Before yesterday, having happened upon the lections early in the week in a desultory way, as though far more interested in the swirl of political gossip and speculation on the X app than Morning Prayer, I felt bad and set myself a thought exercise. I attempted to imagine what it would have been like to be minding my own business on a hot, humid late afternoon after a frustrating day when two strangers hove into town. Bearing no luggage of any kind, certainly unprepossessing in appearance, probably fatigued and certainly embarrassed, would I be the sort of person to upend my weekend arrangements and invite them to stay?
On the whole, I think I would, because, like a lot of people through the course of human history, I adore a good bit of news. Indeed, one of the reasons I both love and hate my phone is that I long to know what is happening in real time. Even though too often the news is not surprising at all, and often extremely depressing, hope springs eternal. I satisfy myself with the crumbs of commentary about stuff that happened several days ago, but everyone is still trying to explain to each other what it means and why it matters. When I haven’t had time to go through and mute all the people whose takes I don’t enjoy, I end up with a jostle of bitterness, of people angry with each other for thinking the wrong thing about the events of the hour. Being a good partisan, I am always more annoyed with the people I disagree with, though sometimes even the people whose opinions more closely resemble mine dance around on my nerves. It is the promise of hearing something novel that keeps me coming back, even though I know I am certainly wasting my time.
This last week has been lots more interesting than usual, though, because people who normally speak in virtual lockstep about politics suddenly did not agree with each other. Will Mr. Biden be able to hang on to his presidential bid? How fierce, free, and full of fire are the behind-the-scenes efforts to get him to change his mind? Is George Clooney clever enough to write an op-ed all by himself? Is Dr. Jill running the show, or Mr. Obama? How often has Mr. Biden been seen by a neurologist in the last year? What would happen if there was an international emergency late at night? What beautiful outfit will Karine Jean-Pierre wear today? If Mr. Biden gets out of the race before the convention will it really be Ms. Harris who ascends to the top of the Democratic ticket or will there be some other choice? A lot of people, like me, have been deeply curious about these questions, but not very many of the people who have been supposed to be “in the know” have been talking openly about them.
Watching all those who had, only weeks ago, insisted Mr. Biden was as sharp as a tack running rings around his White House staff if not the world suddenly notice that he has a real hard time remembering the name of the President of Ukraine is pretty exciting.
Excitement is overrated, of course. It would be better if some dry, intellectually serious news anchors could get on the Television at night and explain the news in a dignified manner without having an opinion about anything either way. When people were lying or being wicked, America’s media class would blandly tell us because they had taken the trouble to unearth the truth. But that’s not where we are. No one believes anything anymore, because too many people are lying.
Mid-birthday party yesterday, because everyone has a phone in his and her pocket, over mouthfuls of Wegman’s Boston Cream Cake, the news that someone had attempted to take the life of Mr. Trump flowed over our small familial gathering and we all stopped reminiscing about by-gone celebrations and took up the work of scrolling.
And I wondered, as I wandered around my house picking up the detritus of our lives and trying to think what I could wear to church today, about those twelve men and their own grasp on the News. Here is what Jesus told them to do:
And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He charged them to take nothing for their journey except a staff—no bread, no bag, no money in their belts— but to wear sandals and not put on two tunics. And he said to them, “Whenever you enter a house, stay there until you depart from there. And if any place will not receive you and they will not listen to you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent. And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.
The thing is, by this point in the narrative Jesus has done a lot of astonishing things. Most recently, he’s healed the woman of her twelve-year nightmare and raised Jairus’ daughter. You can’t tell me that the town wasn’t a flame of fire trying to figure out why all the mourners just suddenly went home. And that woman, so publicly restored to health would surely be talked to and talked about for weeks and weeks.
And maybe a lot of people didn’t know that Jesus had also calmed a storm, and healed the Garasene demoniac, for that was on the other side of the lake. But don’t you suppose that gossip would have traveled from one side of the land to the other? I don’t know about you, but if I’d been around in the first century, and there was someone whose life wasn’t exactly an open book, who just appeared on the scene from somewhere like Nazareth, looking like the most ordinary person ever, and yet saying and doing such shocking things, I would be eager for a modicum of gossip. Scrap that, I would be more than delighted to forgo all my normal duties and cut across the village to hear the news. Never mind that dinner is late and the animals are lowing in the stable. It is a hassle to rewash the laundry, but the long hours of labor are lightened by something fascinating to talk about.
I imagine that all the towns where the twelve go have heard something—probably not everything they wanted to hear—and were extremely interested to hear more. The very sharability of News must have been part of Jesus’ strategic thinking.
To sharpen the point, the twelve don’t take anything. They have to rely on the goodwill and hospitality of those interested enough to hear more. Their mainstay is the message they proclaim. The assumption—of Jesus—is that the Good News of the Kingdom of God is going to be powerful enough to carry them along. And it is. For they cast out many demons and heal the sick. And when they come back and Jesus tries to take them off for some rest, everyone from all the region recognizes them, and go to the wilderness first, so that there they are, in a place far distant from comfort or bread.
“Let me hear what God the Lord will speak,” cries the Psalmist, “for he will speak peace to his people, to his saints.” And that’s what we all want, For as soon as the news has washed away, the anxiety returns, the sense of dread that maybe things aren’t ok. The act of scrolling is what keeps the worry at bay because the hope of some salvation must be just there in the next tweet. But it isn’t usually, of course, because no man or woman alive today can bring about the remedy each person needs. Peace isn’t possible without repentance. And repentance comes by hearing. And how will anyone hear if no one speaks? But repentance is not the kind of good news that most of us want. Thus, the show up in the dusk and pray to find true curiosity behind the doors and peaking out of the windows.
”Surely,” continues the Psalmist,” his salvation is near to those who fear him that glory may dwell in our land.”
For surely everyone wants glory. Glory and knowledge—to be in the know and to be recognized, one way or another, by the people who count, who have good things to give.
But who can scroll so persistently when there are such promises to be had:
Steadfast love and faithfulness meet;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Faithfulness springs up from the ground,
and righteousness looks down from the sky.
Yes, the Lord will give what is good,
and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness will go before him
and make his footsteps a way.
So anyway, go to church—and pray for the families of the people who died yesterday, and for Mr. Trump, and Mr. Biden, and literally everyone.