Writing Prompt

I saw this sign in Meyersdale, Pennsylvania. I have been basking in imaging the sheer range of possible causes for such a public manifesto ever since.

What happened?

Did a deacon embezzle money from the offering plate in order to start a travel agency in an abandoned store on Main Street—a pseudo business which in truth was a front for counterfeiting documents for illegal immigrants?

Did a casual attendant, the editor of the local paper, interpret a sermon as being aimed directly at his personal sins and blast the congregation for narrow-mindedness and bigotry in an op-ed?

Did the pastor sleep with his daughter’s first grade teacher?

Did a group of malcontents, angry at the Education Committee’s selection of Bible School material over the summer, escalate that disagreement into a full-fledged war over Sunday School materials for the fall. Were certain things said that could not be taken back? Did this group depart from the church in a huff, with their families and allies, and join the “other” Methodist church?

Did the church choir fail to bring dishes to a community chorale potluck, thus embarrassing the Methodists in front of the Baptists, Episcopalians, Catholics, Presbyterians, Pentecostals, and Church of the Living Fire?

Did pictures surface on the internet of a prominent member of the congregation drunk and half clothed in a gay bar in Pittsburgh (are there gay bars in Pittsburgh?)?

Did the Methodist youth group graffiti public property?

Does the pastor disapprove, with staunch Methodist fundamentalism, of some of his flock’s theological inclinations, and chose this method of informing them they had strayed? It certainly is calmer way of communicating fire and brimstone.

But that is precisely what pleased me so much about this sign: this church has guts. I would attend it. Somebody in the church obviously has something to say, and doesn’t mind saying it on main street. In small, close-knit towns, that is real courage.

It’s for sure better than the drivel that normally goes on church signs—horribly executed plays on words and bad rhymes that invite you, oh so cutely, to tuck religion into a convenient spot in your well-arranged life.