Yesterday, Nate and I traveled to the University of Madison, where American Indian burial and effigy mounds are tucked in between residence halls and along park trails.

These mounds, most of which are just a foot or two above grounds, are all over Wisconsin, and have been used for burials, to hold buildings, to guard against evil spirits, and for many other purposes. Some are more than 2,500 years old.

Not much is known about many of the mounds, and hundreds, if not thousands, of them have been bulldozed by settlers. But now, it’s against state law to disturb them, even if they are on your property.

Here’s one by the UW dorms:

And here is one on Picnic Point, a peninsula that juts out into Mendota Lake:

You probably can’t see the signs because the pictures are so small, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t really say very much, other than not to walk on the mounds. It doesn’t say who built them, why they were built, or anything in particular.

I think that’s a bit sad. It’s great that they are being preserved, but if no one knows exactly why, then not as much is gained as should be. The mounds become a part of the scenery, a nice thing to color a morning stroll, rather than an expression of faith and the world view of an ancient people.

So today, we set out to see the Man Mound, a larger mound about an hour north of Madison, and a rare one at that. In the shape of a man with antlers, horns, or some other protrusions on his head, the Man Mound is one of the first monuments to be preserved, almost exactly 100 years ago in August, 1908. In fact, the Ho-Chunk tribe, known for its lucrative casinos, recently celebrated “Man Mound Day,” celebrating the history of these mounds, which their ancestors may have built, and American Indian culture in the area.

Here’s a picture of the Man Mound in the early 1900s, outlined with flour from the Sauk County’s website:

The site quotes an early white settler as saying, “We were rather irked by the large number of Indian mounds we had to plow down. There must have been at least 25 on our land….Some were shaped like animals and some like birds, and all were from three to five feet high…I suppose we should not have destroyed them. But they were then regarded merely as obstacles to cultivation, and everybody plowed them down.”

This mound is special because it’s quite rare to find one in humanoid form. The builders of mounds like these began as early as 300 A.D., continuing until around 1400 A.D., when they either abandoned the practice or were assimilated into other American Indian cultures.

Unfortunately, this mound, even though it is considered to be so special and the center of the movement for mound preservation, was partially destroyed due to road construction (of course).

But we never got to see the mound. The Sauk County website says that the mound is to the northwest of Baraboo. It’s not. It’s northeast of Baraboo. By the time we realized we were in wrong spot, we had to turn back to drive my friend Thea to work. Thanks, Sauk County.

But I did get some cute photos of Thea. Here she is driving, frustrated at having had to drive all the way out there for nothing:

And here she is, at Peck’s Farm, a cute roadside stand with a mini-zoo and a corn maze. She was especially enamored with a boisterous pot-bellied pig:

As I travel from town to town, I often get asked the same gamut of questions, in this exact order:

1) Are you insane? (I don’t think so)
2) Aren’t you worried someone’s going to attack you in the woods? (No)
3) How many miles do you do a day? (Around 80)
4) What have you learned?

I have a lot of trouble with the last question. On this blog, I’ve put a lot of what I learned, but the vast majority is fact, not subjective tidbits of enlightenment. It’s not that I haven’t been finding what I’m looking for, as I normally have. It’s that I don’t know if I have the ability to process it anymore.

I’m in Madison, Wis. now with my best friends. I’ve been here three days, and will be here two more. It feels like an eternity – I haven’t been somewhere for more than three days this entire trip. But if ever, now is the time to reflect.

Everyone wants to know how I perceive different faiths, but rather than going into deep explanations, where I always contradict myself and change my mind, I’ll do some word association. I’m going to list faiths, and the first words that come to mind.

Mormon – bright, excited, chatty
Quaker – solid, passive, pensive
Shaker – tired, bending, lonely
Hasidic – tiring, tireless, talkative
Methodist – simple, musical, advertising
Shambhala – liberal, free-spirited, dreamy
Lutheran – sweet, hurried, helpful
Nation of Islam – hidden, angry, hurt
Catholic – devout, productive, proud
Zen – quiet, self-controlled, inviting

Don’t read too much into these.

Maybe I’ll make a list of harder truths:

1) Western Massachusetts is the hardest place to bike, ever.
2) Wisconsin is hotter than it should be.
3) There are too many highway grave markers for people killed in drunk driving accidents.
4) Never trust Google Maps wholeheartedly. They put things in the wrong places. Don’t trust The Weather Channel, either.
5) Never ask only one person for directions, as they’re often wrong.
6) Take more spare tubes than you think you need.
7) Take less clothing than you think you need.
8) Don’t just ask those in charge what they think, everyday people have more nuanced and interesting views.
9) Never doubt how much people will go out of their way to help you.
10) That is, unless they are pickup trucks that try to run you off the road.
11) You may get scared in the dark woods at night, but you will always wake up fine in the morning.
12) A grassy field and a sleeping bag can be more comfortable than a motel bed.
13) If you bike through the rain, you’ll get out of it quicker.
14) Bug spray will end up getting in your mouth and eyes when you sweat.
15) Eat when you can. There’s not always a restaurant ahead when you think there will be.
16) If some people won’t see beyond their noses, it does no good to show them the light.
17) Some people can’t talk about the good aspects of their faith without badmouthing other faiths. This is a sign of unattended questioning and worry.
18) People often forget that they’re part of humanity when they get behind the driver’s seat.
19) You can learn the most about a person by what they ask about you. People ask you about what’s important to them so they can feel you out.
20) Some people will give you light, and some will take it away. But no matter how much they take, there’s always more to give, so don’t be stingy.

Tonight we’re trying something new here at American Pilgrimage. I spent the day with Mr. Nate Brown, who is simultaneously my friend and my best friend’s husband. We’re here in Madison, Wis., the heart of American Lutheranism, and Nate, who was raised Lutheran, accompanied me to church and to help the homeless in the evening. He’s not very religious (surprisingly, few of my friends are), so it was something he hadn’t done in a long while. But because he went with me, and he’s a writer, we’ll be writing this together. Thus, everything in normal text will be my writing, but everything in italics will be the work of Mr. Nate Brown.

We attended a service at Bethel Lutheran Church, which has thousands of members and offers six services every weekend, ranging from traditional to guitar-accompanied to services in Spanish for the Hispanic community. We, of course, chose the traditional 9:15 a.m. one.

I’ve been following Matt’s progress here at American Pilgrimage since he set out on his bike a couple of months ago. I probably wasn’t as concerned about Matt as many other people were when he first announced this ambitious trek. After all, this is the guy who, a couple of days after our college graduation, my wife and I watched bike his way out of Ithaca, New York, and into the wilds of eastern Canada. Then, as now, Matt was compelled to hit the road and see what there was to see. As you may have come to understand about him by reading this blog, Matt’s unwavering curiosity is only trumped by his incredibly hard head. As it turns out, that’s been a very helpful (perhaps even a vital) characteristic for one undertaking a project like American Pilgrimage.

I had left the room when he wrote that. Aww, I love it when people complement my stubbornness as one of my major positive traits.

All that said, watching Matt’s progress from the safety of my own couch is one thing; having him swing by our home in Madison to do a bit of religious research in the heart of Lutheran country is quite another. Because I was raised a Lutheran, I’ve had my own curiosities about the abundant Lutheran congregations here in Madison (and they are many). While I’m not a religious person today, my memories of services at my little, California Lutheran chapel are mostly positive. Even so, I’d not been to a service since I was 8 or 9 years old, and I had reservations about accompanying Matt to Bethel Lutheran. Part of me was curious to see the service and to tag along with Matt as he went about the business of researching upper-Midwestern Lutheranism. But the skeptic in me couldn’t help but see it as a bit of a burden, as well. After all, I’m not religious, so what would be the point of attending the service at Bethel? Wouldn’t my attendance be somewhat disrespectful to those who had come to worship?

I still don’t really get that logic. It’d be one thing if he were sitting in the back with a megaphone voicing his displeasure in grunts and chortles. But religious people are usually quite happy when anyone new shows up, for almost any reason. I think he was projecting his worry onto others.

Having not been to a Lutheran church in about 20 years, I was shocked to realize how familiar the sights and sounds (particularly the hymns) were to me. The call and response between the pastor and the congregation was precisely as I’d remembered it (I even found myself mouthing “And also with you”). Both the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostle’s Creed came right back to me. I’m not sure I’d call this any sort of religious awakening, but I do think it speaks to the power that religious training holds, particularly for the young.

This, of course, is double-edged sword. On the one hand, many of my first conscious considerations of morality were likely formed in Sunday school. Then again, because religious doctrine and dogma can be so grand as to be intimidating, it’s not hard to understand how religious bias and even extraordinary religious antipathy can be easily passed on to the young. But even as I considered those things after the service at Bethel, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the general good nature of the people who were there to worship. Their warmth and acceptance of were astounding.

Okay, Nate’s been talking for a while, so I’ll throw in a picture of the sanctuary:

Something I thought that was very funny about the service was how it fulfilled the stereotype of the Protestant service where it moves quickly, and as soon as it is over, everyone runs for the door. In fact, because so many cars had crammed into their parking lot, there was even an announcement that everyone was encouraged to leave immediately after the service so that the cars could escape!

While there were quite a few readings from the Bible, introduced as “lessons,” there wasn’t much explanation of what they meant. I don’t fault the church for that, though. In larger churches, I’ve seen that the deeper, more reflective Bible study often happens in smaller groups during the week, as it can be unwieldy when there are so many passing through on weekends.

The sermon was interesting, though. In a liberal town, it mixed faith and politics in the way you would normally expect in a conservative church, but without taking sides. The pastor simply brought up the presidential interviews with the Rev. Rick Warren of the Saddleback Church, and how refreshing it was to hear Obama and McCain discussing their greatest moral failures in a public forum. Not that she rejoices in failures, but when so much in this country’s political conversation focuses on amplifications of daily stresses, it was nice to see the candidates as people. Fallible, conflicted, religious people.

Anyhow, after service I volunteered to help Bethel’s monthly work at a local shelter for homeless men, and Nate, his wife, Thea, and I came back in the evening. On every fifth Thursday and Sunday, Bethel Lutheran participates in a city-wide outreach to benefit a string of shelters than provide food and beds to around 70 men per night in the summer, and more than 150 per night in the winter. Almost every church of every denomination has taken a day or two a month to prepare and serve food for these men, thus bridging the ecumenical divides and sharing the burdens and joys.

Tonight the men were getting lasagna, and while large sheets of pasta baked in the oven, Thea and I haphazardly sliced and buttered loaves of French bread. Nate, an eternal charmer, was busy telling a group of chatty Midwestern ladies about his lack of cooking abilities, gaining chuckles and praise.

When all was said and done, we loaded up the food and headed over to Grace Episcopal Church, a looming yellow-stone building overlooking Madison’s capitol square.

We didn’t take any pictures of the men there, as it would have been inappropriate, but here are the meager beds they sleep on:

And here we are, preparing to serve with the Midwestern ladies. (I was on dish detail):

I’ll let Nate explain the rest.

I was struck by two things almost immediately: 1) that area churches, regardless of faith or denomination, worked together to keep the shelter stocked with food and staffed with people to serve it and 2) that the volunteers from Bethel and the men at the shelter were all pretty high-spirited.

Had Matt not strong-armed me into accompanying him to Bethel, it’s an experience I’d have missed. In that way, I suppose this is all a very long way of saying thank you to Matt, to my wife, to the volunteers from Bethel Lutheran and to the men at the drop in center for reminding me that people are, in my estimation, generally possessed of the capacity for incredible, even awe-inspiring good. Particularly in an election year when religion is at the very heart of the national conversation, it’s easy to forget that. Then again, if I can remember the lyrics to “Lord, Let My Heart Be Good Soil,” after 20 years, this is likely a lesson I can hang onto.

In the heart of Chicago lies a gem of architecture – the highest church above ground in the world. Built on a skyscraper, the Methodist Chicago Temple can be easy to miss when walking the city streets, but can be quite astonishing when noticed:

Most services are in their immense sanctuary on the ground floor (which I didn’t see due to construction), but every Thursday they allow a few devoted worshippers to trek up to the top floors to the tiny Chapel in the Sky.

I have a problem being late. I barely make it on time to anything, be they job interview, church services, or trains. But I made it just in time to catch my breath before the Rev. Cheryl Magrini greeted the gathered worshippers to lead them up to the top floors. It was quite a maze. We went from lavish, wood-paneled elevators to a high foyer with keepsakes and stained glass window celebrating John and Charles Wesley, founders of the Methodist movement.

Then, we traversed a locked glass door and up a tiny staircase to another elevator, tiny and unadorned, like a miniscule freight lift. There were only five of us – the pastor, two church members, a tourist, and me – and we barely fit. But after a few floors and another locked door, we arrived:

The Chicago Temple is the oldest church in Chicago, organized in 1831. It wasn’t always in its central location, and has moved due to fires and other issues. In fact, many capitalist forces tried to make the church move out of central Chicago as land values skyrocketed with prosperity. The Chapel in the Sky, dedicated in 1952, is 400 feet above ground level, and was the highest building in Chicago at the time. It’s obviously not now, judging by a view from its windows:

The service was incredibly simple, as it was essentially a meeting for prayer to end a day of work. We sang a few hymns, read a passage each from the Old Testament, the Psalms, the Gospel, and the Epistles. Then we prayed for people in our lives, the world, and anything else that came to mind.

The Rev. Magrini expressed a continuous call for peace, which was then echoed in the prayers of those gathered. I noticed that the cross above the altar created a shadow on the wall that resembles the peace sign as well. I have no idea if it was intentional, but it may be. In the carving on this altar Jesus is shown weeping over the city of Chicago because people still do not know “the things that make for peace.” (I managed to take a picture of the shadow, but the altar didn’t turn out well in the low light):

But after the short prayer session, we were entreated to an audio tour of the sixteen stained-glass windows surrounding the circular chapel. Unlike many stained glass windows, these windows don’t shy away from use of modern symbolism, and together form a history of Christianity and the Methodist Church.

The first four depict the Old Testament, and the second four the New Testament, and were quite standard. But in the last eight, Christianity divides – the Roman Catholics split with Eastern Orthodoxy, the Reformation creates the Protestants, and John Wesley creates Methodism, which comes to the New World.

Before I show one of my favorite windows, I should explain a bit about Methodism here. In the 18th century, John Wesley, his brother Charles, and a few other Anglican scholars brought about a new interpretation of a standard of living using intense Bible study as a guide. They were methodical, and thus derogatorily called “Methodists.” (Isn’t it strange how so many faiths end up adopting their pejorative names?)

Like the Quakers before them, Methodists were out to counter perceived apathy in the Church of England. But nevertheless, it wasn’t until after John Wesley’s death that they actually became seen as separate from the Anglican Church.

Methodists acted as traveling preachers, spreading the word and establishing study-centric groups in many towns. They believed that salvation could be attained by faith in Christ alone, which was against many of the other teachigns of the day, which preached pre-destination. But love for Christ also took an important physical form. Wesley took Christ’s second great command “to love your neighbor as you love yourself,” and translated that as avoiding any sins against one’s neighbors, including ignorance and apathy as to their well-being. Methodists thus became early leaders in the fight for prison reform and abolition, being a nagging voice in the ear of the political establishment.

Like many other non-Anglican groups in England at the time, Methodists were attacked in print, assaulted by mobs when they’d preach in the street, and the government was continually trying to disband their groups. So many Methodists moved to America, especially the Midwest, which was the western border of the United States at the time. That’s why there’s so many in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and the surrounding areas.

But anyhow, here’s my favorite window. It depicts the present, the Chapel in the Sky, surrounded by everyday life. I find it breathtaking:

Apparently, some Pagans out there really like my blog, even though I haven’t visited a Pagan site yet! I will, though.

(If you’re wondering why I capitalized “Pagan,” it’s to differentiate it from the Christian term of “pagan.” A capitalized “Pagan” generally refers to modern movements to invent new Earth-based faiths or to reclaim pre-Christian traditions, generally from European cultures. A lower-case “pagan” is normally used by Christians to denote non-Christian or non-Abrahamic traditions, sometimes derogatorily.)

Anyhow, Cat Chapin Bishop of Quaker Pagan Reflections nominated me for a “We Love Your Blog” award at MetaPagan. I am very honored.