As I recently illustrated, Moody Colosseum looks like a flying saucer. Except it doesn’t fly, it just sits here on our campus.
But as I glance around its vast interior during Chapel, I sometimes wonder what would happen if it lifted itself into the sky and flew off to some distant planet bearing its small sample of earth people. Would the alien anthropologists be satisfied with the quality and variety of specimens?
Hopefully, we would be abducted on a Monday, when faculty rush in to fill their reserved seats. Surely our alien researchers would want some professors in their samples.
Do you ever think really strange things in Chapel? I frequently do. Every time I look at Moody’s hanging scoreboard, I vividly imagine it falling to the ground. What if it made a huge cracking noise, fell a few feet, and just hung in the air by some flimsy cables? How much time would it take for everyone on the floor to scurry out of its shadow before it finally finished its descent and embedded itself into the floor?
I think it would take five seconds for everyone to become aware of what was happening, and vacate the landing area. You’ll think about this next time your in moody, I guarantee it. What if you had the microphone as it happened? What would you say? How would you motivate the floor sitters to quickly move in the right direction?
There are several different things you could shout into that microphone to get everyone to flee for their lives, but which would be the most time efficient? After much thought, I think I would spit out, “Chapel is dismissed, have a great day!” and watch the room clear.
We all have odd daydreams in our beloved coliseum from time to time. If you’re ever bored in there, it’s your own fault. Just ask yourself thought-provoking questions about bizarre things, and you’ll be fascinated.
Have you ever sat at the very top and wondered how far you would get if you jumped as far forward as you could? How many rows down would you make it?
I think it would be quite a few, even if you possessed only moderate athletic prowess. The question is, could you make yourself leap straight out from those rows? At the last second one might have second thoughts and just trip down a single seat. Maybe if there were a giant mattress five or six rows down, it would be sufficient motivation. I really don’t know-but that’s why it’s fun to think about.
When Mark Lewis quiets everyone for a serious announcement or prayer request, for a brief instant I imagine that he’s going to say “Many of you know Ben Miller, either as the piano player in the Bean, or as the Optimist. Well, I’m sure most you have heard about the injury already…” confused, I would give a strange look to whomever is sitting adjacent, only to realize that no one is even looking at me. Then I would realize the seat I thought I was sitting in is actually taken by someone else. I’m not even in a chair, I’m just there in Chapel somehow, without a physical body.
Mark would continue, “Right now Ben is still unconscious at Hendrick Medical Center…” Incredulous, I would yell, “Hey, I’m right here!” Only to find that I couldn’t even hear myself. It’s an out of body experience. “Ben was hanging around after Chapel, and the scoreboard fell and grazed his head.”
What if we all simultaneously thew a paper plane in Chapel? How many consecutive days could I sit behind the speaker on the sing-song stage before someone asked me to stop? Who would ask, and how? What would happen if a giant lifted the ceiling off? Would he think that such a large number of people in one place was creepy looking, much as we are repulsed by a large number of ants under a rock? If you’ve read this far, I’m not alone in these strange thoughts.