I was fortunate enough to spend the afternoon serving as both minister and DJ for a couple’s wedding in Simsbury, Connecticut. The ceremony took place on a farm in the midst of an enormous field, at least half a mile from the nearest building or road.
Upon arriving at the farm, I drove down a dirt path, past a pen of enormous pigs and acres and grass and trees, and after parking alongside a string of electrified barbed wire, I walked for a good ten minutes before arriving at the site of the ceremony.
Upon arriving, I realized that the Epi-Pen that would save my life in the event that I was stung by a bee was still in the car.
With my ministerial duties near at hand, I had a decision to make:
Do I walk back to my car or risk the next hour without it?
I turned to a guest who I know well and asked, “I’m not going to get stung today. Right? I’m the minister. God will protect me.”
“You’re a minister who doesn’t believe in God,” the guest said. “I think that makes you more of a target in God’s eyes.”
“Good thing God doesn’t exist. Huh?”
“You’d better hope he doesn’t,” she said, looking serious enough to make me nervous.
And even though I escaped unscathed, a bee actually landed on the binder from which I was reading during the ceremony, just inches from my thumb. In the middle of the Apache wedding prayer, all I could do was stare at the thing as I read.
Nice try, imaginary deity.
