Jeff's been wanting to go to the Library since the day we decided we were moving to DC. Not only is it known for having some of the most beautiful art and architecture of any building in the District (and that's saying quite a lot) but it is also home to the largest collection of books in the world. Just think about that. I mean, the internet almost makes that seem laughable because of the sheer volume of knowledge it holds, but it comforts me to know that even if (when?) our digital kingdom collapses, that much knowledge will still be available, barring any major anarchical book-burnings between now and then.
In any case, I was pretty excited to go. I wasn't prepared, though, for just how jaw-droppingly beautiful this building is. After security you enter through a hall of poets, beautiful on its own, but then you get to the great hall. I literally just stood with my mouth open, turning in circles, for about five minutes. The whole room is carved marble, statues, paintings and mosaics, with names of writers and famous quotes everywhere.
Bah. My four year old, dropped-a-thousand-times point and shoot doesn't do it justice. It's truly amazing.
At the same time, it's not books. Eventually, you get start to get over how beautiful the building is and start wondering where they're keeping all of the books. That's what you came for, right? To see the largest library in the world. But if you read the pamphlets closely and ask a docent or two, you find out that not only can everyday visitors not get in to see the books without researcher cards, but regular citizens also can't even check them out.
Now, maybe I eventually would've arrived at this on my own or maybe it had something to do with reading Kenda Creasy Dean's Almost Christian immediately afterward, but it occurred to me later that afternoon that sometimes the faith that we offer youth--the faith that we ourselves have, that we have taught them--is like the Thomas Jefferson building of the Library of Congress. It looks pretty. It looks very pretty. It's even awe-inspiring for a few minutes. But it's not what they came for. It's not what we really wanted. It's not the life-changing encounter with knowledge bigger than ourselves that we thought we were walking into. There's beauty and awe, important to be sure, but there's no depth.
So what would it look like if we offered, if we lived a faith that tapped into that depth? I don't think I have enough room here to write that.
But at least as far as the Library is concerned, I'm getting a researcher card and going back. Because really, what kind of library doesn't let you see the books?
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