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