Bits and pieces
And now for those readers who, like me, are somewhat attention-challenged, here’s a column with a few bite-sized morsels. Digest slowly and savor, if possible.
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You gotta give Southerners their due; they know how to evangelize. Or at least advertise God.
On a recent drive through central Florida, it was nigh impossible to miss the billboards and even homemade placards peering out from the roadside proclaiming that old time religion.
On just about any road, from the Interstate to country lanes, hidden among the verdant growths of kudzu (also known as the plant that ate the South), a watchful motorist could spot “Jesus saves!!,” “Praise the Lord!,” various biblical verses and many other references to things religious. In addition to the spiritual uplift, watching such signs beats counting the roadkill armadillos.
If there’s a lesson here, it’s this: successful evangelization takes hard work, inventiveness and a good dose of marketing.
But here’s the kicker. Kudzu, if you don’t know it, is an aggressive vine that can overtake a grown tree or close up a clearing in short order. Despite the encroaching vegetation, most signs were clear, even the homemade ones.
Divine intervention, maybe?
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Among the roadside signs sporting biblical verses was this familiar one: “The wages of sin is death.”
That passage from the Letter of Paul to the Romans is usually taken to mean that if you don’t stick to the straight and narrow, the devil’s gonna get you.
But sometimes, in today’s marketing-driven world, the wages of sin is … a billboard.
The day before this issue of The Catholic New World went to press a curious billboard went up on a building across busy Ontario Street.
“Hi, Steven,” it read, and went on to inform an unfortunate hubby that he was a cheating scoundrel and that his spouse—the “soon-to-be-ex-wife Emily,” had all the evidence on tape.
(I suppose it says something about today’s culture that one of the epithets was OK for a public billboard but not OK for this publication.)
Anyway, undoubtedly like a lot of drivers, our staff pondered whether Steven ever saw the billboard, what the dastardly adulterer’s comeuppance would be—or even whether he was real.
Turns out neither Emily nor Steven exist (not that we know of, anyway) and the message was a marketing ploy by an undisclosed company. But pity the innocent Steven driving by who’s married to an Emily.
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One person’s melody is another’s nails on the blackboard.
Once upon a time, cities and towns kept time to the chiming of church bells, Catholic and non. Usually, no matter where you were, you were within earshot of a church steeple that would announce the hours.
Bells have been a good reminder of faith as well as the time. Sometimes, if you knew the bells, you’d recognize the Angelus and stop for a moment of prayer.
The bell tower of St. John Cantius has been that reminder for a century or more on the Near West Side. But complaints can, sadly, sometimes be louder than bells.
New neighbors in upscale housing across the street from the church filed a complaint with the Illinois Environmental Protection Agency maintaining that the peal of the bells was too loud. After some discussion, the church agreed to halt the ringing at 9 p.m., two hours earlier than before.
I wonder, when all public evidence of faith is removed from our lives, what will be left?
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Finally, should we call the next Olympics the “Mostly Straight Games?” Just asking.
