Deep End | For the Record: Going straight to God for a line on the Lamanites. | News | Salt Lake City | Salt Lake City Weekly

Deep End | For the Record: Going straight to God for a line on the Lamanites. 

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In light of the recent brouhaha concerning the significance of a change in the introduction to The Book of Mormon, we thought it would be instructive—indeed enlightening—to have a word or two with someone who would be able to set the record straight on where Native Americans really come from. We are talking, of course, about God, also known as Our Heavenly Father, God Almighty, the Supreme Being, the Deity, the Maker, Yahweh, Jehovah, Zeus, the Infinite Mind, Ahura Mazda, the Alpha and Omega, Abba (not to be confused with the popular Swedish singing group), Elohim, Brahma and the Ancient of Days.

We had no difficulty locating God, given the fact that he is omnipresent (note to feminists: God is a guy, so just get over it). As always, we had no problem recognizing him, emanating as he does that bright ethereal glow. On this particular afternoon, he happened to be browsing the mysteries section in the basement of Sam Weller’s, one of the Supreme Being’s favorite haunts. The spot was convenient, since it is practically next door to City Weekly headquarters on Main Street.

God was dressed casually in a maroon windbreaker, baggy corduroy trousers, a faded Cleveland Indians baseball cap and sandals that looked like they had at one time belonged to Methuselah. We began the conversation with a passing reference to his footwear.

City Weekly: Can’t you afford some nice shoes?

God: These are real comfortable. For years, I wore nothing but Johnston and Murphy wingtips, and they gave me a bad case of bunions. I got these sandals from Willie Nelson years ago when I was hanging out with him during a concert tour.

CW: As you must undoubtedly already know, given your amazing powers of omniscience, we wanted to get your take on this latest hubbub on the Book of Mormon.

God: Yeah, I read about it in the paper.

CW: But if you are omniscient, how come you got the news in the paper?

God: Do you know how tough it is to keep everything in your head all the time? So I figure I’ll find out about the important stuff sooner or later.

CW: So are you admitting you are not infallible?

God: I am infallible when I want to be. It gets harder and harder to keep track of stuff—even things like floods, fires, tsunamis—let alone small things like the fall of a sparrow. A lot of the time, I’m just not paying attention, or I get distracted by a ball game or something, like when that tornado a few years ago almost vaporized the Salt Lake Temple. I was watching a late inning rally at a women’s softball game over in Vernal and, only at the last minute, noticed the tornado heading toward Temple Square. Fortunately, I was able to make that sucker do a 90-degree turn and avoid a disaster.

CW: Getting back to the Lamanite controversy, do you think the church is chickening out by saying that the Lamanites are “among” the ancestors of the American Indians, instead of saying they are the “principal” ancestors?

God: You know, I keep telling the Brethren that they just keep painting themselves into a corner on all this historical stuff. Instead of trying to weasel out of things when something like DNA evidence proves the Book of Mormon story is a total crock, they should stick to their guns. It all comes down to the old leap of faith or, as the Mormons put it, the burning in the bosom. If you believe in me, you can believe anything, including angels and gold plates and the Hebrew ancestry of American Indians.

Look, if I wanted to, I could stick DNA markers into modern-day Indians to make them descendents of Hebrews. I’m God, and I can do anything I want. Maybe I decided just to keep things interesting by removing those DNA markers in the first place, just to keep people guessing. If I can take the Golden Plates back up to heaven, even when they were hidden up in the Hill Cumorah, I think I have the power to extract telltale DNA markers from blood. It’s easy as pie.

CW: Thank you for your time, Mr. God.

God: Ah, you doesn’t has to call me God. You can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me Johnny, or you can …

D.P. Sorensen writes satire for City Weekly.

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