Kathy and I have been in and out of
Washington over the past several weeks, but from what I can tell there have
been two big stories in the District this summer. The biggest occurred last week when Amazon
founder Jeff Bezos bought the The
Washington Post from the Graham family. The other took place in July when The New York Times Magazine’s Mark
Lebovich published his expose of Washington’s power culture, appropriately
entitled This Town.
I don’t yet know enough about
Washington to comment much on the sale of the Post, but about Lebovich’s This Town I have a more informed
opinon. For one thing, the book is full
of hilarious and apt observations, such as the description of D.C.’s permanent elite as “a political herd that never dies or gets
older, only jowlier, richer and more heavily made-up.” He’s talking about the
nation’s capital, but he might as well be describing Beverly Hills.
And that leads to my other claim to
expertise on hype and glitz. Having grown up in and around Hollywood, I could
be said, along with Ronald Reagan, to be one of the few Americans who has lived
in the two American cities that each refer to themeselves as “this town”. Before Lebovich’s Washington book there was
the late Julia Phillips’ wonderful Hollywood tell-all, You'll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again. In my first year here at the cathedral,
people often asked me how I was adjusting to Washington after having lived in
Hollywood and its environs most of my life.
“What adjustment?” I’d reply.
“They’re both exactly the same place.”
Power, status, and fame are not new
values in American culture or for that matter in human society. But they are becoming increasingly elevated
and intertwined in our national and personal lives. At their best, of course, both Washington and
Hollywood embody enduring human and American aspirtions: government of, by, and for the people in
“this town”, and the artistic expression of human visions, hopes, and longings
in the other “this town”. But at their
worst both places can come to represent power, status, and fame as ends in
themselves. The great Oscar Levant once
defined a celebrity as “someone who’s famous for being well-known.” You could
say the same about Washington’s cave dwellers. Proximity to power becomes its
own reason for being.
There is a story in Zen circles
about a man and a horse. The horse is
galloping quickly, and it appears that the man on the horse is going somewhere
important. Another man, standing
alongside the road, shouts, "Where are you going?" and the first man
replies, "I don't know! Ask the
horse!" [Thich Nhat Hanh, The Heart
of the Buddha's Teaching, p. 24]. Most
of us are like the man on the horse—galloping somewhere, we’re not sure
where. Once when I got on a freeway and
realized I was going in the wrong direction, my wife Kathy said, “Yeah, but we’re
making great time.” Once you get up to speed, it’s hard to keep track of where
you’re headed. And so it is with the power and celebrity cultures of modern
American life. Where are we going? What hopes and values do we organize our
lives around?
The real problem with the twin idols
of power and fame (and their close cousin money) is that they are so
beguiling. Here is the problem posed by
Hollywood and Washington: life in “this
town” can be so attractive and comfortable that we can begin to feel at home
there. And one thing that makes people
of faith uneasy even in beautiful places is the nagging knowledge that—as beautiful
as it is—“this town” is not where we finally belong.
Today’s reading from the Letter to
the Hebrews [Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16] is one of my favorite bits of scripture—I asked
that it be read at my installation as dean here--and it gives us a theological
way in to this conversation. In the 11th
chapter of the letter, the writer of Hebrews tells us that our forbears
organized their lives around their faith, which he describes as “the assurance
of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen”. In his view, what made
the patriarchs and matriarchs of Israel different from everyone else around
them was their interior sense that the “this towns” of their day were not their
real home. They were being drawn forward
by God to a new place—a place we might call not “this town” but “that town”—and
they made their journey meaningful by striving to make the world more loving
and compassionate now. People of faith
don’t just look forward to a heavenly city.
They strive to remake the earthly city in the image of the one that
calls them forward. Here, again, is how
the anonymous writer of Hebrews puts it:
All
of these died in faith without having received the promises, but from a
distance they saw and greeted them. They confessed that they were strangers and
foreigners on the earth, for people who speak in this way make it clear that
they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of the land that they
had left behind, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they
desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed
to be called their God; indeed, he has prepared a city for them. [Hebrews 11:
13-16]
I suppose this reading speaks to me
so powerfully because it articulates that holy restlessness that marks all the
people of faith I have ever known. We
use the word “faith” loosely in American culture, as if it somehow suggests
magical thinking. But when the writer of
Hebrews talks about faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction
of things not seen”, he’s not suggesting that believers are essentially deluded
wackos walking around in the world as if they were at a gigantic
Comic-Con. He is instead naming that
holy restlessness. We know that as
attractive and alluring as the world’s most beautiful centers of power, status,
and fame might be, they are not finally the real thing. We are being drawn forward to another
place—not “this town” but “that town”-- one centered on the things that matter:
holiness, love, justice, compassion, peace.
As Hebrews puts it, we desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.
Therefore God is not ashamed to be called our God; indeed, God has prepared a
city for us.
All people of faith are restless in
the “this towns” of this world. For
Christians, our restlessness is best shown in the life and ministry of Jesus. In today’s Gospel [Luke 12: 22-40], Jesus
tells his companions
"Do
not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you
the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves
that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes
near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be
also.”
If your treasure is in “this town”,
you have your reward. If your treasure
lies ahead in “that town”—that better, heavenly country--then your reward will
be a life lived striving to make even “this town” look and feel and behave like
heaven on earth.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I love the world. I love my new home town of Washington as I
love ongoing home town of Los Angeles. I love all the glitzy, alluring,
wonderful things American culture can provide. But as a follower of Jesus, I
know that neither D.C. nor L.A. nor the values they represent are where I
finally belong. You and I will never know why some of us are content with the
satisfactions of “this town” while others are restlessly drawn to something
that lies beyond—“that town”. But we do know that the life of faith is not an
escape from the world. The life of faith
is a deeper engagement with things as they are, helping shape them to become
what God intended they should be.
Christians don’t live in a fantasy. We live in ultimate reality.
Today’s scriptures ask us several
questions that each of us must answer for ourselves, on our own. Which city do you want to inhabit, “this
town” or “that town”--the better, heavenly one?
What are you doing to remake “this town” in the image of that city that
lies ahead? And where, exactly, are you going? Are you like the rider whose
horse is in charge of the process? Are
you heading in the wrong direction but making great time?
Those who are satisfied with the
rewards of “this town” have their treasure now as measured in power, status,
and fame. Those who desire a better, heavenly country have their treasure in
working with others to make “that town” they seek a reality in the here and
now. What treasure would you rather
have? Who would you rather be and be with? “This town” or “that town”? The roads
are open before us, and the choice, as always, is ours. Amen.
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