Beauty and Banality in Washington, DC

by Parker J. Palmer

I spent the evening of June 25 at the Rayburn House Office Building on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. It was a beautiful night in the nation’s capitol. As the setting sun bathed the monuments of American democracy in a soft golden glow it would have taken a hardened cynic not to be moved by the promise of a government of, by and for the people.

I went there to speak at a gathering sponsored by our friends at The Faith & Politics Institute. With an engaged audience of about one-hundred fifty people, I talked about the renewal of democracy, focusing on a key ”habit of the heart“ that every would-be citizen needs to develop: the capacity to stand and act creatively in the gap between what is and what could be without flipping out into corrosive cynicism or irrelevant idealism.

Developing the ”habits of the heart“ that make democracy possible (a phrase coined by Alexis de Tocqueville), requires inner work, of course. I came away from this visit to D.C. with new energy for the Center’s work, and two stories that remind me of how critical it is to keep opening up the inner life agenda in our curiously twisted culture.

One Representative spoke of what happened when she and her husband attended a Circle of Trust that I led a few years ago, whose purpose was to help elected officials and their partners stay anchored in the high calling that had taken them into public service. Their hometown newspaper reported that they had attended a ”marriage encounter“ group, and wondered if their marriage was in trouble, starting a brush fire that the Representative’s staff had to spend a lot of time snuffing out.

On hearing that story, I remembered that at that same Circle of Trust retreat, another Representative told of running for election shortly after her husband’s unexpected death. A print reporter asked her the inevitable question, at once invasive, ignorant and cruel: “How did you feel when your husband died?“ She answered him honestly, talking about all the inner work she had to do with her unspeakable grief and pain. When the article came out the next day, a key campaign worker called her to say, ”I’ll quit if you ever again allow yourself to look that ‘weak’ in public.“

Stories like these generate many feelings in me, some of which should not be aired in a family-oriented publication. They remind me of serious deformations in American culture: e.g., greed is okay but grief is not, or retreats where lobbyists "buy" politicians are just fine  but retreats where committed people explore their callings are suspect. Stories like these leave me impressed with the courage of any public person who leads with his or her heart. And stories like these re-energize me for the work of the Center for Courage & Renewal. The more people we can involve in Circles of Trust, the more "the undivided life" will become a cultural norm -- enhancing personal well-being, deepening vocational commitments, and contributing to the common good.