DAYS 98 & 99 - Chariton & Moravia, IA - 1886 miles from home
- Esther Lisa Tishman
- Oct 11
- 3 min read
Friends, I am a melancholic. The other day in Des Moines, Bob and I were joking that I see the glass half-empty and he sees it half-full... and together we have half a glass.
It's true - my chaplain heart tends to resonate most with the expressions of grief and loss, with the vulnerable yearning I encounter along the way. Joy for me often announces itself only and most fully as the resilience that reaches out from the dark - the lotus that can only grow in and through the mud.
And so there are people like Linda and Andy - who welcomed us to our home last night in Moravia: the Grace Methodist Church. Andy is President of the Board - Linda seems to be the Church's master baker and cook, regaling us with a kitchen of treats. (Linda cracks me up! When I saw all that she does, I said - you're the den mother! - and she shoots back: "no, I hate kids!" Well, Linda, I'm sorry to tell you that we're all your kiddos!)
Linda and Andy grew up together in this town, tied together through friends and kinfolk - but then grew apart. Linda moved to her husband's home in Texas, even - "But I always wanted to come back to Iowa. I missed the seasons. I missed the community." Then both of them lost their spouses back in 2016. Sharing their grief, they reconnected... and ultimately married right here, in this church of grace, seven years ago. We've met a lot of wonderful loving couples on this trip - but they may be the most adorable. Andy's bracelet says "God is Big Enough." Yes, yes indeed.
There are also folks like Pastor Ryan Lenerz of the First Baptist Church in Chariton. Pastor Ryan has an extraordinary and large-spirited presence: generous, kind, full of laughter and clarity. His youth pastor background is obvious. These are almost impossible times to be a young adult, and Pastor Ryan knows this. As we walk to Casa de Oro for heaping plates of beans and cheese and guac and all the yummies - he booms a hello to the teenagers across the parking lot who are clamoring to be known, clamoring to be loved: "Pastor Ryan! Pastor Ryan!" He connects with a young parishoner who's had a really tough day - and who sits journaling at a picnic table near the church. Over dinner we talk about the importance of lament - a Biblical principle that often gets sidelined in a contemporary spirituality of joy. "Weeping is okay," Pastor Ryan lets his community know. Tears can be prayers too.
With Pastor Ryan, over chimichangas and nachos, our conversation turns toward the meaning of "interfaith." Liberty Walks, as I've said countless times, is nonsectarian and nonpartisan. But this pilgrimage is also a walk of faith.
Can faith be understood so broadly that it encompasses all of our human hearts? That it transcends our definitions of spirituality and religion, atheism and worship?
We were joined in Chariton by April and Justin - friends of mine from Oregon, but who now live in Coralville, IA. April and Justin follow alternative spiritual paths; Justin, for instance, talks about his work with the Four Winds Society; April is a longtime herbalist and healer. Our dinner conversation in Chariton ranges over the most eclectic faith-oriented topics, from Shamanism, to Judaism, to Zen Buddhism, to Christian fundamentalism, to the broadest path, perhaps, of all: outright agnosticism.
For me this discussion is exhilarating. It's like the undulating hills of southeastern Iowa itself. Dips and peaks, shadows and brilliant flares of light.
The human heart seems built for all of this. Built for the challenge of not-knowing. Built for the possibility of meeting each other, here in the land of the vulnerable and the searching.
