Chris Johnson: Ah, the ocean - lemme preach on it
There are few places more precious to me than the coast of Georgia. True, I love any coastal area from the Gulf Coast to the Caribbean to Oakley's Pond back home. But there's something extra special about the Georgia coast.
Sure, there's some development along Georgia's coast, but nothing compared to the overbearingly tall condos and hotels along Florida's coastlines. There are a few trashy folks who still toss their cigarette butts and other trash onto the beach, but not nearly as many as other places I've been. And while I won't argue with you if you drag me off to St. Kitts or Barbados, I must say that Saint Simons, Jekyll, Cumberland Island and Savannah are a heck of a lot easier for me to get to. The Golden Isles are beautiful AND convenient.
The sounds along the Georgia coast are mostly peaceful and natural. The waves gently rolling into the shore. Seagulls flying overhead. Swimmers whispering, "Shark! Shark! Ow, my leg!" It's just so calming.
But it only takes one human to mess up the whole atmosphere. That happened last weekend at Saint Simons Island, perhaps my favorite place on the coast. My wife and I were beginning a much-needed weekend of rest and relaxation by walking onto the Saint Simons Pier, the heartbeat of the village area.
The heartbeat had a murmur, though. It came in the form of a man standing on a concrete wall with a microphone so that everyone could hear the truth, or at least his misunderstanding of it, from the Bible.
He looked like an early televangelist with his hair a little too firmly glued into place and his white shirt tucked too tightly over his belly -- which, judging by his size, is evidence that gluttony is not a sin with which he takes issue.
I guess I should be thankful that the peace of the coast wasn't disrupted by some wacko with unkempt hair and the smell of someone who thinks showering is a sin as he screams prophecies at the top of his lungs like, "And there will be four eagles -- no, make that buzzards -- who will fly low on the fourth day of the sixth week of November and peck the heads of those who part their hair on the left side ..."
Apparently, this fellow -- Ken Seremak Jr. -- is not a vagrant but a respected pastor of a small church in nearby Brunswick, Ga. I think that's a better arena to spout his beliefs, interpretations and condemnations. Judging by the amount of people -- all of them -- ignoring him, darn near everybody else agrees with me.
If he wants folks to take note of his religious beliefs, he might be better served to show instead of tell: Walk along the beach picking up trashy people's cigarette butts. Join those fishing along the pier and donate your catch to the hungry. Engage in a little quiet reflection about how you can better serve your fellow man. You know, Christian stuff.
There's a popular gospel song that advises folks to go tell it on the mountain. I agree. Go tell it there. Jimmy Buffett's got the gospel of the beach covered. We don't need folks like this fire-and-brimstone pastor disturbing the heavenly peace of the Georgia coast.
So, Rev. Seremak, instead of hollering at folks who've come to seek peace, why not sit down at the end of the pier and take in the sunset? You just might find a little slice of heaven right here on Earth. And if you listen closely to the waves instead of shouting over them, you might even learn something.
But, right now, you're just about as annoying as a sand gnat. And we've got enough of those on the coast, thank you.
Connect with Chris Johnson at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting, Twitter @kudzukid88 or kudzukid88@gmail.com.
This story was originally published October 25, 2015 at 12:19 AM with the headline "Chris Johnson: Ah, the ocean - lemme preach on it ."