You don’t have to be a Presbyterian to enjoy a good Christian aphorism. I started collecting Church Blurbs 20 years ago. In the beginning, THE BIBLE said something about getting the word out, but I can’t find the holy scripture that says – “…And it will come to pass, in the City of Angels, that ye shall place an aphorism on the House of the Lord and thy flock will flock to hear the word of God. Amen.”
FLASHBACK: Mid-20th Century Los Angeles. Supermarkets were like movie theaters; they had marquees. This was Hollywood and they treated groceries like movie stars. They advertised daily specials – like Bananas, 40 cents a bunch. Watermelons, 11 cents a pound, Lucky Strikes: $3.99 a carton (Lucky Strikes were cigarettes).
Growing-up in L.A., the only Christian slogan I ever saw was JESUS SAVES — and I wondered — what did Jesus save? The price of things was calculated in cents and there was actually a symbol for “cents” – it was a lower case “c” with a forward slash through it. Nobody born after 1965 would know this. It’s like Aramaic.
L.A. signage was low-tech, campy urban blight. Golden arches, a giant doughnut, Bob’s Big Boy and a big hotdog decorated the cityscape. Driving around Los Angeles was like a bad acid trip. For more than a decade a billboard hovered above the Sunset Strip. It was a publicity stunt called “Angelyne,” Patron Saint of Whores.
FLASH FORWARD: The early 1990s. Church attendance was down, ennui was up, and pro-active ministers worried about their shrinking congregations. They prayed and prayed. What could they do to get keesters in the pews? What would HE do?
And as they prayed, it came to pass that one day, amid the din of condo conversions, strip mall construction, declining education, and the rising cost of living in L.A., the clergy heard The Word and the Word was, “advertising.” And so it was written in big block letters, for all the world to see…
WHEN SATAN REMINDS YOU OF YOUR PAST –
REMIND HIM OF HIS FUTURE
All over town, cheesy marquees were being bolted beneath crosses, facing on-coming traffic. Suddenly houses of worship looked like art house movie theatres. It was the birth of the Christian aphorism. Church blurbage was clever and catchy. It was like your conscience was cutting you off in rush our traffic.
WHEN IT COMES TO GIVING SOME PEOPLE STOP AT NOTHING
HE FORGIVES AND HE NEVER FORGETS
WAGES OF SIN USUALLY GO UNREPORTED
I started leaving the house in the middle of the night, just to drive – just to find one. I’d be jonesin’ for a platitude. I’d venture into unfamiliar neighborhoods searching for a blurb. They were signs from God. I was beginning to see that God loved me, good deeds – and He was partial to puns. Like:
FREE FAITH LIFTS
THE LORD’S WORK = A BIG PRAYDAY
OUR CHURCH IS PRAYER CONDITIONED
PEOPLE WHO GOSSIP END UP IN THEIR OWN MOUTH TRAPS
Then one day, I read the aphorism that changed my life. It stated what I had always believed, but as a lay person, didn’t feel qualified to proclaim…
THE TONGUE IS IN A WET PLACE – IT SLIPS EASILY
I nearly rear-ended a school bus filled with special needs 4th graders . I pulled-over and scribbled it on my thigh – with lipstick. Then I got a tattoo. Since that day, I keep Post-It notes and a Sharpie on the passenger seat. I prayed that someday, I’d be half as clever as the guy who wrote:
A BIBLE THAT’S FALLING APART IS OWNED BY SOMEONE WHO ISN’T
A sound byte of Faith: fantastic. A dose of Morality: Magic. Distilling dogma to a pun…. priceless.
A GOOD CHRISTIAN DOES IT BY THE BOOK
WHEN YOU KNEEL BEFORE GOD, YOU STAND UP TO ANYONE
SPIRITUALLY HUNGRY? TRY OUR FOOD
WHEN PEOPLE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN PROFITS EVERYONE PROFITS
Snappy Christian copy isn’t high-brow. It’s simple and succinct; a tasty morsel of old time religion. Whether you’re an atheist, a Buddhist or a Jehovah’s Witness, nobody can argue with great syntax, solid values and common sense.
JOY THRIVES IN THE SOIL OF PRAISE
TODAY’S POOR CHOICES ARE THE DOWN PAYMENT ONTOMORROW’S PROBLEMS
HE TOLERATES YOU, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR HIM?
GOD’S STILL IN THE RESCUE BUSINESS
For my platitudes to pop, they’ve got to be quick, clever and true. They need to succeed in three ways . First, you’ve got to see it. Second, you have to speed-read it (at 40 MPH). Finally, you need to remember it, so you can jot it down at the next red light.
WHEN YOU FLEE TEMPTATION –DON’T LEAVE A FORWARDING ADDRESS
LIFE IS LIKE TENNIS – YOU CAN’T WIN WITHOUT SERVING
CONFESSION IS GOD’S DETERGENT
Church copy is like an espresso shot of faux scripture. It gives you a faith buzz. So what if I’m Jewish? This isn’t about religion, it’s about my Church Blurb Collection which has swelled to an awesome 108. I don’t need a shelf. I don’t have to dust it. And I know, someday, I’ll be selling it on QVC.
PRAYER IS THE 1-800 NUMBER FOR HEAVEN
JESUS IS THE REASON FOR THE SEASON
GOD OWNS THE TEAM, JESUS IS OUR COACH, SHOW UP FOR PRACTICE
A MOTHER IS GOD’S SMILE IN DISGUISE
SINS REMIND US NOT TO DO THAT AGAIN
Wouldn’t you rather read this –
PEOPLE CANNOT CHANGE TRUTH BUT TRUTH CAN CHANGE PEOPLE
– while you’re zooming down Wilshire Blvd., than be assaulted by the psychotic billboard for ORPHAN? — Me, too.
KNOW JESUS, KNOW PEACE; NO JESUS, NO PEACE : IT’S YOUR CHOICE
TO ERR IS HUMAN, TO FORGIVE IS DEVINE…OOPS: “DIVINE”
A BAD DAY LASTS ONLY 24 HOURS, A BAD DEED CAN LAST FOR ETERNITY
and finally….
THERE IS NO “I” IN “FLOCK”
O My God. The only thing sweeter than the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost, Christmas, Heaven, eternal salvation and a ham sandwich – is great blurb.
“The Clap”
In Comedy & Commentary on January 29, 2010 at 4:16 amGolden Globes, SAG Awards, State of the Union, Grammys, Super Bowl, the Olympics – it’s time to get our clap on. Why do we clap? Applauding is primitive. Cave men clapped when they discovered fire. They applauded when they invented the wheel. And the first time a Neanderthal dragged a wooly mammoth back to the cave – he got a Standing O.
We, the people, love to clap. It’s the first thing we teach a baby. “Clap! Clap! Clap!” Clappy baby equals happy baby. Clapping is a universal language. All you need is a couple of hands. And who doesn’t love hands? Hands are special. In the animal kingdom we are distinguished by our awesome opposable thumbs. Other than seals and primates, only humans clap.
Hands are big business. We put gloves on them. We wash them and rub them with lotion. We wave them and raise them when we know the answer. We give them in marriage and place the right one on a bible and swear to tell the truth. Without a right hand, everyone could be a liar — if they wanted to. What would Italians and Jews do if they had no hands? Be Norwegian.
There are 27 bones in the hand. Hands are fragile like a Faberge egg. So why don’t we take better care of them? Why do we abuse them by furiously bashing them together? They are one of our most useful body parts.
Besides mouths, hands are the only anatomical structure that can hold things. There are a million ways to use hands. Hands can be held. They can hold all the cards and a paintbrush, a bowling ball, a golf club, a bow and arrow, and a gun. And what about God? He’s got the whole world in His hands. Hands can play the piano, the guitar and the theremin.
Hands can dunk basketballs, hail cabs, mold clay and pray. Sign language would be tricky without hands and so would the hula, charades and shadow puppets. Bob Fosse wouldn’t be as famous without his signature jazz hands. And what about Senor Wences — he was a hand. Hollywood’s Grauman’s Chinese Theater would be half as popular if it had only footprints.
Hands are hard to draw. You can spot the really good artists because they’re the ones that can draw hands. Why is Michaelangelo famous? – Hands. He could draw, paint and sculpt them. Hands are a hand model’s fortune. Pickpockets would be out-of-luck without them. If we didn’t have hands, how could we give someone a hand-out, or a helping hand, or a hand job? Face it: we couldn’t.
Without hands we’d be freaks. Our fingers would grow out of our wrists and we’d all look like Thalidomide babies – and we’d have night terrors and wake up screaming at 3 a.m. Groping, grabbing and boxing wouldn’t exist if we didn’t have hands. There would be no second or third base. Dating wouldn’t be the same. You’d have to go from making-out directly to fornicating, without fondling. If we didn’t have hands, sex and baseball would make no sense at all, and “hands-free” would.
When we want to show the world that we like something, we clap. When we want someone to know how much we love the way they sing a song, act a role, throw a ball, run a race, or run the country — we clap. We smack our hands together, violently – in a repetitive, manic, masochistic frenzy.
Clapping is contagious. Rarely is it a solitary event. It’s impossible to clap with one hand, unless you’re referring to my last boyfriend. Being with him was like playing ping pong, alone. Or riding a bicycle built for two, alone. Or going to couples counseling, alone. It was like singing a duet with myself.
The point is, it’s anatomically impossible to clap with one hand. Most of us would never treat another person the way we treat our two hands clapping. We’d be arrested if we smacked somebody the way we slap our hands.
If the violence with which we spank our handflesh isn’t bizarre, enough, we exhibit more aberrant behavior when we stand up while applauding. The Standing Ovation is the ultimate expression of adoration. Sometimes the “Standing O” is accompanied by the Tourettesian verbal outburst: “Woo! Woo!” followed by the 2-fingered mouth whistle.
The full-blown human calliope consists of: clapping, standing, yelling and whistling. When in clusters, clans or communities, we applaud what we love. Maybe it’s how we feel part of the show or the way in which we share the victory. Or maybe we clap to signal which side we’re on. It’s a secret code to identify our enemies — they’re the ones who aren’t clapping.
We clap because we are grateful that one of our kind is brave enough to do the work, score the point, ski the slope, make the art, win the medal, be the President, the boyfriend, the American Idol. And when we clap, dying fairies live.
Maybe that’s why we expose our precious hands to the risk of swelling, sprain and fracture. It’s in our DNA – this compulsion to smack our human flippers together, over and over, again and again and again. The percussion of applause brings us together and reminds us that we’re not alone. Go on — give yourselves a hand. I’m on your side.