I Bow at Crawfordsville
It may seem strange to begin a post about the spiritual lessons of my childhood home with a picture of the dentist’s office, but actually it’s very appropriate: I began reading my first book about Buddhism here during a long wait for a cleaning. Now, every time I see this unattractive, boxy brick building, I think of the feelings that came up for me as I dug into The World of Tibetan Buddhism by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. To use an analogy frequently employed in the Buddhist tradition, it was like stumbling upon a precious jewel. The beginning of something important, indeed life-changing, happened for me right there at All Smiles Dental.
I’m currently “back home again in Indiana,” within walking distance of All Smiles. I’m helping my parents move out of their house here in Crawfordsville–the place where I grew up–and into their new home in North Carolina. It’s certainly a funky thing to disassemble one’s childhood home with one’s parents. It’s some kind of practice, that’s for sure.
While I’m not exactly head-over-heels in love with my home turf, and it hasn’t really been “home” for years, Crawfordsville does have a small town beauty and pleasantness that’s becoming rarer and rarer.
I don’t know what the future holds for me and this tiny hamlet. I still have dear friends here, and I know I’ll see them all again, but… This is the first time in my life that I’ve not known when I’ll be in Crawfordsville next.
Irregardless of whether I’ll be back soon or not, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting and “saying goodbye” to the town and our community of loved ones here.
Yesterday, my parents and I drove around for last looks at certain spots we’ve always liked in Crawfordsville. I don’t think I’d ever really noticed until we started on my “hit list” that I was so drawn to the more overty religious spots in town.
I know: big surprise.
There are places and things here that have meant something to me in my spiritual life, whether I have ever thought of it that way before or not. Also, it occurs to me that Crawfordsville has helped me learn things about religion in America. There is a lot of interesting history here (General Lew Wallace wrote his enormously popular Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ while living in Crawfordsville, for example), and quite a few trends and phenomena in contemporary Christianity are apparent (such as the boom in Pentecostalism and organized movements against secularism).
I could say more, but I’d rather show you.
This is St. John’s Episcopal Church, the parish I was raised in. I was an acolyte for a number of years, but left the church just before high school and didn’t really have another religious connection again until I found my way to Buddhism. The priest who served St. John’s when I was very small had a big impact on me–I think of him, his compassion, and his joyfulness often.
Crawfordsville found itself in the national news a few years ago because, like the Alabama Supreme Court building and several other locations, a stone monument displaying the Ten Commandments sat on its courthouse lawn. Following legal action by the Indiana Civil Liberties Union, the monument was removed. Some months later, however, a local church erected a new monument (pictured above) on their property. Strangely, it commemorates both the local furor over the Ten Commandments monument and the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks–hence the similarity of the tablets to the World Trade Center. Since it has been up, I’ve felt uncomfortable about it. It’s an off-putting thing. Whether it is intentional or not, the monument seems to suggest the same intolerant, erroneous theology spelled out by Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson in the days following the attacks–a theology which suggests that the “secularization of America” (read: enforcing constitutional law) somehow caused the terrorist attacks on 9/11. Anyway, I’ve always found it an unsettling sight, and I won’t soon forget it.
Quite a few lovely country churches surround Crawfordsville. My favorite is this one–the Mt. Zion Methodist Church. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve always been quite taken by its appearance. I regret not having a wide angle lens for my camera, because I don’t think this picture really captures what is so striking about the church and its rural setting. I don’t know why, but I’ve always liked country churches. The combination of a pastoral setting with a sacred space really does it for me, I guess. If I ever come into some money, I’d like to convert an old or abandoned country church into a Dharma center.
Speaking of things with mysterious appeal… I first noticed this rusty metal sign when I was in middle school. I would often walk down the alley it hangs in just to get a glimpse of it. Visually speaking, something about the juxtaposition of the Bible passage with the wear and tear of the sign really strikes me. In the past, whenever I’ve seen it, I’ve thought, “I must get a picture of this someday.” Oddly enough, that didn’t happen until yesterday.
This is the Lew Wallace Study. It was built to be a place of writing and contemplation for the general. Among other things, he wrote Ben-Hur within its walls. As someone who likes spends a lot of time writing and contemplating, I’ve always thought that this place was pretty fabulous.
My mother tells me that while he was U.S. Minister to the Ottoman Empire, General Lew Wallace and his wife acquired some gingko seeds and brought them back to Crawfordsville, where they planted several gingko trees that grow in town to this day. (Gingkos are not at all native to the area, so visitors with a green thumb are initially confused to find them growing here.) This one is on the grounds of the Lew Wallace Study.
In a post from several days ago, I attached a photo I took near the Sugar Creek Trail. Here is one from the trail itself. I will miss walking this beautiful stretch of Hoosier-Land terribly.
“… in the distant woods or fields, in unpretending sprout-lands or pastures tracked by rabbits, even in a bleak and, to most, cheerless day, like this, when a villager would be thinking of his inn, I come to myself, I once more feel myself grandly related, and that cold and solitude are friends of mine. I suppose that this value, in my case, is equivalent to what others get by churchgoing and prayer. I come home to my solitary woodland walk as the homesick go home. I thus dispose of the superfluous and see things as they are, grand and beautiful.” – from Henry David Thoreau‘s journal, January 7, 1857
Because of the move and some other travelling, I’ll be off-line for a number of days. I expect to be “back it at” around July 10th or so. I’ve blogged a lot in the past few days, though, so you ought to have lots to keep you entertained until I come back. Just scroll down.
