COLUMN: He's free to talk - so I'll be damned

From Ariel Horn's, "Candy from a Stanger," Fall '00 From Ariel Horn's, "Candy from a Stanger," Fall '00I'm a sinner and I'm going to hell. I try not to let it bother me, but once in a while it really gets to me. Like many of the damned, I can't help but feel somewhat irritated. (After all, eternal condemnation characteristically makes people crankier than usual.)From Ariel Horn's, "Candy from a Stanger," Fall '00I'm a sinner and I'm going to hell. I try not to let it bother me, but once in a while it really gets to me. Like many of the damned, I can't help but feel somewhat irritated. (After all, eternal condemnation characteristically makes people crankier than usual.) First of all, I don't feel I've done enough to earn my damnation; sure, I occasionally lie, make fun of people, disappoint others and "borrow" a cup or a fork from the dining halls. But I'm not so sure that earns me a space in hell. When I think of hell, I think of Hitler, Pol Pot and Mussolini sitting together mulling genocide over breakfast. Secondly, I don't believe in hell; from an ideological standpoint, it is especially hard for me to believe I'm damned to go there since in my mind it doesn't exist. But thirdly, being damned bothers me because I was told I was damned to hell by someone I don't know and who doesn't know me. I'm sure it comes as no shock to the thousands of other members of the Penn community who were similarly damned that Brother Stephen was the man who told me I'd be going to hell. Brother Stephen, beacon of spiritual light and moral guidance to some -- and a mere annoyance to others. When spring is in the air in Philadelphia, so is Brother Stephen. As quickly as the snow melts on College Green, he sets up his soap box and begins preaching to Penn's community about how to live a good Christian life. Brother Stephen tries to tell his audience on the Walk how they should live, what they shouldn't do and how they should treat each other. But his sermons generally end on a negative note, telling his listeners how they're "sinners," "whores" and "fornicators" who "drink too much and promote ungodliness." A friend of mine was condemned for simply admitting that he owned a Tupac CD. Inevitably, Brother Stephen's preaching ends up in the same place: The day's not over until someone gets damned. Over the past year, Brother Stephen has turned into all but a running joke on campus. From his being dunked this year at Skimmer to students' detailed impressions of him, Brother Stephen is the closest thing Penn has to 24-hour entertainment. Like many other students on campus, I too had come to accept Brother Stephen as something other than the paragon of moral and spiritual perfection. But as I sat and listened to him on the Green a week ago, I found myself, embarrassingly enough, appreciating the very man who had damned me only weeks earlier to being prodded by little men in red tights with horns. Or if I didn't appreciate Brother Stephen himself, at least I appreciated his presence on campus. Granted, one's senses can be blurred by the veil of imminent damnation, but I was truly glad to have him there. Professors and students alike complain about how Brother Stephen disrupts classes, damns people to hell instead of saving them and proselytizes in an offensive and maniacal manner. But deeper than the messages Brother Stephen attempts to impartEto his audience is the message that his presence alone speaks. Brother Stephen may anger people. It may piss you off that on your way to class you have to hear that you're a sinner because you like rap music, or that you're damned because you occasionally drink. But regardless of how he may irritate us or entertain us, Brother Stephen represents something much more profound and lasting than his 15-minute sermons on the Green. Sad as it may be to those of us who don't appreciate being called "whoremongers," Brother Stephen represents the American right to free speech. He represents being able to say what you want in an open forum. As Americans, we are all granted the right to speak when we want to be heard; Brother Stephen's presence alone on campus is a walking, talking reminder of that inalienable right. However annoying, Brother Stephen has a place on our campus. Though some feel that place should be in a windowless, soundproof cardboard box in a basement closet in DRL, his place is being where he wants to be, saying what he wants to say and doing it on his own terms. I may be damned, but Brother Stephen is proof of the American Dream.