At least once a year, D.C. is a mortality play.
At least once a year, D.C. is a mortality play.
O ut with the selfie sticks. Not that long ago, tourists could be spotted from a mile away by Acela Corridor Americans (from Boston to New York, but mostly in D.C.) because they would slow down foot traffic, stopping in the middle of sidewalks and streets to take pictures with dead-giveaway selfie sticks. And while much remains the same — and we still have not established lanes on sidewalks so that commuter pedestrian traffic can resume in the way we are accustomed — this year, for cherry blossom season in the nation’s capital, tourists were so serious about their vacations that they had actual cameras. As I tried to maneuver between meetings in my usual last-minute style, the difference in the visitors to the East Coast (this, too, was obvious) was unmistakable. I wondered if the cameras had something to do with nostalgia or, perhaps, an attempt at a Lenten fast from excessive screen time. Maybe the cherry blossoms and Washington, D.C., were being taken as the serious mortality checks that they are.
Try to wait out the crowds and the cherry blossoms will be gone. I got to D.C. for a few events during what was still peak-ish time for the bloom, and by that evening, heavy rain had done them in — creating showers of pink around the tidal basin. Time is short. You have a few mornings to attempt to beat the crowds — which, in my experience, is nearly impossible. And then they are dying. You might pass by longingly, wishing you had taken the time, when there was still time, for a few perfect shots for your social media timeline. Isn’t that a bit like life? Spring is a good time to reset and try to avoid regrets. And even if we — inevitably? — will have some regrets, there’s something about new life that — if it doesn’t get your allergies going too intensely — inspires a new outlook and challenges us to begin again.
I had my own reset in my return to my alma mater, the Catholic University of America. The school had asked me to speak to students of politics who were being inducted into the discipline’s honor society. Yes, it’s a discipline. Yes, honor is not anathema to it. These young people have high hopes — even now — for what good can be done with a well-informed conscience in public service. And they see politics — at least in some of the conversations I had — as service, as charity, as a contribution to the common good, infused with respect for the human person and its dignity.
After the sound of my voice was heard and the certificates were given, I meandered over to the campus chapel for a holy hour of prayer and praise and worship. While the campus is adjacent to one of the largest churches in the hemisphere, there are some humble chapels around the grounds, affording students and others personal time with God without the backdrop or the weight of the town that surrounds them. (In one of those, Caldwell Hall, however, history is hard to get away from: Archbishop Fulton Sheen, among others, prayed and celebrated Mass there.) I saw some of my politics kids come in to pray and stay for Mass after. Now that’s something worth going to the nation’s capital for. That gave me hope! God renews us, if we let him. And He supplies new, young people to remind us that can we begin again not only individually but also as communities and as a nation. Praying with the students — some of them about ready to graduate — I didn’t long to be in their place again, knowing what I know now, even though I gave thanks to God for fresh blood and the energy to encourage the rest of us in our belief that this country is worth fighting for.
A few weeks before, I got to see some early-blooming cherry blossoms at National Harbor, without the tourists. I had only my iPhone, but it was sufficient to prove that it had happened and to share some of the joy the blossoms seem to inspire. Before I got back on the Amtrak to New York, I gave myself a birthday present and lingered and played tourist. I had a little Smithsonian time. Art museums never get old. And in addition to some old standbys by Gilbert Stuart and the treat of a few Van Goghs, there was a display at the National Gallery of Art about “The Voyage of Life” by Thomas Cole that seemed all too appropriate for a springtime birthday and examination of conscience.
“Storm and cloud enshroud a rugged and dreary landscape. Bare impending precipices rise in the lurid light,” the artist reflects. “The swollen stream rushes furiously down a dark ravine, whirling and foaming its wild career, and speeding toward the Ocean which is dimly seen through the mist and falling rain. The boat is there, plunging amid the turbulent waters.” It didn’t take too much to imagine myself near the Jefferson Memorial. “The voyager is now a man of middle age,” Cole continues, “the helm of the boat is gone, and he looks imploringly toward heaven, as if heaven’s aid alone could save him from the perils that surround him. The Guardian Spirit calmly sits in the clouds, watching with an air of solicitude the affrighted voyager. Demon forms are hovering in the air.”
Heading over to the National Archives, one is reminded that our Founders were well aware of the challenges this nation would face. They prepared us for them. They grounded us. And it’s our responsibility to be good stewards of their legacy. These days, we aren’t always. But we can remedy that. Even if we didn’t take the time to smell the cherry blossoms this spring, we’ve got a gift of a country that understands that life isn’t forever and that it is for honoring God and flourishing. Whatever the president thinks he can find in our tradition to give himself more of an imperial flair, we know who we are. Just look to Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln for a start. Remember “In God we trust.” And, as it says on the base of the Washington memorial: Laus Deo — “Praise be to God.”
This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.