Theo of Golden

(NOTE: Today, war has broken out in the Middle East. The world has turned its attention to that volatile part of the world. This Substact entry will be a definite change of pace.)

I read. A lot. It started a long time ago, I guess.

Not that I’m a great reader. I have to work at it. And, I’m a perennial note-taker, especially as I turn the page or listen to a lecture (sermon). If I took the time to update that reading list from my podcast website, I’d add a hundred or more books to the suggested reading.

So, Kindle knows me. My iPad app has no shortage of recommendations for my next read. When I finish a book, I go on the hunt for my next challenge. I’ll consult the NYT bestsellers (fiction and non-fiction); sometimes there will be a title that came out my last book, or I’ll peruse that Kindle collection, algorithms that target, well, me.

Just coming off yet another New Year and birthday, I am growing weary of this endless culture war. This week, we had another State of the Union Address. I couldn’t watch it. I gave it about 5 minutes. That’s all I could take - those robotic Republicans (my former party) jumping to their feet, applauding and cheering every disgusting, false, indefensible line. Remember in his first term, how we counted the lies? It was like the weekly body count from the Vietnam War back in the late sixties and early seventies. We kept score. As the calculation of dead bodies came in, the numbers were staggering - and mind-numbing. The outright lies from the President? Nobody counts anymore. He got re-elected anyway. We’ve grown accustomed to the incessant, perennial prevarication.

We expect it.

I ran down the list of books Kindle thought I might buy. They seemed to follow some familiar themes - the rise of Christian Nationalism. The MAGA takeover of the Republican Party. “Evangelicals” and their abandonment of Jesus; or their remake of Jesus. The history of the religious right. Christian Nationalism and white supremacy. The Bible and the Lost Cause Narrative. Jesus vs. Paul - which Christianity do we embrace?

Yes, I’ve read a lot of that in the past few years.

I needed a breather.

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I wish I could remember how I found this book. Somehow, it got in my queue. I read my free sample. I was hooked. I purchased the full copy, and devoured it.

It’s a book about kindness. Generosity. Human connection. Beauty. Art. Love and surviving loss. More than once, as I worked my way through the first few chapters, I felt something. Tears would form on the corners of my eyes. My throat swelled up in a warm charge of emotion. I’d break out in a surprise laugh-out-loud. It was food for the soul. The spell didn’t break until I closed the book.

I well may be guilty of overstatement here. But by the time I reached that last page, I felt as if I had been changed. Changed for the better. I took flight with the better angels of our nature.

The main character in the book is an aging white guy. He’s rich. He’s traveled the world. His curiosity drives most everything he does. Landscapes. Rivers. Trees. Birds. Food. Music. Architecture. Books. He loves them all and speaks of them as an artist with an expansive soul. He has a disarming way about him. Approachable. People tell him things they tell no one else. He’s safe. He’s known loss. Tragic loss. And he’s made mistakes. As he enters that final lap in life’s marathon, he’s on a quest for meaning. He had his moment in the celebrity spotlight (why, we don’t know until much later), but that time has passed. Now, in the historic Southern town of Golden, he’s just a regular, old, friendly guy. Anonymous, except for his first name: Theo.

Maybe that’s why the book got me. I’m an aging white guy, too. I’m not rich. But I’m reflecting on a full life. I’m sorting through the things that really matter.

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For six years, I’ve been The Beached White Male. It’s been my alter ego.

Theo has given me permission to think about the future of my podcast.

I’m not quite sure what that means. As I move forward, I just may change the name. The title - Beached White Male - is about me. But it’s never really been about me. It’s been about my guests and my listeners. It’s about our quest to understand a religion that has been adulterated by a movement threatened by diversity and weaponized to retain power, control, and wealth. I’m not alone. Many of my guests have shared their disillusionment in their books, their podcasts, and their blog posts.

We look for signs of the end of the nightmare. We remain skeptical, but hopeful.

Then comes Theo.

He asks a simple question. Do we get caught in the deadly quicksand of despair, or can we take time to contemplate the wonder of the murmuration of a thousand starlings at sunset? Can we gaze long enough into the face of a portrait to see humanity? Goodness? Divinity? Sadness? Joy? Can it be a mirror into ourselves? Can generosity become a way of life?

Through the decades, I found sustenance in regular (imaginary) visits to a Minnesota town out on the edge of the Prairie, mainly on Saturday nights. (My DNA reports identify me as mostly Norwegian. My mother grew up Lutheran.) Lake Wobegon is home to the Chatterbox Cafe, Lake Wobegon Lutheran Church, the Norwegian bachelor farmers, and Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility Catholic Church, where all the women are strong, the men are good-looking, and the children above average - compliments of Garrison Keillor, NPR’s beloved storyteller.

Like Keillor, Allen Levi has created a nostalgic town in Georgia that he named Golden. The local coffee shop and art gallery is The Chalice, and the used book store, the Verbivore. There’s a fountain in the town square called the Fedder with a bench occupied often by the elder newcomer, Theo.

It’s Levi’s first novel. He’s had as checkered a career as mine. A college English major, he went off to law school. For a decade or so, he practiced as an attorney and a judge. To everyone’s surprise, he left his law practice to earn an advanced degree in Scottish fiction at the University of Edinburgh, thinking he might become a professor. Instead, he launched a career in music as a singer-songwriter. Now, in his late sixties, he self-published his first novel. To his complete surprise, it has become a word-of-mouth, runaway best-seller. Off the charts.

It’s a treasure.

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Theo wanders into the Chalice. It’s an historic building that has been restored by the owner to reflect the charm of this Southern town. The coffee is world-class. But that’s not the real draw. On the wall is a collection of some 90 framed, pencil portraits, each one the creation of a local artist. Theo engages each intriguing face, recognizing the extraordinary skill of the illustrator. He’s captured the essence of his subjects. Theo can imagine the personality, the unique character, and the story represented in each face. He sees sadness, too. Pain, even past the smile. He also notes the price tags attached to each - a price Theo considers to be much less than the value. He asks the owner to explain.

Who are these people? They are regular patrons of the coffee shop - each has the name of the subject on the backside of the frame. Who is the artist? A local who has developed a modest but highly admired reputation. Why are they not selling? Good question.

Theo devises a plan. He’ll purchase each portrait, one at a time, write a handwritten invitation to the subject to meet on the park bench at the Fedder where he will make their acquaintance and present the portrait as a gift.

The novel goes from there. It’s a rich exploration of the beauty and wonder of each human story; how subjects must overcome the reticence to meet with a stranger; how Theo’s ability to see the richness of life as his new friends share challenges, disappointments, failures - but also the capacity for kindness, beauty, truth, and love.

I’m not the only one who loves this book.

It’s all over the internet. Allen Levi had his doubts that a book about generosity and kindness would catch anyone’s interest. He claims that he didn’t even think he would publish it.

He wrote it for himself - creating a character that he aspires to be.

And I’ll be damned.

He wrote it for me, too.