God Stole My Wallet
It's as good an explanation as any for how it went missing
“I am the matter of my Substack. You’d be foolish to waste your time on so vain and frivolous a subject.” Tom, inspired by Montaigne
Last Saturday I was eating breakfast at my kitchen island, dressed in my fancy navy pajamas, spa robe, and camouflage house slippers, when someone knocked on the front door. A few minutes before then, I’d noticed my wallet wasn’t in its usual place. I always put it in the drawer by the front door, but that day it wasn’t there. “No matter. It will turn up in a coat pocket or on my desk downstairs,” I thought, and went back to breakfast.
I didn’t recognize the man outside the door, and wondered sarcastically if he was from ICE. He had a bald head and a black athletic shirt on. I picked up Alice’s leash and answered the door.
“Hello?” I asked.
He stepped back from the stoop. “Are you Thomas?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering if I was going to be summoned. He thrust out his hand. My wallet was in it.
“I found this in the middle of Murphy Road,” he said. I took my wallet from him. He began to back away.
“Thank you!” I said. “Thank you very much.” I reached out to shake his hand. “My name’s Tom.”
“Daniel.” He took another small step back. “Everything’s in there,” he said.
I looked in the wallet. Everything was there just as he said.
“Thank you,” I said again.
“I lost my wallet once, and it was returned to me intact. This is kind of my chance to pay it forward, I guess,” he said, and he went away.
I went back inside, put my wallet in the drawer where it belonged, and returned to breakfast.
How had my wallet gotten in the middle of Murphy Road, a broad and busy thoroughfare about half a mile from my home? I had no idea. The day before I’d been out to get coffee and a pup cup on the way to the dog park. I also took our eight-month-old puppy Alice out for one final bilge emptying before bed, but neither time had I been near Murphy Road except to cross it in the car on the way home from the dog park. We had the windows open to calm the dog, and I take my wallet out of my pocket when I drive, which is a problematic habit, but none of those decisions should have resulted in my wallet ending up in the middle of Murphy Road. So how did it get there? God must have stolen it. It’s about as good an explanation as any. Something happened I can’t explain — God must have done it. It’s a line of reasoning that’s worked for eons.
Why would God steal my wallet? So I could write about it, I guess. I could write about how often people assume the worst, and the worst doesn’t happen. How we think, “Who would return a wallet with cash in it?” when the answer is, “Many people.”
My benefactor Daniel saw my address on my driver’s license and interrupted his day to return my wallet. What does that say about human nature? Not much, but it says a lot about Daniel. He was a little shy about returning my wallet. He didn’t want to stick around. Of course I was in my pajamas on a Saturday morning, so he must have guessed he’d interrupted something. I didn’t ask many questions; I was too shocked. The best examples of kindness have a sort of ordinary miraculousness about them.
If God stole my wallet so I could write about it, why did He have Daniel find it? Because Daniel wanted to pay his debt forward, perhaps, and to feel good about doing someone a kindness. Perhaps Daniel has a shady past, and this was a test from God that he passed. It makes a nice story, and helps create a way to explain the world, even if it’s all ridiculous.
It’s so easy to make up stories that explain the world. It’s why religion is so soothing — it explains so much. Something doesn’t have to be true to make us feel good, to put our minds at ease. A more likely answer than God stole my wallet is that Daniel got the name of the street wrong where he found my wallet. The night before when I lost my wallet, I reached into my jacket pocket for a flashlight and poop bag. It’s possible my wallet fell out then. That’s more likely than God stole it, anyway. Explanations like this are why it’s so easy for rationalists to feel superior to believers. God stole your wallet? That’s absurd. There are no miracles, only things we don’t understand yet.
A fancy theologian could also take issue with the “God Stole My Wallet” theory. “You and your wallet are much too small for God to trouble with. That sort of belief is childish and egotistical.”
All belief is silly — that’s why it’s belief. Belief is irrational and indefensible by design, unless you explain belief as a kind of self-interest: believing will make you happier than not believing. When Cortes invaded Mexico, he explained to the indigenous people in each village how their idols were evil and should be destroyed, and if they erected a house around the crosses Cortez’s men built them, and kept the cross clean, and prayed to the Blessed Virgin, many good things would happen to them. Belief motivated by self-interest is the belief of conquistadores.
But back to my wallet. Its safe return, intact, only moments after I realized it was missing is a kind of miracle. I have no idea how I lost it, and its return defies expectations. But why should it? Why not believe that people are basically good and want to do what’s right? Most people are not thieves. If Daniel had kept my wallet, he’d have the memory of keeping it with him forever, and doubly sinful with the knowledge that when he lost his wallet, it was returned to him intact while found a wallet and kept it. If he has any conscience, and most people do, keeping my wallet might have haunted him, which would be a very high price for the 30 dollars I had in it.
But what do I know? I’m naive. I can hardly imagine anyone being motivated by evil, and yet it happens all the time. Socrates said no one knowingly chooses wrong. We do immoral things because we think they’re in our own interest. If Daniel had been wrong thinking, he might have thought, “I’ll keep this wallet because I want the money and credit cards to pay for Christmas.” Someone we might call a good person knows returning the wallet will have a more positive effect on them than keeping it. Perhaps good is less appropriate here than ordinary.
Maybe all the Gospels were written because an eyewitness got the details wrong. Maybe Jesus never said he was the son of God, or fed the five thousand. Maybe the five thousand simply shared their food. Maybe Jesus didn’t raise Lazarus; maybe he just woke him up. Maybe Jesus didn’t cast out demons, but was a schizophrenic who experienced a group delusion with other schizophrenics. All answers are more plausible than belief.
I believe in the message of Jesus, that the kingdom of heaven is ours if we choose to love each other without exceptions; if we give up our possessions and praise creation. I know we could do this if we chose to, but I don’t think we’ll ever make the choice. We’d be a lot more uncomfortable physically, we’d have to raise each other’s children, care for each other’s elderly parents, work a lot harder and live shorter lives, but we’d live in the kingdom of love. If you meet someone who needs a cloak and you have one, give them yours. That logic solves a lot of problems, but we have to learn to not want cloaks so much.
I don’t believe God stole my wallet, but I know it was returned to me. Whether God took it, or it just fell out of my pocket, the happy result is the same, and I’m grateful.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.