St. Patrick’s Day
I woke up St Patrick’s Day in my hotel bed feeling, like every St. Patrick’s Day, a little self-righteous. I purposefully did not wear green. After our on-bus opening devotional for the day, I stood up and took the microphone.
We had been to Independence and Liberty the day before and would this day visit Far West and environs. All told, on this Missouri trip we would visit some 60,000 Mormon history sites. I can’t remember them all now, but the horror of 1830s Mormon Missouri weighed on my mind as I stood to address a green-clad crowd, some of whom had shamrock stickers on their faces. I trudged to the front of the bus, shaking my head sadly, sadly, sadly. Very, very sadly. I was, you understand, shaking my head sadly.
[ill-shamrock]
Well, not really. I tried to affect sadness and outrage, but all I could do was a bit of Theric head-waggle. I have a real problem with not smiling when I think I’m being real clever. But I did have something to say, and I did believe it. And I certainly wasn’t wearing any green!
Having reached the front of the bus, I stood and shook my head in disgust. The driver handed me the mike and I pressed the button. The flurry of static announced I was about to speak. I began by applauding those courageous enough not to wear green. I then chastised those who were perpetuating religious persecution. “Fie! Shame! Shame on all of you! Of all people, of all times, of all places! Surely you all realize that there are two colors on the Irish flag, green and orange. Well, since green equals Catholic and orange represents Protestants—unless it’s the other way around—can we doubt that pinching the nongreen is but a remnant of religious persecution? And thus tantamount to continued religious persecution?1 And you! of all people! When we’re touring Missouri!”
I had a point. The day before we had relived persecutions by the pillowfull at the LDS Visitors Center in Independence, then later somberly considered suffering and heroism at Liberty Jail. We had toured the RLDS temple, which has Peace as its theme. We had viewed a film there on the RLDS effort to promote peace worldwide and learned the word peace in several new languages including, my favorite, fred (it’s Norwegian).
“Yes,” I continued, “I hope you will all repent of your persecutory impulses, and go and sin no more. Because what the world needs now, is a little fred.”
[ill of me making peace sign]
I put two fingers in stirring finale, and was just about to sit down when—
“Hey! Hey Theric!” I looked up. “What about your green shirt?”
I was confused. I examined it. It wasn’t green.
“Not that one, the one on top.”
Over my shirt, I was wearing a thick, corduroy overshirt. But it wasn’t green!
“This isn’t green,” I protested. “It’s more of a sickly brown.”
“What? It’s totally green!” some of the girls decided.
“It is not green.” I was firm.
As I stoically returned to my seat, Brother Best grabbed my arm. “Theric, he said, “Sister Best and I agree it’s not green. It’s loger.”
“Loger?”
“That’s right, loger.”
“Hey guys—Brother and Sister Best say it’s not green; it’s loger.”
“What’s loger?”
“This is.”
Now, months later, I’ve still never heard of loger in any other setting. As far as I can tell, my loger shirt is the only loger thing in creation. It must be lonesome. But just so you know (and in case you see me wearing it next March 17th), it is loger; it is not green.
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Thanks for revisiting Nauvoo with me. I would love to hear your thoughts.