Hey there, I’ve just opened a new Facebook page for The Square Root of God.
Go check it out! And if you like me then like me!
Hey there, I’ve just opened a new Facebook page for The Square Root of God.
Go check it out! And if you like me then like me!
One is dead and the other in custody. The deed was done but the outcome not glorious. There is the waste and sadness.
Tonight, at our Jazz service in Rocheport, I spoke a little about the two brothers. I neither excused or explained their behavior. But I did wonder how things might have been if their lives were turned only fifteen or twenty degrees in another direction:
I wondered, in the aftermath of the great Boston drama of this week, what would have been different if those two terribly misguided young men had been led by an entirely different set of influences in their lives, different voices calling to them from the shore, insisting that the only way forward was to fish on the other side, the different way, a way toward peace, compassion and hope. If that were the case, I suspect that they would not have been those on the run in this story, creating mayhem on the way, but perhaps one of the responders or a voice for unity in their community. But no, for a myriad of reasons they had become infected with hate, hopelessness and revenge. And when your mind is infected with those things you will fish forever with nothing to show for it, except for an empty and fruitless life, one primed for frustration and destruction.
The text of the evening was from John 21, the story of the risen Jesus suggesting that the disciples fish on the other side of the boat. So often we will not and do not and we come out empty handed, or worse with blood on them. But ever so often hearts and heads are turned and remarkable things happen. It happens in places just like Boston, here, there, everywhere.
After two years in the making another book by yours truly has arrived:
The Square Root of God:
Mathematical Metaphors and Spiritual Tangents
If you would like to explore the background of this playful excursion into the shared worlds of numbers and the sacred feel free to browse the the website.
Should you want one of your very own, the paperback and Kindle e-book versions are both available on Amazon:
And now I borrow and paraphrase some truth-telling words from Michael Tatum, who, when confronted with a Boston, can’t think a thought one inch lower than these:
There is a peace we seek, a peace that defines the very nature of life, the very nature of existence. It is a divine peace that sweeps across the heavens in a flaming arc, illuminating the world in its wake; a peace that defies all logic and reason, thoroughly unattainable and undefinable; a peace that is holy and divine in its beauty, in which we may find hope for our humanity, an ultimate and unattainable peace that is always love.
Well, I finally bit the bullet, so to speak, and obtained my own personal nuclear bomb. By sheer luck I found at the same time a great rocket launcher on eBay – just perfect. I was amazed how it all fit in my custom silo in my back yard. I am, as they say, the envy of the neighborhood. Or perhaps the dread of them. Either way, I feel much safer now and ready for all comers.
I obtained my personal nuclear bomb at the nuclear bomb show. Lots of people like me frequent them and its a blast (dang I’m good!) to just see everything that’s available and have the technical people there to assist you with helpful information and practical advise.
Of course, you’ll always have some nay sayers around. Some of my neighbors went so far as to protest my new acquisition. Can you imagine? Like, keep your nose out of my business. If you feel that insecure go get one of your own. If everybody had one people would stop bitching about what their neighbor has or doesn’t have. People can be so petty.
I was coming home last night from my NNA (National Nuclear Association) meeting and thinking real hard about the Second Amendment again. Our founding fathers put that there for a reason, and it’s to protect ordinary citizens like me from having our rights messed with. The right to bear arms. Could that be any more clear? What about that clause do you not understand?
I have the right to bear arms to protect me and mine. The form it takes – its capacity and size – is beside the point. I have that right. And all the attempts to regulate my possession of it – like background checks or limiting the scope of weapons that are permitted – is just another way for big government to stomp on me. Let me tell you something. We’ve got lobbyists up there in Washington to advocate for our rights. And there’s lots, I mean lots of money behind them. We get people elected and we take them down. So, Mr. or Mrs. Representative or Senator, we’re watching and when Christmas comes we’re going to see if you’ve been naughty or nice.
But I don’t want to go into that today. I just want to sit here and enjoy freedom, pure and simple. It’s good to be free in the U.S.A. I’m just enjoying my personal nuclear devise, my right to bear arms and being an American. It’s a good day, a great day and I’m happy to be safe and alive.
It’s our pleasure to host the Celtic Fusion couple, Matt and Shannon Heaton in concert at Broadway Christian Church, Thursday, April 18, 7:00 p.m. Tickets are $10 and may be purchased online by clicking here or at the door.
Come join us for an evening of story, song, Irish flute, guitar, accordion and the whole traditional Irish-Celtic music experience.
To read more about Matt and Shannon and listen to some of their music browse their website.
I’m becoming a presidential biography junkie. It will not always be so, but I’m passing through a phase. Humor me: Lincoln, Kennedy, Eisenhower, Carter, Roosevelt, Jefferson … I’m ticking them off. Yes, it can be addicting. And I can tell you why it is, at least for me.
With every administration, and the life that led to and from it, I am allowing conversations to take place between the presidents. Each had particular challenges. But all shared some fundamental similarities. Most of those had to do with the difficulty of governing with great opposition. They often led after being elected by very slim margins. National crisis paradoxically brought about greater unity and increased powers. Times of relative ease brought out the spoiled worst of the electorate. What we characterize as liberal or conservative today had a very different meaning in the past. In many cases the parties have traded places in terms of political positions. And each man (yes, to date all men!), without exception, was a product of his own time.
A few cases in point:
Kennedy, the reformer of civil rights, was a hardliner when it came to the Soviets, having witnessed his own father being disastrously soft with Hitler. Ike, supreme commander of Allied forces in the second world war, having witnessed the horrors of war, was diligent about staying clear of committing prematurely to armed conflict and bloating the military. FDR, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, became a traitor to his own privileged class, became assertive when it came to the role of government in solving social crisis during the great depression. Jefferson, intellectual and consummate diplomat, discovered quickly that the anti-monarchy sentiments reflected in the Declaration of Independence inhibited the kind of muscular leadership needed to guide a new nation.
All of these remarkable persons, each flawed in his own way, responded to the challenges at hand, often steering clear of the mistakes that preceded them and over-correcting as they erred to the other side.
From the confidence of a Roosevelt to the insecure brilliance of a Jefferson, each person brought themselves to the moment. Some went out with a bang and others with a whimper. But they all played their imperfect and necessary part.
These larger than life persons, made so through a combination of public persona and rare circumstance, are reminders of the roles we all play in the time and space we occupy. It is a drama of life and death, success and failure, strength and weakness, harmony and conflict. If I have learned anything it is that one cannot possibly understand the challenges and burdens of another without moving closely into their orbit, sliding into their moccasins and and listening to their story. I usually find some hints of tragedy and redemption there. And when I listen very carefully I hear the voice of the eternal as we pass like shades through history.
I close with the poem that Patty Jefferson, young wife of Thomas, wrote as she lay dying in Monticello:
Time wastes too fast: every letter
I trace tells me with what rapidity
life follows my pen. The days and hours
of it are flying over our heads like
clouds of windy day never to return
more every thing presses on
and every
time I kiss thy hand to bid adieu, every absence which
follows it, are preludes to that eternal separation
which we are shortly to make
(Sterne, Tristram Shandy)
This week we heard of the suicide of the son of Rick Warren, pastor of Saddleback church in southern California. The megachurch pastor has perhaps the greatest visibility among the new evangelicals of the past decade. His son was in his upper twenties and had struggled with depression for a long time. What anguish. Who can name the sorrow?
This has found its way to the news, of course, because of Warren’s notoriety. Somewhere else this week another young man whose name we do not know took his life. The only difference was the public profile of his parents. He was not in the public eye. Perhaps his father worked at the bakery, his mother carried mail for the post office. His life ended but without a news flash. A few gathered in the funeral home to give condolences.
I thought the same this week with the murder of a young women in the diplomatic corps, Anne Smedinghoff, serving in Afghanistan. She was twenty five. She had chosen to place herself in a high-risk vocation in a high-risk place. Her idealism took her there. And it went badly. What anguish for her parents. But we hear nothing of another twenty five year old who was murdered on the same day in one of our American cities. She was walking to a bus stop, or out of a crack house, or through the park, or sitting in her living room. We don’t know her name because her life was not on display, public, much to take note of.
For every public mention of a tragedy there are hundreds of un-public ones just like it. They are no less tragic, gut-wrenching for family, filled with remorse that there are no do-overs.
So on this day, or for that matter any day that I hear of a tragedy, a public shame, a catastrophe that hits the news, I will lift up the sparks for that situation and those people. But I will, at the same time, lift up parallel prayers for the nameless, the ones off the public radar screen, the just and unjust upon whom the rain has fallen in torrents.
I know, Anna, that you are curious. You’ve heard about my book-in-process (for the past two years) and want to know more. Thanks for your curiosity. Speaking of curiosity, I believe it is a deeply embedded human capacity that leads us to that beyond ourselves, whether in the realm of science or the spirit or both. Three cheers for that which sometimes kills the cat, which it occasionally does.
As you know by now, it is entitled The Square Root of God: Mathematical Metaphors and Spiritual Tangents. Even before it’s been published a group has invited me to make a presentation on it at their conference. Good luck to me, or better put, Lord have mercy on me.
I know you have just bitten off enough for a taste. Let me give you an appetizer, something to stimulate your appetite for more. It is a portion of Billy Collins’ poem, Questions About Angels:
Of all the questions you might want to ask
about angels, the only one you ever hear
is how many can dance on the head of a pin …
It is designed to make us think in millions,
billions, to make us run out of numbers
and collapse into infinity