Most of us live with a beauty deficit these days. I don’t know what the actual statistics on this are, but I’m guessing that if you took the amount of time you spent staring at a screen and compared it to the amount of time you spent going to art museums, listening to music, or even just walking through a garden, the comparison would staggering. I’m sure someone, somewhere, has done this study. I’d be curious to know the results, but at the same time, I think the results would be pretty predictable. Most of us live with a beauty deficit these days; is what I predict the results would say.
This deficit is a problem when it comes to the amount of kindness and compassion in our world. Because, as at least one notable psychologist argues, beauty makes us better people. In his book on kindness, Pierro Ferucci tells the story of an elderly woman begging for money on the street outside a symphony concert hall. She was mostly ignored as people walked past her on their way into the hall. But after the concert, many of the people streaming out of the hall stopped to smile at the old woman and gave generously from their pocketbooks (in case you’re wondering what the concert was, it was Bach, of course). Research also indicates that when we are exposed to beauty, we tend to feel less anxious, and therefore more likely to be open to engagement with other people.
Anyway, all of this is just a longwinded introduction to my own experience of beauty this past week, and how that translated into an act of kindness. This past Sunday, my lovely little church decided to forego worship in our sanctuary and have church and a picnic at the park instead. We gathered three picnic tables and some chairs into a circle, sang hymns, prayed and read scripture, and reflected together about how we meet God in creation. I played the guitar badly. Furry friends joined the circle with us. After sharing a meal, we blessed the communion bread and cup and shared in the sacrament of Holy Eucharist together. After finishing up the formal part of our morning, a few of us went on walks down to the beach or to the giant mansion that is part of the park. I stayed put, laying next to my dog, Maya, as we reveled together in the miracle of grass. I think it’s great to lay in. Maya thinks it’s delightful to roll around in.
After a while folks wandered back and we cleaned up, but Barrett and I were not quite ready to go home because the weather was just. so. perfect. So we drove a little ways down the road to a beach that allowed dogs, and let Maya off her leash for her first ocean swim of the summer. Is there anything better than the pure joy of a dog running full speed into the ocean waves?
By the time we got home it was late afternoon, and I was exhausted. We had not made any plans for dinner, and neither Barrett nor myself really felt like cooking. Really, I just wanted to continue to sit outside in the grass enjoying the perfect day. And that's when an idea came to me. While Barrett practiced and worked on oboe reeds I busied myself preparing anything we had in the refrigerator that could be eaten raw; cheese, dried fruit, fresh fruit, olives, some salami, crackers, and bread. I ran to the store to pick up some sparkling rose. When I got home, I pulled out a few blankets and spread them out on our lawn behind the house, which faces the woods. And Barrett, Maya, and I enjoyed a lovely picnic on the lawn. I guess I’m not really sure if this counts as an act of kindness, but I do know that all three of us felt relaxed and happy sitting out on the lawn, eating delicious food, enjoying one another’s company, and appreciating the beauty of a perfect summer’s day. Certainly no unkind words were uttered. No angry thoughts expressed. No cynical views entertained. Bottom line—if we all had days like this more often, I think we would be less anxious, less angry, and yes, more kind.
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