“A pastor has changed the name of his chapel because too many ‘depraved’ minds were finding something funny in it being called Little Dicker. Fed up with an increasing number of visitors turning up to have their pictures taken outside the East Sussex baptist chapel — usually defacing the sign to obliterate the ‘er’ — Pastor Terry Brinkley has decided to rename it the Golden Cross Chapel… To add to the pastor’s troubles explicit pictures of men in a variety of poses by the chapel sign have been winging around the internet and between camera mobile telephones. Not that such problems are new to the area. The nearby village of Fulking has had to live with similar difficulties for years while the signs on the River Uck a few miles away have had to be redesigned to stop extra letters being written in… The chapel, which opened in 1813, was originally known as Dicker Independent Chapel but, in 1838, a much bigger chapel was built two miles away at Lower Dicker. The original one at Golden Cross then became known as Little Dicker Chapel.” —Telegraph (UK)

(Thanks to alanr for the link. And can anyone find a photo? PervScan tried and failed.)

Naturally it’s funny when the sacred collides with the profane, when a chapel has a name that is almost an obscenity. People love to hear about clergy doing the dirty, and it’s also titillating when porn queens dress up as nuns. Perhaps Charles Manson even came up with the ultimate juxtaposition of holy and pornographic when he claimed he was the “God of fuck.” Wow. Just think about that for a moment. If it’s atheism to say “fuck God,” what is it to say “I am the God of Fuck?” It sure ain’t religion.

Anyway, it’s too bad the local pastor saw his chapel’s name as a liability and not as an opportunity. XXXChurch.com comes to mind — there you have an outfit that uses sex to draw people but then takes advantage of the opportunity to proselytize. Little Dicker Chapel could have done the same. The pastor could have arranged shifts of outreach volunteers to stand by the sign and hand out religious literature to the silly exhibitionists who come to take their picture by the Little Dicker sign. Imagine all the t-shirts he could have sold if he’d only printed up a good slogan like “Saved by Little Dicker” or “Praise the Lord for Little Dicker.”

In short, the sad part about this story is not the prudery but rather the failure of imagination. Jesus drew his followers from prostitutes and rabble. Why shouldn’t the church do the same? Maybe it was called Little Dicker, but evidently it didn’t have the balls.

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