If you listen to Christian radio stations, you’ll quickly realize how many theological debates rage across the airwaves. Who are the truly chosen people? Which particular religious denomination is the real thing? How old is the Earth? What’s it really like in Heaven? Is the Bible actually God’s spoken word? The list can be as long as anyone wants to make it. Personally, I think there is only one question: Does God really exist? Until this question is settled, no others need be addressed. The problem is how the existence of God can be proven. I have come up with a truly simple demonstration of his divine power that will at last rid the world of all of that skeptical nonsense.
I will challenge the Creator of the Universe to turn me into a chicken.
Ah, but won’t religious folks point out that God does not do parlor tricks? I say he has demonstrated a history of parlor tricks. Let’s consider a few: He presented himself as a talking, burning bush. He parted the Red Sea. He dropped manna from the sky for forty years in order to keep some directionally challenged Jewish people alive. He allowed a human to walk on water. He flooded the Earth and effectively killed most of the world’s population. He turned water into wine and Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt. He made a man out of dirt and a woman out of a rib. The list goes on and on.
Now for a guy who created the Universe in just six twenty-four–hour days—which apparently was pretty tiring work since he needed a day off after finishing—it would seem that the process of turning me into a chicken would be simple. Before you start yelling “Blasphemy,” realize that I am attempting to do everyone on Earth a huge favor. I am willing to sacrifice myself in order to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is real. I’m even willing to stack the deck against me. Let’s imagine how this whole thing might work. I will stand in the very center of the biggest stadium on Earth. I only ask two things: number one, a handful of true skeptics are near me, so there’s no chance that a mob of zealots might whisk me away and quickly replace me with a chicken; and number two, my transformation must be witnessed by a live audience. No telecommunication allowed. We certainly wouldn’t want any false impressions broadcast around the world that might favor the believer or nonbeliever. As to the composition of the live audience, I leave that to the believers. I can envision the grandest group of religious supporters ever assembled in one place. This assembly of the righteous might include television and radio evangelists, ministers, priests, chaplains, rabbis, the Pope, and whoever else is capable of rousing believers around the world into fervent prayer, speaking in tongues, handling snakes, flagellating themselves—whatever process they might use to call God’s attention to their common concern, which is turning me into a chicken. I would also imagine that through church newsletters, ecumenical edicts, Sunday-school announcements, radio and television broadcasts, and of course personal revelations, all believers would be made aware of and would focus on a specific time, exact to the very second using the atomic time clock system, at which my transformation occurs. I would like to request upfront that I would become a Rhode Island Red. That way everyone knows what to expect and no one can squawk about the outcome. I would think that God should appoint someone to lead the masses in a countdown to my demise.
It would be most impressive if God Almighty showed up to emcee this event in person. However, according to his own writings, if the believers viewed him in his magnificent glory, they’d all die. That’s probably not a good idea. Maybe he could send his only begotten son, Jesus. However, the last time he showed up, except where the Mormons are concerned, he was treated worse than a drumstick at KFC. Therefore, I might suggest a more earthbound commentator. Perhaps one of those who profess to have been chosen to speak for God in his absence. John Hagee might be a good choice. He’s loud and cuts a striking figure that’s hard to miss. Also Hank Hanagraff, the Bible know-it-all, might be a good choice. That way if God makes a mistake, Hank can correct him.
Anyway, it seems to me that Christianity would want to get the ball rolling on this event. I say it’s time to put up or shut up. The question is, will I chicken out or will God lay an egg?