The students in my US survey class and I took the opportunity to chat briefly about U2's story. Last week we discussed colonial Virginia and the English adventurer Captain John Smith -- a topic that hardly seems relevant to a U2 concert. But following the lead of one of our textbooks, I wondered how Smith would make sense of the Chicago leg of U2's 360 tour. What follows is a modest attempt at being clever.
John Smith’s Account of a U2 Concert
In the evening hours of the Lord ’s Day sometime in September, I ventured to attend a large gathering of indigenous Chicagoans in a curious place they called Soldier Field. Although I did not see any soldiers, parts of the structure looked to me to resemble what the Roman coliseum must have looked like. Indeed, the hall was said to have been filled with 65,000 people – a sight I would not have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes. Many spoke of bears, which is an indication that, like the Romans, these Chicagoans probably used their coliseum for the display and slaughter of wild animals. Although I saw no bears, I can only surmise that the occasion for which the multitude gathered was a religious ritual of sorts. The alter was larger than any of our galleons, and full of all sorts of trickery and witchcraft. Bejeweled with a thousand lanterns which at times burned brightly with all manner of color, and at other times were quenched out altogether. The intensity of these lamps, which could illuminate the entire sky, can only be explained through the work of the devil, who we know parades as an angel of light.
The priests for this occasion were four in number. It is said that they are Irish, a fact which well explains these rituals which they have no doubt received from the ancient druids. Two of them have rejected their Christian names, taking on secret names of their ancient religious order: The high priest styles himself Bono, while another calls himself simply The Edge. Each of the priests possessed strange instruments of music; nay what I heard was not music, but a loud cacophony of noise. While our English divine services are conducted in an orderly and hushed fashion, this pagan ritual was fraught with all manner of wretchedness – an orgy that must have resembled the wild gatherings of the prophets of Baal. The noise was deafening. As if under attack from the Devil himself, I could feel the weight of the drums beating on my very breast, and my ears rung as if I had discharged a musket only an inch from my ear. The natives felt little shame in this bastion of paganism. Their rum, distributed in cups which were made of a strange material, flowed freely. Indeed, there were alter boys who walked the isles, yelling out, supplying the crowds with the devil’s drink. The men were stumbling under the influence; the women wore none of the modest attire of a proper English woman.
I left the place, amazed at what I had beheld. Far from a paradise of innocence, these Chicagoans were mere pawns in the Devils playground. May our Lord Jesus protect us from their ways.
In the evening hours of the Lord ’s Day sometime in September, I ventured to attend a large gathering of indigenous Chicagoans in a curious place they called Soldier Field. Although I did not see any soldiers, parts of the structure looked to me to resemble what the Roman coliseum must have looked like. Indeed, the hall was said to have been filled with 65,000 people – a sight I would not have believed had I not seen it with my own eyes. Many spoke of bears, which is an indication that, like the Romans, these Chicagoans probably used their coliseum for the display and slaughter of wild animals. Although I saw no bears, I can only surmise that the occasion for which the multitude gathered was a religious ritual of sorts. The alter was larger than any of our galleons, and full of all sorts of trickery and witchcraft. Bejeweled with a thousand lanterns which at times burned brightly with all manner of color, and at other times were quenched out altogether. The intensity of these lamps, which could illuminate the entire sky, can only be explained through the work of the devil, who we know parades as an angel of light.
The priests for this occasion were four in number. It is said that they are Irish, a fact which well explains these rituals which they have no doubt received from the ancient druids. Two of them have rejected their Christian names, taking on secret names of their ancient religious order: The high priest styles himself Bono, while another calls himself simply The Edge. Each of the priests possessed strange instruments of music; nay what I heard was not music, but a loud cacophony of noise. While our English divine services are conducted in an orderly and hushed fashion, this pagan ritual was fraught with all manner of wretchedness – an orgy that must have resembled the wild gatherings of the prophets of Baal. The noise was deafening. As if under attack from the Devil himself, I could feel the weight of the drums beating on my very breast, and my ears rung as if I had discharged a musket only an inch from my ear. The natives felt little shame in this bastion of paganism. Their rum, distributed in cups which were made of a strange material, flowed freely. Indeed, there were alter boys who walked the isles, yelling out, supplying the crowds with the devil’s drink. The men were stumbling under the influence; the women wore none of the modest attire of a proper English woman.
I left the place, amazed at what I had beheld. Far from a paradise of innocence, these Chicagoans were mere pawns in the Devils playground. May our Lord Jesus protect us from their ways.
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