c. 2003 Religion News Service

CLEVELAND _ Some folks get religion in church; others find it after a near-death or seemingly miraculous experience. And there are no atheists in foxholes, as the old soldiers’ saying goes.

Timothy Beal found religion on a miniature-golf fairway of the Golgotha Fun Park in Kentucky, where visitors can sink a putt as Jesus ascends to heaven on the 18th hole.

He also found it in thousands of scrap-wood crosses planted across 11 acres of Alabama farmland, bearing such messages as, “Hell is hot, hot, hot.”

And it was there in the skeletal steel shell of a life-size replica of Noah’s ark, sailing the seas of possibility off Interstate 68 in Frostburg, Md.

It was the ark that prompted this professor of biblical literature at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland to load up his family in a motor home last summer and spend three weeks touring rural highways in six states from New York to Alabama in search of material for a book he will title “Roadside Religion.”

Faith is where you find it, and for the really home-grown stuff, you’ve got to hit the roads less traveled, according to Beal, 39. As he said, “Religion is at its most interesting, and most telling, where it’s least expected.”

Roadside religion also may mesh with the personality of an author whose previous book examined supernatural creatures in “Religion and Its Monsters,” and whose own daughter once noted that Daddy, who keeps a Jesus “action figure” in his office, “likes to make creepy things interesting.”

Beal’s book will provide a glimpse of about 20 religious-themed parks or attractions around the country that he has visited or plans to see in the coming year.

These include the Holyland USA Nature Sanctuary in Virginia with its scaled-down version of biblical Israel on the site of a former government whiskey distillery; the Living Bible museum in Ohio; the world’s largest rosary collection, in Oregon; and Biblical Minigolf in Kentucky.

Beal said he had been interested in these sorts of attractions for years, and decided last year to take a personal look after spotting the partially constructed Noah’s ark replica _ intended as a conference center for evangelical Christians (Beal said the ark has run aground on the rocks of financial uncertainty in recent years).

“Your first question has to be, `What is that?”’ he said. “But that’s quickly followed by `Who did it?’ And `Why?’ What is driving these kind of things? What kind of demons or visions or whatever?”

Beal was impressed by the sheer scale of such efforts as “The World’s Largest Ten Commandments” in giant letters laid on the side of a mountain in North Carolina, supposedly visible from outer space.

Beal speculates that the size of such attractions _ beyond catching a passing traveler’s eye _ also may be intended as a shortcut to some sublime religious experience, “meant to inspire some kind of awe … or maybe dread.”

Other roadside religion sites go to the opposite extreme. Joseph Zoetl, a Benedictine monk in Alabama, spent a lifetime crafting meticulously detailed miniature cityscapes of the Vatican, Jerusalem and other religious locales _ using broken plates and other throwaways, guided by postcards and photos, to create the Ave Maria Grotto.

“It was a way for him to dwell or meditate on these holy places,” Beal said of Zoetl.

Some creators of roadside religion sites see their work as a divinely inspired ministry or a mission, according to Beal.

“Many identify themselves with Noah (the original builder of the ark),” he said. “They see themselves as being called on by God to build something that may look absurd to everybody else, but ultimately will make sense and they’ll be vindicated.”

Thusly, Alabama evangelical preacher Bill Rice said he was told in a vision from God to raise a bountiful crop of thousands in the Cross Gardens _ a jumble of crude messages (“In hell for sex, sex”) slapped on crosses, old refrigerators and air-conditioner crates (“No ice water in hell!”).

Rice’s world initially can seem a little scary, “but he’s really kind of a sweet guy who’s genuinely concerned for people,” Beal said.

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Beal said his wife, Clover Reuter Beal, a Presbyterian minister, was enthusiastic about the project, and the kids _ daughter, Sophie, 11, and son, Seth, 8 _ enjoyed such sites as Paradise Gardens in Georgia, which features found-object religious folk art.

First impressions of roadside religious sites can include a chuckle, which operators of these attractions seem to expect and good-naturedly accept, according to Beal.

But he doesn’t plan to ridicule their motives or creations in his book. “One of the real keys is to avoid any kind of condescension and sarcasm. It’s important to move beyond that,” Beal said.

“For me,” he added, “the book is all about discovering some of the diversity and wonderful strangeness of religion in America.”

DEA END ALBRECHT