A lesson from the rocks

It was popping up all over the internet the first weekend in July: Pokémon Go. Pros and cons, yeses and noes, yellow cartoon figures decorating the screen, everything but the obvious question: What is it?

Confessions of a non–cyber nerd: I had to resort to Wikipedia. Pokémon is a collective noun for video game characters based on Japanese mythology. Years ago they were accused of causing seizures in young, overeager Japanese gamers. Now they cause trespassing and accidents by popping up in real space and time on players’ smartphones. The game has its critics—homeowners who chase phone-punching enthusiasts out of their flowerbeds are not usually fans. But other observers find virtue in the game: It turns couch potatoes into outdoor trekkers and encourages community spirit as strangers join together to track the elusive Ivysaur or Butterfree. Players may even visit local attractions they’ve never seen, gaining a whole new appreciation for their own community.

It’s interesting how phenomena sometimes converge. Exactly a month before the release of Pokémon Go, my hometown (pop. 10,000) launched a similar game on a local level. Anyone could play, and the rules were simple: gather some rocks, paint them, and hide them throughout town at public places that pose no risk and break no laws. A small group of friends got together to seed the project with a few hundred painted rocks. After that, it took off.

A rock suggests that some things are basic and will not change.

For the past two months people of all ages have been finding rocks in the park, outside church, beside dumpsters and recycle bins. Families paint and hunt them together, and when found, they can be kept, rehidden, or replaced. Some carry Bible verses or clever artwork suggested by their form. Some are amateur; others are stunning. Many show up on the Facebook page, and more are probably lost to obscurity.

The object is not to score points but to make memories. On the Facebook page, one of the founders recalled: “As a young adult I picked many a rock out of a field before planting and cussed at every one of them. Now I see them in a different light. I see them as an opportunity, once painted, to change this place we call home for the better.”

We could see a lot of everyday objects in a different light, beginning with each other. We seem to be primed for this: So long as they aren’t sociopaths, most people enjoy impromptu gatherings, “flash mob” concerts, and casual acts of kindness (as long as it doesn’t put us out too much or throw us off schedule). If we’re not rock painters, we like being rock finders, even if there’s no practical benefit to either. There doesn’t have to be; the very act of turning aside when a splash of unexpected color meets the eye expands the heart in a spontaneous nudge toward joy.

Though I haven’t painted any rocks, I love the idea. Rocks are durable and elemental, not to mention metaphorical. I count over 50 rock metaphors in the Bible: three in comparison to the Word of God, four to the Son of God, the rest simply to God. A rock suggests that some things are basic and will not change. A rock reminds us what common humanity is built on; and while the culture slides and buckles, we have this assurance: “He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be greatly shaken” (Psalm 62:2).

Pokémon Go is yesterday’s news, and the local rock project winds down. Steamy summer rolls into fall and what promises to be an exceptionally ugly political contest. We will elect a president, and whoever wins will disappoint us (as always). We will feel helpless and futile, but the rocks remind us that’s not true. We have the power to smile at strangers, to lend a hand, even to launch a project that betters the place we call home. We are as local and consequential as the rocks under our feet. If we stand on the solid rock, no kind or generous act will be in vain.

Email jcheaney@wng.org