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A Holy Mystery
O. C. Edwards Jr.
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“You know, Rod,” he said, “I haven’t really gotten to know the Clarkes since I don’t teach Juniors. But let me suggest what might be going on with this couple. When my mind is unhampered by facts, I am free to perform great feats of interpretation. There is a guy at Harvard named Harvey Cox who wrote a fascinating book a couple of years ago called The Secular City. I make all of my parish administration students read it. In it Cox discusses beauty pageants, especially Miss America. He proposes that Miss America and Hugh Heffner’s Playboy function in our society like goddesses and gods did in primitive societies, providing models for the members of the society and personifying and authenticating its value structure. The Playboy and ‘the Girl,’ as he calls her, epitomize our society’s devotion to leisure and consumerism. Here, let me read you a bit,” Tom said as he unfolded his lank limbs and moved to one of the bulging bookcases.
Watching his friend as he stretched his long, big-boned fingers to select a volume, pull it down, and flip quickly through to find a place, Bothwell thought that there was something Lincolnesque about Tom, although it was a resemblance in type rather that in detail, since his features had a different sort of homely beauty. His mouth was as mobile as Honest Abe’s, his nose as hooked, and he had as many moles; but his head was rounder, his brow slanted, and while it was not weak, his chin did recede.
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