The Meek Shall Inherit Nothing: The World's Largest Cross, Effingham, IL

Alongside Interstate 70 in southern Illinois is a massive cross – 198 feet tall, to be exact –made out of aluminum siding. Do I even have to write this one to convey to you our shared thoughts on it?

Imagine a world where a religion adopted a method of execution as their central symbol: a noose, a guillotine, a lead pipe in the billiard room…now imagine that symbol stamped all across the United States. The cross, too, at least historically, was the device for one of the most popular execution methods of its era: crucifixion. There are crosses everywhere in this country. In regions with higher concentrations of Baptists, it is usually a trio of crosses. Roadside are makeshift memorials to loved ones who died in automobile accidents, marked by crosses. And yet, there is never a roadside assemblage of crescent moons and stars, six-pointed stars, the Sanskrit depiction of “Om,” Buddha’s wheel of dharma…

For those who don't know - and want to - the Christian Cross, Jewish Star of David, Hindu Om, the Star and Crescent of Islam, the Buddhist Dharmic wheel, the Shinto Torii, the Sikh Khanda, the Baha'i Star, and the Jain Hand.

Image credit: Wikimedia.

Now is as good a time as ever to restate that I find nothing wrong with the core precepts of Christianity. Whatever belief system helps you become a better person without being a self-righteous ass about it, I say go for it. My dad is a good Christian. My grandparents are good Christians. There are plenty of good Christians the world over. This isn’t for them or even about them – and with that, I hope more Christians stand up for themselves and the true messages within their religion, of love, acceptance, and service to mankind, not just as an affront to the clinically insane claimants of the faith, but also to reshape popular perception.

Theological conundrums aside, and I assure you the book will have a much meatier take on the subject, the important question I have asked as we traveled across the United States is this: “What about non-Christians?” What about non-Christians who wish to buy alcohol on a Sunday in any number of states? What about non-Christians who see a billboard telling them evolution is a lie, and to call 1-855-FOR-TRUTH to hear the real story? What about those pro-life billboards?

Not even the worst.

Image credit: Plunderbund via Gender Focus.

For people living on either coast, this may seem baffling, but it is a reality throughout the Midwest and the South. (That said, I would love to know the rates of teen pregnancies in regions with those awful “LIFE BEGINS AT CONCEPTION” billboards.) If this was a phenomenon limited to a single state, it would not be as bad. It would be a problem as easily resolved as my version of censorship: if you do not like it, turn it off! If you don’t care to see these messages, avoid the one state that has them. Unfortunately, this presentation of a warped, distorted Christianity that is anti-gay, ferociously anti-abortion, and anti-science, whatever the numbers actually are for practitioners and church memberships, is loud, proud, and preachy.

People are entitled by the Bill of Rights, their own free will, and some level of divine inspiration to pursue and practice the belief system of their choice. Where I draw the line is when one narrow school of thought is considered superior, influencing not just popular culture, but public policy. My gripe is with how in-your-face certain types of Christians can be. For the most egregious example of this, look no further than the Effingham Cross.

Interstate 70 serves as a major route for transportation from Baltimore to Utah, spanning just over 2,150 miles. Anyone who has passed through Illinois on this road has seen it, almost popping up out of nowhere: a giant cross, illuminated by a circle of spotlights on the ground. A close inspection reveals it is covered with aluminum siding, looking more like the weekend project of a crazed Home Depot employee than an earnest testament of faith.

No idols...no graven images...but a cross that towers over the nearest grain silo? Totally okay.

At the cross’ base is a relatively new church facility. Its sanctuary has at its front a wall of glass, granting visitors a view of the enormous cross and the relaxing vista of four lanes of constant Interstate traffic. Staffed by elderly volunteers, the church also offers a ten-minute video detailing the construction and installation of the cross. For reasons that I do not understand, both the video and their literature makes a big deal out of the fact that the cross was completed and put in place in the weeks after 9/11.

Alexa Altman: 5 foot 4 inches of fierce.

I was also left with a bad taste in my mouth when I learned the designer deliberately planned for the cross to stand 198 feet tall. What sounds like an arbitrary number is in fact two feet less than the minimum height listed in an FAA regulation requiring a blinking red light on top. Something about that struck me as so unnecessarily defiant, as if a cross twenty-four inches taller would somehow be cheapened by a blinking red light in compliance with federal law.

It was (literally) a hundred degrees out, with that Midwestern humidity to boot. I promised Alexa a cake pop to stay there while I walked back far enough to get the entire cross in the frame. 

The worst thing about this incredibly well-lit monstrosity is in knowing the resources invested into it, the time, money*, and manpower that could have built a homeless shelter, a soup kitchen, or a Boys & Girls Club. Jesus was a champion for the weak, for those in need, and for children. My Biblical knowledge is rusty, I’ll admit, but I definitely do not remember him insisting his followers build a cult of personality around praising him, much less to construct a replica of the device used in his brutal public execution.

Jesus' execution, as depicted in a film that parents who otherwise protest violence in cinema took their children along to see.

Christianity is not the only religion in our cultural landscape, and with increased globalization, its numbers will continue to drop so as to make room for different belief systems and philosophies. This does not mean it is going away – and I would not want that to happen– but instead that other ideas will enter our cultural lexicon. After all, is America not the land that, even today, boasts room for all? Or did that go away along with habeas corpus and payphones?

The Effingham Cross would be less obnoxious if, along that same stretch of road, there were massive replicas of the symbols of every major world religion. But then again, it would not be too long before Muslim extremists would attempt to blow up the Star of David, Zionist war-hawks would build a barbed-wire fence around the Star and Crescent after vandalizing it, while the Baha’is would wonder aloud why we all just can’t get along.

Then again, religion is a subject much like sex. A private and deeply personal matter, it is best discussed in small groups, where experiences and pursuits can be discussed in a climate of respect and understanding, with an unwritten law in effect that those who talk the most frequently, the most publicly, and the loudest about it are the ones who are getting the least enjoyment from it.

Credit: Photobucket. 

*Actual retail price: $1,000,000.00. It wouldn’t exactly be the Ritz-Carlton, but that could build a homeless shelter or seven.

If There's A Hell, We're All Gonna Go - Thoughts On Oak Creek, WI, One Year Later

Since 2009, I have been a friend and ally of the Sikh Coalition, a civil rights group based in Manhattan. Last year, I trained with a group of eleven other individuals as part of the Coalition's Advocate Academy in our nation's capital. I am proud to call the Sikh community my friends. The Advocates were asked to possibly write a follow-up from last year's shooting at a Sikh temple in Wisconsin. After several days of deep thought, and with Alexa's endorsement of my message, we jointly decided to publish this here first.

With the anniversary of any tragic event, it gives us an opportunity to ruminate. In the case of last year’s shooting at a Sikh gurdwara (temple) in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, my immediate thoughts go to the deceased. There were six of them, five men and one woman, all of whom had done nothing more than wake up on a Sunday morning and attend worship services.

My second thoughts are my own experience in learning the news. Alexa and I had spent the weekend painting our new apartment, away from television and without Internet. That Monday – the day after the shooting – I went to grab my morning coffee down the street from my office in Tribeca. It was there that I saw the newspapers, all featuring Sikh men and women in tears, with headlines reading “TRAGEDY IN OAK CREEK” and “SHOOTING AT SIKH TEMPLE LEAVES SIX DEAD.” I could not believe my eyes.

As a volunteer advocate for the New York-based Sikh Coalition, I knew I would have to get in touch with my contacts right away. As a human being, though, my head began to spin. I fought back tears, both of sadness and of rage, and my whole body felt cold. When I arrived at my office, I was barely able to work that day. My supervisor knew of my involvement with the Coalition and was gracious in letting me spend my morning taking phone calls and getting in touch with my friends at the Coalition.

For many Americans, with this story pushed into the national spotlight – right on the heels of the movie theater shooting in Aurora, Colorado – this was their introduction to Sikhs and Sikhism. The news outlets dumbed it down: Sikhism is its own religion, but because of their beards and turbans, they are occasionally mistaken for Muslims. Depending on the source of this news, they may or may not have gone on to explicitly state that violence against any religious group is wrong. Most did not.

The shooter was found to have connections to white supremacy organizations (he even played in one of those crappy Neo-Nazi punk bands), with a military history and the usual stream of people – after the fact, of course – who came out of the woodwork to say he had always been “just a little odd,” a “loner,” who never even made eye contact with his neighbors. What the media ultimately chalked the Oak Creek shooting up to was a case of mistaken identity. He had set out that morning hoping to kill some Muslims.

He took his own life at the scene, a final act of cowardice that absolved him from having a (very) public trial, from having to explain his motivations, or from even learning that his victims were not Muslims.

Let’s stop for just a second so I can state something – with emphasis – that I do not feel enough news anchors, reporters, bloggers, and Tweeters made known: unless somebody presents you with a direct and immediate threat, you have NO RIGHT as a human being to harm, maim, or kill them. Furthermore, killing anyone, anywhere, because they are different from you in some way, is morally reprehensible.

If this asshole had perpetrated violence at a mosque, instead killing six Muslims – five men, one woman – I hope that there would still have been the same level of outrage. We do not know, and it is my sincere hope that we will never know. The fact that he wrongly identified Sikhs as Muslims speaks loudly to his own ignorance.

So, one year later, what have we learned? My initial thought, looking at the present state of the world, was that we have learned nothing. Coming from a background in media and journalism, it pained me to see Oak Creek fade away from mainstream news coverage, following the so-called “ten day rule” of a news story, with focus returning on the orange-haired nightmare from Aurora. As I drove around this week, wondering what we have learned, I found myself contemplating this a lot: nothing. We have learned nothing.

It was only after a day or two that I came to an even bleaker conclusion: as bad as it was to think we as a society had learned nothing, we have actually gotten worse. The gun debate, which had been resurrected following Aurora, only got more heated, with both sides of the argument becoming more polarized. The rhetoric bordered on extremism – again, from both sides. After a perfunctory statement of condolences from President Obama, calling Sikhs “a part of our broader American family,” (emphasis mine) his wife visited Oak Creek while he was out electioneering.

Not even two weeks after the Oak Creek shooting, a member of that same sangat (congregation) was shot and killed during a late-night robbery. In his case, he just happened to be the man on the other side of a cash register, but the news sickened me just the same. There was something so inherently disgusting about this – a man who survived a shooting at his temple, only to be gunned down two weeks later – that I began thinking our society was terminally ill. With the Sandy Hook massacre four months later, the initial blame on the Boston Bombing getting foisted upon any brown-skinned fellow within a mile of the blast, and the lack of action from our elected leaders to do anything – literally ANYTHING – about regulating (not banning, not outlawing, mere regulation we are talking here) the sale of firearms, my suspicions were confirmed again and again.

What did we learn from Oak Creek? We learned that not even houses of worship are safe anymore. We had learned just weeks earlier that movie theaters weren’t safe. In mid-December, a man in Portland opened fire in a shopping mall. Days later, the unthinkable – the product that, before it became reality, would only have been in the thoughts of a truly sick individual – happened in Newtown, Connecticut. The shooter ended lives of teachers, the principal, teacher’s aides, and twenty first graders. Just typing that still puts a grapefruit-sized lump in my throat.

A year later, our society has grown more fearful, and as a consequence, more quick to violence. The entire case surrounding George Zimmerman’s shooting of Trayvon Martin was shrouded by the fact that Zimmerman acted out of fear, fear motivated at least in some part by race. There will be a lot left to speculation, as one of the parties involved never got a chance to tell his story, but the fact that Zimmerman walked – no charges for murder, no manslaughter, not even a note in his permanent record – sets a scary precedent. The day judgment came down, I declared that murder was now legal in Florida. Sarcasm aside, the “stand your ground” law being a viable defense in court for shooting someone armed with only a pack of Skittles makes this ruling one of the most shameful decisions since Dred Scott.

We have learned that nowhere is safe, so we should go ahead and stockpile our own private arsenal until Congress says we can’t, and continue to shoot first and ask questions later. Besides, if you live in Florida, you might not even have to answer for it.

In lieu of a conclusion, I will end with an extended quote from Curtis Mayfield’s 1970 song, “(Don’t Worry) If There’s A Hell Below, We’re All Gonna Go.” It is a timeless message, one warning and urging people to change their course (he even gets a line in about pollution) or suffer the consequences:

“Sisters, brothers and the whities,

Blacks and the crackers,

Stone-stoned junkie,

Police and their backers,

They're all political actors.

Smoke, the pill and the dope,

Educated fools from uneducated schools,

Pimping people is the rule,

Polluted water in the pool.

And everybody's saying don't worry,

They say don't worry,

They say don't worry,

They say don't worry,

But they don't know,

There can be no show

If there's a hell below,

We're all gonna go!

Lord, what we gonna do

If everything I say is true?

This ain't no way it ought to be.

If only all the mass could see,

But everybody keeps saying don't worry.”