Diary of the 2009 Christian Retail Show

Essays, Featured — By Jordan Green on September 13, 2009 at 12:15 am

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Some time mid-June, I got this idea to go to the International Christian Retail Show.  The conference was in Denver this year, and Denver didn’t seem too far away from Phoenix.  I called Dan Gibson and asked if he wanted to join me, and he said “Why not?”

I had a few reasons for going.  Partly, there was business to conduct.  We’ve got a book idea we’ve been pitching around, and it wouldn’t hurt to show prospective advertisers mockups of Burnside’s new site.

Primarily, though, I wanted to see it.  There are rumors this year’s show is one of the last, and Christian retail is slipping into a coma.  Thomas Nelson, the top Christian publisher, didn’t even attend.  If you could go back and watch the death rasps of the dinosaurs, you’d do it, right?

It’s more than that.  Lately, though, I’ve had the creeping fear I don’t really love my brothers and sisters in Christ.  It’s ridiculous, I know, but it’s difficult for me to forgive bad taste, and Christian culture is the Michael Jordan of bad taste.

Consider the two most prominent Christian celebrities of the last year: Sarah Palin and Kate Gosselin.  I’m not trying to pile on those two, but the adoration they enjoy within Christian circles is head-scratching.  How could you watch an episode of Jon and Kate Plus 8 and think, “Now that’s how two parents should act.”  How could you recall Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston paraded before the cameras during the election cycle, see what a slimeball Johnston is now on the talk show circuit, and think, “What a great mother!  Let’s make Bristol the spokeswoman for abstinence!”  Granted, it’s nice to see Christians forgiving the flaws of the people they admire.  The problem is, I get the feeling it’s more about ignoring those flaws than grace.

There will always be a market for Precious Moments and Thomas Kinkade, so I needed to see the people behind the tacky art.  If I talked to them face to face, I’d be fine.  I don’t need every Christian to understand Radiohead and spout connections between The Sopranos and the Gospel, but I do need to know there are faces behind Conservative Christian stereotypes.

—

SATURDAY, JULY 11TH

0530 – After Mindy leaves for work at 5, Dan and I pack up and hit the road.  At an estimated 14 hours, this will be the second longest single day of driving I’ve ever undertaken.  The first was when I worked as a courier, made trips to Eugene and Salem from Portland, then traveled to Boise after my shift was over.  I was much younger then.

0600 – Breakfast at Whataburger on the way to I-17.  If you ever drive need to travel north or south through Phoenix, I do not recommend I-17.  It is a disgusting bit of freeway.  I also do not recommend Whataburger, which is not sitting well.  Fast food hamburgers at 6am rarely do.

If you want to listen to music on a road trip, Dan Gibson is the perfect guy to travel with.  There were at least four songs or albums I bought after we got back.  After my days as a courier, though, I definitely prefer audiobooks, podcasts, or radio shows.  Dan was kind enough to load his iPod with episodes of This American Life and Wiretap.

0836 – In Winslow, Arizona, there is a statute of a man standing on a corner, with a pseudo-reflection in a nearby window of a girl in a flatbed Ford slowing down to take a look at him.  The monument is the first recipient of many, many, many tongue lashings Dan will dole out over the course of this trip.  We do not stop.

1129 (Hour lost crossing state line) – We stop in Gallup, New Mexico, for sandwiches at Safeway.

“Why would anyone want to live here?” I ask Dan.

“I think for some it’s like, ‘well at least I’m off the res’,” he replies.

1330 – We fill up in Santa Fe.

Here’s a confession: from 2001 to last winter, I was a smoker.  Not a pipe-when-I’m-out-at-the-bars-discussing-theology smoker.  Cigarettes.  I probably averaged about 6 a day over that entire span.  I blame the Army.  I used Chantix, a prescription smoking cessation drug, to quit, and it was surprisingly easy.  I heartily recommend Chantix.  I occasionally have a cigarette now and again for certain occasions, but the addiction is gone.

Like every good Portland hipster, I smoked American Spirits (with the exception of my deployment to Bosnia, where I enjoyed $.50 packs of “Ronhill Lights”).  I bring all this up to say I bought a pack in Santa Fe, because I felt it was the right thing to do.

1642 – We’ve crossed into Colorado, and we fly through a lovely town called Trinidad.  It’s the most impressive burg we’ve seen all day (Flagstaff and Santa Fe are great towns, but the freeway skirts both).  Dan looks up Trinidad, and we learn it is the “Sex Change Capital of the World“.  Not just the US, mind you…the world.

1829 – We stop in Colorado Springs for dinner at the Phantom Canyon Brewing Company.  I am not overly impressed with the beer, but the food is okay.

I’m surprised at how lovely Colorado Springs is.  I was picturing a vast suburban sprawl pocked with Chili’s and Applebees where the wait staffs’ currency consisted of Chick tracts used as tips.  The downtown is moderately hip, and there are some nice homes up against the mountains.

“I can see why God chose this as his new Jerusalem,” I tell Dan.

I will repeat this joke a number of times over the next few days, and people will laugh politely and tell me Colorado Springs really is a soulless big box sprawl, and I only saw the very best it had to offer.  At least there’s hiking.

2006 – We lament not being able to visit the Focus on the Family headquarters.  It is getting late and we have been driving a long time.  Besides, it is probably closed this late.

2220 – After some slowing freeway construction, we arrive.  We are staying with Tim and Kristy Gray, some close friends who live in Louisville (pronounced “loo-is”).  The day we arrive, CNNMoney named Louisville the best small town in America.  From my time there, I can see why.  It’s a quaint town, tucked right between Denver and Boulder, with a wide green belt warding off over-development.  Kristy was raised in Louisville, and her family is there.  The Grays have two sons, Brody (almost 4) and Chase (almost 2).  Before they moved back to Colorado, the Grays lived near us in Portland, and went to Imago Dei.  Brody was born in Portland, and he was the first baby among our friends there.  He was an immense joy for us, and we loved the little guy.  When the Grays moved back, Mindy cried for days.

I’m excited to see them and introduce them to Dan, but they’ve already gone to bed.  Dan and I carry our bags inside.

2221 – Sadie, the Gray’s dog, is barking extremely loud when we enter.  I try and quiet her down, but she has none of it.  Tim wakes up and comes out to shut her up.  He shows us to our room.  Our room is actually Brody’s room, and Dan and I will share a bunk bed.  I take the top bunk, because that’s where I slept growing up, and Dan is afraid of heights.  Brody is sleeping in Chase’s room, on the floor, and our room is connected to theirs with huge French doors.  Apparently, the previous occupant liked “open space”.

It’s summer, and the Grays don’t have air conditioning in the room, so it takes me a while to fall asleep.  Dan is out immediately.

SUNDAY, JULY 12TH

0014 – I’ve just nodded off when I hear a loud thump, like a sack of potatoes dropped.  Then, the screaming.

Mom.  Mommy.  Help.

It’s the loudest screaming I’ve ever heard, and it is right on the other side of the French doors.  I wait quietly for the sounds of concerned parents, but they don’t come, so I assume this is something that happens, and they’re letting him cry it out.

Help.  Mommy.  I’m stuck.

After a minute or so, it starts to peter out into sobs, and his voice is getting hoarse.  But then it gets loud again, with a second wind.  Still, no one moves.  I wonder if Dan has died in his sleep.  When I hear “I’m stuck!”, I start to get concerned.  Even though Tim and Kristy’s room is just across the hall, I figure they can’t hear, so I get up, crawl down the ladder, and open the door to the hall.  The screaming is even louder in the hall.  I knock softly on the Gray’s bedroom door, “Tim!  Tim!” I whisper.  Still nothing.  I briefly consider going in to help Brody myself, but then remember I haven’t seen Brody since he was 6 months old, and the only thing more terrifying than falling off your bed and getting trapped would be to suddenly be rescued by a strange man in your house.  Maybe he’ll think I’m an angel, I wonder.  Probably not.

I go back into our room.  The screaming is still going.

“Dan…Dan…” I rustle him awake after making sure his chest rises and falls.  He’s a parent, so he’d know what to do in this situation.  “This screaming…what do I do?  Should I wake them up?”

“Yeah, probably,” Dan rolls over and is asleep again.

So I go back to the Gray’s room, and I tap a little harder.

“Tim!  Tim!” I hear a murmured response this time.  “I think something’s wrong…I think Brody fell and is stuck.”

Tim wakes up and goes into the room.  I go back to bed, but the crying doesn’t stop for a while longer.  The next morning, I learn Brody had somehow wedged his foot under a dresser, but when Tim went in to help him, he wasn’t stuck.  Brody tried to reenact the situation, but Tim was still unclear on exactly what happened.

0337 – I fall asleep.  For three and a half hours, I have been laying wide awake, terrified of fatherhood.

0800 – We’re up.  There are no conference events until that evening, so we agree to go to church with the Grays.  Brody is excited to see me, and says he remembers me, but we can’t decide whether he really does or not.

0904 – The Grays attend Flatirons Community Church in nearby Lafayette.  It’s a rock and roll church…very hip.

“Every sermon, whoever’s speaking has to mention how unique they are, how hardly no other churches play such cool, rock worship,” Kristy tells me on the ride over, and rolls her eyes.  “Every time.”  Dan and I exchange worried looks.

The greeter looks to be a high schooler.  He hands us a program.  He is wearing a t-shirt with stylish swirls rolling up over the shoulder.  His hair is in neat disarray, and is bright blond.  “Morning, bro,” he tells me.  Dan and I exchange worried looks.

Worship is very loud.  There’s a big stage, lit in burnt orange.  The image across the screen, when the lyrics aren’t there, is a man’s fists, and the words “LOCKED UP” tattooed across them.  Dan and I are really worried.  Flatirons is everything I dread about contemporary church.

Then everyone sits down, and the worship band starts into Carolina Liar’s “Show Me What I’m Looking For”, and…it’s awesome.  The sermon is about appearance (you can find it here).  The pastor is young and well-dressed, and he’s begins by pointing out the legalistic absurdity of having to wear a suit and tie for God, which is a little like assuring Lutherans we should spread the Gospel purely through kindness.  The annoyance is creeping back, but then he turns it around, and looks at how people at Flatirons do the same thing.  Leaving, I tell Dan that was the best church service I’ve been to in a long time, and he agrees.  We have a great brunch over at Kristy’s parents’ house.

At brunch, Kristy tells me the story of John Breaux, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence, with a citizen like him, Louisville is the best small town in the US.

1500 – We head in to Denver to meet up with this handsome devil, who is Don Miller’s booking agent, and a friend.  We eat at a mediocre steak house on The Mall, where Dan and Jim talk Christian music and I expose both to the wonders of Odell’s IPA.  Jim does not pay.  Jim never pays.¹

1810 – The opening speaker for this year’s conference is Josh McDowell.  Steve Simpson bet Dan and I we couldn’t go 45 minutes without being cynical.  Steve won.

I’m embarrassed to admit I had no idea who Josh McDowell was.  I’m sure I was exposed to his writing over my lifetime, but his name was not familiar.  His opening speech could be summed up by waving a cane and shouting “BAH!  YOUNG PEOPLE!”

Apparently, McDowell has done a lot of research and polls with youth, and his findings seemed to indicate Christianity will be extinct in 20 years.  This was, I’m sure, thrilling motivation to Christian retailers already hamstrung by economic woes.  Oh, don’t worry about the recession now…in another five years, your industry will be dead anyway!  Let’s have a good conference, everyone!

Listening to McDowell, I was slack-jawed.  It was almost as if he’d done all this research, but never actually talked to anyone under 30.  According to one poll McDowell conducted, 91% of young evangelical Christians do not believe in Absolute Truth.  ²

I want a copy of this questionnaire, because how was this question phrased? And what does McDowell mean by “absolute truth”?  I have to assume I fit in that 91%, because I sincerely doubt I’m in the 9% of young evangelical Christians who agree with Josh McDowell.  And yet, I believe in Absolute Truth, I just don’t claim to know it, at least not the way McDowell wants me to.  I believe everything we do is clearly sin or not in God’s eyes, and I believe we, as Christians, have a clearer perspective on sin than non-believers.

But here’s my question: isn’t claiming to know and understand Absolute Truth heresy?  Wouldn’t knowing the Absolute Truth about every single circumstance of life put man on par with God?  Josh McDowell knows a lot more about theology than I do, but I get the sense there’s a communication breakdown somewhere.  What’s even more annoying is how the blame for our generation’s waywardness is always transferred elsewhere.  It’s the fault of TV, or the internet, or public education, or the liberal media.  Here’s a thought for you, Josh: if you’re going to start with an examination of wayward Christian youth, wouldn’t you start with parents?  Wouldn’t you wonder whether the Baby Boomer/American Church failed in some way?  If young Christians are being purely reactionary, then wouldn’t it be worth pondering what they’re reacting to?  You know, since we’re touting personal responsibility and everything…

In an even more astonishing bit, McDowell absolutely mocked non-profit organizations, claiming they never worked.  Rumor has it that may be the case with McDowell’s ministry, but really?  Ever heard of Red Cross?  World Vision?  Besides Donald Trump, who mocks non-profit organizations?

After 20 minutes or so of doomsaying, McDowell claimed things could be turned around, that our generation could be saved, but didn’t offer any tangible advice on how.  Then McDowell introduced Joe Gibbs.

“Nothing says ‘hip’ and ‘with-it’ like Joe Gibbs,” Dan whispered, and both of us like Joe Gibbs a great deal.  That ’87 Redskins team was the first football team I ever loved. But Joe Gibbs isn’t the guy you bring onstage when you’re brainstorming ways to connect to the youth demographic.  His message was on how life is a lot like football.  You’ve got your coach (God) and your game plan (the Bible).  I’m assuming, in this scenario, the game plan never breaks down, because then it would have to be tweaked, and that’s relativism.  But if you never had to change the game plan, wouldn’t that be a boring game?  I was confused.

Four years ago, Rob Bell was the primary speaker at this conference, and now the featured guest is a 68 year-old retired football coach/NASCAR magnate.  Why in the world would anyone think Christian retail is in trouble?

After Coach Gibbs, SONICFLOOd played.  That’s really how their name is spelled – all caps with a lowercase “d”.  The sound mix was awful, the crowd was older, and Josh McDowell and Joe Gibbs aren’t ideal openers for pop rock worship.  I think the quarter of the audience who stayed were being polite. ³

1857 – To cleanse our palate of Boomer hand-wringing, we scanned a copy of Westword in search of Denver’s best beer selection.  We ended up here.  If you’re in Denver and in search of quality beer, I strongly recommend Falling Rock Tap House.  They had an excellent selection, great service, decent food, and close proximity to frattier bars, which made for superb people watching.  I’d rank it in my favorite bars of all time.

2316 – Back to Louisville and sleep.

MONDAY, JULY 13TH

0824 – Dan and I arrive on the conference floor at the Denver Convention Center.  Gotta love that giant blue bear.

We meander.  Dan talks to everyone, and everyone loves Dan.  I feel like his autistic cousin.  The south side of the floor is predominantly the chintzier side of Christian retail – toys, clothes, art and the like – while the north is comprised of publishers.  The larger publishers have massive displays all the way up to the ceiling.  Sadly, I didn’t spend much time on the south end.  The tacky nature of what Christians spend their money on has been beat to death.  I will say the costumed Pharisee and Roman guard at the Holy Land Experience display were unequivocally the sweetest people we met at ICRS.  Perhaps they had to be, considering they were portraying Christ-killers at a Christian conference.

In general, the publishing side of the floor was fogged in a low-key malaise.  As I mentioned earlier, the future is murky for Christian retail.  At the same conference I’d attended four years before, there were all the free book samples you could carry, and cheery reps reciting the year’s upcoming releases.  Maybe it was our media passes, but this year the samples were stingy, and “cheer” was few and far between.

0939 – I find the Tyndale display.

A year ago, I did some editing work on a Bible project called Holy Bible: Mosaic.  I’m not sure how much I can say about the project, but it’s basically a Bible filled with art, excerpts from literature, and a collection of meditative writing from a series of writers.  I contributed a piece, and so did Penny Carothers and Bryan Catherman.  The book is due out in October, but I’d heard it had gone to print, and I was hoping to see a finished copy.  It’s not every day you pick up a Bible and see your own, non-scribbled writing in there, after all.

Unfortunately, there were no copies on hand.  Only a couple pamphlets I couldn’t keep.

“He edited this thing,” Dan told the man helping us, pointing at me.

“Oh!” the man blinked.  “Maybe you can tell me about it.”

“Well, it was something I worked on.  It was a fun project.  I’m excited to see a final copy.”

“Hm…yes.  So, how would you describe it in one sentence?”

Bewildered, I stammered more than once sentence about how it had an old church, art-centric approach.

“Well, to be honest, it confuses me.  I’m not really sure what it’s about.  And I have to figure out a way market it,” the man said.

Keep in mind, this isn’t some new, extreme-sports Bible.  The artwork is stained glass and iconography.  The meditations are devotional thoughts on Bible passages.  All in all, it’s reverent.  The focus is on the beauty of art created for God, and the story of the church weaved into the Word of God.  This isn’t open theology or hipster Christianity.  It’s history.  And this marketing expert couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept.  Then why do you have this job? I wondered.⁴

This was not the sense I had from every publisher.  More than the last conference I attended years ago, some publishers were getting it.  The graphic design on many of the upcoming releases was surprisingly good (in particular, Mark Driscoll’s Religion Saves and Rob Stennett’s The End is Now).  Most of the houses had books coming out that actually looked interesting.  No one is quite sure what the industry will look like in 10 years, but some publishers are gingerly stepping out from the Boomer church paradigm into a new generation.

1230 – We meet Burnside fantasy football stalwart Paul Berry and a cohort from Authentic Media, an imprint of Biblica, which used to be known as IBS⁵, for lunch.  They turn out to be a terrific crew, along our lines, and we spend plenty of time with them over the next couple days.  This is why these conferences are great.  Over the weekend, I will meet a number of folks face-to-face who I’ve known for years over email: Amy Quicksall at David C. Cook, Andy Meisenheimer (who valiantly advocated for Chad Gibbs at Zondervan), and agent Chip MacGregor (who I don’t actually know, but represents a number of Burnside contributors, and he’s an Oregon Ducks fan).

1409 – Back on the floor, circulating and perusing the wares.

As we make our way toward the edges, Dan and I notice the last row at the north end of the floor is remarkably…well…un-white.  Minority Row, we called it.  It’s alarming.  All the black publishers are generally in the same spot.  I mean, it’s quite clear.

I’m not claiming racism here.  The fact is, the floor’s prime spots are dominated by major publishers, and none of the African-American publishers could be considered “major”.  It’s quite possible it just comes down to size.  As Dan pointed out, “Well, cracker-ass Christian book stores don’t tend to sell Afro-American books, and black churches tend to have their own bookstores, so there you go.”

Still, it warrants notice.  At the very least, it underlines the division between white and black churches in the US.

(Not that there’s always a lack of funds.  We had a great time talking to the awesome folks at Faith One Publishing, which is Frederick K.C. Price’s imprint.  Maybe they’d have better floor space if Price didn’t drive a Rolls.)

1447 - Dan and I were both fans of the Waterproof Bible, and I thought I’d mention it here.  Not only is it waterproof, it’s also extremely durable.  Perfect for rafting, camping, and the coming Socialist-caused apocalypse.

(That joke was not at the expense of the owners, who were super cool.)

1606 - There are a lot of goatees here.  If there’s one thing I’m moderately embarrassed of, it’s that I perfectly fit the early-30s Christian male-look cliche (and I’m only 29).  If I added a couple inches and my hair was red and straight, I would look eerily similar to Andy Meisenheimer.  In my defense, I have a freakishly large chin.  Last time I shaved, my wife laughed at me.

As a clever marketing ploy for The End is Now, Rob Stennet’s end times satire, Andy and Rob have organized a picketing session in front of the conference center, waving signs stating the apocalypse was nigh.  I’m amazed at how many conference goers blow past them in disgust and fear, so maybe it wasn’t that great of an idea.  It’s one of the most interesting events at this conference, though.

1729 - Dan and I leave the conference, our legs weary and laden with any swag we could poach.  Not wanting to encroach on the Gray’s evening, we stop at Dave and Buster’s.  We don’t even eat or drink.  We just play games.  We end up spending four and a half hours and a combined $60 dollars on a Japanese horse racing video game, where you breed your horse and train them to race against other people.  I cannot describe to you the shame of realizing how much of a waste that was.  It certainly drowned any regret I had over having a goatee.

Apart from their trivia game, I’m going to go on the record and say Dave and Buster’s is an abomination.  With the advent of home gaming devices, the state of arcade games is disgraceful.  You can download better games for free on an iPhone than you can play at an arcade.  To compensate for this, arcade game makers have gone for size.  There was a massive installation in this particular Dave and Buster’s, covered in camouflage netting, and it took up a solid 5% of the restaurant.  It was a game where you shot down planes and invading ships from a gun turret.  The graphics were not far removed from Dire Straits’ “Money for Nothing” video.  This game cost around $1 per play, though that’s obscured by D&B’s deliberately-hazy point system.

Unless Dan drags me to another one so he can earn more tickets in trivia, I will never go to a Dave and Buster’s again.  Nothing good can come of it.

2253 - I sleep far better than the night before.

TUESDAY, JULY 14th

0813 - Back at the convention.  Our final day is punctuated by meetings and passing business cards to marketing directors.  The one highlight, depending on how you look at it, was getting a signed copy of Old Satan What a Character (the actual print copy does not have a colon).  The author may have been insane.  I told him the book sounded similar to The Screwtape Letters, and he didn’t know what I was talking about.

1430 - We head out early, as we’ve heard The Kolache Factory is great for cheap eats.  We’ve never had kolache, but we both liked meat wrapped in carbohydrates.

It turns out kolache is just a bland dinner roll with some scalding meat inside, like a fancier version of a Hot Pocket.  They cost around $2 each, and are not nearly worth it.

1516 - We consider driving north to the Odell’s Brewery in Fort Collins, but opt for a shorter trip instead.  Thornton, Colorado, is home to Daveco Liquors, the largest liquor store in the worl, and that was something both Dan and I had to see.

And Daveco Liquors is a site to behold.  It’s about the size of a Costco, and it’s wall-to-wall booze.  It had the best beer selection I’d ever seen.  I bought a $25 dollar bottle of Odell’s Woodcut #2 Oak-Aged Golden Ale.  I poured a small glass for everyone back at the Gray’s, and we all visibly recoiled at the first taste, which seemed more scotch than beer.  I had the rest to myself after that, and it grew on me.  Maybe my tastebuds were seared, but it was the best beer I’ve had this year.

1730 - I talked a big game about grilling the Grays some steaks seasoned with just butter, salt and pepper, but they turned out boring as cardboard.  It wasn’t until the drive home I realized I didn’t put any salt or pepper on them.  I blame the oak-aged golden ale.  That night, Tim talks a lot of smack about our upcoming fantasy football season, which Dan enjoys greatly, because Dan talks a lot of smack about everything.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 15TH

0738 - We say goodbye to the Grays and begin the long journey home.

For the return route, we opt for I-70, which cuts west through the Rockies to Grand Junction and Utah.  Driving through the Rockies feels like a giant version of Thunder Mountain at Disneyland, then there are times when you feel like you’re on top of North America.  Most of those towns, we’d heard of: Vail, Breckenridge, and Eagle.  The third one, we couldn’t remember why we knew it, because it seemed pretty podunk.  This was why.

Then the elevation drops out a bit into Rifle and Grand Junction, then eastern Utah is a burnt out moonscape.

Once you turn south onto Highway 191, things change.  That patch, all the way down to Flagstaff, has to be one of the best roads in the world.  191 runs right in between Arches and Canyonlands National Parks (though the former is more visible).

1320 - We stopped at McDonald’s in Moab because we didn’t want to lose any time.  In the McDonald’s was one of those most frightening-looking toddlers I’ve ever seen.  I thought I took a picture of him over Dan’s shoulder, but Dan now informs me the photo only captured his shirt and part of the table.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid altered the angle of the aperture with his mind.  I hope I never run into him again.

In related news, Big Macs are still delicious.

After that, we rounded one bend, red boulders all around, and saw this glaring white paint splattered across a cliff: HOLE N” THE ROCK.  I guess it’s human nature to look at a God’s gorgeous creation and think, “You know what would make this cliff even better?  Giant, white painted block letters, and a trailer selling worthless trash.”

Considering the scenery in eastern Utah, I’m somewhat surprised by the lack of cool small towns.  Moab is about the closest it gets.  One one hand, it is Utah.  On the other, it’s some of the most beautiful scenery and a Nauvoo for outdoor enthusiasts.

1504 - Somewhere south of Blanding, Dan and I get into a lengthy and heated discussion regarding whether the Four Corners monument is arbitrary or not.  Dan has been there, I have not, and he claims it’s out in the middle of nowhere, and it sucks, and only idiots would think it was cool.  I point out it’s the only place in the United States where you can stand in four states, and therefore it does have some value, even if the value is man-made.  Dan also claims the monument isn’t even properly placed, which I later discover is a load of crap.

Crappy monument or not, here’s the litmus test: if you had the choice of being teleported for 10 seconds onto the Four Corners monument, or onto another patch of random high desert 50 feet away from the monument, which would you choose?

We each angrily stew for a while after that.  These are the sorts of things you talk about after 24 hours of driving and a Christian book conference.

1529 - If you were to drive through an evaporated ocean, it would look like Monument Valley.  Monument Valley is vast and iconographic.  It’s the land you think of when you think of the Southwest.  It’s also, to me, a bit terrifying, because it’s so big and barren and it doesn’t look like you’ll ever get out.  One minute, the freeway is dropping down into a steep-cliffed valley, and the next there’s just miles and miles of red stone, with the occasional monolithic mesa.  At one point, I think, I’ve been here before, but then realized I was just recalling the running scene in Forrest Gump.  The desolation seems to last forever.  We also almost die when a car is making dangerous passes coming the other way.

1750 - Monument Valley spills into Kayenta, Arizona.  I get the feeling I do every time I’m in a place like this, like when I cross into Oregon from California or Idaho, like everything is more familiar, even though I’ve never been on this road in my life, and I’m actually, technically, in another country.

We’re barreling down the freeway, and there’s this burnt out concrete oil company building on the left, out in the middle of nowhere.  It’s covered with graffiti, and as we pass by I turn to Dan:

“Who’s that graffiti artist?  The famous one?”

“Banksy?” he asks.

“Yeah.  I think there was a Banksy painting on that building,” we consider going back, but we want to keep forward momentum.

Throughout Navajo Nation, there are lean-tos on the side of the road for selling trinkets to tourists.  It’s a weekday, so these are empty.  We fly by another one, and we see those familiar black figures painted on the side.

“Another one!” Dan says.  But we don’t stop this time, either.  A few hours later, the regret hits us.  We drove by Banksy artwork, and we didn’t take pictures.  Maybe we were the first people to see them, and we drove right by.

I found them on an internet search the next day, and it’s doubtful they were actually Banksy’s work.  You can view them here.  We spotted the fourth one down, but the one on the oil building isn’t shown.  If anyone is driving through those areas again, I’d love to have photos.

The rest of the drive is uneventful as we climb into Flagstaff and dive back down toward Phoenix.  We listen to episodes of CBC’s Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein.  When we get in, it’s late, and Dan considers staying for the night, but decides he wants to see his kids in the morning, so he finishes off the last two hours to Tucson alone.  Except it’s more than two hours, because Dan gets caught in two sandstorms, where he has to pull off the freeway because he can’t see two feet in front of him, and hope he’s not suddenly plowed into from behind. He finally got home around 1 am on Thursday.

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As far as loving my fellow believers, I can’t say this trip affected things one way or another.  Booksellers and publishers aren’t exactly emblematic of the American church as a whole, and despite much of the apparent reactionary anger from Evangelicals toward a new American political foundation, the conference seemed fairly apolitical.  Sure, there was the obligatory Oliver North release, and there were a smattering of books offering tips on how to survive the end-times, but overall, for the publishers who will survive this mess, there was a muted optimism.

Like mainstream retail and publishing, I think everyone is waiting for the moment the ground opens up, and we’re in a new world with established rules.  Internet sales and marketing is still a frontier where the boundaries haven’t quite been established.  On one hand, internet advertising is the only advertising where you can tell exactly how many people are viewing your ad (from impressions), how effective your ad is (from clicks), and where your buyers are coming from.  On the other, very few people seem sure how to actually make money.

Christian retail’s struggles may be linked to the raucous town hall meetings, the anger over socialism and health care.  Ironically, it’s the conservative Christians being left behind in a changing landscape.  To many of them, the internet is unsubstantiated chain emails about how the government will soon have access to individual bank accounts.  Everything’s moving so fast, and it’s understandably unnerving.

Those of us under 40 are used to the pace, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t alarm us.  We’ve reached a point where we’re just jockeying for position.  In the end, I want to figure out how to operate in this new landscape, both for this site and for my well-being, but that doesn’t mean I should do so without trepidation.  Many of us are like passengers on a train, only we don’t know where it’s going.  We’re planning for what’s ahead, but we’re not considering whether we should even be on the train in the first place.

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For further reading, check out Dan’s perspective on the event.

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Tags: Christian Booksellers Association, Christian Bookstores, Christian Fads, diary, Publishing