How Does Anyone Dare Talk About God?

This is the question I have been asking myself.  What arrogance to talk of God.  Who of us can say who or what or why or how God is?
And then today I passed two young people on the street near the University of Washington,a young man and a young woman.  What stopped me, dead still, was a poster hanging from their makeshift table, a photo of President Obama as Hitler.  I had seen the photo on the Internet.  But I was not prepared for its impact on me as I walked down University Avenue among scores of students in Seattle.  “Is that a joke?” I asked the young man behind the table covered with pamphlets.
“What has Obama done for you?” he asked me.  
“What did George Bush do for you or me or anyone?’ I asked. 
“No, “ a young man waiting for the bus said to me.  “Don’t talk to them.  I’ve tried.”
“It’s so offensive I don’t know what to say,”  I told him.
I walked on, looked in a few stores, then turned back to the corner that had disturbed me so.  I approached the young man at the table.  A young woman was handing out fliers nearby.  “Do you know who Hitler was?” I asked him.
“I know nothing,” he replied.   And the look in his eyes as they stared at me, not vacant but exactly what I could not tell, said he would tell me nothing.
“Are you saying that if Obama hasn’t done anything for you or me personally that that qualifies him as a mastermind of genocide?”
“I know nothing.”
“That’s what they always say,” the man who had tried to warn me before said.  He was still waiting for the bus.  I wondered lwhy he was still there and if he was a shill, the "voice of reason" somehow luring other reasonable people passing by into the argument they had set up and were baiting people for. But there was no way to tell.  “They just tell you to read their literature," the voice of reason told me, "but there’s no information in there.  I’ve read it.  Maybe they don’t really know anything and they’re just paid to hand out this stuff.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” I said, “someone being paid for advocating violence or they’re just salespeople who don’t know what they’re selling.”
“They believe in what they’re doing,” my friend said.  “I heard that some Vet actually punched out one of these LaRouchers, then went to court, and told the judge he’d be happy to pay three times the fine if he could punch out two more of these guys.”
At this, the male LaRoucher became animated.  “I’m going to call the police and tell them you’re advocating violence.”
“I said,” my friend told the LaRoucher, “ that I read that that happened. It’s a fact and I’m repeating it.”
“You’re advocating violence,” the LaRoucher repeated to my supporter.  “I’m going to call the police.” 
His female counterpart came over to stand by her man.   Or maybe she hoped she would be punched out and make the papers and further their cause, whatever it was.. 
“You’re the ones advocating violence,” I told the LaRouchers. “Do you even understand what you’re doing?”
The LaRoucher tried to stare me down with his hazel eyes.  “I know nothing,” he said.
“Leave it,” my young friend advised me.    “I’ve tried.  They don’t listen.”
I walked to my bus stop.  But I couldn’t shake the experience.  The first black president of the United States of America.  Coupled with a legacy sick with hatred and racism.  Irrationality.  Unspoken threat.   Refusal to take responsibility for what they were saying and doing.  Complete disregard for the consequences of their words and actions. 
In a world gone made like this with hatred and irrationality, on street corners of major universities filled with young intelligent human beings, how can anyone not talk about God, the power that makes for justice and peace, the power that drives toward truth and mercy, the power that brings good out of evil?