After breakfast at The Toast, they drove a short distance to Lakeside Park, a popular destination for couples who rented paddle boats to take out on the lake. It also was home to a single baseball diamond, a playground, and the path that ran through the woods to its sister park, Woodland Hills park, a mile away. Winnie liked this path because it was made of wood chips which meant there were no bicycles zooming by and she often walked it alone between classes. The morning sun was higher now but still below the trees, sending beams of light across their path. They walked, carrying coffees.
Rowe lifted his cup to read the quote printed on the side. It read, “If you can’t change your mind, how do you know you have one?” He smiled and showed it to her.
“It’s a sign,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“But for which one of us?”
“It’s your cup!”
“What’s yours say?” he asked.
She observed her own and triumphantly read aloud, “I have nothing to declare except my genius – Oscar Wilde.”
“Wait a second, I think they got our drinks mixed up,” he acted shocked.
She gave him a sly smile.
“I suppose you don’t believe in signs,” she said.
“You would be correct; I suppose you do?”
“I don’t imagine God is sending down lightning bolts or anything if that’s what you’re asking… But I do think reality lends itself to subjectivity.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she looked around at the majestic woods around them. “What we see is…. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder… the black and white framework is out there, but we are the ones that give the world its color. And we can choose whatever colors give it meaning.”
“And you think my box is missing a few crayons.”
“Or you’re just not using them. My dad used to have a sermon about a father and son working on the roof. The son slips and starts rolling off and the dad looks up to God and says, ‘Lord if you save my son, I’ll dedicate my life to you. Then all of a sudden, at the last second, his son’s belt gets caught on a nail on the gutter and he’s saved. The dad looks back up to God and says, ‘Forget it, the nail got ‘em.’”
Rowe chuckled.
“It’s one event,” she continued, “but two ways of looking at it…
“So, I’m like the dad? Blind to the signs of God around me?” he said.
“You’re a fast learner,” she remarked.
The path opened to a grassy knoll with a playground in the middle. There were rubber chips underneath a large wooden jungle gym next to an old-fashioned swing set and some horses on springs for the younger children. There were two families present and the children were shrieking with joy as they chased one another around the structures in figure-eight-like paths.
Rowe leaned against the monkey bars, Winnie grabbed a bar and hung.
“So… We’re outside, you were about to define God.”
“Yes.”
“Start at the beginning… In fact, start at the beginning of your belief. I told you how I became an atheist; how did you get wrapped up in this Christian stuff?”
“I’m a PK.”
“PK?”
“Preacher’s kid.”
“Ah… Was that good or bad?”
“It was good. I loved church growing up. I mean, you have to admit, no matter what you think of the theology, church can be a seriously positive influence on people’s lives.”
Rowe nodded. “It builds community.”
“Right,” Winnie agreed as she swung to the next ring. “It makes people care.”
“It feels good.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, there’s a reason religion is so successful,” Rowe shrugged. “It’s because they’ve built it upon something entirely true, the idea that love is the answer. That love conquers all. I don’t disagree with that. I just don’t see anything supernatural about it.”
She dropped down and studied him.
He continued. “I believe love is God. You say God is love. What’s the difference?”
She thought it over and for just a moment, it looked like she could get on board. Rowe saw her wavering and asked, “So have I convinced you? Are you ready to see the light?”
She rolled her eyes and spun away, walking to the horses on springs. “You know they also say the devil has a silver tongue.”
He just smiled, but he’s gonna get an answer. “What’s the difference between saying God is love, and saying love is God?”
“It is different.”
“But how?!”
She screwed up her face, unable to find the words. “It’s like I have some antennae that’s picking up waves you can’t feel.”
“Tell me about this definitive religious experience.”
She stepped over the horse on a spring and made her way to a bench. He followed and sat next to her.
“Okay… okay. It was in art, freshman year,” she replied. She reached down and picked a few blades of grass, handing him one and keeping the other for herself. “Mr. Brokaw, who was my favorite teacher, and the reason I’m studying art, used to give us random objects. Like shoes or pencils or blades of grass and have us study them.”
Rowe looked at the blade of grass in his hand.
She continued. “The only rule was that you could not look away for ten minutes. So of course, you get bored in the first minute. The second minute is like slow, agonizing torture, you just become certain there’s nothing more to see,” her voice grew wistful, “but if you make it past the third minute, you start to notice things.”
Rowe studied the blade of grass in his hand. It’s beautiful – a work of natural art glowing in the sun.
“Like the waxy coating on the outside,” she continued. “The perfectly vertical veins, the smell, and the way it’s rougher on one side than it is on the other. And you start to wonder things, like is a single blade of grass a plant or a leaf? If photosynthesis makes sugar, what makes it green? Why do we not eat grass and cows do? What happens in the winter when it dies? And before you know it,” she snapped her fingers, “your ten minutes are up, and you feel like you haven’t even started to look at it. He said this is how you learn to appreciate things, whether it be blades of grass, pencils, or people. Suddenly, in that one instant, it seemed like the world got so much bigger and I got so much smaller. I was no longer the center of the universe; it was clear that I was but a small part of something much larger. It was like this state of euphoria. It’s like I suddenly realized that God was all around me,” she gestured to the trees around them. “I just had to look closer… It’s all here in front of us. Not just in nature, but in us.”
Rowe looked around the park.
It’s a beautiful summer day. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves and sent shadows and light flickering over them and on the wood chips. The canopy above them was sparkling with peeks of sun oscillating with shadow.
A blue Jay landed on a branch in a nearby tree. A chipmunk ventured out onto the path to grab a cheerio that had fallen out of a toddler’s Tupperware snack container. His eyes darted wildly back and forth before he grabbed it and scampered off.
“It’s not just the physical world either,” Winnie continued. “Think, the idea that humans come out here to be together. Humans don’t have to be together to survive, but we choose that. There’s something that binds us that we’re beholden to. Something greater than each of us alone. Think about the feelings you have inside you right now. Think about the fact that right now, someone is concerned about you, and you’re concerned about someone else… You know? Isn’t that amazing?”
Rowe watched a young towheaded boy chase what looked like his older brother. They were rimmed in sunlight. They circled around the jungle gym until at last one of them ran into his mother’s arms. She picked him up and handed him off to the father, who promptly put him on his shoulders. Beyond them, a group of four older children played basketball – the sound of the ball bouncing arrived a half-second after the sight. Their voices were faint and distant.
He was quiet – thoughtful. He studied the ground for a bit and then her. She was radiant. He began to smile and even chuckle as if nervousness was squeezing laughter out of him.
“What?” Winnie asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing…” and then, earnestly added, “you’re an interesting person.”
“I am,” Winnie agreed in jest.
“If everything you just said is God,” he said, “then we already agree.”
“So, I win? I won you over already?”
“No, I won you over,” he said.
“What?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t mention anything supernatural.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not looking closely enough… God is in the details.”
“I thought the Devil was in the details?”
“Oh please.”
“Look,” he insisted, “you’re the one not looking closely enough. He reached down and picked up a blade of grass. “There are astounding wonders here, but the answers are more astounding. This waxy coating, or the cuticle, as they say, it’s made from acids that repel water. This makes it waterproof, but also gas permeable so it can regulate the transpiration and Co2 exchange.”
“Again, all more evidence of God, but I was using the grass as an allegory,” she sighed and snatched the grass from his hand and got up. “I’m talking about the magic and nuance of humans.”
“The magic and nuance of humans is exactly what humanism is all about… all of these things, love, understanding, friendship. These are what’s so beautiful about humanity. These are the things worthy of a life philosophy.”
“But where does it come from? Why do beauty and love exist?”
“You want the explanation.”
“Of course, I do!”
“But since you don’t know, you assume it’s God.”
She didn’t have an immediate comeback for this. He continued.
“Just like ancient tribes didn’t know why it rained, so they did rain dances. Just like the pioneers didn’t know about mental illness, so they assumed it was demonic possession.”
“I don’t believe in demonic possession,” she said, eyes widening to show a hint of exasperation.
He continued, unflappable. “But as science sheds light on the unknown, the shadows of myth and superstition get pushed away…”
“Myth and superstition are part of religion, not spirituality.”
“But you call yourself a Christian, Jesus used to cast out demons all the time.”
She collected her thoughts.
“Jesus was seen through the eyes of a more primitive people…” she said. “The authors of the Bible aren’t dictating the word of God; they’re telling stories to illustrate points. Perhaps the demons could be representative of vices that grab hold of people. Just the same way the Devil tempts Jesus in the desert is metaphorical for the temptation for the evil that we can all feel in times of crisis.”
He sighed and leaned back against the bench. “That seems… like an unduly charitable reading.”
“You could use some charity in your life.” she said.
“Okay, so Jonah wasn’t swallowed by a whale, Jesus didn’t feed the five thousand with two loaves of bread and five fish?” he said.
“Five loaves and two fish, you mean?”
“Right”
She shrugged. “It’s allegorical. It illustrates how the gospel can feed or nourish souls.”
“How about the one about how men ought to be able to sell their wives for ten goats?”
“Are you making that one up?”
“See, I know the Bible better than you,” he said.
“Well, what do you want me to admit? That some of the Bible is crap? I admit that… It’s a product of its time.”
“What about Jesus coming back from the dead?” he asked.
This gave her some pause. But finally, she spoke.
“At some point, it’s not important what actually happened… the message remains the same either way.”
“I don’t know… If you’re gonna tell me a man rose from the dead, that’s gonna change the nature of what is true in this world… not just a little bit.”
“Look at it as a story. Even if his physical body never did come back to life, or whatever, there’s no denying his spirit has risen after his death, in the hearts and minds and lives of his followers. It’s spread around the globe and become the most powerful force the world has ever seen.” she said.
Rowe turned his attention to the leaves blowing in the wind above them while he gathered his thoughts and then finally spoke. “So if all these stories in the Bible are just metaphorical representations of deeper truths… fish and loaves are spiritual nourishment, getting swallowed by a whale is adversity… demons or even the Devil are evil… Isn’t it possible that God is just the metaphorical representation, or personification of the ‘goodness’ that lives inside of each of us? A mother’s love, the laughter of a child, the fact that someone is concerned about you, and you’re concerned about someone else…”
She smiled – amused, as if to say, ‘Well done,’ but then flatly said, “Nope.”
They both shared a laugh.
“You just don’t get it yet,” she said.
“You’re right, if you were my wife, I wouldn’t take less than twelve goats.”
“Thanks… You oughta write Valentine cards. You have a real knack for it.”
He grinned. She took a sip of her coffee and he noticed the printed quote on the side. It wasn’t from Oscar Wilde at all. It read, “You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.” – Alan Watts.”
“Hey!” he pointed to the quote.
She gave him a sly smile.