Tattoo
Ah, ‘tis wedding season. And ‘tis sweet to see all the bridesmaids showing off their tattoos on their bare shoulders (and elsewhere). I guess every generation must be granted its rebellious idiosyncrasies. Mine favored long hair, bell bottoms, lava lamps, and paisley. Well, the lava lamps are still with us, but today’s mark of generational identity would have to be tattoos. In my youth, only sailors, bikers, and circus people had tattoos. Today one-third of people age 25-29 have ink. Some self-decorating aficionados have “sleeves,” covering their arms completely. Barbed wire circlets are big. So are Japanese and Chinese characters. I’ve asked once or twice if the wearers spoke the language of their tattoos. Of course not. The mystery is part of the cachet. Tattoos make a statement:  they identify people with youth, show advanced coolness, and advertise what people are passionate about. One of God’s holy angels, bearing the seal of the living God, heralded in a great voice: “Do not harm the land or the sea or the trees until we put a seal on the foreheads of the servants of our God” (Revelation 7:2-3). Okay, so that reference is probably symbolic. Still, I used to balk at the notion that I would have a name on my forehead, like the ornamental scarring on Tuaregs or Fiji Islanders in National Geographic pictorials. The young folks of today are helping me get up to speed. Words on skin are cool now. I am proud to wear the name of Christ. You?