How a walk after church can turn you around
The Column: 10.27.23
This should be a great time for journalism what with two wars going on, and ambitious writers should be packing their bags for overseas, not hanging out in Washington watching Republicans try to imagine what, if anything, they believe in. With cable news, print, news networks, websites, millions of podcasts, we are the most communicative people on earth; it’s no wonder we’re so sick of each other. We’re flooded with information and entertainment intertwined, inseparable, insufferable, and thank goodness for the Off switch and the Delete function and the pleasure of silence. But still we long to be smarter than we are.
The wars are complicated though and involve history, which we Americans try to stay innocent of and one would need to read dense books that would lead to more books, which might leave you more conflicted and confused. And that’s why the big story still is Mr. Presidefendant, irrelevant elephant though he be, and the Congressional Trumpists yelling at each other. There are rumors of Republican moderates but they don’t wear caps: they need to maintain deniability.
The real wars have consequences, people die, history shifts, but the Congressional kerfuffle was easier to cover because the cast was small and made up of classic characters — everyone went to high school with a Jim Jordan and a Matt Gaetz — and it took place in Washington where there are good restaurants and everyone is interested in pretty much the same stuff.
We may be, as some have said, a beacon of freedom to the world, but mostly the beacon is shining in our eyes and blinding us to reality. We are cautious travelers and avoid misery at all costs and as a result we’re rather ignorant of most of the globe. The Christian missionaries who set out to save souls in Africa and South America saw the world much more clearly. Our knowledge of the world comes mostly from refugees who’ve landed among us and thanks to them, even in the Midwest, you can find Pakistani, Indian, Vietnamese, Brazilian, North African restaurants where forty years ago there were only Cantonese, Mexican, and Italian. The bounty of America has brought the world to us, breaking into our parochialism, enriching our lives. A writer could walk a couple miles along Lake Street in Minneapolis and talk to foreigners and learn more about the world than if you hung out in D.C. But the young journalist hopes someday to fly on Air Force One to Paris and Beijing and ride in the press bus behind the armored limo through vast throngs of people waving tiny flags. He dreads being assigned to go to the Midwest and stay in cinderblock motels and spend long days interviewing large taciturn people about soil erosion. When you’re assigned to the agriculture beat, there is no return.
Considering our ignorance of the world, it’s no wonder that someone can attract vast attention by being outrageous, running around flapping his dinguses and rattling his doohickeys, but in church on Sunday we closed with a favorite old hymn that tells us to simply look around with awesome wonder at the stars, the rolling thunder, the mountain grandeur, forest, brook, birds singing in the trees, and feel the greatness of the Creator and be caught up in transcendent beauty and have faith that these troubles shall soon pass, which we, in our vast American splendors, are quite able to do. It’s a gorgeous autumn. You walk through the great cathedral of American elms along the Central Park Mall and the grove of pines north of the Great Lawn and the enormous scowl of the presidefendant vanishes like a cloud in the sky.
Thousands of people accomplish this transcendence every day, simply by walking among trees. Today I came home from a walk and donated $100 to a very attractive young woman who is running for Congress against a schmo who looks like he’d shoot your dog if it came in his yard. Youth and beauty over rage and revenge. It made me feel good. She is the daughter of dairy farmers, a Democrat, waiting on tables, running for office.
I admit that I was influenced by her beauty. The Great Scowler has sometimes smirked but I’ve never seen him smile a genuine smile that came from the heart. She looked like someone I’d want for a neighbor. There was a glow about her. I’m tired of anger. Let’s give admiration a chance.
Yesterday I found myself unexpectedly home from work, as Maine schools were closed "out of an abundance of caution" because a mass shooter was still at large somewhere. After listening to press conferences and press questions and hearing our familiar newscasters out of their normally very controlled element trying to fill the time given them as they were tasked with giving us "breaking news" I had had enough - and took to the woods. The stillness was only interrupted by chipmunks and squirrels warning everyone that an invader was present. It was a soul-restoring walk, and the lines from a couple of songs were in the front of my mind - "Surrendering to the Mystery" and "I'm just resting in the arms of the Great Wide Open" (Wailin' Jennys and Mary Chapin Carpenter - thank you!) as I just walked and heard the quiet and breathed. I'll take that stillness back to work with me today, and since the shooter is still "at large" I will refer back to those woods feelings and thoughts when I'm tempted to listen to the anxious ones that try to creep in.
Why do we wait until the twilight of our life to fully appreciate the spirituality of this beautiful world we live in. I could have used this sentiment when I was 30.