An Atheist's Letter to God

Dear Wotan,

I never could believe in an all-loving shepherd-type God who let too many sheep wander off or die of unnatural causes. Nor could I worship a God who was supposed to reward the righteous when I see evil-doers thrive and the good die horrible deaths. BUT...a god just like the rest of us with all our moral failings is one I could relate to. I could learn from a God like you--not to break my agreements, not to sleep around, not to be greedy for power--useful lessons all.

At the temple of the Metropolitan Opera House, as you spoke and sang through James Morris, I could feel your pain. I could understand your desperate attempts to find your way out of a dilemma. I could even drop my feminist leanings and want you to triumph over naggy whiny Fricka. I could feel your love for and anger towards your rebellious favorite daughter. I could weep for your need to allow your beloved Siegmund to die. I imagined how disappointed you must have been in your L’il Abner of a grandson. Your diminishment left me grief-stricken. You had to leave that world of gods and demons and giants to destroy itself so we could begin all over. What a god you were Wotan!

But now, you have disappeared altogether; you have left your message to be spoken and sung by Mr. Terfel who doesn’t get it. I don’t give a fig for what happens to you anymore. As a matter of fact, Fricka’s point of view, as interpreted by Ms. Blythe is looking ever more attractive. I can’t believe that you could have fathered all those demigods on earth. Who could be seduced with that stringy hair hanging in your face, I ask you? And what on earth, dear god, happened to your home? What happened to the mountain tops and the craggy peaks? Who replaced it with post-modern machinery and neon? At least the pit-dark cave of your nemesis Alberich still exists, but then evil always has a home on earth.

Well, the entire creation myth has a new strange emphasis and I for one don’t like it. Perhaps when Brunnhilde comes on the scene next Spring, things may get back to being a myth I can believe in. Meanwhile, I’ll just have to remember the way your earthly temple used to be and try to resurrect my memory of good old Mr. Morris.

Yours sincerely,

Meche Kroop