Briefly

I had another reminder this afternoon how fleeting life can be. When I got to my office Tuesday afternoon after lunch, police had blocked the street off for about a block. It turns out that two teen-agers — a male and a female — drove past our office at about 12:30 and then failed to make the turn at the top of Shades Mountain about a block from us where the road dead-ends into Shades Crest Road. Their SUV went over the top of the mountain and ended up about 150 yards below. Both were dead before rescue workers got to them (and the vehicle was recovered later in the afternoon). It’s just another routine accident, but since it happened right at my office, there’s something powerful to me about knowing these two teens were alive and probably happy just six hours ago. We’re in denial when we put off the lives we need to be living.

I was sad to see the news that Rachel Held Evans has died at just 37 years old. She had an allergic reaction to an antibiotic last month which led to her death early Saturday morning. Evans was born into an Evangelical Christian home in Birmingham and eventually became a popular writer as a progressive left Christian instead. I learned something interesting from her work, but it wasn’t what she intended. I looked at her books and found nothing interesting or persuasive in them, so I was curious why she had such a following. Then I had an epiphany which I should have had years ago. People follow writers not because their brilliant writing changes the readers’ minds. (Not generally.) Readers follow writers with whom they identify. Evans’ personal experience of moving from conservative Christianity to being a progressive politically and liberal theologically resonated with people who had gone through similar transitions. If you follow a writer, it’s not because he’s changed your mind, but because you identify with him or somehow feel an emotional connection that others might not understand. That’s what I learned from Evans. She connected deeply with others who had gone through the same change she experienced.

I often feel like Professor Faber from Ray Bradbury’s brilliant novel “Fahrenheit 451.” He understood what had happened to his society and culture. He understood the intellectual and psychological way out of the mess, but he lived alone and watched in fear and despair as his society kept sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss. He saw and understood what many others needed to know, but he had no way of communicating the message to them — because he couldn’t compete with the shallow entertainment which had buried serious thought by those such as him. That doesn’t mean I have all the answers, any more than a scared and despairing Faber did. It just means I know how people could choose to dig themselves out of the shallow and emotionally empty world they’ve created for themselves. But they’re too busy laughing at the White Clown to pay attention. (Please read the book and think about it. The book isn’t about censorship, despite what your English teacher might have once told you. It’s about modern life and your choices.)