"Dead Guy on a Stick"

        Ha.  I wish I could lay claim to that wicked bit of blasphemy.

     But I can’t.  It belongs to Lynda, one of my hiking companions, who may well be even more of a heathen than I am.

         Or maybe she’s just reacting to the in-your-face Catholicism permeating Austrian culture.  A significant majority of Austrians--as high as 70 percent--are Catholic.  Ergo, crucifixes are ubiquitous.  Everywhere you look: Jesus on a Stick.  They can even be found along the E5 trail attached to trees in little shelters that from a distance look like birdhouses.

         I love the Jesus-on-a-Stick idea.  It’s perfect.  What?  You think it’s bizarre and tasteless to equate the central symbol of christianity with a popsicle or, worse, a corn dog?  Well, yeah.  But is it really any less strange--or tasteless--to focus worship on an antiquated form of capital punishment? Think about it. 

         Lynda didn't come out with this idea immediately.  It took awhile to get her talking. 

         “You set a good pace, so I’m just staying behind you,” she told me.  “But I may not say much.  Even though I have lots of internal dialogue.”

         Well and good.  I'm a long-time internal dialoguer myself, so I’m not too troubled by silence.  Not a bit.  I prefer it, actually.  Who needs a blabbermouth in the wilderness?

        

         Still after several miles of studied silence with Lynda, I had a thought: What if we tried to both have the same internal dialogue?  That would almost be like we were talking.

         Lynda didn’t think much of this idea, but after awhile she did begin to talk and I had to be careful not to say anything lest she realize she was speaking aloud.  As we trudged through the brush, rocks and streams separating hüttes, Linda vents her outrage at the mass hysteria made respectable in the guise of religion. She blames religion for providing the muscle to enforce outdated rules and conventions. 

The convention of monogamy, for example.  Lynda feels like religion is used to coerce fidelity when studies show that people are not, by nature, monogamous. 

         In fact, the polls I found do not demonstrate rampant infidelity. According to a 2005 study, a little over 20 percent of married men and about 10 percent of married women have had extramarital sex.   Of course, some argue that such polls underreport and that the actual rate of infidelity is much higher. Which may well be true.  But it seems unlikely that the actual numbers are closer to 44 percent for men and 36 percent for women, as some researchers suggest. Although it’s probably fair to assume some poll respondents are not fessing up, it’s hard to believe adultery is twice as prevalent as reported to pollsters.

         Still, Lynda has a point.  People do fool around.  And many who don’t are at least tempted.  And many who don't yield to temptation are showing restraint out of fear. Christianity prohibits various forms of carnality by threats of ostracism, disgrace, even damnation. And while I tend to think that stable families is also a goal of Christian value systems, and that this is a legitimate goal, it is true that religious principles are often used negatively to denounce sin and sinner, leaving the defense of monogamy merely implicit.

         But let's be honest.  This is not an entirely academic topic. In fact, it interests me me for another reason, one not quite so abstract.  Here’s what I’d really like to know: What does Lynda’s oh-so-beguiling traveling partner think about these issues? Do those furtive looks and allusive smiles mean anything?  Or is she simply dabbling in a little harmless flirting while on vacation? Enquiring minds want to know.

         For an American, someone reared on the sanctity of church-state separation, it is startling to see so many public displays of Jesus on a Stick.  There he is, in the corner of the dining room, looking abject and pitiful while we down our goulash.  He’s stationed outside the pub, beckoning beer drinkers to partake of the Austrian sacrament. 

         And, of course, he’s in churches.  Big time.

         We were in a church the other day—a beautiful church in that ghastly excessive catholic way—and I was feeling typically irreverent.

I especially liked one pair of statues that juxtaposed the healthy, cherubic baby Jesus with the mortified and oozing Dead Guy on a Stick.

“Before and after,” I say to Rocco, and we snicker like schoolboys.

         I can’t quite get a fix on Franz.  Very, very smart and extremely knowledgeable about Austrian and German culture.  Raised as a Catholic.  Seems to have that kind of live-and-let-live attitude about all religions.  Which is probably the best attitude, given that religion and religious beliefs are going to be around for the foreseeable future.

         Still, I'm not quite clear on his level of sincerity when he dips his fingers in holy water and touches his forehead, chest and shoulders in good Catholic fashion. He’s narrating as he does it, with the same gentle pedantry he used to fill us in on the names of peaks, hüttes and towns.

“And this is the way to the tower,” he says, gesturing to a locked door.  “On some occasions, they have an orchestra go up there and play,” presumably for the people outside. 

I can’t resist. 

“Is that when the hunchback comes out and swings around?” I ask.

Rocco laughs and Franz gives me an indulgent smile, but says nothing.