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When a work of art of questionable
quality, featuring a black-faced Virgin Mary splattered
with elephant dung is compared to a hate crime,
somebody's suffering from a persecution complex.
About a decade ago, my younger brother painted a
small, plaster statue of the Virgin Mary to resemble
Ronald McDonald. A minor argument ensued as to whether
or not the proper name for the hybrid character
should be "The McVirgin" or "The Virgin McMary."
If only we had been able to move beyond our petty
argument we might have had the sense to declare
the statue a major work of art, and put it on display
where somebody might be offended by it. Then maybe
we could have been hailed as major artists. Since
we were receiving student loans at the time, we
also could have claimed government funding and really
generated a stink.
Ah, where does blasphemy end and comedy begin? What
is art, and what is just easy material for a lazy
media machine, and unimaginative politicians trying
to cover over their own mean-spiritedness by posing
as defenders of a faith they aren't supposed to
favor, but somehow all have to profess a belief
in if they wish to get elected. Doesn't there have
to be belief and understanding for something to
really be blasphemous? And when you get right down
to it, attempts by outsiders to offend or shock
Christians are not, and should not be, nearly as
disturbing as some of the crap the new breed of
Consumer Christians foist on one another as examples
of what is ideal.
Case in point: cotton-candy-haired, Tammy Faye clone,
Jan Crouch, wife of Paul Crouch, whose fame and
importance was begat of the toppling of Sleestak
Jim Bakker's craptacular empire by the demon of
lust and an uncontrollable, satanic urge to skim
from the collection plate. In a pointless promo
piece running on Trinity Broadcast Network throughout
the month of September, Jan was shown driving her
white, convertible BMW with black, leather upholstery.
The license plate reads "I (heart) JC." Yeah, and
I'm sure Jesus loves having his name tied to your
conspicuous consumption. As Jan enters the vomitously
gaudy grounds of TBN corporate offices and studios,
she tells her "babies," two white dogs, to "be good."
Comedy ensues as the dogs romp about the grounds,
and even frolic in a fountain. Of course, they return
to the BMW, clean and dry, before Jan does, and
Jan remains none the wiser.
None the wiser. That pretty much describes the modern
spiritual journey. Rather than encouraging believers
to change their lives in a meaningful way, perhaps
we can take the teachings of Jesus and turn them
into a marketing tool. Wait, no, the teachings of
Jesus wouldn't exactly work--too anti-money, too
anti-material. Instead, let's co-opt the image of
Jesus, ignore the message, and start selling crap
with Jesus' name on it, and an implied endorsement
from God. Really, what's more offensive--people
intentionally defiling the image of Mary or Jesus
because they have a lack of respect for it, or people
unintentionally desecrating what they allegedly
believe in, because of their complete ignorance
or failure to understand its most basic meaning?
If one holds oneself up as an example of Christ's
power to change lives, shouldn't one at least be
able to grasp such elementary teachings of Christ
as 'be kind to others,' and 'don't get caught up
in worldly, materialistic bullshit.'
One of my favorite info-mercials of late is for
the "Keep the Faith" series of Compact Discs--aimed,
of course, at Christians or anybody experiencing
a period of emotional weakness. Herein is the most
manipulative, sleazy advertising I may have seen
in my whole life. The ads are full of testimonials
from people who have, for example, gotten over tragedies
by listening to these music mixes, which consist
of some of the most vapid, pseudo-spiritual music
that could be produced by the worst hacks of whatever
genre this is supposed to be. Life's most poignant
moments are reduced to cliché with a Christian edge.
How meaningful. How touching. I can understand a
14-year-old trying to get over an unrequited crush
by listening to Britney Spears, but if I found out
my wife got over my death by listening to Garth
Brooks as Chris Gaines I think I'd have to come
back from the dead and slap some sense into her.
Imagine
what this is all leading to: "Hi, I'm Jesus of Nazareth.
When I was nailed to the cross, I was able to triumph
by thinking of a little song from the 'Keep the
Faith' series. It's from volume 12: 'Excruciating
Pain Won't Ruin My Day.' The song is called, 'Ouch,
Thanks a Lot, God.' By thinking of how truly awful
this song is, I was able to realize that my pain
was nothing compared to the brutal idiocy that is
inflicted on the world every day through the magic
of marketing."
In the works of Paul, there are numerous warnings
against applying Jesus' name and teachings to things
that Jesus simply wouldn't endorse (at the same
time Paul proclaims himself official mouthpiece
of Christ and makes plenty of his own statements
that just might not follow from the actual words
and actions of the big JC). Still, numerous Christians,
or perhaps people who aren't Christian but see an
excellent opportunity to make a buck, keep applying
the Jesus name and identity to ridiculous garbage.
I'm sure it's much easier than applying the name
of Elvis, or even Ernest Borgnine (a personal conflict
of mine) to a product--there are lawyers protecting
the name and image of those guys. If Christians
aren't a little more careful, Jesus might have to
descend with an army of lawyers, rather than angels,
grab up what is rightfully his in licensing fees,
and then (with the huge amount of money he should
have coming to him based on the sheer volume of
Jesus products out there--Bible royalties alone
should put him close to Bill Gates) maybe do something
like eradicate world hunger. That sure would be
more comforting, and hopefully win more converts,
than Christians who try to demonstrate their conviction
not through upstanding actions, but through buying
stuff that proclaims their group affiliation.
Copyright
© 1999 by Jonathan Schildbach
Jonathan
Schildbach is a 31-year-old graduate of the University
of Oregon who earns his living as a writer (of mostly
anonymous crap). Currently, he resides in Seattle
with his wife, Mayumi, and daughter, Jesse Garon.
You can see some of his other work at: The Control
Voice www.ungh.com/control
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