We live in one of those interesting times that the old (purported) Chinese curse speaks of. Change is happening all around us, epitomized by that greatest one of all, climate change, but also evident in our technology, politics, and society.
In just twenty years, the idea that a man like me could marry another man went from patently absurd to an accepted reality. In just eight years, we went from the end of the term of our first black president to this churning reality we find ourselves in now, holding our collective breath while seemingly suspended over the abyss. And in just the last two weeks, we went from an almost certain electoral loss to a bright shining hope of possibility, the chance to elect our first woman president. It’s enough to make your head spin.
But nothing struck me so viscerally as the change that’s going on in Rancho Palos Verdes.
My grandparents settled in Redondo Beach, a sleepy oceanside community just south of Los Angeles. Once a year, in the summertime, my mother and I would make the trek from Tucson, Arizona to visit them there.
Grandma’s house was just a few blocks from the sea. The three of us – grandma, mom, and me – would often walk to the beach together to spend the day, the two of them lounging on beach towels while I braved the cold waves and got sunburned. On the way back, we would stop by Baskin Robbins or See’s Candies for a treat. A perfect day.
Sometimes while we were there, we would drive up the hill to Palos Verdes. If you look at a map of the Greater Los Angeles area, it’s that point that sticks out where the coast veers eastward toward Long Beach. The land raises up from sea level to beautiful headlands, dotted with redwood trees and gorgeous mansions. And tucked away on an oceanside bluff is the Wayfarer’s Chapel.
Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright and built entirely of stone, wood and glass, it’s a sacred place. Surrounded by towering redwoods, the chapel was a welcoming space, intended to offer solace to all who wandered into its confines.
Everyone who enters feels a sense of piece, of sacredness. It doesn’t matter if you were Christian or Muslim or Buddhist or an avowed atheist. If you were straight or gay, black or white or any of the other myriad rainbow colors of the human condition. You are welcome there, and for a few precious moments, you can drop whatever load you are carrying and just exist in this wonder of human and natural beauty.
It’s not uncommon for there to be a shroud of fog hovering over the chapel, heightening the sense of mysticism, of the mystery of nature.
The Wayfarer’s Chapel was built on slippery ground. Nature is always working to reclaim this spit of land, chewing away at it from below, and landslides are common. The process has been worsened, like many things, by climate change, and in February a landslide damaged the structure. Jennifer Allen has a beautiful elegy to the place at the Washington Post.
The decision was made to dismantle the chapel, brick by brick and beam by beam, cataloging it and storing it away for possible future reconstruction in another place on the peninsula. I am reminded of the seed banks created as a hedge against the coming storm, in the hope that one day we can use them to restore the beauty and diversity that we have squandered.
I feel an almost existential sadness at the loss of this wondrous place that touched my heart whenever I visited it. In the grand scheme of things, it’s a small loss. But it’s emblematic of the often traumatic changes that are sweeping the Earth.
Each of us is born into a world that seems static, where traditions rule and we take so many things are taken for granted. In my own lifetime, I’ve seen 8-track tapes give way to cassettes give way to CDs gve way to streaming. I’ve witnessed monumental events shake and shape my nation – the Columbia and Challenger explosions, the shocking pain of September 11th, the election of Barack Obama, and the Great Pause brought about by Covid.
And as I get older, even the people around me are starting to slip away, friends and family whom I assumed would always be there. Cancer, old age, unexpected accidents have all conspired to steal them away from us, often far too soon.
Change is hard. Change can be painful.
But I have to remind myself that change can also be good. It can bring new opportunities, if we just learn to be open to them, and reach out to grasp them when they appear.
So I choose to have faith that the Wayfarer’s Chapel will arise again, in a place as beautiful as the one it inhabits now.
I choose to believe that we will follow the path of liberty, respect, unity, and beauty, and not the ugly siren calls of hatred and divisiveness.
I choose to hope that we will find a path through our changing climate, and that all of those seeds will be planted to blossom anew.
And one day, I will stand inside those glass walls again, and breathe in the wonder and sacredness of the world anew.