Search Results

< Back Be Half There David Cowles “'Be Here Now,’ cried Baba Ram Dass in the ‘60s. But was that good advice?” Can you imagine what life would be like if we actually had to live it? Fortunately, we don’t! Ok, maybe we ‘half-live it’. At every juncture in life, you’re ‘half-there’. A part of you is always stuck in a remembered past while another part of you is already looking back from an imagined future. You see yourself not as you are, but as the peculiar complex of culturally defined roles you’ve adopted – i.e. your personae, your masks. You’re not a point, you’re not just ‘who you are, what you are, when you are’. Like an orbiting electron, you’re schmeared out over space and time. Just listen to yourself: “Next time…next time I’m in Maui, next time I come to this restaurant, next time I drive north in rush hour. “Last time…last time we visited Hawaii, last time we ate in this restaurant, last time I drove north in rush hour. “Back then…when I was Tweedledee…then when I become Tweedledum.” Whatever it is we’re doing, we’re simultaneously comparing it to something we did in the past, something we might have done in the present but didn’t, something we could yet do in the future. We’re also comparing our actions with culturally expected norms: “Big boys don’t cry,” and with the supposed actions of our icons: “WWJD?” Many spiritual teachers have observed these phenomena and railed against them. “Be Here Now,” cried Baba Ram Dass in the ‘60s. But was that good advice? To experience the present moment with no option to bury yourself in memories or hide yourself in fantasies or comfort yourself with counterfactuals or justify yourself via social norms (“just doing my job”) would be unbearable. We manage life by believing that we are redeeming the past and improving the future (whatever that might mean). We are ‘making a contribution’, certain as we are that ‘better days are coming’. We are leaving footprints in the sand, ripples on the surface. We are sustained by our memories (faith), we are energized by our visions (hope), and we are ever reliant on ‘the kindness of strangers’ (love). We do not act alone but as members of a community and we are proud of the socially defined roles we play within that community. “I am someone!” you say. ( Sidebar : when I was in my mid-20s, my mother once said to me, “You’re not people!” Later, I became ‘people’; thanks, Mom?) You are a student, spouse, parent, teacher, butcher, baker, candlestick maker…sequentially or all at once. You find your precious ‘identity’ by overlaying a stack of social filters. Can people change? Of course they can! Just change the filters. But can people really change? Of course they can’t! There’s nothing to change. We are relieved to know that some features of the past are done and gone, never to be repeated, but we are also comforted knowing that the present has inherited some familiar features from that same past. Believing we can make the future qualitatively different from the present gives our lives purpose. Solidarity with others gives us a sense of security. These dispensations allow us to relativize the horror of real life. But flash! Those dispensations can be taken away. Future courts may have the power (constitutional and technological) to sentence serious offenders to relive a year, or two, of their lives. In this state, you can’t modify your behavior and you can’t alter the course of events in any way. Pain cannot be averted; boredom cannot be relieved. You must simply relive it all, all alone, as it was, with full knowledge that there is no pony hidden beneath the pile of excrement. Essentially, you’ve become a character in an ‘anti-version’ of It’s a Wonderful Life . You are watching an unedited narrative of you , but you are watching it from the inside, from the perspective of a real character in the movie. Jimmy Stewart experienced the world as it would have been had he not lived in it; you get to experience the world as it is because you lived in it. You are fully engaged, emotionally and intellectually, feeling every slight, every bruise, as if you were feeling it for the first time…but knowing that you’ve experienced it all before and that you’ll go on experiencing the same until your sentence is up. How is such a thing possible? Actually, it’s pretty simple once the bot brain barrier has been breached. Carbon and silicon; they go together like peanut butter and bananas. Ads for You - the Movie tell it all: “Cringe as you watch yourself repeat the same mistakes. Blush as you relive those legendary awkward moments . Tremble in anticipation of reliving past pain; cry as you watch yourself hurt others.” Without its dispensations, life is unbearable. Defendants dread nothing more than hearing, “…And so I sentence you to be yourself for a term of one full year.” It is well known that convicts sentenced to play the lead role in You - the Movie invariably return to court after a month or two. Sentenced to ‘real life’ for one year, they ask the judge to ‘commute’ their sentence…to ‘death by lethal injection’. Keep the conversation going. 1. Click here to comment on this TWS. 2. To subscribe (at no cost) to TWS and ATM, follow this link . 3. We encourage new articles and reprints from freelance writers ; click here to view out Writers’ Specs. Previous Next

“We must teach our children a totally counter-cultural model of nature. We must teach the doctrines of our Faith, not as exceptions to natural law, but as the highest expressions of natural law.” < Back Educating Christians David Cowles Jan 15, 2023 “We must teach our children a totally counter-cultural model of nature. We must teach the doctrines of our Faith, not as exceptions to natural law, but as the highest expressions of natural law.” We are good parents. From infancy, we teach our children ‘the facts of life’ –how the world works and how it came to be the way it is. We certainly mean well. But do we do well? Let’s see. We teach them that we live in a world of space and time. Space behaves according to the postulates and theorems of Euclid. Time consists of the past, the future, and an ill-defined border region we call “the present”. We teach that space and time contain mass and energy, manifested as matter and force, resulting in what we call ‘events.’ We teach that events consist of things and acts (nouns and verbs). Things may be either subjects of an action or objects of an action; actions may be either active in nature (acting on the object) or passive in nature (acting on the subject). We teach that current events are caused by past events, not by future ones. We teach the concept of scale: a ‘smaller’ entity or event may be included in a ‘larger’ entity or event, but not the other way around. If a is an element of b and b is an element of c, then a is an element of c; but then c cannot be an element of b, nor can b be an element of a. Collectively, we can say that the world we teach to our children is flat and one-directional. Time moves forward, not backwards; the past conditions the future, but not the other way around; wholes consist of smaller parts and are themselves parts of even larger wholes. These are the basic tenets of the world view known as ‘naïve realism’: what you see is what you get! So, what can we say about the things we teach our children? Either they are entirely wrong; Or, they are approximations of reality, useful in certain circumstances; Or, they are true, but only as special cases of a much more complex reality. In the Gospel of Matthew , Jesus asks, “Which one of you would hand his son a stone when he asks for a loaf of bread, or a snake when he asks for a fish?” Apparently, we would! Our sons and daughters ask us to teach them about the world, and this is the nutrition-free fare we serve up? Of course, some of our children will grow up, go off to university, study physics or advanced mathematics and discover on their own that what we taught them was fraught with limitations and errors. But what about all the others? Well, we send them to church or to Sunday school, usually once a week for about an hour. There they are exposed to stories that suggest a wholly different model of reality: people rise from the dead, walk on water, change water into wine and wine into blood. This beats any Zombie Apocalypse thriller hands down! But how are they to reconcile this with what we’ve taught them about the world they seem to live in? Some will say that religion is about the supernatural, while we have been teaching our kids strictly about the natural order of things. Such dualism is a retreat from truth. It is the waving of the intellectual white flag. It is an admission that we have failed to find a consistent theory of the world…and that we’re giving up on that goal. Science faces the same dilemma. Relativity and Quantum Mechanics are two highly successful physical theories. Between the two of them, they can account for virtually all phenomena. Problem is, they are not consistent with one another! Since Einstein, the Holy Grail of physics has been to find a single model of the universe that can account for all phenomena. So far, that quest has been unsuccessful. But science is far from waving a white flag! Prior to puberty, children’s minds are extremely democratic; they can juggle competing models of reality with little difficulty, believing all of them at once. Scientific curiosity and religious faith walk hand in hand. Later, thought patterns harden. Balancing contradictory models of reality is no longer praised as a sign of imagination but is condemned as a remnant of infancy. Is it any wonder then that our teens and 20-somethings lose their religious faith? Oddly, though, this seemingly insuperable paradox has a relatively simple solution. The world of naïve realism that we teach our kids is NOT the ‘real world’ after all. Naïve realism is fantasy, pure and simple. Relativity, quantum mechanics, non-Euclidean geometries, etc. have demolished forever the idea that ‘what you see is what you get’ (WYSIWYG). Ironically, few serious thinkers today hold with naïve realism – not even Marxists. Yet, it remains the enshrined ideology of our time. So far as possible and as soon as possible, we need to start teaching our children the truth about the world we live in. But this will not be easy! A world of space and time, energy and mass, force and matter, entities and events, subjects and objects, parts and wholes seems intuitively obvious. We know our way around in it. But wait! There is a model of reality that we all know (to one degree or another) that undermines the lazy mental habits associated with naïve realism and that is at least compatible with the latest scientific and mathematical thinking. It’s called…drum roll please…Christianity! The recent rapid decline in Christian belief can be attributed to many things but none more so than its incompatibility with secularism and the pseudo-science of naïve realism. The decline is usually dated from an historical period that we shamelessly call The Enlightenment. It is true that Christianity is incompatible with naïve realism, but it is also true that naïve realism is incompatible with science. And yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend: Christianity is, at least in general, compatible with contemporary scientific models. Ironically, we are often told that people no longer believe in ‘the supernatural’ – this just as science has discovered that the world we live in is in fact ‘supernatural’ (if by ‘natural’ you mean ‘what you see is what you get’)! The doctrines of our Christian faith point toward a model of nature that is radically different from the standard model we parents and grandparents tend to teach. Let’s consider some examples from scripture: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God…All things came to be through him…And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us…” (Gospel of John ) The Word exists eternally, outside historical time, and participates actively in the creation of everything that comes to be within historical time. But the Word also enters into historical time as one of its ‘quantum’ elements. The doctrine of Incarnation demolishes the twin tyrannies of ‘scale’ and ‘time’ in one fell swoop. Begin with scale: “Christ is all (whole) and in all (part).” (Colossians) “Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me.” (Gospel of John ) “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.” (Gospel of John ) Game, set, match! In Christian logic, A can be a proper element of B and that same B can also be a proper element of A. Corollary: A can be a proper element of B and B can be a proper element of C and C can be a proper element of A. This is a world I’d like to live in; thanks be to God, I do! It’s time for time: “The one who is coming after me ranks ahead of me because he existed before me.” (Gospel of John ) “Amen, amen, I say to you, before Abraham came to be, I AM.” (Gospel of John) Earlier we referred to “an ill-defined border region we call the present”. It is ill-defined because, in fact, the present is not part of ‘time’ at all. To be in the present is to step out of continuously flowing historical time; it is to participate in the eternal. Historical time is a linear continuum. It consists of past and future but makes no room for a present. The fact that there is a present (we’re living in it!) proves that there is another, eternal dimension outside of time. The present and the eternal are one! In Exodus , God tells us that his name is “I AM”; in the Gospel of John, Jesus, the Christ, uses the same formula. In several passages, Jesus refers to himself as I AM. In fact, God never “was” and never “will be”. A god that was or will be is an oxymoron, an idol. God always just is! God lives in the eternal present, he is the eternal present, and when we experience ‘presence’, we experience God, and we participate in God, aka ‘eternity’. Sidebar : If you accept the premise that God is synonymous with eternity, then we just proved the existence of God, didn’t we. The spatio-temporal is embedded in the eternal (God) via creation , but the eternal (Christ) is embedded in the spatio-temporal via incarnation . Incarnation takes rigid rectilinear space-time and turns it inside out like a sock! Modern physics constitutes an all-out assault on time. Why then is the idea of linear, one-directional time so pervasive and so seemingly intuitive? Stephen Hawking, not always a friend of Christianity, suggests ‘entropy’. Entropy (the inexorably increasing disorder of the universe) seems to be a hard-wired feature of historical time yet plays no role in eternity (the burning bush in Exodus 3 doesn’t burn!). In fact, as we shall see below, eternity is a process of ever-increasing order , not disorder. Christianity also disposes of the dualism of subjective or objective nouns and active or passive verbs. Instead of the hierarchical and vectored relationships characteristic of naïve realism, Christian ontology is based on the idea of reciprocal relations: “Remain in me as I remain in you.” (Gospel of John ) “For we are his (God’s) handiwork, created in Christ Jesus for the good works that God had prepared in advance, that we should live in them.” (Ephesians) “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” (Gospel of Matthew) The good works that we do of our own free will exist independently of us; they are our “objective immortality” (Alfred North Whitehead). The works and the worker relate reciprocally; neither is subject nor object of the other. We do what we do and what we do does us! The Trinity is a dynamic and reciprocal relationship among three Persons, each of whom is God. Our lives are first and foremost participation in the life of the Trinity; therefore, our relationships are also dynamic and reciprocal. What we do to others, we do to ourselves as well. All action is bidirectional. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” (Gospel of Matthew) Christianity makes clear that the universe of space and time, entities and events, ‘heaven and earth’ is relative, that it exists as one aspect of a larger, more ontologically general reality: “At the beginning, O Lord, you established the earth, and the heavens are the works of your hands. They will perish, but you remain; and they will all grow old like a garment. You will roll them up like a cloak …You are the same, and your years will have no end.” (Hebrews) Some modern thinkers allow that God may have played a role in the creation of the physical universe. They give a theistic interpretation to Big Bang. Beyond that, they tend to be deists: after Big Bang, God rested. Christianity, however, goes much further. First, the spatio-temporal world not only comes from God (Creation) but ultimately, it returns to God (Parousia): “… Then comes the end, when he (Son) hands over the kingdom to his God and Father…for he (Father) subjected everything under his (Son’s) feet… When everything is subjected to him (Son), then the Son himself will also be subjected to the one (Father) who subjected everything to him (Son), so that God may be all in all.” (First Corinthians) “In all wisdom and insight, he has made known to us the mystery of his will…as a plan for the fullness of times, to sum up all things in Christ, in heaven and on earth.” (Ephesians) “Holy Father, keep them in your name (I AM) that you have given me…so that they may be one as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one…” (Gospel of John) Remember: A ɛ B ɛ C ɛ A. Regarding the spatio-temporal world, Shakespeare wrote ( Macbeth ): It is “a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” But the ‘real world’ is not that. Rather, it is a process of reconciliation and perfection in preparation for eternal participation in the life of the Trinity. Sorry, Shakes! Second, God (Spirit) is an active participant in the world in every way and at every level: “For in him (Christ) were created all things in heaven and on earth…all things were created for him and through him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together… For in him all fullness was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile all things for him…” (Colossians) “… One body and one Spirit…one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Ephesians) “And he (Father) put all things beneath his (Christ’s) feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his (Christ’s) body, the fullness of the one who fills all things in every way.” (Ephesians) We take for granted that the universe as described by naïve realism is possible, even if unreal. But Christian cosmology suggests that even this is not so. A world of discrete entities and events and vectored relationships may not have the ‘glue’ needed to hold these elements together. Christian ontology holds that “in him all things hold together”, that an actual world requires an actual God who is over all and through all and in all. Being is not a multiple-choice test. It is not (a) God or (b) World or (c) Both. There is only one possible answer! Guess which! The words of Revelation , the final book of the Christian Bible, sum all this up: “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end…the one who is and who was and who is to come… I am the first and the last, the one who lives.” (Revelation) So, where does this leave us poor beleaguered parents and grandparents? We cannot teach our kids the truths of our faith on top of the naïve realist, secular model of the ‘natural’ world. We want to eat our cake and have it too. We want our kids to ‘fit in’ but we also want them to be good Christians. These two objectives are to some degree incompatible. Christianity is incurably counter-cultural. We must teach our children a totally counter-cultural model of nature. We must teach the doctrines of our Faith, not as exceptions to natural law, but as the highest expressions of natural law. To do that, we must show how natural law and Christian doctrine are two sides of one coin. We must teach our children that the world is one and that that one world begins and ends and is infused throughout with God. We must teach them that we do not ‘live for tomorrow’ (perpetual perishing) but that we live in the present, which is eternal. We must teach them that our lives are part of a cosmic communal enterprise of creation and reconciliation leading to the Kingdom of Heaven. Religious education and secular education are just education , pure and simple. As in the Middle Ages, so in the Modern Age: science is an extension of theology, as theology is an extension of science. Try teaching that at Harvard! David Cowles is the founder and editor-in-chief of Aletheia Today Magazine. He lives with his family in Massachusetts where he studies and writes about philosophy, science, theology, and scripture. He can be reached at david@aletheiatoday.com . Share Previous Next Click here. Do you like what you just read? Subscribe today and receive sneak previews of Aletheia Today Magazine articles before they're published. Plus, you'll receive our quick-read, biweekly blog, Thoughts While Shaving. Subscribe Thanks for subscribing! Return to Table of Contents, Winter 2023 Issue Return to Table of Contents, Holiday Issue Return to Table of Contents, Halloween Issue Return to Table of Contents, Fall Issue Return to Table of Contents, Beach Issue Return to Table of Contents, June Issue

The following is a collection of entries marking time and the curiosities of David Cowles, philosopher, lover of language, science seeker, and admirer of the divine plan. Aletheia Journal 03/18/2022 And then? What comes next? After 50 years of doing everything for everybody, you can do things for yourself…to the extent that you’re able–to the extent you’re not able. You must now learn to let other people do things for you. More later… -David Read More 03/17/2022 What does a person do who is no longer learning to live, no longer learning to be ‘people’, no longer living other people’s lives? Such a person ‘reflects’…she reflects on what she’s learned, on how she’s lived, and on who she’s been. Does she have something to say that hasn’t already been said by countless others? Does she have something to do that hasn’t already been done? After 75 years, you’ve earned the right to make your own unique contribution to civilization. Now if I could just figure out what that unique contribution might be… More later… -David Read More 03/16/2022 So for 25 years you do nothing to anyone or for anyone; everyone does everything to you and for you. Other people feed you, clothe you, shelter you, teach you, play with you, hurt you, etc. Then, for the next 50 years, you do everything to and for others: you feed them, clothe them, shelter them, teach them, play with them, yes, hurt them. More later… -David Read More 03/15/2022 For 25 years, give or take, you learn to live. My mother called it ‘learning to be people’. “David,” she would say, “You’re just not people!” And she was right; I wasn’t. Then, after 25 years of learning to live, of learning to be ‘people’, you finally are ‘people’. Now at last, you can begin to live…other people’s lives. You’ve learned to be ‘people’, but the people you have learned to be are ‘other people’. So congratulations, you just spent 25 years of your life learning how to be someone you’re not…and be really good at it! That’s what we call ‘culture’: learning to be ‘people’, other people, and learning to live other people’s lives. If the purpose of acculturation is to limit behavioral variety across a species, I’d say ours is working very nicely, thank you. More later… -David Read More The following is a collection of entries marking time and the curiosities of David Cowles, philosopher, lover of language, science seeker, and admirer of the divine plan.

< Back Antonyms David Cowles Antonyms. No such thing! Not-X includes the shadow of X. Example: ‘Pretty’ and ‘Ugly’. ‘Pretty’ refers to the totality (gestalt) of a person, place, or thing. ‘Ugly’ refers to those elements of the aforementioned that are not consistent with a ‘pretty’ whole. ‘Pretty’ and ‘ugly’ appear to be antonyms…but they’re not. In fact, they operate on two entirely different syntactic levels. ‘Ugly’ actually derives its meaning from the concept of ‘pretty’. Therefore, we can say ‘ugly’ includes “the shadow of ‘pretty’”; but not so the other way around. Antonyms. No such thing! Not-X includes the shadow of X. Example: ‘Pretty’ and ‘Ugly’. ‘Pretty’ refers to the totality (gestalt) of a person, place, or thing. ‘Ugly’ refers to those elements of the aforementioned that are not consistent with a ‘pretty’ whole. ‘Pretty’ and ‘ugly’ appear to be antonyms…but they’re not. In fact, they operate on two entirely different syntactic levels. ‘Ugly’ actually derives its meaning from the concept of ‘pretty’. Therefore, we can say ‘ugly’ includes “the shadow of ‘pretty’”; but not so the other way around. Another example: Good and evil. Antonyms, right? Not so fast. Evil is the absence of Good. But Good is a synonym for Being itself. Therefore, absolute Evil cannot ‘exist’, only ‘relative’ evil. Absolute Evil is simply non-existence. My grandson says that “everything exists”…and he’s right. In fact, the Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics, dominant in scientific circles today, states that anything that can be is, has been, or will be. But evil/nothing/non-Being stands outside the domain of ‘everything’. So, when I said that there was no such thing as an antonym, I was wrong! ‘Evil/nothing/non-Being’ is in fact the universal antonym, the common antonym of every thing. ‘The common antonym of everything’ actually has a name: “Entropy”. It is the inexorable process of increasing disorder in the cosmos that will eventually lead to a state of universal non-Being, which of course is no state at all. One is reminded of the Vacuum Cleaner Monster in the Beatles’ movie, Yellow Submarine: he first swallows everything around him, then the universe itself, and finally he swallows himself. Therefore, entropy is its own antonym. Previous Next

"This matzah, which we set aside as a symbol of hope for the thousands of women who are anchored to marriages in name only, reminds us that slavery comes in many forms." < Back Matzah of Hope--Passover Part One B.J. Yudelson Apr 15, 2023 "This matzah, which we set aside as a symbol of hope for the thousands of women who are anchored to marriages in name only, reminds us that slavery comes in many forms." You may remember that back in the ’70s and ’80s, we added a fourth matzah to the three required for the Seder and called it the Matzah of Hope. It was a symbol of the three million Soviet Jews who had no freedom to be Jews. Some twenty or thirty years later, our united voices had changed the situation. I propose that this year we once again add a fourth matzah to our Seder table and read the following. What do you think? Maybe together we can change the situation for the Agunot, women anchored to men who neither want them as wives nor are willing to free them to lead their own lives. This matzah, which we set aside as a symbol of hope for the thousands of women who are anchored to marriages in name only, reminds us that slavery comes in many forms. Three thousand years ago, Jewish women were forced to see their baby sons die. They themselves were forced to follow the orders of the Egyptian masters to make bricks and perform other onerous tasks. Today, there are women enslaved to unsustainable marriages. The common term for them is “chained” women. But the Hebrew, agunah, comes from the root that means “to anchor.” These women, who have asked for a divorce but are dependent upon their husbands for the “get” that completes the divorce procedure, are anchored in place by men who refuse to comply. Tethered under water, it is as if they are mired in the muck on the bottom. Although the water that swirls about them represents opportunity, freedom, the ability to navigate to new and different Jewish places, they can barely breathe. How tantalizing to be surrounded by freedom yet to be prohibited from leading the free, fulfilling Jewish lives they crave. These women can dream of a new life, of new experiences that await them in a different part of this lake or sea they are trapped in. But they can’t, by themselves, hoist the anchor to change their situations. They need our support: our prayers, our petitions, our demonstrations. They need for us to convince our rabbis to take action, for where there is a rabbinic will, there will be found a rabbinic way to free agunot. As we set aside this matzah in their honor, let us pledge to do more in the coming year to free all agunot from the bondage that weighs particularly heavily as we celebrate freedom this Seder night. This was republished with permission from T he Jewish Pluralist . It is first in the series Four Women’s Collected Essays on the Meaning of Passover . Click here for introduction to the series. This essay was also published on B.J. Yudelson website. Image: Passover Seder, 19th Century B.J. is an explorer who loves both the comfort of the familiar and the challenge of the unknown. As a child growing up in Atlanta, she knew the size and position of every tree in the wooded ravine behind her house as well as the best rocks for crossing the creek at the bottom. When she passes a street repeatedly, she may suddenly turn onto it just to find out where it goes, making the unknown familiar. World religions, her own beloved Judaism, a foreign country, or a local park all bring out the explorer in her. She writes to make sense of the inner landscapes of family and friends, the ins and outs of her community (currently, Rochester, New York), and the beauty of loon-filled lakes. Her writings—published in a variety of literary journals, websites, and anthologies —explore family, Judaism, nature, and overcoming obstacles. She invites you to join her on her adventures. Return to our Holy Days 2023 Table of Contents, Share Previous Next Click here. Do you like what you just read? Subscribe today and receive sneak previews of Aletheia Today Magazine articles before they're published. Plus, you'll receive our quick-read, biweekly blog, Thoughts While Shaving. Subscribe Thanks for subscribing! Return to Table of Contents, Winter 2023 Issue Return to Table of Contents, Holiday Issue Return to Table of Contents, Halloween Issue Return to Table of Contents, Fall Issue Return to Table of Contents, Beach Issue Return to Table of Contents, June Issue

< Back Ruth Embraced Resilience and Found Redemption Rebecca Moss "Ruth demonstrates how resilience can reward us, showing that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope to be found for those who refuse to yield to despair." The Book of Ruth, nestled within the Old Testament scriptures, offers a profound narrative that transcends centuries, weaving together themes of resilience, loyalty, and divine providence. Through a closer examination of Ruth's journey, we unearth invaluable insights that resonate deeply with individuals grappling with adversity and uncertainty in the present day. Ruth's story begins with a backdrop of loss and hardship. Following the deaths of her husband and father-in-law, she finds herself at a crossroads, faced with the daunting task of rebuilding her life amidst profound grief. Despite the allure of returning to her homeland, Ruth chooses to accompany her mother-in-law, Naomi, back to Bethlehem, demonstrating a remarkable display of loyalty and devotion. The poignant words of Ruth to Naomi encapsulate her unwavering commitment: "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God" (Ruth 1:16). This declaration of loyalty, uttered amidst the desolation of loss, serves as a testament to Ruth's steadfast character and unwavering faith. Upon their arrival in Bethlehem, Ruth's resilience is put to the test as she seeks to provide for herself and Naomi. With humility and determination, she gleans in the fields, gathering leftover grain to sustain them through the harvest season. Ruth's willingness to embrace the humble task of gleaning reflects her resilience and tenacity in the face of adversity. It is in these fields of Boaz, a relative of Naomi, that Ruth's fortunes take a remarkable turn. Boaz, moved by Ruth's virtuous character and diligence, extends his protection and favor to her, ensuring that she may glean safely and abundantly. Ruth's encounter with Boaz is marked by a sense of divine providence, as she finds favor in his eyes and experiences unexpected blessings amidst her toil. The words of Boaz to Ruth encapsulate his admiration for her character: "May the Lord repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge" (Ruth 2:12). Boaz's recognition of Ruth's integrity and faithfulness serves as a pivotal moment in her journey toward redemption and restoration. As the story unfolds, we witness Ruth's courage and resilience in the face of uncertainty. Through her unwavering faith and determination, she navigates the complexities of her circumstances, ultimately finding refuge and belonging in the community of Bethlehem. The culmination of Ruth's journey is marked by her union with Boaz, a union that symbolizes redemption and restoration on multiple levels. Through her marriage to Boaz, Ruth is not only elevated from her status as a foreign widow but also becomes a vital link in the lineage of King David and, ultimately, Jesus Christ. The words of the women of Bethlehem to Naomi upon the birth of Ruth's son encapsulate the profound significance of Ruth's journey: "Praise be to the Lord, who this day has not left you without a guardian-redeemer. May he become famous throughout Israel! He will renew your life and sustain you in your old age" (Ruth 4:14-15). Ruth's story is alive with the magnitude of resilience, loyalty, and faith in the face of adversity. Ruth’s story offers a timeless message of hope and redemption to individuals navigating their own trials and tribulations. Through Ruth's journey, we see the rewards of loyalty, resilience, and we see divine providence. Throughout her story, we encounter profound lessons about the importance of community and the value of steadfastness in the face of adversity. Despite facing seemingly insurmountable challenges, Ruth's unwavering loyalty to Naomi and her commitment to providing for their welfare displays the kind of selflessness and compassion we are called to give. In a world marked by shifting alliances and fleeting loyalties, Ruth's steadfast devotion stands as an example of the enduring strength found in genuine relationships. Furthermore, Ruth's journey is marked by unexpected twists and turns, underscoring the unpredictable nature of life and the importance of remaining open to divine providence. Despite the uncertainty that accompanies her every step, Ruth approaches each challenge with unwavering faith, trusting in the guiding hand of a benevolent God. Her willingness to embrace the unknown and surrender to a higher purpose reminds us of the transformative potential found in relinquishing control and placing our trust in God. Moreover, Ruth's story highlights the significance of perseverance and resilience in the face of adversity. Despite facing numerous obstacles along her journey, including poverty, loss, and social marginalization, Ruth refuses to succumb to despair or resignation. Instead, she meets each challenge with unwavering resolve, drawing strength from her innermost convictions and pressing forward with determination. In doing so, Ruth demonstrates how resilience can reward us, showing that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope to be found for those who refuse to yield to despair. Finally, in addition to its overarching themes of resilience and redemption, Ruth's story also offers profound insights into the nature of love and sacrifice. Throughout her journey, Ruth's actions are driven by a deep sense of love and devotion, both towards her mother-in-law, Naomi, and towards the God of Israel. Her willingness to sacrifice her own comfort and security for the sake of others is an inspiring kind of selfless love, illustrating that true fulfillment is found not in the pursuit of personal gain, but in the service of others. As we reflect on the timeless lessons found within the pages of Ruth's narrative, may we be inspired to cultivate resilience, embrace uncertainty with faith, and extend love and compassion to those in need. Just as Ruth's journey ultimately leads to redemption and restoration, so, too, can our own lives be transformed through the power of unwavering faith and selfless love. Rebecca writes for "Beliefs in Bites" and "Faith and Future." Connect with Rebecca on social media to stay engaged in her thought-provoking discussions and explorations of the spiritual and technological realms. Twitter: @Rmosswrites purpose and devotion. Return to our 2024 Beach Read Previous Next

< Back The Leading Player of Memories Annie D. Stutley Maybe that’s what Judy Garland meant in “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” when she sang “we’ll have to muddle through somehow?” Growing up, I always looked forward to coming home from church with Grandpa. As we walked up the back steps of our house in Bay St. Louis, Miss., Grandpa would say in his booming voice, “Annie, you were so good in church today that I deserve a milk punch.” Soon the smell of bourbon and nutmeg would fill the porte cochère, the little room off the kitchen where Grandpa would blend his post-religious cordial, pouring out a kid-sized portion for me. I’d pucker my lips to suck up the frothy cap of milk floating on top and relish the simple Sunday ritual. All was well in my world where Grandpas were reassuringly predictable. I have taken to the occasional post Mass sarcasm with my own children. There’s something warm about traditions. We don’t always know quite how they began, but as the world spins around us, they are our constants, beacons of comfort, ready to wrap us in their arms and remind us that all is still well. Most of us have holiday traditions we anticipate as the calendar rolls into December. My cousins in Lake Charles look for a gold pickle hidden in the evergreen of the Christmas tree. My neighbor spends a full Friday from lunch to supper gallivanting through soufflé potatoes and French 75’s with friends in the front room at New Orleans’ famed Galatoire’s Restaurant. When my husband was a child, every holiday season they baked homemade ornaments from clay and painted them. Most of the cutouts were badly altered in the hot oven, creating timeless characters like Sweaty Angel, whose wings were too small and too fat, morphed from the steam. Only copious sweat and divine intervention could allow the aerodynamic Christmas miracle that would get her off the ground. Then there was Black-Eyed Bart, the fear-inducing Santa ornament whose eyes were black as pitch and whose red painted lips dribbled down his chin. My husband recalls the jubilation that would fill his living room when these ornaments were unpacked from ten months of attic hibernation each year – as anticipated as opening presents on Christmas Day. Growing up, my family celebrated two Christmases, one with our nuclear family of seven and another over New Year’s weekend back in Bay St. Louis with Grandma, Grandpa, and all our cousins. The first Christmas was for Santa and his magic. The latter was for the predictable magic: Grandpa’s scavenger hunt clues through the big drafty house leading to our Christmas checks and Pop’s notorious poems on the rest of the presents. My father knew the secret to a healthy sense of self: laugh at yourself first, and the rest will laugh with you, not at you. During second Christmas he exercised this through verse written on the outside of our presents. His poems were supposed to be clues, but more times than not, they only made sense to him. That was the best part – seeing Pop chuckle at his own expense, standing before the twinkling lights of the tree in his red shirt, ready to hand out the next gift, while the receiver of the previous gift scratched their head, trying to connect the words of Pop’s poem to what they’d just unwrapped. There came a time when I began to save all these poems. Something told me that someday, maybe sooner than I feared, the predictability of Christmas poems would be gone and the poem itself would be more valuable than anything Pop bought me. As much as I find comfort in what is expected of rituals and traditions, I’m also energized by the unexpected. There’s promise in the unknown because the future has not been determined. I’ve always had this feeling that something great “is just around the corner.” But my first holiday season after Pop died – the first gift exchange without Pop’s poems, without that glint in his eye, without seeing him laugh at his own buffoonery – I entered Advent with a lump in my throat, paralyzed by the unexpected. Where would the silliness stem from now that our Leading Player had finished his run? Sweaty Angel and Black-Eyed Bart came from my mother-in-law’s annual effort to mix clay and gather everyone around the table for messy memories. My cousins’ pickle hunt is the result of keeping the same date on the calendar every year (Pickle Night), and Pop’s poems only happened because he took the time to make them happen, and because he was exceedingly generous with his sense of self. Eventually, however, it’s not just the tradition itself that’s passed down. It’s the responsibility to creating memories. When a new actor steps into an established role, preceded by a long-running fan favorite, the new actor has to make that role their own. Otherwise, the performance is trite. Nothing breaks the fourth wall like seeing a performer reach. In the same way, when we become the keepers of the keys formerly held by our ancestors, we have to do the best we can with the script we’ve been given. We can’t keep what was entirely, but that doesn’t mean that run has to stop. They set the scene, our parents and. before them, our grandparents, but eventually, it’s our turn. We may not follow through with the same flair, but we keep the story going. We may even spin off toward new traditions, new predictability of the season, building upon the family catalog of memories. Maybe that’s what Judy Garland meant in “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” when she sang “we’ll have to muddle through somehow?” We take what we’ve been given, and we serve the role of the Leading Player (not the traditions), keeping our motivation on what matters most: transporting those in our audience (our siblings, kids, and grandkids) to that timeless, childlike place where the joy of the season is felt most. Somewhere in that first Christmas after Pop died, I realized that the silliness of the season was mine to lose. I was destined for the role of Memory Maker, Leading Player of Christmas, the instant I first laughed at those who came before me. Because long ago in those moments of unhinged joy, kept safe in the catalog of my most treasured memories, my heart bursting with love for Pop, Grandpa, Mama – all my life’s Leading Players, I knew the feeling would last and that when it was my turn, I’d want to keep the laughter going. Because just as Pop knew, laughter is best shared. Annie D. Stutley lives and writes in New Orleans, La. She edits several small publications and contributes to various print and online magazines. Her blog, " That Time You, " was ranked in the Top 100 Blogs by FeedSpot. To read more of her work, go to her website , or follow her at @anniedstutley or Annie D. Stutley-writer on Facebook. Previous Next

< Back Job is My Superhero David Cowles "No one has taken a bigger risk than Job, and no one has faced longer odds; and yet, Job has taken God to court and won!" Where can you find a superhero when you need one? In a Marvel movie perhaps…or a DC comic? You probably wouldn’t think to look in the Bible, and certainly not in the Old Testament. Too bad! The Bible is chock-full of superheroes, especially the Old Testament. I mean, Abraham gives up a cushy upper middle-class lifestyle to become a nomad. Moses organizes a rebellion of Hebrew slaves and leads them on a 40-year trek across the wilderness to a new homeland. You get the picture! My personal favorite is Job. The Book of Job was written a mere 2,500 years ago, but the story itself is probably much older than that. Ok, granted, Job’s not your everyday superhero. In fact, on the surface, he’s anything but. We don’t meet him on a mountain top or at the head of a vast army; we meet him lying in the dust, his skin covered with sores, his family gone, his wealth wiped-out and his reputation in tatters. In those days, if you had a streak of ‘bad luck’ (like Job), people assumed that God was punishing you for sins you’d committed. Proof was not required. If you were suffering, then you must have sinned. Case closed! “What need have we for witnesses?” I am reminded of the judicial system in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Lookingglass : The sentence comes first, then the verdict, then the trail, and last of all, the crime itself. Imagine living like this. In our lives, we all have periods of relatively good fortune… and not-so-good fortune. Imagine your so-called friends ghosting you whenever your luck runs dry. Or imagine suffering their unjust accusations and their cruel taunts on top of your grief, your illness, and your poverty. With friends like these, who needs enemies? Certainly, not Job! When he hits rock bottom, his wife tells him to “curse God and die!” His ‘friends’ gather, supposedly to comfort him, but actually to tease him, to shame him, to blame him for his own suffering. Mrs. Job wants him to give up and die. His so-called ‘comforters’ want him to acknowledge his sins and beg God for forgiveness. But Job has other ideas. He won’t give up, and he won’t plead guilty to crimes he did not commit. He’s a superhero, remember? Job’s idea of God is very different from his friends’. Job’s God is not uncaring or cruel; he is just and merciful. Even more importantly, Job’s God is not above the law. In your catalog of superheroes , who else has the chutzpah to do such a thing? Using an ancient Middle Eastern legal formula, Job summons God, and much to everyone’s surprise (except Job’s) God complies with Job’s summons; he appears. At that time, the cornerstone of the law was God’s covenant with his people. Today we would call such a covenant a contract or even a constitution . God authored the covenant and Job expects him to follow it…and he does. From here on, Job’s comforters sit in stunned silence. What manner of man is this that even God obeys him? But God is not obeying Job. God is simply honoring the terms of the covenant. God is obeying God. Even more fundamentally, God is being God. All the characters in this ancient drama see God as fierce and unpredictable, all except Job! Like Abraham and Moses, Job ‘knows God’. He knows that God cannot behave unjustly because he is Justice. He knows that God cannot stop being God. So to recap, Job summons God and God appears. Is this the happy ending we’ve been hoping for? Not even close! The action’s just beginning, so buckle up! Were you expecting God to appear as a meek little lamb, ready to submit to the will of the court, putty in the hands of the plaintiff (Job)? Then you were wrong! God is furious! He has better things to do with his time than hang out in some District Court, answering Job’s impertinent charges. I mean, there’s a universe to run, for cryin’ out loud! God appears, but he’s not happy about it, not one bit. He addresses the court “out of a whirlwind." It’s undoubtedly an eye-catching performance. I mean, you don’t see that every day, do you? Admit it: you’d probably pause your remote to watch such a spectacle. Who could pass up a chance to walk down memory lane with God, exchanging war stories and listening to his tales of creation? Job could, and he does; he ignores God entirely, but then, Job is a superhero after all. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the prize (‘judgment for the plaintiff’). God mounts a spirited defense, “Where were you when I laid earth’s foundations? Have you ever in your days summoned daybreak? Have you ever reached the sources of the Sea and walked on the bottom of the Ocean?” God’s strategy is clear. He will overpower Job. But notice, God’s arguments are off point. They are more a product of frustration than careful legal reasoning. They have nothing to do with justice in general, and even less to do with Job’s particular complaint. God is blurring the line between might and right . Plus, this is not an episode of Law and Order . For one thing, God is both the defendant and the judge. We would never agree to such an arrangement today. We’d call it a ‘conflict of interest’, and for anyone but God, it would be. If you were your own judge, you’d probably find yourself innocent most of the time…ok, all the time. We all would…but not God. He alone can build a true firewall between God-the-Defendant and God-the-Judge. Job ignores God’s bluster. He does not take God’s bait. He won’t be drawn into a school yard game of one-upmanship; he will not show his NFL highlights reel next to God’s. Job hangs tough, “I have spoken once - and I will not repeat. Twice - and I will no more!” Job smells blood. He is going for a directed verdict of not guilty…and he’s going to get it, too - if only he can keep his cool. But not before God takes one last desperate shot: “Can you pull out the Leviathan (a sea monster) with a fishhook? Can you toy with him like a bird? Who has ever confronted him and survived? Even gods live in fear of his majesty; they’re in terror of the ruin he wrecks.” In other words: If you’re not afraid of me, perhaps you’ll be afraid of my creatures. But, of course, God’s threats are empty, and his words fall on deaf ears. Job has the last word: “I am fed up; I take pity on dust and ashes.” Translation: If I can’t get justice, no one can! Today, Job might be held in contempt of court for such a remark; but God lets him slide. Now on to the verdict. The whole cosmos is of one mind: Job will be found liable and further punishment will be imposed. The whole cosmos…that is, except Job. Job knows he will be acquitted. He knew it from the beginning. Job knows God! God moves from the plaintiff’s chair to the judge’s bench. He puts on his legal robes and prepares to rule. But first, he has a word for Job’s fickle friends: “You did not speak about me honestly, as did my servant Job.” And now…the verdict! God finds Job “not guilty” on all charges and restores to Job all that he had lost and more. What makes a hero? The willingness to do what’s right, to defend one’s values and beliefs, despite overwhelming opposition and with no realistic hope of success. Then what is a superhero? A hero who succeeds, who wins out in the end after all. In the entire history of literature, mythology, and religion, no one has taken a bigger risk than Job and no one has faced longer odds; and yet, Job has taken God to court and won! So, Job is my superhero. David Cowles is the founder and editor-in-chief of Aletheia Today Magazine. He lives with his family in Massachusetts where he studies and writes about philosophy, science, theology, and scripture. He can be reached at david@aletheiatoday.com . Previous Next

< Back That Time You Saw Dead People--What's so scary about that? Annie D. Stutley What scared me was that something I never thought was possible just might be. The first time I saw a ghost I was 20 years old. It was Epiphany weekend, and we were opening presents at my grandparents’ house in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, when from the love seat in the living room, I looked up to see a woman, dressed in pink with a high auburn bun, standing in the adjacent dining room. She then moved to a set of windows and vanished. My breath hitched. It’s important to note that even "Scooby-Doo" scares me, that I’m 44 years old and afraid of the dark, and that while binge-watching “Stranger Things,” I made my children sleep in my bed and not the other way around. I am a classic scaredy-cat, afraid of my own shadow, and yet, the pink lady revealed herself to me. Why, God? Why? I don’t know who finally noticed that I’d stopped talking, moving, or even blinking. But I eventually squeaked out an anxious, “I think I saw a ghost.” At this, Grandma perked up. “Was she wearing pink?” That’s when the hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Uh-huh...” “Was her hair piled atop her head?” “Uh-huh...” I could hear my heart pounding. “And she was walking to the windows?” “Uh-huh…” Why was no one panicking with me? I’d have gotten a bigger reaction out of seeing a cockroach cross the dining room. “Oh, well, that was my mother then. I often see her. Where the dining room windows are used to be a sun porch. She loved that porch.” Grandma took a sip of her cocktail before adding, “She was likely going to take in the moon and relax.” She said this like it was completely normal to have her dead mother roaming around the house, like everyone’s dead relatives are just hanging out at home, like I know you'll never be able to close your eyes again, Annie, but don’t worry. She’s just taking in the moon! Thanks, Grandma. That night I didn’t sleep. My grandparents’ house was built before the Civil War, and our family had lived in it since 1890. Rumor was Grandma's mother, the infamous pink lady, held séances in the library of the house and that one time the table around which they contacted the dead levitated. So, how many other spirits were hanging out, taking in the moon? I got my answer a few days later. In a corner of the dining room was an upright piano. Should my grandparents and their friends have a rousing cocktail hour, it usually involved the piano, where classics were crooned out with the aid of Jim Beam. Before she passed away, my Great Aunt Edith was usually the one tickling the ivories. Then Grandma took over. But they had similar playing skills and almost identical sopranos, making it easy to mix up the two. So, when I was walking downstairs a couple of afternoons later, having put the ghost of my great-grandmother behind me enough to be upstairs alone in the daylight, I heard Grandma on the piano singing. I found it a bit early for a rousing cocktail hour, even for my family. But when I got to the bottom of the stairs, through the side transom windows that divided the living and dining rooms, it wasn’t Grandma whom I saw at the piano. It was Aunt Edith--Aunt Edith who had been dead since I was 13 and at whose funeral I got sick from pea salad. Once again, I couldn’t move. Then I blinked several times. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. But Aunt Edith played on peacefully, and then she was suddenly gone. She dissolved completely, like smoke softening in the air. I ran to the kitchen and breathlessly cried, “I saw Aunt Edith! I saw Aunt Edith!” Grandma, again unfazed, asked for the deets and when I was through, all she said was, “You have the gift, Annie.” “What gift?” I prayed I was unworthy. “You can see beyond.” “I don’t want this gift,” I adamantly said. “You don’t have a choice,” she smiled. So, that was it then. I saw dead people. The following year, my grandmother passed away. Not long after that, like a complete idiot, I agreed to see “The Sixth Sense” in the theater. Sweet baby Jesus, tell me that I’m not some ghost therapist like that poor kid , I thought. It isn’t an exaggeration to describe the time that followed as my having applied the buddy system at all hours at my grandparents’ house. If I was gonna see dead people, I’d at least have an arm to clutch if the ghosts tried to take me with them back to whatever sun porch in the sky where they convened. But I never saw any ghosts again. As time moved on, I convinced myself that the phenomenon was in my head and that, as I’d always thought before, ghosts aren’t real. Then something truly beyond logic happened long after I saw dead people, something that convinced me none of it had been born from the imagination of a paranoid scaredy-cat. I had just given birth to a chubby, little, round-faced boy who had my eyes. I was all at once weepy and energized, like I could have a good cry and then climb the highest mountain ten times over. But then it started—the bleeding. And soon, I wasn’t weepy or energized. I was warm. I was cozy. I was somewhere else, a serene place where the physical world was bustling all around me, but I was contentedly still. The experience was sort of like when you’re at the beach and children are splashing nearby, someone’s speaker plays music, seagulls squawk about, and yet, you’re able to find that quiet place in the roar of the waves to slip away. I turned my head and saw my husband holding my baby boy, whose finger was wrapped around his. “Don’t close your eyes, Annie. Stay with me,” he pleaded. His eyes looked desperate. I moved my head just an inch and lost track of him. I closed my eyes for what felt like the most luxurious hour. I felt the sun on my skin. I felt the softest blanket laid upon me. My head nestled into the cushiest pillow. Even my toes were swathed in warmth. Far away I heard doctors shouting orders, the rattle of instruments on metal tables, and my husband's pleas to look at him. But I didn’t join their panic. I was the most peaceful I had ever been. Hours later, when I finally held my baby, it was explained to me that I’d lost three quarters of my blood, and I’d be receiving transfusions overnight. My teeth chattered. I was shaking. I noticed heated blankets piled on top of me. Apparently, as I began to bleed, my body temperature dropped significantly, and I was ice-cold. “But I wasn’t cold,” I argued. “It was lovely.” It was only then that I became scared, only then that the hairs on the back of my neck finally stood. I know what I had experienced. It had to be real, and yet, there was no explanation. Some could explain that my ghost encounters were a reflection of myself in the glass of the transoms, or that the sound of Aunt Edith was an echo from somewhere in the house or outside. They might explain that my experience in the labor room was a slip of consciousness. And they may be right. But one thing became clear to me in the weeks following childbirth: the ghosts themselves never scared me, and that warm place wasn’t scary. What scared me was that something I never thought was possible just might be. And I knew then that explanations are just a band-aid solution we use on our psyche to prevent us from believing something beyond the safety of our norm. I know enough to know that there is no proof I’ve seen dead people. And there is no proof that I’ve been beyond this realm, peeking into the next. I only have my story, and the fact that, to me, it was all quite real. It’s like Dumbledore says to Harry Potter, "Of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” Outside, the air is brisk, and the mood is haunting. Ghosts, goblins, and the spooktacular Halloween season is prime for a good scare. And whether what spooks us is born from fantasy or not, what makes the hairs on the back of our necks stand up doesn’t always need an explanation. Maybe spirits are closer than we think? Maybe the journey to the afterlife is luxurious? Maybe seeing beyond means seeing beyond what scares us and into possibilities safe from logic? What’s so scary about that? Maybe that’s the gift the pink lady was trying to give me. Originally published in New Orleans Magazine online, shared with permission by the author. Annie D. Stutley lives and writes in New Orleans, La. She edits several small publications and contributes to various print and online magazines. Her blog, " That Time You, " was ranked in the Top 100 Blogs by FeedSpot. To read more of her work, go to her website , or follow her at @anniedstutley or Annie D. Stutley-writer on Facebook. Previous Next

< Back 03/17/2022 What does a person do who is no longer learning to live, no longer learning to be ‘people’, no longer living other people’s lives? Such a person ‘reflects’…she reflects on what she’s learned, on how she’s lived, and on who she’s been. Does she have something to say that hasn’t already been said by countless others? Does she have something to do that hasn’t already been done? After 75 years, you’ve earned the right to make your own unique contribution to civilization. Now if I could just figure out what that unique contribution might be… More later… -David What does a person do who is no longer learning to live, no longer learning to be ‘people’, no longer living other people’s lives? Such a person ‘reflects’…she reflects on what she’s learned, on how she’s lived, and on who she’s been. Does she have something to say that hasn’t already been said by countless others? Does she have something to do that hasn’t already been done? After 75 years, you’ve earned the right to make your own unique contribution to civilization. Now if I could just figure out what that unique contribution might be… More later… -David Previous Next

< Back Burn the Candle Mark A. Villano "Are there things that are too precious to expose to real life? Things we’re afraid might get soiled? Maybe the most beautiful parts of ourselves? Maybe our faith?" There was a time when I really liked a particular piece of clothing, say a shirt or sweater or tie, I would never wear it. I liked it so much I wouldn’t wear it. Crazy, isn’t it? It wasn’t because there weren’t appropriate occasions to wear these things. I guess it was because I didn’t want them to get worn out. I wanted to preserve their specialness. But what happened instead is that they were so well preserved that they outlived their usefulness. At some point, I’d go to find something I was saving and then it would be out of style. Or my tastes had changed so that I didn’t want to wear it anymore. Like I said, crazy. Maybe this ran in my family. I remember a Christmas candle when I was young that never got lit. It was a very nice, pretty candle that would get packed away and would come back every year. One year, though, the candle came out and didn’t seem very pretty anymore. There was a film of dust and dirt (I think the technical term is crud ) all over it. So, eventually, it got pitched. It was thrown away without ever doing for us what it was supposed to do. Now those are just clothes and candles. But are there other things in life, other places in life where that can happen? Are there things that are too precious to expose to real life? Things we’re afraid might get soiled? Maybe the most beautiful parts of ourselves? Maybe our faith? Are the most truthful parts of us just like that beautiful family Bible that is stored on a shelf and never opened? As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothes yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. (Colossians 3:12-14) Faith has to get soiled. It has to get worn. The stories of our faith are meant to be a living word. If the stories of faith get filed away in the special drawer labeled "sacred," they become distant. They become hard to relate to. They become removed from the real world and lose their connection with real people and situations. They become less real. Less stories of faith and more like fairy tales. When they’re out in the open, there’s a chance we’ll see their significance and learn from them. When they only come out on special occasions, they’re less pressing, less important, less relevant. In the 15th year of the reign of emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Harold was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the Word of God came to John son of of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” (Luke 3:1-4) I wonder if things had already started to feel distant to Luke’s community. He was writing toward the end of the first century, in the 80s (yes, just “80s”). People had heard the stories of Jesus for a while. Did they begin to feel more distant, less real, even then? Luke begins his gospel making the point strongly that the events he’s talking about are historical. He doesn’t begin with the words “once upon a time.” This is not a bedtime story to lull you to sleep. No, he begins setting the time and context of these events in the real world. This happened in human history. It wasn’t that long ago. It happened when Tiberius was emperor, Pilate was governor, Herod was tetrarch, Caiaphas was high priest. In the real world, God spoke. We heard his voice. And it wasn’t in powerful political forces or influential religious leaders. It was in this wild man from the desert who said, “ Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” L ittle did we know how urgent and real that message was, that it truly was our paths he was talking about, the paths we travel every day. It was in the messiness of our lives that the Lord would come. The message for those who still hear these words is that God is still speaking. God’s mysterious presence is at work in the real world. Our world. We can hear it and we can be part of that movement of the spirit right where we are, right now. At this time in history, God speaks: I am coming to you. Excerpted from Time to Get Ready, an Advent, Christmas Reader to Wake Your Soul.Buy the book here. This blog was originally published on Night of Silence and was republished with permission. Mark A. Villano has an MDiv from Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. He has ministered at parishes and campus ministry centers across the country, including at the University of Texas, UCLS, Ohio State University, and Yale. He has an MFA from the School of Cinematic Arts at USC and served as Director of Creative Development at Paulist Productions. Currently, he is Director of Mission and Ministry at Marymount California University, south of Los Angeles. Previous Next

< Back Past, Present, Future David Cowles "So, it turns out that the universe did not have a lot of options when it came to structuring time." “The Past” does not exist – by definition. It consists of events that once happened or might have happened but are not happening now. “The Future” does not exist either – also by definition. It consists of events that will happen or may happen but have not yet happened and are not happening now. What exists is what is happening now, and neither the Past nor the Future is happening. That leaves “The Present”. According to post-modern deconstructionist, Jacques Derrida, the Present consists of all events (potential as well as actual) that are neither elements of the set of actual or possible past events nor elements of the set of actual or possible future events. Derrida follows the Via Negativa ; he defines the Present, not by what it is, but by what it is not. This scheme presupposes that every event is unique. No two events, however similar they may seem, can ever be the same event . Cosmic censorship will not allow an event to happen more than once. Among other things, this allows us to assign each unique event to a specified coordinate region. No two events can have the same coordinates. Otherwise, the world be irreparable chaotic: “…without form or shape, with darkness over the abyss and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters.” (Genesis 1: 2) While innumerable events could occur in any specified coordinate region, only one event does occur in that region. Broadly speaking, there are three popular models of time: Linear Time (e.g., the relentless progression of birthdays), Static Time (all events occur simultaneously), and Cyclical Time ( aka Eternal Recurrence). Eternal Recurrence (Nietzsche, et al.) presents some of the same philosophical problems as Time Travel. In the latter case, ‘the past’ is never a settled matter of fact. Instead of living their lives in the Present, time travelers focus on adjusting the Past to create a different Present . Of course, it’s a fool’s game because any modification of a past event, no matter how slight, can have unanticipated, and possibly catastrophic, consequences. Or it can also have no perceptible consequence at all. Either way it is unpredictable and therefore uncontrollable. Time can amplify or dampen, but it can never just conserve or repeat. Now suppose a time traveler were to go all the way back to the primordial event, Big Bang, and prevent that event from occurring: no universe…and no nosey parker to modify it. A universe in which time travel is a possibility is a universe that does not exist because it is self-erasing. With Eternal Recurrence, the Past cannot be modified but past events can pop back-up anywhere in spacetime. Here, too, the past is never totally in our rearview mirror. Unless the universe is micro-determined, the reoccurrence of a past event does not necessarily ensure that the future will repeat as well…but neither does it preclude such a possibility. And since the possibility is not precluded, we must assume that that will happen at some point. Once that happens, the universe will just ‘seize up’ eliminating any notion of novelty or freedom. So, it turns out that the universe did not have a lot of options when it came to structuring time. Time cannot be recursive! Whether we alter the past to change the present or bring the past forward in order to relive it, time would no longer include a real future, and without a real future, time would not be time. Cain left Eden to earn a degree in urban planning. Abram left Ur to find the Promised Land. Moses left Egypt to create a just society. Generations of Americans went west in pursuit of liberty and/or luxury. None of these ‘heroes’ had any interest in changing the past, or in conserving it for that matter. They understood life as perpetual change, and they sought to harness that change in pursuit of novelty and progress. Time Travel and Eternal Recurrence take that away. Progress is no longer a hope, a dream, a goal, or a project; now our future is found in our past. We look to improve the present not by building a new future but by resuscitating or modifying a spent past. It’s the myth of a Golden Age. Now back to the real world. A world with a non-degenerate dimension of time. This world – the world - consists exclusively of unique events, both actual and potential: (1) whatever happened or might have happened (Past), (2) whatever will or might yet happen (Future), and (3) whatever did not happen and could not happen either in the past or in the future (Present). Present events, then, are not at all like past or future events. The present is the realm of pure potential; it is ever fresh. The Present inherits the past and anticipates the future; therefore, no event is ever either random or determined. There are no efficient or final causes at work in the Present. Whatever happens in the Present is a function of free will, acting on the past (without changing it) and projecting toward the future (without limiting it). The great 20th century physicist, Richard Feynman, took an alternate route but, like Robert Frost, he ended up at the same destination. He defined the Present, positively (rather than negatively ), as the sum of everything that might have happened in the past, whether it did or did not, and everything that might happen in the future, whether it does or does not. He called this method, Sum over Histories . Relative to the actual past, the Present may appear random; relative to the actual future, the Present may appear irrelevant. But relative to a Past that includes everything that might have been, whether or not it was, the Present precludes randomness; likewise, relative to a Future that includes everything that might yet come to be, whether or not it does, precludes any repetition. Either way, you can’t go home again. The Present, as you can see, is stranded on an ontological island. Parodying a Christmas special, the Present is the island of misfit events . Neti, neti – neither past nor future, that is the present. The Present is not an alternate Past or, for that matter, an alternate Future. Since the Present consists of only those events that could not have happened in the past and that cannot happen in the future, the Present is unique – perhaps the paradigmatic example of uniqueness since any overlap with non-present events is strictly prohibited – again, by definition. Traditional Western metaphysics, according to Derrida, defines the Present positively in terms of “what is”. Borrowing from Exodus , chapter 3, the Present “is what is”, it is the “eternal now”. Derrida correctly, in my view, and bravely, acknowledges that any such positive metaphysics must inevitably point to the existence of God, which he, of course, being a 20th century intellectual, denies. To resolve this dilemma, Derrida suggests we define the Present negatively , in terms of what it is not. The question of what it is, if anything, is left open. Present becomes an undefined term in his ontology. ‘God’ is odd man out. In any event, this post-modern Present is not the infinitesimal point posited by Newtonian physics and illustrated on the Real Number Line. It may yet turn out to be an infinitesimal point, or more likely a Planck unit, in which case the set of the present events would have no members (it would be a null set); but we don’t know that yet. It is something to be discovered, not assumed. Our initial hypothesis must be that the Present is a region like the Past and the Future. If the region turns out to be empty, so be it. But ‘region’ implies ‘extension’. If the present occupies a region on the timeline, then presumably, it must have extension along that line. But that would mean that the present was a combination of past and future elements; it would not be ‘Present’ at all, at least not in Derrida’s sense of the word. I see protestors gathering outside my first-floor window. They’re singing songs and carrying signs, mostly saying: Save the Present. Sidebar : if you look closely, you can see that on many of the signs, the word “Present” has overwritten the scratched-out remnants of “Planet." One superannuated hippie is carrying a sign on which “Present” appears to have overwritten “Whales." There is only one way to salvage a real Present: you must assume that ‘Present’ denotes an extensive region on the timeline which, experienced internally, is timeless. Viewed from the outside, the so-called Present appears to have duration (a form of extension); but not when viewed from the inside. The Present is a process, but ‘process’ does not necessarily imply ‘sequence’. We are used to process unfolding in time. But it doesn’t have to be that way. There is no ontologically compelling reason why process needs to be a function of sequence or vice versa . Example : I am listening to the 5th Brandenburg Concerto. It takes about 20 minutes to perform. That performance occupies a place in the spacetime continuum and, if necessary, the experience can be analyzed minute by minute. But as soon as that happens, the Concerto itself disappears. We are no longer ‘experiencing the Concerto’, we are no longer in the Present; now we are dissecting measures written down 300 years ago and/or anticipating the experience of hearing the Concerto performed at a later date. We have allowed the Present to dissolve into the Past/Future. Subjectively, we incorporate the Past and the Future into our experiential Present as Faith and as Hope, respectively. If Anaximander is right and Being occurs only when potential entities self-actualize by giving each other ‘reck’, then the Present is constituted simply as Love. David Cowles is the founder and editor-in-chief of Aletheia Today Magazine. He lives with his family in Massachusetts where he studies and writes about philosophy, science, theology, and scripture. He can be reached at david@aletheiatoday.com . Previous Next