The April 15 B.C. brought praise and condemnation from readers, raising issues that seem as old as the Stone Age setting for one of the world’s most widely read comic strips.
“The Star-Telegram apologizes to all who were offended by the strip,” said Executive Editor Jim Witt. “Because the Sunday comics are handled by an outside printer, our editors haven’t been able to see the strips in advance. We are working with our supplier to be able to review the comics before publication in the future.”
Nearly 200 phone calls, e-mails and letters followed publication of Johnny Hart’s latest instance of evangelizing his 100 million readers.
The strip focused on Easter’s resurrection story. Hart illustrated the story line with a menorah whose lights were extinguished as a crucified Jesus’ seven last phrases were recalled. Ultimately, only part of the menorah’s frame was left, in the shape of a cross.
If I had been Hart’s editor, my immediate question would have been: “Mr. Hart, reflecting upon the Holocaust and centuries of persecution that the Jews have endured and overcome, don’t you think that your imagery might be worth reconsidering?”
The ensuing discussion would have dealt with some of the issues that readers have raised, such as:
Many will love the idea and see no harm; many will be horrified at the sight of a snuffed-out menorah that’s eliminated. How does this one concept justify the pain?
Freedom of speech is a constitutional guarantee, but, even in drawing a comic strip, what sort of sensitivities and maturity should be applied, if at all, to avoid backlash that could erode support for such a freedom?
Isn’t the risk of perceived desecration of religious symbols particularly high, given the destruction of statues of Buddha in Afghanistan, attacks on churches, the murder of clergy, and vandalism of Jewish cemeteries, mosques and other sacred places?
What’s the reply to accusations of arrogance, bullying readers and forcing the print medium that has “made” you to run whatever you create because you’re such a cultural Goliath?
On it goes. After a while, the cacophony of arguments and words fuse into a universal groan that murmurs: “Please understand me. Please care about me.”
That’s when I think about St. John and a centuries-old story. The tale contains a clue for how to deal with controversy.
John was an endearing Jewish teen-ager when he began to tag along with Jesus. Known as the beloved apostle, he lived a long life — longer than that of any of the other apostles.
As an old, old man residing in Ephesus, John was infirm but insisted on speaking to his congregation on every sabbath. Men from his congregation would go to John’s home and carry him to their place of worship.
John was revered, but there was one problem. Inevitably, his homily was one sentence: “Little children, love one another.” End of homily. One sentence. Every sabbath.
The congregation longed to hear more from John. He was the last living apostle. He had seen and heard so much. While crucified, Jesus had even said to Mary, his mother, that John was her son now and that she was John’s mother. And John had even brought Mary to Ephesus.
The congregation tried once to persuade John to say more.
A delegation went to him and asked: “Father John, the congregation wants to know if you will say more than, ‘Little children, love one another.’”
John looked at them kindly. “No,” he said. “If you do this, you do everything.”
John was trying to pass along the greatest lesson he had learned from his master. Wisely, he was trying to keep it simple.
His one-sentence homily continued. It needed to be said over and over, even down through the centuries, in the midst of every type of human agony imaginable, and beyond.
We’re still trying to get it, aren’t we? Even in the comics.
