It is October. I'm sure this month means different things to
different people, but to me it means Halloween. Halloween. This
entire thirty-one day period is given to us so that we can revel in
horror movies, scary books, and dress up like we secretly wish we
could all year long. This is what it meant to me as a kid, and it's
what it means to me now.
For the past couple of years I have been reasonably successful in my
efforts to come up with costumes and themes that send small children
and grown adults running away from my yard as fast as they can while
still screaming at the top of their lungs. I take great satisfaction
in this. So this weekend I took my wife shopping for tools and props
to achieve those noble ends. I love those huge Halloween megastores
that pop up this time of year that are a cross between a haunted
house attraction and a Walmart. I have the same amount of fun
wandering around in them that I did sorting through the comic book
rack when I was a kid.
So we're looking around, and as I check out a nice collection of
little skulls that sit on a shelf, I see something that slams the
breaks on in my head. It's a little booklet a couple of inches tall
and about five wide with a black and orange picture of a jack o'
lantern on its cover, sitting there doing an excellent job of
blending in with all the Halloween decorations.
I read some Chick Tracts when I was little, and ended up disliking
them. The comic-book style format got me to read them, but I always
came away with negative feelings. The first few times they were
effective in getting me scared that I was headed to hell for little
things like reading House of Mystery and not basing every decision I
made on what someone's version of God might think of it, and inducing
that kind of fear in a child is the kind of mean act that creates
mean adults. Also, the first time I read one I could tell whoever
wrote the stories only saw the world in black and white. When you
claim a TV show (Bewitched) has lead people to worship Satan, you're
not living in the same zip code as the rest of us.
As far as the person who left it there, I'm of two minds. I've read
the literature, which suggests leaving them where people can find
them, and I've seen them laying out at bookstores and different kinds
of conventions. If that person genuinely believes that their faith
is the absolute truth, and that a person might be saved from hell by
dropping off a little book, then I can't find fault there. But to
believe in the kind of world that Chick shows you, you have to
believe in a world where nothing is ordinary, and nothing comes from
man. It's either God's, or Old Scratch's. That attitude forbids any
expression of doubt, and you can't have honest soul-searching to
ponder whether you're doing the right thing or not because anything
other than their version of truth sends you to hell. There's no room
for you to contribute anything because God's already provided
everything you'll need, and there's no room to grow. Just stay
exactly as you are, and don't think for yourself.
Funny how I grew up loathing that mindset, isn't it?
My wife and I saw 'Machete Kills' today. That movie is pure silly,
bloody, over-the-top-and-then-over-the-hill fun. Watch it.
Still writing.
No comments:
Post a Comment