So today I decided I needed some spiritual guidance.
Not personally.
That ship sailed years ago.
I mean for this project.
I’m 60 interviews into talking to 100 complete strangers about America, and I realized there was one group I hadn’t really talked to:
Religious leaders.
These are the people who counsel us.
Who marry us.
Who bury us.
Who supposedly have their finger on the spiritual pulse of the community.
So I thought, “Perfect. I’ll just walk into some churches and talk to them.”
Apparently I haven’t been to church in a while.
Because you don’t just walk into a church anymore.
Jesus may be waiting for you with open arms…
but apparently Jesus has a security system now.
I went to seven different places.
Episcopal.
Lutheran.
Methodist.
AME.
Eventually a temple.
I was working my way through the religions like I was comparison-shopping for the afterlife.
“Okay, Lutherans are out. Let’s see what the Episcopalians are offering.”
And these places were locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Which—I understand.
There have been shootings.
There have been threats.
Synagogues especially have very legitimate reasons for security.
But it was still striking.
Because I remember when a church was the one building in town you could just walk into.
Today?
I felt like I was trying to visit somebody in federal prison.
Ring the bell.
Camera looks at you.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to the pastor.”
“Why?”
“I’m talking to ordinary Americans about the country.”
CLICK.
Apparently that was the wrong answer.
At one place, they made me wait for 30 minutes before telling me no.
Thirty minutes!
I thought maybe they were doing a background check.
At the 20-minute mark, I was thinking:
“Jesus, if you’re in there, could you put in a good word for me?”
Nothing.
Apparently He was in a meeting too.
And after seven stops, I started laughing about the whole thing.
Because I went out looking for answers about America…
and accidentally learned something about America before anybody answered a question.
We are scared of each other.
And maybe we have reasons to be.
But think about that.
The places historically designed to bring communities together now have locked doors.
And that’s when I realized something about this project.
The answers to my questions aren’t the only interesting part.
The experience of asking them is becoming part of the story.
I started this whole thing thinking I had something to tell America.
I started the Truth Party.
Built the website.
Made the videos.
Held the rally.
Four people showed up.
That’ll humble your ass.
So I changed course.
Instead of saying:
“Everybody listen to me.”
I decided:
“Maybe I should listen to everybody else.”
And that changed everything.
I started approaching complete strangers.
Young people.
Old people.
Black people.
White people.
Working people.
Bartenders.
Businesspeople.
People sitting around drinking coffee.
Anybody willing to give me a few minutes.
Same four questions.
No trick questions.
No “gotcha.”
I’m not trying to convince them of anything.
I just want to know:
What worries you?
Why do you think people feel powerless?
What would make you actually get involved?
And:
What could ordinary people realistically accomplish together?
I’m now 60 people in.
And something fascinating is happening.
I keep hearing the same themes.
Different ages.
Different backgrounds.
Different politics.
Different lives.
But underneath all that difference, there is an incredible amount of agreement.
Not on everything.
And I’m not going to pretend 60 people represent 340 million Americans.
They don’t.
This isn’t Gallup.
It’s a guy with an iPhone talking to strangers.
But I’ll tell you what it is.
It’s listening.
And we don’t do enough of that anymore.
We’ve created this picture of America where half the country supposedly wakes up every morning thinking:
“How can I destroy the other half?”
That’s not what I’m finding.
I’m finding people worried about making ends meet.
People worried about their kids.
People worried about racism.
People worried about division.
People worried that the system doesn’t listen to them.
And maybe most importantly…
people who have absolutely no idea what they can personally do about any of it.
That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.
Because maybe the biggest problem isn’t that Americans disagree.
Maybe the biggest problem is that Americans have become convinced that they don’t matter.
That somebody else controls everything.
Washington.
Corporations.
Billionaires.
Political parties.
Cable news.
Social media.
Some mysterious group behind a curtain somewhere.
So we become spectators.
We complain.
We post.
We yell at the television.
And then we go back to work.
But what happens if people start believing they matter again?
What happens if instead of telling people what they should believe…
we ask them?
That’s what these 100 interviews have become for me.
And I’m not finished.
I’ve got 40 to go.
And I’m actually going to spend those 40 trying to prove myself wrong.
I want conservatives.
Liberals.
People who don’t vote.
People who think this whole project is ridiculous.
Rich people.
Poor people.
Religious people.
Atheists.
Anybody.
Because I don’t want the answer I want to hear.
I want the answer that’s actually there.
And when I get to 100, I’m going to put it all together.
What people agreed about.
What they disagreed about.
What surprised me.
And most importantly:
What ordinary people believe we can actually do.
Maybe it’ll prove my original ideas were right.
Maybe it’ll prove I was completely full of shit.
Probably a little of both.
But either way, I’ll have done something we desperately need more of.
I will have listened.
Sixty down.
Forty to go.
And after today, I learned one more thing:
If anybody knows a priest, minister, rabbi, imam, pastor—or frankly anybody with access to a building containing God—
please have them call me.
Because apparently…
I can’t get past security.
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