In which Becky is true to her word.
Sarah Palin. Discuss.
Sarah Palin is “Becky.” That’s the industry term for the typical Christian radio listener —the churchgoing working mom who doesn’t want to think too hard about anything. She wants programming that affirms what she already believes and that’s safe for the kids in the backseat. Nothing makes it on to the airwaves if it’s going to upset or confuse Becky.Becky likes to say things like, “God has a plan for your life” and “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” Usually I have no problem with anyone who wants to believe that, because if it helps them keep going when they lose their job or get a serious illness, more power to them. My concern about Sarah Palin is that she really thinks God thinks she’s ready to be vice president, otherwise why would he have put that on John McCain’s heart (to use the Christianese). A more contemplative Christian might have prayed about this situation and been forced to admit that she wasn’t really ready to be a heartbeat away from the presidency. When Becky prays, she almost always hears the response she wanted in the first place.
Becky also listens to Delilah.
I will be the first to admit that I indulge in a little Delilah when I’m back in the States. Leaving aside the music, which can be enjoyable in an Adult Contemporary sort of way, listening to her is like travelling to another planet of which she is the overlord and her audience are supplicants making their pilgrims’ progress. The songs she chooses for those lost souls that phone in only rarely relate to the quandaries they describe, or at least not in any way that is appropriate. The caller can be on the verge of tears, and the tune that queues up is as upbeat as you could ask. And yet people are usually too awed to ask for a tune of their choice; it’s always, ‘no, no, Delilah, you pick something that’ll speak to me’. As if they’ve finally realised one of their life goals. Which, ya know, maybe they have.
At any rate, the whole thing makes for the oddest form of therapy imaginable. Delilah’s MO seems to be: You tell me your problems; I’ll pretend to listen. After a few tut-tuts, I’ll act as though I’ve not encouraged you to start crying on national radio as you describe your partner’s alcoholism and how it has caused your child to run off and join the Rainbow Tribe, and instead start playing Hall & Oates’s ‘Maneater’ as a reminder that alcohol will chew you up and we must all — for none of us are perfect — ‘watch out’.
I’ll give it up for her, though. The programme makes for strangely hypnotic radio when you’re driving alone in the dark, and she seems to have no end of followers. So, for all the weeping Beckys out there, remember that joy comes in the morning. After all, it’s another day to spend looking forward to spending time with Delilah.
