A Bono-fied religion

I have been thinking about religion a lot lately. This is surprising because in 1981 the nuns at St. Stephens politely suggested to my mother that I might be better suited for public school. After you get pinched for selling pages of Playboy at recess you don’t get 20 Hail Marys -- the sisters show you the door. Anyway I thought that was it for me.

But now, well, I just turned 35, and my wife informed me that is pretty much middle age because she doesn’t expect me to be pushing past 70. My knees can’t take the Catholic aerobics anymore (stand-sit-kneel, stand-sit-kneel) and you need a SAG card for cabala or Scientology. I would need to find my own path. Then I heard the voice of a higher power.

“Hello, hello, hola!” It was Bono. The truth came in an iPod commercial, which is, I guess, not that surprising. He was wearing black leather pants, which, I’ll grant you, is not your traditional prophet look, but I knew that this man, this humanitarian, this rocker, would be the star I would use to navigate my life.

W.W.B.D. What would Bono do?

It would be my new life framework.

Once, Bono was a human like the rest of us. His name was Paul something but, like the Dalai Lama, he got a cool holy name. Bono Vox. It’s Latin for “good voice.” Or maybe it means “big noise.” My Latin really suffered in public school. Anyway, he became a rock star. He played Live Aid and then, unlike Phil Collins or those other part-time do-gooders, my man Bono went to feed famine victims. He has palled around with the pope and President Clinton, sang with Johnny Cash and Frank Sinatra, and used the F-word on the Golden Globes, prompting the FCC to create the “Bono rule.” U2 is getting inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame this year, and I’m guessing the short list of people to induct Bono includes Mick Jagger and Nelson Mandela.

Keep your yoga and your Yoda. This guy is the path to enlightenment.

I got an iPod and had it engraved. Three Chords and the Truth. It’s a line from “Rattle and Hum” that Bono stole from a great country songwriter named Harlan Howard, but hey, you don’t think John the Baptist copped a good line if he heard one? I began wearing sunglasses at inappropriate times of day. I surrounded myself with supermodels. Well, actually it was magazines with supermodels.

I have followed Bono before. In the 1980s I got an ill-advised haircut modeled on the singer’s Dublin mullet. This time I knew it was about something more important than the way you get your hair cut, even if my wife was too dense to get it. “You want to buy leather pants? Why do you want to buy leather pants?”

“Why? Because I have scaled these city walls, these city walls, only to be with you. But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.” She didn’t say anything, so I guess she finally is getting it.

I didn’t get the pants, but I began staging press conferences to laud the social value of Third World debt relief. There’s one next Tuesday if you’re free. I also asked my best friend to wear a ski cap and hold a guitar whenever he stands next to me. At Trader Joe’s, I reminded the clerk of the wisdom of Saint Bono: “I don’t believe the Devil, I don’t believe his book. But the truth is not the same without the lies he made up.” I was very satisfied with the solemn way she nodded. This church is going to be great. I could sell tickets.