Minilogue - April 2006

Domestication of Transcendence

By the Rev. Bruce Johnson

A few years ago, driving back to Indiana from a ministers’ meeting in Birmingham, Alabama, I stopped for gas in Cave City, Kentucky, on the outskirts of Mammoth Cave National Park. A sign near the gas station promised that State Road #70 was a “Scenic Kentucky Byway,” so I decided to take a short detour to view the quiet countryside. The rolling landscape was indeed beautiful, and since the tourist season hadn’t yet begun, the wayside attractions were mostly closed and I had the highway all to myself. I drove west from the Interstate, past the wax museum and the go-cart track, beyond the driving range and the fireworks outlet, even past the Jellystone Park Campground and the Alpine Slide. About a half-mile beyond Joe’s Diner I came upon a wondrous sight, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Right next to Abner’s Gifts and Souvenirs, just across the road from the Jesse James Riding Stables, there it was, the “Golgotha Fun Park.” A large sign proclaimed, “Family Fun,” and another declared that this was “#1 Shaded Biblical Mini-Golf.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes – it was like something out of a Tom Robbins novel. I pulled over, got out of the car, and stepped carefully over the drooping chain that blocked the entrance to the park. I walked slowly toward the three tilted crosses at the top of the hill named after the biblical “Place of the Skull” where Jesus is said to have been crucified between two thieves. Like any other miniature golf course, this one had warped and wavy putting surfaces, baffles and blind corners, challenges and frustrations built in at every turn. But instead of the usual obstacles and ornaments of windmills and wild animals, this course had biblical landmarks and characters: stone tablets flanking the fairway, the River Jordan as a water hazard, and Jonah’s whale, mouth all agape. A weather-beaten plaster Jesus stood beside a well, like a lonely caddy patiently holding the flag for the next putter. The final hole was apparently the Holy Sepulchre itself; when the ball disappeared into that mysterious cave, the game was over – or was it?

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry – or perhaps both at once. I tried to imagine the motivation and intention of the person who had come up with this idea and developed the property. I can only think that they were sincere, and wanted to establish an Appalachian Protestant version of the via dolorosa -- “stations of the cross” for happy campers.

I walked down the hill in the chilly spring afternoon, feeling a strange sadness. The “Golgotha Fun Park” is a symbol of the domestication of transcendence that is widespread in our society. It’s easy to laugh at the crude and unsophisticated examples, but I found myself reflecting on the ways that we all seek to tame and package the spontaneous spirit that “bloweth where it listeth.” The latest trendy weekend workshop or the best-selling book on spirituality may differ from the “Golgotha Fun Park” only in the sophistication of the marketing, and the socio-economic class to which they appeal. True spirituality, it seems to me, must issue from a source that cannot be contained, bottled, packaged or sold. Like a secret spring bubbling up from some deep and hidden cavern, like one of the bright elusive birds that followed me back to my car, flitting through the branches of the bare trees on the hillside….