Pope, Soap, Rope

The Pope was in town visiting this weekend, which meant that all the churches put up yellow and white flags (to show support? to help him get through the city? to demonstrate the diversity of God’s real estate portfolio?). Georgia and I were walking through Stephansplatz and we came across a gospel concert.

The performance was broadcast on telescreens throughout the city center. A young man in black was directing an Austrian choir, singing things like Glory, Glory, Glory and Praise the Lord, Lord Jesus Christ. Their diction was excellent, their songs all in English, and their enthusiasm terrifying. Some of the audience were quite moved by the music—they stood up, danced, clapped to the beat, sang along, shouted back. I wanted to run away. It began to rain. The choir director finished a passionate solo.

“Well,” said Georgia, “he does do a good job of trying to be a black woman.”