Three years ago I took an amazing class called "The Preacher and the Poet." We read a lot of poetry, played around with sermons, and wrote silly impromptu creative writing assignments. This one's been on my mind lately; we had to write a real or fictional story of a family member meeting someone famous.

PastorG is right; I'm sure I will subject you, patient reader, to a recounting of last night's great fun. Post to follow, sometime. If you're over it, move on. I won't be offended. In the meantime...


The Day My Brother Met...
March 2002

Luke ran his hand through his curly brown hair, long and loose around his face, and sighed. He grabbed a drink from a nearby cooler and sat near the sound board, a brief rest in the midst of his job as impromptu roadie. He had been involved with activism for a long time—men against violence, abortion rights, gun control, and the list went on—but this was his first debt relief gig. A friend had convinced him to make the long trip to D.C. for the big rally, and the next thing he knew, he was roped in to helping gopher backstage. Guess his friend was higher up in this “organization” than he had thought; Luke was used to the small-town, grassroots stuff.

The heat and humidity bore through his black t-shirt, a Value Village special that had a little too much poly in the cotton-poly to be comfortable in 90 degree weather. He watched the backstage crowd mill about: earnest-looking yuppies, Catholic priests, and of course, wild-eyed, wild-haired hippies—kinda like him, but older. He chuckled at the mix of humanity that sped, sauntered, and strolled by.

“Hand me a bottled water, wouldya?” came a voice from behind him.

He turned around, and it took a split second to recognize the black-clad, sunglasses-wearing pop star in front of him. He was even wearing that jacket with the American flag on the inside liner he’d sported at the Superbowl. Of course—Luke mentally smacked his forehead in recognition—this was a debt relief rally. Of course Bono would be there.

As he dug through the cooler looking for a bottled water, Luke was the picture of cool—on skin surface. Underneath, he was flushed with questions and totally tongue-tied.

What do you say to a pop star who’s had audience with the pope, who was planning a fact-finding trip to Africa with Paul O’Neill—the Treasury Secretary, for Pete’s sake… didn’t he think it was kinda selling out to cozy up to the powers that be, or was that a way to use his influence for good? And what was it like to be part of the hunger relief effort in Africa with his wife, and how could he go back to a pop-star lifestyle after that?

What do I say? Luke thought while the seconds dragged on. Ugh, say something, anything!

“Here’s your water, Mr. Vox.”

Well, that’s what you don’t say.


Bono Vox