”

“You don’t have to keep capitalizing the word ‘you’ when referring to Me,’” he said. “Pronouns aren’t holy.” Then, more seriously: “You remember the Green Lantern, the comic book hero who could flash his ring to perform miracles?”

“I loved him as a kid,” I said.

“Well, Mahony is hoping that flashing his ring of secular achievement will at least get him by any more legal action. Face it, this is the guy who swung the deal to pay the victims of sexual abuse $660 million and before that came up with $200 million to build the Taj Mahony. You think he isn’t slick enough to buy his way out of this mess? He may even beat eternal damnation.”

These are melancholy times on planet Earth, so it should come as no surprise that even God seemed burdened by the shenanigans of one of his generals. Mahony seems to be protecting his troops despite evidence of their evil transgressions.

“He can pray his fool head off,” God said, as he rose to leave, “but it won’t help when he goes before St. Pete. Only when he gives up every man who violated children will his salvation be assured. It’ll take more than a ring to save his damaged soul.”

Before I could answer, he was gone, a holy noun vanishing into the velvet folds of the morning. A bird fluttered off and I wondered if it were him, but then I guess, if you believe, everything constitutes a little piece of God.

“You coming to breakfast?” Cinelli called from the house. As I walked down the path toward the front door, she said, “Who were you talking to?”

“Some bald guy in a gown who floated into the gazebo and turned into a bird,” I said.

“That’s nice, dear,” she said. “I’m glad you’re finally making friends.”

“Right.”

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