A Holy Whimsical Sign Language

“Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?”

The answer involves God.

Not directly, of course. But the question--posted on Bethlehem Lutheran Church’s red-lettered sign on a busy Granada Hills street--is a humorous attempt to lure passersby into the 250-member congregation. “People see we enjoy the lighter side to life,” Pastor Rowland Chandler said. “That might make them want to come in and see what we’re all about.”

Following a trend first popularized in the Bible Belt and Midwest, churches nationwide are increasingly turning to sign messages, especially humorous ones, as pastors hope pithy aphorisms will fleetingly grab motorists’ attention, spread the word of God--and perhaps lure the curious inside.

The spread of marquee mirth has been aided by the Internet, where quips and puns, often with a Christian bent, are available free from a variety of sources by any member of the clergy with an outdoor sign, empty pews and a sense of humor.

Pastors say they try to convey the spirit of a congregation--whether they elicit a chuckle: “Sign broken. Message inside this Sunday”; inspire: “He who laughs, lasts”; invoke fear: “Don’t wait for the hearse to take you to church”; or stir controversy: “Thanks Mom for not aborting me.”

But even the most avid message-makers have a hard time proving that this form of soft salesmanship enlarges their congregations. One 15-year survey of more than 40,000 Christians showed that 82% began attending a church after family, friends or neighbors invited them. Only a handful joined because of a church sign, said Charles Arn, who helped conduct the survey published in the 1998 book he co-wrote, “The Master’s Plan for Making Disciples” (Baker Books).

“Most unchurched people aren’t walking through life asking, ‘Which church can I attend?’ ” said Arn, president of Church Growth Inc., a consulting and research company in Monrovia aimed at expanding congregations. “A church sign doesn’t help, but it can hurt,” he said, when messages offend or anger.

Even so, sales for signs have grown from $1 million a decade ago to $10 million last year at J.M. Stewart Corp. of Sarasota, Fla., the nation’s largest church sign maker. The company’s creations range in price from $3,500 for a simple marquee with hand-changed letters to $40,000 for a casino-style, electronic showstopper.

Message signs are flourishing, experts say, as traditional religions lose worshipers to new and blossoming sects and belief systems. In a nation with more than 200 denominations, where faithless followers of spirituality customize values and traditions from a smorgasbord of religions, “it’s a highly competitive world for churches,” said Eddie Gibbs, a professor at Pasadena’s Fuller Theological Seminary, which represents more than 60 denominations and prepares people for ministry.

“Increasingly in our society, people are separating themselves from the religious traditions they were brought up with,” said Gibbs, author of the just published “ChurchNext: Quantum Changes in How We Do Ministry,” (InterVarsity Press). “They’re finding the spiritual traditions they feel most comfortable with.”

But sometimes church sign messages cause discomfort, offending, angering and alienating. A women’s group in Cornwall, Canada, protested a church sign displaying the message: “It’s better to live in the corner of an attic than with a crabby woman in a lovely home.” And in Knoxville, Tenn., hate mail poured in after a church posted: “Ms. is an abbreviation for miserable.”

Redlands Christian Center in San Bernardino County regularly offends women, gays and lesbians with fiery messages calling abortion murder and decrying homosexuality.

The messages “Same-sex marriages: No, no, no” and “God didn’t create Adam and Steve” prompted the Rainbow Council, an Inland Empire gay rights group, to protest to Redlands city leaders that the church incited hate violence, and that the messages were particularly offensive in light of the 1998 killing in Wyoming of gay college student Matthew Shepard.

“They were messages of hate and hurt,” said Steve McGrew, a Rainbow Council member. “[The messages] remind me that I am still considered a second-class member of society. It brings up all the hate incidents I’ve experienced.”

Pastor Don Wallace of the Redlands Christian Center said he has a constitutional right to express whatever messages he pleases on the sign for the 150-member, born-again Christian congregation. “We’re not trying to be insensitive,” he said. “It’s our belief that [homosexuality] is a sin. We’re not trying to inflame anyone or cause hate.”

Vandals frequently deface the marquee, but Wallace said such acts fail to intimidate his choice of messages. “Some people will feel uncomfortable,” he said, “but I have the opportunity to preach at people driving by.”

Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Granada Hills boasts a 12-by-3-foot marquee with two lines for a weekly message and one for Sunday worship times. Plexiglass protects the 8-inch letters that amuse readers with sayings such as:

“Your place in eternity--smoking or nonsmoking?”

“When God seems far away, who moved?”

“If a pig loses its voice, is it Disgruntled?”

Chandler, Bethlehem’s pastor, said such messages captivate commuters who pass the church on busy Balboa Boulevard driving into Los Angeles from the booming Santa Clarita Valley.

“It’s free advertising,” said Chandler, 66, who will retire in February after 17 years with the congregation. “We’re known in the community as the church with a sign.”

The church does not study whether the sign attracts newcomers, though Chandler said he frequently gets phone calls, e-mails and letters from fans, including 10 neighbors who wrote a letter praising the messages.

Lisa Kirkham of Northridge said she wrote such a note because she believes marquee messages can spread the word of God--and if she weren’t so attached to her church in Simi Valley she would consider attending Bethlehem Lutheran. “I liked what I saw on the church sign,” she said.

Messages celebrate seasons and promote church and school events. They exalt Scripture and basic human truths plucked from the bestselling series compiled by H. Jackson Brown Jr., which includes “The Complete Life’s Little Instruction Book.” Chandler enjoys sayings that make people pause and ponder--or laugh. “Basically, we’re just trying to brighten people’s days,” he said.

Marquee humor brought celebrity to Gethsemane Lutheran Church in St. Louis in 1990, when then-Pastor Ronald Glusenkamp used actress Roseanne’s mangling of the national anthem at a San Diego Padres baseball game to recruit choir members: “Roseanne Barr doesn’t sing here, but you can!”

Newspapers nationwide published the quip, and the congregation--situated near a busy intersection--attracted dozens of new worshipers and fans, some of whom would drive out of their way to read Glusenkamp’s weekly witticisms. They touched on topics ranging from the final episode of “Seinfeld” (“So long, Jerry, fans don’t worry: the Bible is sign-filled!”) to bank mergers (“Prayer is merger talk with God and you. Build a bond, invest now”) to election day (“Vote is a four-letter word. Handle with prayer”).

“I believe signs should enlighten and entertain to make a connection,” said Glusenkamp, who wrote the 1998 book, “Signs for These Times: Church Signs That Work,” (Concordia Publishing House), which also includes examples of marquees that don’t work: “Sunday’s sermon topic: ‘What is hell?’ Come early and listen to our choir!” and “Don’t let worry kill you; let the church help.”

The potential for conveying an unintentional negative message is one reason that Darlene Ballman avoids church-sign humor in favor of biblical passages for the marquee at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church in Winnetka. “You can get jokes from TV or radio,” said Ballman, a volunteer and congregation member. “The minute or two at a traffic light is valuable time to change a life. I want a person to read the sign and think, ‘Jesus loves me.’ ”

Other church signs conjure up less wholesome images. A turquoise and white electronic sign with bright red lights flashing the time, temperature and a short saying 24 hours a day riled residents in the village of Palatine, a Chicago suburb. Pastor Joe LaCognata said the 150-member Southern Baptist congregation invested $40,000 in the marquee to be cutting-edge and convey “the unchanging message of the Bible in a contemporary way.”

But nearby residents complained of blinking red glares trespassing into their homes, robbing them of sleep and lowering property values. The dispute reached the Palatine Village Council, which tightened requirements for electronic signs and prompted the church to dim the sign at night.

The marquee “reminded me of a strip joint,” Palatine Councilman Jack Wagner said. “The flashing bright lights should have said ‘Vegas revue!’ It didn’t seem befitting for a church.”

Last spring, Bethlehem Lutheran offended Japanese Americans with the message: “Why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?” Said Chandler, who removed it, “They let it be known they didn’t appreciate the sign. Our intent was never to hurt anyone.”

Chandler briefly worried whether the animal crackers sign would insult vegetarians. It didn’t.

“We’ve got some more messages in the hopper,” Chandler said with a chuckle. Such as: “Do sheep shrink when it rains?” and “Is there another word for ‘synonym’ ”?