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Letters from the Farm

When it comes to churches, inflation has taken on a new meaning. According to Reuters news services, "The world’s first inflatable church opened its Gothic arches to worshipers to reveal a blow-up organ, a polyvinyl pulpit, an air-filled altar and fake stained glass windows." The balloon church was formally dedicated by the Church of England in May. Deflated, the $35,000, 47-foot-high structure can be carried from one churchless community to another on the back of a truck. It can be inflated in three hours and will seat about 60 church-goers at a time in polyvinyl chloride pews. We can only hope that inflatable churches will demonstrate definite advantages over traditional buildings, especially when it comes to affordable accessibility. For example, major church repairs, which usually cost thousands of dollars and are headaches for today’s tithers, should be reduced to simple purchases of plastic patches and waterproof glue. In the case of a repeat flood of biblical proportions, inflatable churches could double as ocean-going vessels and safe havens from the storms. Unlike Noah, modern day parishioners won’t have to spend long periods of time building arks according to exact specifications. That’s good news for most of us who wouldn’t recognize a cubit if we saw one. As their inflatable churches become cruise ships, church-goers may joke among themselves that they may not be able to walk on water, but they certainly are able to stay afloat. Of course, after 40 days and 40 nights of non-stop rain and very little else, the joke, repeated over and over again, may wear thin. During a flood of epic proportions, when church members have cast their churches, like bread, upon the waters, specially adapted hymns could include "I’ll Float Away" and "Shall We Gather on the River." The downside of having a floating church is that, when the flood waters subside, a church of one denomination could easily land up on the parking lot of another. Although the press release didn’t mention them, safety precautions might be advisable when inflatable churches become more popular. In parts of the world with unusually high winds, inflatable churches without secure anchoring systems might easily become airborne. That’s when congregations will again be singing the original lyrics to "I’ll Fly Away." Lighted candles in churches will become outdated traditions for weddings and other ceremonies, because plastic churches might easily melt. Based on similar fears, attaching pictures to walls with hammers and nails or any use of staplers and sharp scissors would also be banned. Frosted cakes, a mainstay at wedding receptions and church potluck suppers, will have to be sliced and served with plastic cutlery or else ripped apart into individual servings with bare hands. If inflatable churches catch on in our country, we might also see air-filled homes and businesses. Inflatable dome-like buildings, where baseball and football teams could play their games, will dot the countryside. The often-criticized Metrodome in Minneapolis may not be that terrible, after all. It was just ahead of its time.

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