H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
June 11, 2006
THE CAPITAL “G”
Isaiah 6:1-8
The God Store. It’s listed in the Cincinnati Yellow Pages in the Deities and Divinities section. Who knew? I
didn’t. One of my former students, a girl named Carla, told me about The God Store. I got to know Carla when
she took one of my classes at NKU, the course where we watch a lot of movies and look for spiritual stuff.
Carla didn’t have any faith commitment, but she seemed hungry. I guess that’s how she found The God Store.
I heard from her a few months back, and I’m just going to pass along the story she told me. As I say, Carla
was hungry for something, so when she heard about The God Store, she decided to pay a visit. It’s
somewhere out on Montgomery Road in a strip mall. She said the windows were tinted and on the glass in
gothic lettering was the name of the store and underneath in smaller letters was their motto: We Have Just
the God for You.
She pushed the door open and entered a reception where she was immediately greeted by a fellow in a
blue pin-stripe suit who introduced himself as Mr. Applegate.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Applegate assured her. “Sooner or later everyone feels the need for a
god to worship. It’s the way we’re made. My job is to help you find the god that meets your needs. Don’t worry.
We carry all the popular models.”
Carla followed Applegate down a plushly carpeted hallway into an immense room. The walls were hung
at regular intervals with long velvet draperies.
“This is our display room,” he said with pride.
Applegate positioned Carla before a set of purple draperies.
“This is one of our oldest and most respected models.” At that he yanked open the curtains. There on a
spotlighted pedestal was a larger-than-life golden calf.
“Very old and reliable,” Applegate said. “And practical. The price of gold is bound to rise.”
“Actually,” Carla said, “this may be out of my price range.”
“We have very flexible terms,” Applegate said. “Spread out the payments as long as you like. We’ve found
that all of our customers eventually pay in full for their gods.”
Carla laid one hand on the calf’s neck. The metal was cold.
“It’s real pretty,” Carla admitted. “But does it do anything?”
“Like what?” Applegate inquired.
“Does it, like, keep you company?”
Applegate chuckled. “With this model, you could buy all the company you want.”
“I don’t think the Golden Calf is what I’m looking for,” Carla said.
“Perhaps you’ll like this one better,” Applegate said and opened the next set of draperies to reveal an
American flag. The red and white stripes undulated majestically as a hidden fan stirred the rich fabric.
“This is Old Glory,” Applegate said with a quaver in his voice, “a perennial favorite.”
“I already own a flag,” Carla told him. “Maybe it’s old fashioned, but I’m a patriot.”
Applegate threw one arm around Carla’s shoulders and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“You don’t want to get mixed up with patriotism. Too much trouble. Keeping informed. Voting. Writing to
congress. It’s never easy to get a country to live up to its ideals. You’re in for a lot of heartache and hard work if
you decide to be a patriot.”
“But I thought that’s what you were trying to sell me,” she said.
“No, no, no!” Applegate admonished her. “There’s a world of difference between patriotic loyalty, which is
what you’re talking about, and worship, which is what I’m talking about. If you decide to worship Old Glory, you’
ll be surrounded by like-minded people. You won’t have to wrestle with moral dilemmas. You can shut your
eyes to your country’s shortcomings. It’s much more fun to shout ‘Love it or leave it’ than to try to make a good
country even better.”
Seeing Carla’s hesitation, Applegate added, “We have a variety of choices in this model. We could fix you
up with a Russian flag or Canadian or—”
“No thanks,” Carla interrupted. “I’m very happy with the country I’ve got.”
Applegate rubbed his hands together. “Then it’s a sale?”
“No. I love my country, but Old Glory isn’t big enough to be my god.”
Applegate shrugged. “You’re a challenge, Carla, but I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. We
call this model Grab-the-Gusto.”
The next curtain slid back to reveal a statue with many arms, each hand holding something different: a
pinup, a packet of cocaine, a Macy’s shopping bag, and a six-pack. One hand clutched a golf club, and from
the hooked finger of another hand dangled the keys to a Ferarri.
“This model,” said Applegate, “is for people who worship a good time.”
“You’re putting me on,” Carla said.
“Your god is whatever you put first in your life,” Applegate explained. Whatever takes up most of your time
and most of your energy and most of your money, that’s what you worship. We can hardly keep this one in
stock.”
“It looks chintzy,” Carla said. “It’s plastic, isn’t it?” She tugged at one of the fingers, and the idol rocked
back and forth. “And it’s hollow, too!”
“We’ll fill it with sand,” Applegate promised.
“This will make me happy?” Carla asked him.
“I can’t guarantee that,” Applegate hedged, “but it will show you a great time!”
Carla shook her head.
“Carla, you’re a hard nut to crack, but you still haven’t met our most irresistible god.”
With a theatrical flourish, Applegate threw back the next curtain. Carla found herself face-to-face with—
herself, as she stared into a large mirror in a gilt frame.
“Now admit it. Is that a face you could love? Is that the person you want to take care of through thick and
thin? Of course, it is! Have it your way, Carla! That’s the slogan that goes with the Numero Uno model. Who
deserves your worship more than you do? Who’s going to take care of you if you don’t?”
“That makes sense, but this looks fragile. Does it come with a guarantee?”
“I’m afraid not,” Applegate confessed. “We take no responsibility for any god once you leave the store.
Some people seem to think that a god should last a lifetime. How could we stay in business if that were true?”
“Actually,” said Carla, “on the radio I heard about a god that sounded very durable.”
“In one of our ads?” Applegate asked.
“No, I heard it in a sermon on the radio. I jotted it down. I have it here somewhere.” Carla pulled a scrap of
paper from her pocket. “Here it is. This is what the preacher said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts, the
whole earth is full of his glory.’ Does that ring a bell?”
“Oh, yes,” Applegate said with disdain. “We call it the Capital G.”
“Could I take a look at that one?” Carla asked.
“We don’t carry that model.”
“Why not?”
Applegate sighed. “The Big G is a family business. The son has exclusive distribution rights on that
particular god. Not that it’s any great loss to our business. Most people wouldn’t touch the Capital G with a ten-
foot pole.”
“How come?”
“It’s a terribly expensive god,” Applegate assured her. “Here at The God Store we keep our prices down
and we’ll dicker. But you have to sign your soul away to get the Capital G. They insist on a contract. You have
to promise to do this and not to do that. It makes you wonder who’s really calling the shots. Who wants a
bossy god?”
Applegate lowered his voice again. “It’s a hard god to get rid of. I knew a fellow who tried to trade in his
Capital G, and would you believe that the Big G followed him around until the fellow took him back? Very
unbusinesslike. Undgodlike, if you ask me.”
Applegate straightened his tie and said, “Come on, Carla. I have several more models to show you.”
“I think I ought to look at the Capital G before I make up my mind,” she said. “Do you know where I can find
him?”
Applegate shrugged.
“If you’re serious about this, the Big G will find you.” Under his breath, Applegate added, “He steals some
of our best customers.”
“I beg your pardon?” Carla said.
“I was just saying that we have a great many satisfied customers. If the Big G doesn’t measure up, just
come on back to see us,” Applegate urged her.
“Thanks, Mr. Applegate,” said Carla. “But I have a feeling that I won’t be back.”
Soli Deo Gloria!