God’s Garage Sale

The One Tool He Won’t Sell

God’s work had grown unwieldy. Managing the universe—and keeping an eye on every human thought and transgression—was just too much even for him to handle. The worst part was the number of tools involved.

There were tools for

• Keeping Hell running smoothly and properly heated;

• Surveillance tools—tiny cameras, microphones, and mindreading mechanisms—which are particularly prone to malfunction;

• Guilt and shame injectors—super powerful tools, but also complex and high-maintenance;

• Clergy credibility boosters—which wear out quickly, given clergy’s penchant for molesting children;

• Miracle makers—such as a stick-to-snake transformer, a water-to-wine converter, a resurrection realizer, a tool for making 3 = 1, and many more.

Just maintaining all of these tools amounted to a massive tax on God’s time and bandwidth.

But, one day, God realized that all of this was overkill. He didn’t need all of these tools. He just needed one.

So he decided to have a garage sale. He would sell all the unnecessary tools, and simplify his life.

God began laying out the various tools and pricing them accordingly. 

He assigned Hell the highest price tag of all—as he knew certain people would relish threatening others with eternal torture.

His surveillance tools carried hefty prices, too. He knew some would delight in spying and eavesdropping on anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Guilt and shame injectors were up there in price, as well. If you can make people feel guilty or shameful, you can get them to do almost anything.

At the low end of the price spectrum were the clergy credibility boosters—just a few bucks each. Although they work to some extent, these devices often explode when fed the data they’re supposed to whitewash.

After each tool was attractively displayed and thoughtfully priced, the sale began.

God sipped an iced tea as shoppers snapped up his tools. He was, for the first time in a long time, feeling calm, cool, heavenly.

Then, a shopper noticed in the corner of the garage a black box with no price tag.

“What’s that,” he asked.

“Oh, that’s not for sale,” God said.

“Why not?” asked the shopper. “What is it?”

“That’s faith,” said God: “Acceptance of ideas in the absence of evidence.”

“Why aren’t you selling it?” asked the shopper.

“Because,” said God, “that’s the most powerful tool I have. It’s the only one I need. With faith, I can get anyone to do anything.”

“When people embrace faith as a means of knowledge,” he continued, “I can tell them that they must obey me because I’m all-powerful, all-knowing, and the maker of moral law. And they just believe it. I don’t have to prove it. Heck, I don’t have to provide so much as a shred of evidence. If they embrace faith, they just accept my claims as true and obey my commands—whatever they are. It’s that simple.

“For instance, I can tell someone to murder his son because I said so—and he will, unless I change my mind and tell him not to.

“I can tell people to keep slaves—or free their slaves—or treat their slaves this way or that way—and they will.

“I can tell people to love their neighbor—or love their enemy—or hate their family—and they’ll do it.

“I can order whole societies to invade and slaughter other societies—men, women, and children—and they will.

“They will do all of this without challenging or questioning any of it.”

“In short,” said God, “when people embrace faith, I can get them to do anything. That’s why I’ll never sell it.”

“I see,” said the shopper, as he backed away slowly. “If faith is a means of knowledge, anything goes.” 

“Exactly,” said God, as he sipped his iced tea.