“Who cares what you have to say?” and a couple other under-developed ideas

1) On writing and reverence

A couple weeks ago I mentioned that a “talking heads” program on PBS had drawn me in. Part of what they were saying—“they” being Bill Moyers and Barry Lopez—resonated with some thoughts I had at the Festival of Faith & Writing last month. I had/have good intentions about further developing that notion, but for now, here’s the snippet of that interview that made me say, “Yes! I know what you mean!”

BARRY LOPEZ: People think that if you've written a book and somebody's given you a pat on the back then, you know, it's all—you're all settled, you know? You're going to be fine. I know that if I'm not confused, and really afraid, my work isn't going to be any good.

When I sit at that typewriter, I have to be frightened of what I'm trying to do. I'm frightened by my own, belief that I can actually get a story down on paper. I still have that thing in my mind from childhood, "Who cares what you have to say?" So, my path is the same path. It's still a path through confusion and lack of self confidence, and struggle and embarrassment over all of my imperfection. But I would tell you at the same time, I have seen things that have dropped me to my knees in a state of awe, and when I know that that too is there, if I can find a way to build with language a bridge between a failure to believe and a witness to what is incomprehensible. If I can build that bridge and then do it again and then do it again. I would hope that at the end of my life, somebody would say, "Well, his life was useful. He helped." A key for me, in recent years, has been coming to a better understanding of the virtue of reverence than I have ever had before, and here I'm borrowing from an American philosopher named Paul Woodruff—

BILL MOYERS: Friend of mine. University of Texas.

BARRY LOPEZ: Yes, that's right. I read this book. I think it's called "Reverence: Renewing a Forgotten Virtue." And he says in there that the virtue of reverence is rooted in the understanding that there is a world beyond human control, human invention, and human understanding.

And that that world will always be there, no matter how sophisticated our technologies of probing reality become. The great mystery will be there forever. And it's the sense that it's not yours to solve. And the issue of a solution to a mystery is perhaps not a sign of wisdom. I am perfectly comfortable being in a state of ignorance before something incomprehensible. And it's in that moment that you're driven to your knees and you believe. I wouldn't call it religious. It's just what happens when you open up again to the extraordinary circumstances of being alive.

And when you can open up to it and come out of your own little small tiny place in the world and say—if you try, you know, with typewriter rewriting, rewriting, and rewriting, rewriting. And you get something on paper. And you give it to somebody. And you say, "Well, what do you think?" And if it really works, they read it and they say, "I think I'm going to be okay."

2) Christian radio, classical music, and context

Will likes to listen to classical music CDs at our house. Especially mid-morning. For him, at that time of day, the initial “rush” is over. He’s filed a story or two (or more) in time for his newspaper’s deadline, and he takes a break to do some dishes, load some laundry, or pick up the kids’ toys off the living room floor. Pavarotti helps Will chill, apparently. But for me—although I truly love the genre and couldn’t figure out why, until very recently—the music makes me edgy. I want to turn it off, immediately! Or else escape, out of earshot, to a different part of the house.

I have a similar reaction to television or radio evangelism. (Here’s where I know I’ll have a major audience split: Some A-Town readers love their Christian radio; others would consider it appropriate torture chamber listening.) I genuinely appreciate good preaching—the art, the intent, and the theology. However—and here’s where the analogy comes in—when it’s out of context, I can’t stand it! When I want to listen—really listen—to good music or good preaching, I want to be in a concert hall or a sanctuary, not wrist-deep in soap suds with 10 other things on my mind and 6 other sounds vying for my attention.

An exception is the car: If I’m driving, especially alone, the vehicle can “become” a concert hall or sanctuary for me, and I can hear—really hear—truth and beauty.

3) Sure thing, sugar

Recent sugar limit guidelines issued by the American Heart Association seem so extremely restrictive that I’m tempted to throw up my hands and quit trying to behave. No more than 100 daily calories from any kind of sugar, including honey?? Puh-leeze!!