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The Miracles

Mark I. Vuletic

God saved a man: He told him to step out for coffee, and so that man missed death by a few minutes.

God killed a man: He told him to get to work early, and so that man died in burning jet fuel.

God saved a woman: He stopped her with a traffic jam, and so that woman was spared that day.

God killed a woman: He parted the traffic before her, and so that woman was crushed to dust not too much later.

God saved a man: He convinced him to change his flight, and so that man merely viewed the carnage from his airplane window.

God killed a man: He convinced him to stay an extra day with his loved ones, and so that man ended up boarding a doomed plane.

Some say it is a miracle that God did not permit more to die. I say it is an abomination that God permitted any to die.

Some say God was in the firefighters who tried to save God's victims, and who in turn also became God's victims. I say God was not in the heroes who defied His wrath, but in the flames and debris that killed them.

Some say the sacrifice of the fallen heroes is a fitting metaphor for Jesus on the cross. I say the blood of real human beings is not a metaphor, and not to be compared to the farcical staged death of the incoherent deity of Christendom.

Some say the new unity is a greater good. I say keep your damned unity and give me back the dead.

You ask what would make me believe? Do not point to earthly coincidences that saved, matched by earthly coincidences that killed, and say that they are God. Do not point to the all-too-human heroism of the fallen, and say that it is God. When you move the rubble, show me not an iron cross, but a cavern in which the thousands of innocents wait, unscathed, guarded and sustained by the hands of God. Then I will believe.

But I forget: in your world, there is no one innocent, save yourself. Well, then, you go over there with Osama, for you are truly two of a kind. As for me, I will kneel beneath the empty sky and give thanks that I have been spared the salvation that makes monsters out of men.

In the meantime, the bile you spew from your mouth will be matched with venom from my pen.

Copyright ' 2002, Mark I. Vuletic. All rights reserved.


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