Thursday, March 18 — Compass Reading: Steering Toward Baton Rouge, Part 4

As with every Thursday, this is a day for sacred conversation. Check in with your traveling companions today if you’re able. I also offer to you the end of my pilgrimage around Baton Rouge.

Climbing the giant concrete stairs from the river water level, back to the levee trail, I headed south on the asphalt strip that parallels the course of the Mississippi through Baton Rouge. The north wind at my back was a boon to my progress.

The sound of the I-10 bridge and vehicle traffic soon disappeared, and I found myself in a place of quiet and peace. The only sounds were the quiet hiss of my racing slick tires, the quiet chatter of gears, and my own breathing. These are the times when my mind wanders off in reflection of God’s presence. 

It may seem strange to combine physical exertion with a life of spirituality, but I think there is something to it. I know many people who find certain repetitive actions lead to a meditative state, such as knitting or painting or sanding wood. Sometimes when we engage our bodies in a “mindless” physical activity, it frees our minds to ponder, explore, and sense spiritual things that we’ve overlooked. Away from the din and distraction of traffic, making little, mindless circles with my feet on the pedals, letting my subconscious take care of balancing the bike, I find my spirit is renewed with each breath. I sense a deeper appreciation for the present moment, and the worries of yesterday and tomorrow fade away.

This meditation continues for a few miles, until I reach the “LSU flags,” where Skip Bertman Drive dead-ends into the levee. Scaling back down the levee, I headed east toward the great temple of LSU football. I have to admit, riding around LSU isn’t my favorite path; the roads that side of campus really need some attention. But Death Valley, the site of landmark, historic events such as Billy Cannon’s run, wasn’t the site I was searching for. I was looking for something much older and sacred, on a much larger scale.

Catty-corner to the stadium is a site that has been sacred, for some, since the time of, or even before, the Egyptian pyramids were built: the two “Indian Mounds.” In January, 2020 an LSU geology professor announced that his research indicates the lowest layers of the two mounds may date back over 11,000 years! He conjectures that these structures may be the oldest human structures still in existence. Long before Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt, and perhaps many millennia before God told Abraham to leave for the Promised Land, the natives of this land gathered on two low hills for rites and celebrations now lost to history. 

Today the Indian Mounds seem swallowed and overshadowed by the stadium and multi-story buildings that surround them. As a place of such historic significance, it seems rather anti-climactic that the only LSU structure named after them is an adjoining parking lot.

I imagined what the landscape might have looked like before LSU took over the area. Standing above the floodplain of the Mississippi, they must have appeared as towers that rose in the dense forest. I imagined what music and chant might have been heard, the smells of fish and game cooked over fire, the sight of children playing games and adults concerned with basic survival, praying to whatever god they worshipped, asking for their god’s providence. 

I wondered also: 11,000 years from now, what evidence of my faith will live on? Each week, as a minister, I offer words in the form of sermons and prayers and songs, and musings in newsletters, and even this devotional, as a testimony to my presence. I don’t build great buildings or blaze trails through trackless lands or aspire to leave markers on the Moon or Mars as a sign that I was here. At the end of everything, my life’s work will amount to a big pile of words, spoken in faith, given with the best of intentions, with hopes that in a few generations they might still amount to a “bump” in someone’s life. But, who can know.

I doubt that the denizens of the area expected their earthen mounds would be so long lasting — Mississippi River silt isn’t known for being a long-lasting building material. I’m sure that the First Nation tribes rebuilt them several times over the millennia, even as LSU has had to shore them up against collapse in recent times. As ancient as the mounds are, they are also a work in progress. Now firmly ensconced in my middle-age, I realize I’m a work in progress too. May God bless the good work that he began in me, and bring it to completion in His time.

I returned to my bike saddle to finish the ride home. I took the scenic route around LSU lakes, dodging joggers and walkers all the way. A few weeks ago, I discovered that route takes me almost due north, so I had to fight the wind most of the way. Making my way past City Park and through the Garden District, a little over two hours into the ride, my stomach started to complain that it was ready for lunch. And that’s when the north wind really began to play havoc with me.

If you’ve been down Government Street lately, you know there are a number of really good restaurants to be found there. Long-time establishments such as La Carreta, Monjunis, and Fleur-de-Lis pizza, along with new ones such as Curbside Burger, Government Taco, and Raising Cane’s, line the road from mid-city to Jefferson Highway. It’s also crawfish season, so there are a couple of hole-in-the wall, take-out crawfish places hitting on all cylinders right now. Riding parallel to Government Street, but south of it on Capital Heights, that north wind meant I had a front row seat to every menu along the way. Man, I am hungry now.

I retraced my route through Goodwood and Tara, crossed Old Hammond to the quiet P-shaped neighborhood of Land-O-Lakes where I live. This wasn’t about spiritual ecstasy as much as it was about looking for the signs of God’s gifts to be found in our surrounding environs. This had been a good pilgrimage for mind, soul, and body. I rolled up my driveway, my mind buzzing with thoughts of the experience, and thankful that I can get out to enjoy this time of reflection.

Buen Camino!

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Rev. Dr. David Chisham
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