It becomes clear that as we switch out the god we have in the driver's seat, each of the passengers will eventually and in turn be thrown under the bus. There is no universal god. Only an extremely personal one. The invocation at the inauguration ought to consist of five minutes of silence to allow each attendee to to burn mental incense to god or Santa Claus or to go outside for a smoke.
For the best reflection on this to date, read Frank Rich's You're Likable Enough, Gay People. While reading it, I asked C if Frank Rich is gay. He replied, "No. He's Jewish and a New Yorker."
(For those of you who don't get that - and I doubt there are many - the next time you take your mother or aunt to a Broadway musical, ask them if they realize how much of the National Humor is either gay or Jewish.)