Thank You God
Thank You God is probably my favorite Time Minchin song. It was released on the 2011 album, Tim Minchin and the Heritage Orchestra. I especially love this song due to the way the sarcasm continues to be laid on thicker and thicker as the song progresses while suggesting all of the logical fallacies that couldn't possibly be the real reason.
I have an apology to make, I'm afraid I made a big mistake, I turned my face away from you, Lord. I was too blind to see the light, I was too weak to feel your might, I closed my eyes, I couldn't see the truth, Lord. But then like Saul on the Damascus road, You sent a message to me and so, I have had the truth revealed to me. Please forgive me all those things I said, I'll no longer betray you, Lord, I will pray to you instead. And I will say thank you, thank you, thank you God, Thank you, thank you, thank you God. Thank you God for fixing the cataracts of Sam's mum. I had no idea but it's suddenly so clear now, I feel like such a cynic how could I have been so dumb. Thank you for displaying how praying works, A particular prayer in a particular church, Thank Sam for this chance to acknowledge this omnipotent ophthalmologist. Thank you God for fixing the cataracts of Sam's mum. I didn't realise that it was so simple, But you've shown a great example of just how it can be done, You only need to pray in a particular spot, To a particular version of a particular god, And if you pull that off without a hitch, He will fix one eye on one middle-class white bitch. I know in the past my outlook has been limited, I couldn't see examples of where life had been divinitive , But I can admit it when the evidence is clear, As clear as Sam's mum's new cornea. Extremely clear! Extremely clear. Thank you God for fixing the cataracts of Sam's mum. I have to admit that in the past I have been skeptical, But Sam described this miracle and I am overcome. How fitting that the citing of a sight-based intervention, Should open my eyes to this exciting new dimension. It's like someone put an eye chart on the wall in front of me, And the top five letters said I C G O D. Thank you Sam for showing how my point of view has been so flawed. I assumed there was no god at all but now I see that's cynical, It's simply that his interests aren't particularly broad. He's largely undiverted by the starving masses, Or the inequality between the classes. He gives out strictly limited passes, Redeemable for surgery or two-for-one glasses. I feel so shocking for historically mocking. Your interests are clearly confined to the ocular. I bet given the chance you'd eschew the divine, And start a little business selling contacts online. Fuck me Sam, what are the odds That of history's endless parade of gods, That the god that you just happen to be taught to believe in Is the actual one and he digs on healing, But not the AIDS-ridden African nations, Or the victims of the plague or the flood addled Asians, But healthy, privately-insured Australians, With common and curable corneal degenerations? This story of Sam's has but a single explanation: A surgical god who digs on magic operations. No it couldn't be mistaken attribution of causation, Born of a coincidental temporal correlation, Exacerbated by a general lack of education, Vis-a-vis physics in Sam's parish congregation. And it couldn't be that all these pious people are liars. It couldn't be an artifact of confirmation bias. A product of group think, A mass delusion, An Emperor's-New-Clothes-style fear of exclusion. No it's more likely to be an all powerful magician, Than the misdiagnoses of the initial condition, Or one of many cases of spontaneous remission, Or a record-keeping glitch by the local physician. No, the only explanation for Sam's mum seeing: They prayed to an all-knowing super-being. To the omnipresent master of the universe, And he liked the sound of their muttered verse. So for a bit of a change from his usual stunt, Of being a sexist, racist, murderous cunt, He popped down to Dandenong and just like that, Used his powers to heal the cataracts, Of Sam's mum. Of Sam's mum. Thank you God for fixing the cataracts of Sam's mum. I didn't realise that it was such a simple thing. I feel like such a ding-a-ling, what an ignorant scum. Now I understand how prayer can work, A particular prayer in a particular church, In a particular style, with particular stuff, And for particular problems that aren't particularly tough, And for particular people, preferably white, For particular senses, preferably sight, A particular prayer in a particular spot, To a particular version of a particular god. And if you get that right, he just might, Take a break from giving babies malaria, And pop down to your local area, To fix the cataracts of your mum.