Content provided in partnership with
What would Jesus deface?
Skeptical Inquirer, May-June, 2008 by Kat Meltzer
The bumper sticker on my car reads: If evolution is outlawed, only outlaws will evolve. Last week, at Safeway supermarket, an anonymous Christian beheld my blasphemy and tried to hack it off. Presumably he tried prayer first. But the Lord refused to smite my beloved cherry-red Mini Cooper. So, the man of Christ decided to witness unto me using the power of, oh, let's say, a boxcutter.
When I returned with my groceries, my first response was to take his Lord's name in vain. Then I realized I might have judged in haste. As a skeptic, I am bound to consider other possibilities.
Alternate Hypothesis No. 1: The guy hates Minis.
Phooey. Minis are adorable. Hating a Mini is like hating a baby, a sweet little baby swaddled in rainbows that you can park anywhere.
Alternate Hypothesis No. 2: A science professor, a lone intellectual fighting the fide of pop culture, sits in his battered Fiat. On the passenger seat, his iPhone displays a wide-eyed kitten in a file drawer. The caption reads "IM IN UR OFFICE DENYING UR TENURE." Slowly, he removes his trusty boxcutter from the glovebox. The handle is cold, the blade keen, and there, a mere three spaces away, is the Miss Congeniality of automobilia, sporting a blatantly flawed proposition about actual science. The professor loses his beautiful mind. Illegitimi non carborundum! This is Sparta!
Actually, it's California, where we are required by law to wear our opinions on our surgically enhanced bosoms. Not surprisingly, bumper banter abounds in every parking lot. Nearly every car in my row has an opinion, including two cars sporting political commentary (Animals Are People Too! and It's Not a Choice, It's a Child!) So why violate my snaky sticker? Because my hypothetical professor is crazy, not stupid. Skeptics might bore you comatose with reasons and evidence and sarcasm, but they won't firebomb the Semiotics Department.
[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]
On the other hand, academicians don't carry boxcutters. Unless MacArthur grants come from Costco now.
And on the other hand, the original hand, the faithful have a long history of sharing the Lord's unconditional love of the blade. Seems counterintuitive, but what do I know? Somewhere in the multiverse, an alien Jenna Jameson probably invited a fraternity of morons up to her penthouse because she was so enchanted by their incoherent yelling and the barfdrool on their tee shirts. It must have worked at least once. Otherwise, why would they do it?
Yup, this is the work of a drive-by Christian, a case of hit-and-run agape. I should probably be grateful that Mr. Agape chose to share the Good News with petty vandalism.
Nevertheless, I wish he had stayed to chat. And not just so I could say "Dude, WTF?" or "You see how much nicer it is when you use your words?" I wanted to do all that hokey stuff like discuss our differences and seek out common ground. For example: we both like books, right? Well, I like books plural and Mr. Agape likes at least one. And I've read That One all the way through. (It's okay. A bit uneven, but that's anthologies.) I suppose he was in a hurry. My Other Car Is A Broom, Shit Happens, My Honor Student Can Beat Up Your Honor Student--so many bumper stickers, so little time....
Oh dear. Because if he was in a hurry ...
Do you remember the Sermon on the Mount? I hope Mr. Agape doesn't. (Not the Beatitudes. Meekness is easily treated with SSRIs, and lo, if he hungered, the Safeway was right there.) Specifically, I hope he doesn't remember this: If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee.
Because, take it from me, those things are slippery. And they roll. If Mr. Agape believes his Book literally, he really should not be driving. And he definitely shouldn't be swinging a boxcutter.
Poor guy. If I knew which emergency room he'd gone to, I'd send him flowers. Maybe a nice, uplifting book-on-tape, like Miss Manners Rescues Civilization.
But I don't know where he is. All I can do is talk to him, even though he isn't here, and hope that somehow he will hear my message. All I can do is pray.
Dear Mr. Agape:
If this life truly is a faith-based reality show, you win. I lose. Me: no whining, no do-overs. You: eternal end-zone dance. In the meantime, how about this: you and your personal savior leave my #@*% car alone, and I won't ask you to evolve.
Amen and get well soon.
Kat.
Kat Meltzer hopes she is a better writer than the last time she appeared in these pages.
COPYRIGHT 2008 Committee for the Scientific Investigation of Claims of the Paranormal
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning
Find Research Guides for:
Find Featured Titles for: News
Most Popular Articles in Reference
- The importance of understanding organizational culture
- Credit card attitudes and behaviors of college students
- What factors attract foreign direct investment?
- Libraries Need Relationship Marketing - mutual interest marketing concept, ...
- How to set performance goals: employee reviews are more than annual critiques
- More »