Prayer
A man has a strained relationship with God.
It came to pass that Stewart closed his eyes and leaned forward in his LA-Z boy reclining chair. Stewart and God had gotten into a big fight a few years ago over Stewart not doing the whole kneeling-on-the-floor-to-pray thing, but Stewart had made the point that it was unnecessary and that God could hear his prayers just fine from the comfort of his recliner.
God had then presented the counterpoint that He created Heaven and Earth and didn’t ask for much in return. Stewart had then done that thing where he pretended to be considering both sides when really he was just waiting for the conversation to be over so he could go back to watching Scrubs. He and God hadn’t talked about it since.
“Our dear holy Father who art in Heaven,” Stewart began comfortably, “first of all, I’m not even sure why you’re mad at me. This whole silent treatment thing is really immature. It’s like– yes, I took your name in vain a few times this week and yes, I coveted my neighbor's wife. But it’s not like you’re perfect. I mean, technically, yes– you are perfect. But that’s annoying in its own way. Like, at least I have the grace to have flaws, you know?”
At this point it came to pass that God was less concerned with keeping up the cold shoulder routine and more concerned with vocalizing His side of the argument. Therefore He materialized, as He liked to do, in the form of a burning bush in the middle of Stewart’s living room.
“Oh my God!” said Stewart.
“How’d you guess?” said God humorously. “Listen Stewart, it just really upsets me when you do these things.”
Stewart sighed and put his head in his hands “Well, I can’t be responsible for how my actions make you feel. And also it’s like— I wouldn’t care if you took my name in vain.” Stewart’s heart was pounding. For so it was that while God hated to argue, it exhilarated Stewart, on account of his miserable childhood and consequent belief that relationships were competitions.
“Sure,” God said, “but if you did ask me not to take your name in vain, I would respect that.”
Stewart rolled his eyes. “Why even give me free will if you just expect me to be some robot who only does what you want?” This, Stewart thought, was a slam dunk, and lo, he stiffened his arms and made robot noises to further his point.
“I’m not trying to control you,” God said calmly, “I just want to establish boundaries.”
“Well I can’t keep track of all the things you do or don’t want me to do,” Stewart said.
“It’s just 10 things,” God said, “you know, the ones I etched into a stone tablet for you?”
And lo, Stewart could see that he was not going to win this argument by playing fair, so he threw his hands up. “Okay I’m not going to have this conversation if you’re just going to get all emotional about it.”
“What?” God said, confused. For so it was that God had not even been emotional until He had been accused of such by Stewart.
“Listen,” Stewart said, “Why don’t we just calm down, put on an episode of Scrubs, and try to have a nice evening.” And lo, this was a brilliant move by Stewart, for if God objected then all of a sudden He’d be the bad guy, and God hated to be the bad guy.
“Fine,” God sighed, His divine flames flickering dimly, and it came to pass that they did put on Scrubs. As they watched, God looked at Stewart and pondered if it was too soon to flood the Earth again. He was making a mental list of which animals were worth saving when Zach Braff did suddenly do a hilarious pratfall.
As they did witness this, God and Stewart laughed and laughed, rejoicing in merry measure at the slapstick hijinks of those incorrigible medical workers. And so it was that God, being now a temperate and merciful God in good spirits, decided to forgive Stewart.
"Hey, I forgive you,” He said warmly, smiling as much as a burning bush could.
Stewart frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "You forgive me?”
And lo, it came to pass that this ended up being a whole big thing.