Of speaking in tongues, snake handlers, and big tents: or, of mocking memes

CorpGovActivist

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Wed Feb-06-08 09:54 AM
Original message

Of speaking in tongues, snake handlers, and big tents: or, of mocking memes

Edited on Wed Feb-06-08 10:22 AM by CorpGovActivist

O8) :bounce: :evilgrin:

That's me and my posse, and that's how we usually roll, bounce, roll. The fallen angel on the sinister shoulder. The nag on my right. My Be-yelzebuddy is in tight with the Main Man. The Nag definitely pissed off his Harpivisor, but doesn't like to talk about the circumstances.

And here we go, charging right in where (most) angels fear to tread. But before we do, just this one thing:

On this one thing, we three agree. The day starts with a song. Today's is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNHkOryXosI">Sympathy for the Devil.

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You see, the way I see it, the only way we take the White House away from the Republicans, come November, is to carry some areas that aren't blue, but rather a bluish shade of purple.

Areas where Holy Rollers dwell.

Evangelicals.

Pentecostals.

Southern Baptists.

You know.

The Devil.

At least, the way they're routinely demonized in some parts, you'd think they were.

So, I'm here to plead the case for a little sympathy. Maybe, even a tinge of empathy.

You might say that I'm an unlikely advocate.

You've got me dead to rights there, and you've got no end of irony with which to plead your counterclaim.

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Best Boy Personality, 1981 and 1983. Church camp. That was before I knew about stuffing ballot boxes, or 1982 would be sitting on the shelf, too. Be-yelzebuddy didn't get this gig until 1984. At church camp. When I was 12. Apparently, that was the year I caught the attention of the Main Man, and he sent Be-yelzebuddy on a special project. Be-yelzebuddy's been with me ever since.

But that first, dicey meeting? Let's just say I allowed him to introduce himself in a rather disqualifying manner. That is to say, certain activities at church camp aren't considered conducive to Best Boy Personality, and Be-yelzebuddy neglected to tell me that part. Like most beauty pageants, there are rules. They waved the rule book at me a lot that week to explain why I was disqualified.

For my part, I hold no grudges. Against Be-yelzebuddy, that is. He was just trying to make a good first impression on his first day. Rookie mistake. Have a little sympathy. If we've hugged it out, you can let it go, too.

The funny part was, the hometown pastor who raved and crowed bragging rights to his fellows when I would bring home these trinkets from the state church camp (and there were many others, for drama, for performing arts, and so on) was the same Sonofa who gave encouraging pep talks on Sunday mornings about HOMO-SEX-SHUALS.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but he always seemed to manage to catch my eye right when he got to that word, like he was looking down at me from the pulpit, staring thru the eyes of one of those Jesus multi-angle paintings. Those things still creep me out.

Church, as a Pentecostal in Appalachia, means 3 times a week: twice on Sundays, and then again on Wednesdays. To keep from backslidin'. That's a glossary term. There will be a test.

Right about now, you're probably looking at your watch, wondering if I'm ever gonna shut the hell up. Yup. Now you know what church, three times a week, for 16 years feels like.

Add to that the fact that there was no TiVo back then. And this, my friends, is important to the story.

On Sunday nights, one of two things happened: either the Sonofa finished at 7:55 like the deacons' (all men) unwritten rule said he was supposed to - meaning, that I could hightail it home on foot, leaving the rest of the family to meander to the car for the short drive home, and I could rush in breathlessly to catch the opening fanfare of the Battlestar Galactica theme; or, the Sonofa ran long, and I missed part of that week's plot.

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Ladies and Gentlemen of the DUry, that was the opening argument. Here's the case:

1. Speaking in Tongues

I've seen it, up close and personal, complete with the pregnant pause until somebody else translates what - to any unprogrammed youngster's ear - sounds like gibberish. Now, I've had Spanish, Latin, German, and Russian, and never once did I catch even one word of those tongues. Somebody upstairs wasn't tapping talent.

But the Nag is on some sort of probation, so maybe I'm guilty by association in that respect. Either way, he's not talking.

The language "you" use to describe a thing says as much about "you" as it does about the object of your derision. It also gets noticed by those being derided, as evidenced by bumper stickers "you" might see if "you" weren't too scared - pretending that "you" are too sophisticated to be bothered - to roll through some of these areas.

Trust me. Your mouth ain't that purty.

Mountain manners have been grossly maligned in that regard. But that's another trial, one courtroom down.

These bumper stickers "you" may not have seen show a certain sophisticated form of defiance. Bumper stickers like:

I SHALL not be moved.

Did you just stifle a snicker? So do "they" when "they" see ones like these:

Which brings us to pronouns. Them, they, us, we. Exclusionary and inclusive.

The first step to engaging, successfully, in groupthink is to draw the circle of language.

Don't include "them" in your circle?

Well, then, why should "they" vote like "we" tell "them" to?

Speaking in tongues: not just for ...

2. Snake Handlers

Be-yelzebuddy just laughed. That's because I'm not exactly fond of snakes. It was one of the things that the other little boys picked up on, if ya know what I mean. I don't care if it's "just a little baby garter snake," get that thing the hell away from me. Or me away from it.

Luckily, my family's church was about exactly one half-step up in the pecking order from the Snake Handlers. Oh, yeah, there's a pecking order, all right, all the way up to "those" idolatrous branches of Christianity that "they" practice. Yeah, language cuts both ways.

The whole point of Snake Handling is to prove faith in a literal interpretation of an Old Testament story and New Testament affirmation of that story, which says, basically, that true believers can take up these things best left under rocks - where they damn well belong, as far as I'm concerned - and the true believers will go unharmed.

This is known as strict constructionism, and leaves no room for scientific discoveries about biology or any other related field. Scalia and the Boys on the Bench - big fans. You can see them in the front pew most any time, givin' their rubber stamp Amens!

The moment of epiphany, when you become a heretic in a Snake Handler Church, is unfortunately short-lived, seeing as how you're probably in need of the antidote, stat.

My feet come up off the ground, and I take a deep, sharp, startled gasp if a snake comes on the TV. Be-yelzebuddy and my partner laugh and laugh. Even the Nag stifles a titter.

So, yeah, I know. Trust me. I know. Looking for votes among serpents (best left under the rocks they should never slither out from) is a tough fear to face. I get it. But sometimes, you have to put on your big person pants and your snake waders.

For the safety and well-being of my family, I would face a snake.

The well-being of our American Family requires us to be Riki-Tiki-Tavis to their Republican Ringsnakes and Conservative Cobras.

And if you know about Riki-Tiki-Tavi, that moxified mongoose carried off the unhatched brood, too, solving present and future problems at once.

We need to engage in those communities and save this generation from their http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_EKHK1C2IE">Own Private Jesus Camp. Been there. Done that. Gave the. Nevermind.

You *are* serious about *your* progressive faith, right? Gotta knock on some doors, then. "They" do.

Be-yelzebuddy always puts me up to yelling out to my partner: "Did you order out?"

Which brings me to...

3. Pitching a Big Tent

If you've never been to a real, live, under-the-big-top, paper-hand-fan waving, Glory Hallelujah-ing tent revival ...

... then you, my FREY-YEND

... are missing pretty much all of the encrypted code that Mike Huckabee is passing, right under your very nose, to his listeners.

Think that Big Tent of theirs has come crashing down under Bush? Think the damage is irreparable?

"They" don't. Business is booming, and they've got big-top tent repair and set-up down pat.

"They" will have a Kumbaya Jam Session the likes of which "you" might only begin to imagine.

Or had you forgotten about Lee Atwater and his walk-on duo already?

See? Knowing the Old Testament helps. In both religion and politics.

And "they" ain't servin' up fair trade tofu after the Kumbaya drum circle, either. Go into any http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Hot_&_Blue_(restaurant)">Red, Hot & Blue restaurant. You can find at least one photo of its late founder, Lee Atwater, within 20 seconds of walking thru the front door, I guarantee it. Or your next meal is on me.

The FAT Sonofa usually ended his sermons whenever his belly started growling. Ya'll run on home now. All that talk about BBQ has me craving a little take-out.

Ya'll hightail it on home now. Go on. Git.

<--- click

Amen.