I think conservatives looking with dismay at tonight’s Trump landslide might be in the mood for reassurance, that they’re not the only ones who got a bit of a comeuppance today.
On Sunset Boulevard this afternoon, I saw a handsome young black man, walking toward me, wearing a beautiful T-shirt. It had a bright red background, and on it was a massive classical painting of a crucifix. Good for you, man, I thought. That’s what I call “evangelism without words”: He’s not lecturing anybody or getting in their face, he’s just engaging in the culturally bold act of proclaiming how grateful he is for what Jesus accomplished for him, and for everyone else, on the Cross. And it’s also really cool that he’s showing how diverse Hollywood is – I started to smile as we got close to each other, and then I saw that the guy hanging on the Cross was not Jesus . . . but Che Guevara. I don’t think I blushed, externally; but a blush would have expressed my feelings quite eloquently.
Oh well; sometimes the world doesn’t go quite the way we hoped. The guy’s my brother anyway, and I pray for him.
On to Indiana.