by jdavidcharles

We forget, sometimes, how many goddesses

and gods there really are. Take just the Torah,

for instance. Sure, we have Yahweh, the righteous

one, but we have the many-breasted goddess,

and the god who appears in fire or pillar of

cloud, and, if we include the prophets, there’s

Lady Wisdom, which is only to name a few. It

seems silly to pick favorites, although a fair share

of world religions ground themselves upon this

sort of favoring, and, oddly enough, those who

feel it their duty to choose just one favorite god

or, much more rarely, goddess, seem to me to

pick the least interesting ones possible. The just

god or merciful god or the suffering god. But sometimes

I imagine, if just for a moment, how much different

it all would’ve been if instead of a Trinity those church

fathers—for, despite the prevalence of women, there

were no church mothers then, which, one imagines,

played no small part in deciding a deity, let alone one

that consists of three persons—proposed such a god who

walks about the garden, enjoying his fruit, and, on

occasion, searches out the body and inquires of our

nakedness. Or, as proposed somewhere later, she was

more like a giant hen, frightened but willing to do

almost anything to keep her chicks safe from the cold.

Sometimes, I really wonder, what kind of world we would

have if people gathered on Sunday mornings to joyously

laugh at the god who, after wrapping up his earth about

him like a blanket in a whirlwind, asked us all to touch

ourselves and quit our weeping, join him in song for awhile

about sea currents or lions perhaps, and who, on such

a Sunday, would come down and walk among us, asking

in the most gentle but earnest of voices where the rain comes

from, and, if we know of a place, where he could find some.