Interview with God: A Comedy with Jim Gaffigan

Prologue

Jim:
So apparently, I’m supposed to interview God tonight.
No pressure, right? Just me… a chubby dad with a sandwich… and the Almighty.
I mean, what do you even ask God? “What’s the meaning of life?” “Why do bad things happen?”
Or maybe… “Why do you keep inventing foods that taste amazing and then kill us?”
Seriously. Bacon. Pizza. Deep-fried Oreos. It’s like You’re testing us!

(beat)
Anyway, I guess tonight I’ll find out.
If I faint halfway through, just remember — I died doing what I loved: eating, and being confused.

(Audience laughs, stage lights warm as the play begins.)

(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event)

Act I — The Question

(A meadow at dusk. The stage is lit in warm amber and violet hues, a faint smell of fresh bread and grass drifting through. Jim Gaffigan, in his classic slightly hunched stance, holding a sandwich, looks around nervously. He squints at the sky, then at the sandwich.)

Jim:
So, uh… this is weird. (beat) I thought this was gonna be a dentist appointment. You know, “Dr. Goldberg, 4:30 pm.” Turns out it’s God.

(looks up)
Hi. Big fan. Also… little terrified.

(A soft golden light appears. God is seated calmly on a rock, serene but approachable. Jim takes a nervous bite of the sandwich.)

Jim:
Okay, so if I get to interview You, I’ve got… questions. (waves sandwich) Like, a lot. First off—cake. Why would You invent cake if You knew we’d eat the whole thing and hate ourselves afterward? You don’t need to be omniscient to see that one coming.

God: (smiling)
Cake is not the problem. Moderation is.

Jim:
Moderation? I don’t know if You’ve noticed, but humans don’t do moderation. We do “all” or “none.” You don’t see someone say, “I’ll just have one Dorito.” No! We eat the whole bag, then lick the orange dust off our fingers like raccoons.

(Audience laughs. God tilts His head, amused.)

God:
Humans often forget that joy is in the small things, not in excess.

Jim: (to audience, stage whisper)
So… God’s basically calling us fat.

(Audience laughs again. Jim shrugs and continues.)

Jim:
Alright, fine, let’s get serious. If I could really interview You, here’s my first question: What surprises You most about humanity?

(God leans forward slightly, the meadow quiets. A gentle breeze passes through the grass. Jim nervously fiddles with the sandwich.)

God:
That you sacrifice health to make money… and then sacrifice money to regain health.

Jim:
(eyes widen) Whoa. That’s… darkly accurate.

God:
That you rush through childhood, wishing to be adults, and then long for childhood again once it is gone.

Jim: (pointing at audience)
Yeah, that’s every 40-year-old dad in this room. “I can’t wait to be grown up!” Then it’s like, “Wait… I have to pay taxes? I want nap time back!”

(Audience laughs. Jim takes another bite of sandwich, chews dramatically, then gestures at God with it.)

Jim:
You’re basically describing my entire career. I spend years working, chasing gigs, trying to “make it,” and then when I finally get a break, I’m like: “Oh great, now I can afford a treadmill I won’t use.”

God: (smiling gently)
You forget to live in the present moment. You live as though life will never end, and then you live as though life never began.

(A pause. The audience goes quiet, absorbing the weight. Jim stares at his sandwich like it holds the secrets of the universe.)

Jim:
That’s… deep. (beat) But also, really depressing. You couldn’t start me off with like, “puppies are cute” or “rainbows are free”? You went straight to, “You’re wasting your life.”

God:
The truth is not always comfortable.

Jim: (to audience)
Translation: buckle up, this interview’s gonna hurt.

(Laughter.)

Jim:
Okay, so let me recap here: we chase money, ruin our health, regret childhood, and forget to live. (beat) God, are You sure You’re not just describing Twitter?

(Audience laughs, applause.)

God: (smiling softly)
Your world is full of noise. But silence holds the answers.

Jim: (beat, frowns)
Silence? You ever been in a house with five kids? Silence isn’t peaceful, it’s suspicious. Silence means someone’s coloring the dog.

(Big laugh. Jim paces, sandwich still in hand.)

Jim:
Alright. Okay. This is actually… helpful. You’re saying I should slow down. Pay attention. Enjoy what I’ve got instead of chasing what I don’t.

God:
Yes. Life is a gift. Most forget to unwrap it.

(A soft golden glow floods the stage as the curtain slowly falls on Act I. Jim squints up at God, mutters one last line.)

Jim:
So… can I unwrap life with bacon?

(Curtain closes. Laughter and applause.)

Act II — The Struggles of Humanity

(The stage shifts. Projections fill the backdrop: crowded city streets, traffic jams, glowing phone screens, shopping malls. The soundscape mixes honking horns, buzzing notifications, and people shouting. Jim steps forward, squinting at the chaos around him, still holding his sandwich. God sits calmly, radiating a soft glow, untouched by the noise.)

Jim:
Wow… this looks familiar. It’s like Times Square and Costco had a baby, and then that baby screamed in my ear while I tried to nap.

(Audience laughs. God raises a hand. The noise softens, but the images remain. Jim eyes God suspiciously.)

Jim:
So, this is us, huh? Humanity? (beat) We don’t look great. I mean, I thought You’d show me something inspiring, like kids singing in a choir or… puppies. Not Jerry stuck in traffic, yelling at his GPS.

God: (calmly)
This is what troubles Me. Humans live as if life is endless… rushing, chasing, always moving faster, but rarely arriving anywhere.

Jim: (points at screen)
Yeah, that’s Karen from the PTA in a minivan. She’s been “rushing” to yoga for six years now, and she still hasn’t made it on time.

(Audience laughs.)

God:
They sacrifice health for wealth. Then, when health fails, they spend all their wealth trying to restore it.

Jim: (gesturing with sandwich)
Yep, that’s America right there. “I’ll work 80 hours a week so I can afford the hospital bill for the heart attack I got from working 80 hours a week.” It’s like buying a treadmill you never use, then paying the ER when you pass out at Applebee’s.

(Audience laughs, applause.)

God:
They forget to live in the present. They are always reaching forward or looking back, rarely tasting the moment in front of them.

Jim:
Oh yeah, we’re terrible at that. I can’t even eat dinner without thinking about dessert. And when I’m eating dessert, I’m already planning breakfast. I’ve never been present in my life. I’m like, “This cheesecake is amazing! I wonder what’s for lunch tomorrow?”

(Audience roars.)

God:
They fill their homes with things they do not need. They confuse possessions for meaning.

Jim: (rolls eyes)
Tell me about it. I have five kids. Five! You know what that means? I own seventeen lunchboxes, three broken trampolines, and approximately one million Legos that only exist for me to step on at 2 a.m.

(Audience laughs hard.)

God: (smiling)
They spend their lives trying to appear happy, instead of learning to be happy.

Jim: (to audience)
You ever post a “family selfie” on vacation? Everyone’s smiling, but two minutes before that, your wife’s yelling at you for not packing sunscreen, and one kid’s crying because another one looked at his fry. That’s the photo. That’s the memory. “Look kids, we were happy for twelve seconds in 2022.”

(Big laugh, applause.)

God:
Humans think they are in control, yet they are constantly controlled—by their fears, their desires, their distractions.

Jim:
Yeah, you know you’re controlled when your whole mood depends on whether Starbucks spelled your name right. “Oh great, they wrote Janet instead of Jim. Guess I’m having an identity crisis with my latte.”

(Audience laughs. God chuckles softly.)

God:
They seek to win arguments more than to love one another.

Jim: (beat)
That’s… Twitter.

(Audience erupts in laughter.)

God:
They forget that kindness endures longer than power. That the small act—the smile, the helping hand—echoes further than wealth or fame.

(The images behind them shift: now, instead of chaos, they show small gestures—a child giving an old man bread, a woman comforting a stranger, laughter shared.)

Jim: (pauses, softer)
So… You’re saying it’s not about money, or control, or… even cake. It’s about being kind. About showing up.

God: (nodding)
Yes. Life is fragile. Each moment a gift. And yet, many squander it, distracted by things that fade.

Jim: (to audience, mutters)
Great. God just told us we’re basically raccoons chasing shiny objects.

(Audience laughs, then softens with Jim’s next line.)

Jim:
But… (beat) I get it. We’re not living. We’re scrolling, stressing, stuffing our faces, and forgetting to actually… be.

(God smiles gently. The stage quiets. The projections fade into soft moonlight and a night garden blooming. The cicadas give way to crickets, jasmine fills the air. The tone shifts toward intimacy.)

God:
Would you like to learn what I wish every human knew?

Jim: (beat, half-joking but softer)
If it’s not “the calories don’t count,” then yes, please.

(Curtain slowly falls on Act II. The audience is laughing but quieter now, the weight of God’s words lingering beneath Jim’s jokes.)

Act III — The Lessons of the Heart

(The stage shifts. The projections of noisy cities and rushing traffic fade into a moonlit garden. Lanterns glow softly. The smell of jasmine and fresh earth drifts in, and crickets sing. God sits calmly by a stone bench. Jim wanders in, looking around nervously, still holding what’s left of his sandwich.)

Jim:
Oh wow… this is beautiful. (sniffs) Is that… jasmine? Or did someone just open a Bath & Body Works?

(Audience laughs. God smiles faintly, gestures for Jim to sit. Jim sits, clutching his sandwich like a teddy bear.)

God:
Here, the distractions fade. It is easier to see what truly matters.

Jim:
Yeah, but You know what else fades? My metabolism. (pats stomach) You created this body, God. Why is it shaped like a pear when all I eat is pizza?

(Audience laughs. God chuckles but shakes His head gently.)

God:
It is not your body that troubles you most. It is your heart.

Jim: (beat, nervous laugh)
Oh great. God’s diagnosing me now. Next He’ll be like, “You should really cut back on dairy.”

(Audience laughs. God leans forward, voice steady and kind.)

God:
I wish humans would learn: love is stronger than power.

(A hush falls. Jim fidgets, then nods slowly.)

Jim:
Yeah… yeah, I see that. But, uh… try telling that to the guy cutting me off in traffic. I don’t feel love in that moment. I feel… well, a lot of words I can’t say in front of You.

(Audience laughs. God smiles knowingly.)

God:
That is why it is a lesson. To choose love when anger is easier.

Jim: (muttering to audience)
Love instead of anger. So… no honking? That’s asking a lot.

(Audience laughs. God continues, his voice warm like the glow of lanterns.)

God:
I wish humans would learn: it is better to be, than to seem.

Jim: (raises eyebrow)
Better to be… than to seem? (beat) Oh, You mean social media.

(Audience laughs.)

Jim:
Yeah, we’re terrible at that. We’re all pretending. My Instagram looks like I live this glamorous life — you know, “comedian touring the world, eating fancy meals.” In reality, I’m sitting in a Holiday Inn eating leftover fries in the dark while my kids fight over a Pop-Tart.

(Audience roars. God chuckles, nodding.)

God:
What you seem to be fades. What you are endures.

Jim: (to audience, softer)
That… actually makes sense.

(He sighs, setting down his sandwich for the first time. God’s voice grows gentler, almost like a lullaby.)

God:
I wish humans would learn: the smallest acts of kindness echo longer than the grandest victories.

Jim:
Kindness? Like… holding a door open? Or… not eating the last donut in the box?

(Audience laughs.)

God:
Yes. Even that. The heart remembers kindness long after it forgets pride.

Jim: (pauses, softer)
Huh. You know… I’ve done big shows in huge theaters, but what I actually remember is… (beat, half-smile) …when one of my kids said, “Thanks for being home tonight, Dad.” That… meant more than the applause.

(Audience quiets, emotional.)

God:
Exactly. Greatness is not in being known. It is in being loved.

(Jim nods slowly, swallowing hard. He tries to lighten the mood.)

Jim:
Wow… so you’re saying I’m not gonna be remembered for my stand-up. I’m gonna be remembered for… making grilled cheese sandwiches at midnight.

(Audience laughs warmly. Jim smiles to himself, then looks back at God.)

Jim:
So… what You’re telling me is… I’ve been looking in the wrong places. For happiness, for meaning.

God:
Yes. Joy is not something to chase. It is something to notice.

Jim:
(to audience, softly)
Notice… not chase. (beat) I’ve been running a marathon… and ignoring the view.

(A pause. The audience feels the shift. Jim leans back, sighing deeply. God looks at him with kindness, then gestures toward the glowing sky above the garden.)

God:
Would you like to hear the final lesson?

Jim: (beat, smirks)
As long as it’s not “no more bacon,” then yeah… go ahead.

(Audience laughs. The lights dim to a silver-blue as the curtain lowers slowly. The garden glows in lantern light, crickets singing. Jim sits quietly, thoughtful, for the first time without a joke. The humor has softened into reflection.)

Act IV — The Departure

(The stage shifts. The moonlit garden fades into the top of a mountain peak. Golden dawn light slowly spills across the sky. The sound of morning birds replaces the crickets. God stands at the edge, gazing at the horizon. Jim lumbers in behind Him, looking exhausted from the “climb,” carrying his half-eaten sandwich like a survival kit.)

Jim:
Okay… note to self… never again agree to a metaphorical mountain climb with God. Do You know how out of shape I am? I pulled a hamstring just walking up stairs last week.

(Audience laughs. God smiles faintly, hands folded serenely. Jim flops down on a rock, wheezing.)

Jim:
This is beautiful though. (gestures to sunrise) Like a screensaver, but… alive. And, you know, no computer virus.

(Audience laughs. God looks out at the horizon, then turns gently to Jim.)

God:
The interview is nearly over. Before you go, there is one last truth to carry with you.

Jim: (sighs)
Great. Lay it on me. And please, no riddles. I barely passed algebra.

(Audience laughs. God steps closer, voice warm and resonant.)

God:
Life is fragile, but sacred. Every day is a gift. Most forget this. They live as if they will never die, and die having never truly lived.

(A hush falls. Jim blinks, looking down at his sandwich, suddenly self-conscious.)

Jim:
(softly) Wow. You mean… all the times I was stressing over bills, calories, what people thought of me… I was wasting the gift.

God:
Yes. You cannot keep life, but you can live it. Love generously. Be present. Forgive quickly. Hold joy wherever you find it.

(Jim swallows, his voice quieter now.)

Jim:
You know… I spend so much time thinking I’m not enough. Not working enough, not eating right, not being the perfect dad… And You’re saying, it’s not about perfect. It’s about… showing up.

God: (nodding)
Exactly.

(Jim sits in silence for a moment, then takes a breath, trying to lighten the mood again.)

Jim:
So, basically… life’s short. Love people. Be kind. Eat the cake.

(Audience laughs and applauds. God chuckles softly.)

God:
In moderation.

Jim:
See, You had to ruin it!

(Audience roars with laughter. Jim stands slowly, stretching his back. The light of dawn now fills the stage. He looks out at the horizon with a thoughtful smile.)

Jim:
You know what? I get it now. It’s not about chasing stuff that doesn’t last. It’s not about working myself into the ground just to buy more junk for my kids to break. It’s about love, and kindness, and noticing the good that’s already here.

*(beat, softer)
And honestly… that makes me feel lighter than I have in years.

(God places a hand on Jim’s shoulder. The golden light swells around them, warm and hopeful. A moment of silence hangs in reverence. Then Jim breaks it, glancing upward.)

Jim:
Although, while I’ve got You here… quick question. Mosquitoes? Why? Seriously. Was that like, a Friday afternoon project You forgot to cancel?

(Audience explodes with laughter. God shakes His head, smiling, saying nothing. The lights rise brighter, golden and radiant. Jim shields his eyes, raising his voice one last time.)

Jim:
Okay, fine! Keep Your secrets! But I’m still buying bug spray!

(Curtain falls. The laughter fades into applause as soft ney flute music plays, echoing both comedy and tenderness. The lesson lingers: life is short, fragile, but sacred — a gift to be lived fully.)

Epilogue

Jim:
Well… that was… different.
I came in here thinking I’d just get some quick answers. You know, like a Google search, but with more thunderbolts.
Instead, I learned life’s short, love’s important, kindness matters, and apparently… mosquitoes are here to stay.

(beat, looks at audience)
I also learned something else: most of the time, we’re so busy stressing about the stuff that doesn’t matter — bills, calories, traffic — that we forget the stuff that does.
Like laughter. Like holding your kid’s hand. Like remembering this whole crazy life is a gift… even if it comes with high cholesterol.

(beat, sighs, then smirks)
So yeah. That’s my big takeaway from interviewing God.
Love more. Live fully. And if you can… eat the cake.

(Audience laughs, applause. Jim bows awkwardly, clutching his sandwich one last time as the curtain falls.)

Cast of Characters — Interview with God

Jim Gaffigan — The Human
Jim Gaffigan is a Grammy-nominated stand-up comedian, actor, writer, and producer, known for his clean but sharp observational humor on food, fatherhood, and the absurdities of everyday life. With a career spanning over three decades, Jim has released numerous comedy specials, starred in both film and television, and written two bestselling books.

In Interview with God, Jim plays “The Human” — an everyman armed with nothing but a sandwich and endless questions — who nervously (and hilariously) grills God about life, love, and the mysteries of existence. Through his trademark blend of self-deprecation and heartfelt insight, Jim turns cosmic truths into relatable laughs, reminding audiences that sometimes the best way to find wisdom is by laughing at our own confusion.

God — Eternal Guest
Played as a serene, glowing presence, God answers Jim’s questions with patience, humor, and gentle authority. In this production, God is less fire-and-brimstone and more wise, kind, and occasionally bemused at humanity’s quirks. The contrast between Jim’s flustered neurosis and God’s calm wisdom drives the comedy and heart of the play.