There is something happening  in society. In this digital age, where the gods have taken to screens, we find ourselves amidst a comedy of errors, where even the divine seem more like caricatures than deities.

Elon Musk, the God of Innovation and Chaos, sends his followers on a wild goose chase to Mars or into the depths of cryptocurrency, all with the ease of tweeting. His critics, with their noses in the air, decry his antics, but perhaps they’re just jealous they didn’t think to sell cars from space. There’s something oddly prophetic in his chaos, a reminder that to reach the stars, one must first embrace the madness.

Donald Trump, the God of Rhetoric and Revelry, holds court from towers that would make Midas envious. His hair, a beacon of hope or a warning sign, depending on your political leanings. His followers cling to his words like they’re the last pieces of truth in a world of spin, while his detractors can’t see past the circus. But in his brashness, there’s a sort of honesty, a loud, unapologetic truth that shakes the very decorum of politics.

Now, Xi Jinping, the so-called God of Harmony and Order, drowns the world in paperwork, turning governance into an art form of tedium. His followers see stability, but in reality, it’s like watching paint dry, only the paint is policy and the canvas is human freedom. His critics might argue he’s missed the memo that harmony doesn’t mean silence, order doesn’t mean oppression.

And then there’s Vladimir Putin, the God of Mystery and Intrigue, whose shirtless horseback rides are less about showing off and more about proving he can still find his way out of the political labyrinth he’s created. His followers are caught in the intrigue, while his critics are busy counting the shadows he casts. There’s a dark humor in his games, the kind that makes you laugh, but only after checking over your shoulder.

Taylor Swift, the Goddess of Love and Lyrics, turns every heartache into a national anthem for the romantically wounded. Her followers hang on her every word, believing in the power of her lyrics to heal, while her critics think she’s just milking the drama. But in her melodrama, there’s a truth about love that’s both universal and uniquely individual.

Joe Biden, our God of Goofy Antics, brings to politics the joy of an unexpected Mr. Bean episode. His followers find comfort in his everyman qualities, while his critics see only confusion. But in his wanderings, there’s a lesson in humility, in the beauty of the human, all are flawed.

As for the god of  “woke” culture, it’s turned the world into a stage where everyone’s a critic, debating pronouns like it’s the new holy scripture. The irony is thick, as those fighting for enlightenment often seem to lose sight of the very compassion they preach.

While we’re all chasing after these ‘small g’ gods, the real God, with a capital ‘G’, watches from above, perhaps with a bemused smile at our digital idolatry. We’ve turned our search for the divine into a comedy, forgetting that the true voice of the divine might just be the one we hear in the quiet moments between the tweets, the posts, and the endless debates.