If you want a reminder of God’s majesty, all you have to do these days in Rappahannock County, Virginia, is look out a window. It is a bastion of peace and harmony. The sidewalks of “little” Washington, the county seat, are rolled up by 9 p.m., where there are sidewalks. There are no stoplights to clutter the view. No billboards, no shopping centers, no housing developments. The leaves have been changing these past few weeks, revealing the gentle hills that have been hiding under luxuriant green foliage all summer long. And recent rains have put a sparkle in the brooks and streams. If ever a landscape were conceived to instill quiet in man’s soul, this is it.
Seduced by the beauty of the county, I moved here recently from the hurly burly of central Mexico. Having been through the raucous, competitive stages of life, it was time, I felt, for tranquility. True, 70 miles to the east in “big” Washington, tumult prevails as never before. But you wouldn’t know it in “little” Washington” – population less than 200 – where drivers passing one another on a country road, still take the time to wave hello to perfect strangers.
So it was with some surprise that I picked up a recent edition of the local newspaper, the Rappahannock News, to read an account of the monthly meeting of the county’s board of supervisors. The hall was packed. Important business was pending. What had passions running highest, however, was not the prospect of installing crosswalks on the main street of Sperryville or repaving the Rappahannock County Courthouse parking lot. The issue that had brought out the crowds was whether or not each monthly meeting of the board of supervisors should be preceded by an invocation seeking divine guidance.
For the first time in the county’s 178-year history, the issue of prayer and government had raised its prickly head.
The hour-long debate that ensued was heated. There was some talk about whose prayer would be prayed, until someone came up with the idea of rotating the sects – a Methodist spokesperson one month, a Baptist the next. Then someone else pointed out that it would take a year and a half before all the county’s major sects had been heard from.
“Are you prepared, gentleman,” asked one resident, pointedly, “at 3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon to touch your head to the floor, facing Richmond?”
Some were; others weren’t, apparently.
The founding fathers were invoked to support one position or another, one timeless pronouncement tending to cancel out the next. “You can look to the founding fathers to confirm any side you want,” sighed little Washington’s mayor diplomatically.
“It seems our government is becoming so afraid of prayer,” fretted one man. “Why?” “Prayer is not religion. No one is trying to promote dogma or doctrine,” countered another. Back and forth the arguments went, until somebody noted soberly that “we are pitting citizen against citizen and friend against friend.” Suddenly, a small-town squabble seemed to reflect what is taking place far beyond county lines.
Religion has worked its way to the center of our national political debate. Separation of church and state is viewed increasingly as an antiquated notion, and how one feels about Jesus takes precedence over one’s feelings about nuclear waste.
After an hour, the issue was put to a vote by the five county supervisors of Rappahannock County, who decided (by a margin of 4 to 1) that injecting prayer into the political process was unnecessary, but that future meetings could be opened with a moment of silence, during which each participant could mediate on the god of his choosing. It seems a relatively sane conclusion. So this episode has a happy ending. Sort of.
Here’s the distressing part. There followed a five-minute break, after which the council was to take up more earthly matters such as the construction of a new playground and the advisability of installing of speed indicator signs on a well-traveled street. But only about half of those fired up about prayer saw reason to return to their seats and went home.
Will it be the same in the country at large? On the national stage, the legitimacy of Mormonism as a Christian faith is cause for a firestorm, politicians tell us that being born doesn’t count as much as being born again, and no one’s calling for a moment of silence. either. Meanwhile, the real business of the country goes unaddressed.
In Rappahannock County, at least, we have the solace of rolling hills and the red-leafed poetry of fruit-filled apple orchards to help keep things in perspective. Deer leap across the fields and the occasional ill-mannered bear overturns a trash bin. Good reminders, all.
There is wisdom in this perpetually renewed landscape.
As I look up at the velvet skies, or contemplate a fog-shrouded hay field, I wonder what counsel does big Washington have?
David Richards, a former theater critic for The New York Times, The Washington Post and The Washington Star, is co-author with Leonard Foglia of “The Sudarium Trilogy: The Surrogate, The Son and The Savior.” More information online at www.thesudarium.com.
Share
Contributors
