mice in spain

I’ve never been to Spain, but this fall I sent four of my special personal representatives. I recently received an e-mail reporting that all four had started having sex with multiple partners. Was I concerned? No—I was delighted. Let me explain, but it’s kind of a long story.

In 1975, my freshman year of high school, I had surgery to remove a grapefruit-sized cancerous tumor from my abdomen. Chemotherapy and radiation therapy followed. A sample of the tumor was sent from Madison to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, to try to figure out what kind of tumor it was (by the way, pay attention to the places mentioned in this story). The tumor was finally identified as a paraganglioma. Since I’m told that Mayo never throws away people’s tumors, it’s probably still in a warehouse someplace. Paraganglioma is rare and, fortunately, sometimes survivable. Paraganglioma is also a kind of cancer that has the nasty habit of recurring years later. I set that thought aside and pretty much ignored it (we would cue the ominous low sustained cello note if this was the screenplay).

Anyway, although I don’t remember it too clearly (being blindly in love at the time), I’m told that my parents had me go through some scans right before I was married in 1983. I guess this was to make sure that they weren’t going to be accused by my future in-laws of providing damaged goods to their daughter (ha—little did they know!). The scans, though crude, turned out negative, so the wedding proceeded with pomp and flair.

As life played out, I became a molecular biologist. In fact, I was influenced by my cancer experience. In the end, though I had intended to be an MD/PhD physician, I decided to become a research scientist in the lab. I maintained my interest in the molecules within cells, and how these molecules misbehave in cancer. Actually, the cancer part was a more of a stretch—I was really much more interested in the molecules. My surgical scar and I went through PhD training in Madison and post-doctoral training in Pasadena. I began my career as an Assistant Professor at age 30, starting four years at the University of Nebraska Medical Center.

So in 1995, perhaps strangely, we found ourselves moving to Rochester, Minnesota and the Mayo Clinic (remember that name?). It was admittedly sort of a weird choice for a fundamental research scientist like me to move to a more clinical research setting. Call me unconventional, or maybe call the whole thing pre-ordained. Whatever. With wife and two daughters we moved. I resigned at Nebraska and accepted Mayo’s unique no-signature verbal job offer, and then calmly underwent Mayo’s pre-employment physical. Now to those unfamiliar with the world-famous Mayo Clinic, a Mayo physical is unlike a physical anywhere else in the world (in fact, this is literally true). No stone was left unturned. When my interesting juvenile cancer history was mentioned, the already-stunningly-rigorous physical was revved up into a real barnburner. And guess what? They found stuff. To our dismay, the summer of 1995 quickly turned from relocation party to nightmare. A cancer recurrence was discovered in my abdomen, and that was the good news. The bad news was the discovery of metastatic cancer at sites in the bones of my skull and pelvis. We had no way of knowing at the time if this was to be a fast-progressing disaster, or a slow motion (and hopefully boring) epic. The original high school surgery was 20 years (to the day) from the date of the new Mayo diagnosis. We had genuine concern that Mayo would rescind their job offer (again the damaged goods) and that Nebraska wouldn’t want me back.

In the end, things got boring. The cancer is taking its time. Over the intervening 13 years I have survived with only the inconveniences of a couple surgeries, skull radiation, a bald spot, hip radiation, and plenty of expensive scans and tests. Inconvenience is the right word, since all of this has happened within a few minutes walk of my research laboratory. The world famous Mayo Clinic has invested big time in tinkering with my health. I’m not complaining about it.

Several years ago I had an interesting gene test. It turns out that paraganglioma tumors are both rare and mysterious. My endocrinologist knew of my scientific interests, and mentioned to me that there was new evidence that certain genes seemed to be broken in the paraganglioma tumors. In fact, people that carried one of the broken genes were at especially high risk of occasionally losing the other gene in some of their cells. Loss of the second copy somehow seemed to cause paraganglioma. Remember that (warning: deliberate oversimplification) genes are coded recipes telling the cells of the body how to make different protein machines. We get one copy of each of our 25,000 or so genes from dad, and an entirely separate copy from mom. The gene test was based on a truly bizarre discovery. The broken recipe related to paraganglioma was code for a cell machine needed to effectively extract energy from blood sugar. Without these machines, a cell gets only a tiny bit of bang from each sugar molecule, and the rest goes needlessly to waste (kind of like buying a can of Red Bull energy drink, taking a sip, and then pouring the rest down the drain). This seems like a heck of a poor way to run a tumor. After all, tumors are growing fast. They are mean. It seems like they should be super efficient about extracting every bit of sweet energy from sugar, right? Not so much. Paradoxically, loss of this fancy-sounding machine (warning: deliberate use of science jargon) “succinate dehydrogenase” actually hastens the onset of paraganglioma cancers. The gene test showed me that my father had (quite by accident he assures me) passed on to me a broken succinate dehydrogenase B gene, and at least one of my cells had mismanaged the remaining copy at some point, letting the cancer get started (I currently blame this genetic mismanagement on disorientation induced by the cavity-prone years of middle school).

Though my lab interests remained focused on other kinds of molecular machines, I found the idea that inept cellular sugar digestion could cause cancer to be irresistibly bizarre. And to my great fortune, one of my pioneering graduate students, Emily H. Smith, also found it irresistibly bizarre. So irresistible (and/or bizarre), in fact, that she did her PhD thesis research by engineering smaller organisms to have the same genetic defect as her mentor (OK, bizarre is the better word). She made considerable progress by studying lowly baker’s yeast cells. This friendly domesticated single-celled microorganism is a wonderful lab subject with its fully sequenced and cataloged genes, its ease of manipulation, and its willingness to grow fast and furiously on cheap nutrients in Petri dishes. This is not to mention the billions of yeast that selflessly offer up their lives for bread products every day (cultural diversity note: the yeast are given a fungal reprieve at Passover in observant Jewish homes). Anyway, Emily H. Smith discovered and published that there were several very interesting problems going on inside yeast cells when the succinate dehydrogenase B machines were broken. Some of the ideas might even make it to further tests for relevance to human tumors someday, even though (regrettably) yeast cells don’t seem to get cancer.

So what does this have to do with Spain? It turns out that Emily H. Smith’s other project was to make a different small organism with the same gene problem that I have. Emily H. Smith built mice like me. Mind you, they still look like normal brownish lab mice (much to our relief, and to theirs). Having worked for some years with lab mice, I must admit that I have pulled rank and left the breeding, care and feeding of these (warning: deliberate use of science jargon) gene-trapped heterozygous succinate dehydrogenase B disruption mice to (now Dr.) Emily H. Smith (now PhD), and her capable protégé, Emily M. Bystry (yes, it is confusing that they are both named Emily). I also must admit that I have sometimes peeked into the mouse lab to look appreciatively at these mice that (unwillingly) share an aspect of my genetic blueprint. Anyway, the hypothesis was that at least some of these innocent mice would, like me, get paraganglioma tumors. Then we could use the animals to study ideas for new therapies and all sorts of exciting things (and get rich and famous). Not so much. The mice have so far had the last laugh, I mean squeak. After months of breeding, and plenty of invested time and money, the animals refuse to mismanage their remaining succinate dehydrogenase B genes, and they are living to ripe old ages and dying of other things (like ripe old age). We’ve even made new super-duper versions of the mice that should be especially prone to losing their remaining succinate dehydrogenase B gene copies. A whole colony of these fancier mice are up in the mouse lab now, also, unfortunately, living happily to ripe old ages without paraganglioma.

I suppose not many scientists actually care much about paraganglioma. It is a rare and bizarre disorder. But guess what—there are paraganglioma enthusiasts in Seville, Spain. And they have bred special mice. Their mice have a different kind of broken succinate dehydrogenase gene (succinate dehydrogenase D), and their mice are also kicking back and living to ripe old ages without dying of paraganglioma (although I am told that they are surviving in a more exotic environment where it doesn’t get to -80˚ F outside when it’s winter). So what do research groups on two different continents do when they both have fancy mice that were expensive to make but uncooperative about getting cancer as intended? Correct—they try to figure out a way to intermingle the two kinds of broken succinate dehydrogenase genes (B and D) to double the chance that the mice will get the cancer. Conveniently, it turns out that mice have devised and perfected a great solution to this challenge: it’s called mating. The only trick is to get some of the Rochester heterozygous succinate dehydrogenase B mice to make the trip to meet (and greet…) the charming and comely specialty heterozygous succinate dehydrogenase D mice of Seville, Spain. We haven’t yet figured out how to accomplish this using the internet (we’ve asked Google to start working on it).

It was a warm (but not-too-warm) fall day when a very expensive air mail shipment of four male gene-trapped heterozygous succinate dehydrogenase B mice were sealed into a pleasant ventilated container with bedding, food and water, and driven to the Rochester airport. When I say expensive, I’m not kidding. It would have literally been cheaper for both Dr. Emily H. Smith, PhD and Emily M. Bystry to buy round-trip tickets to Seville, Spain, and carry the four males (mice) distributed among their carry-on bags (my thought had been to use 1-quart capacity zip-lock bags—and claim, if challenged, that mice are somewhere between gels and liquids). I also briefly toyed with the idea of installing a wireless web cam in the shipping cage to see what kinds of experiences the boys had with the TSA officers en route, not to mention the customs agents in Spain. Given the expense, the unpredictable jostling, and the potential for extended siesta time stranded on the sunny Mediterranean tarmac, it was with some considerable relief that I received an e-mail from my Spanish colleagues informing me that the guys had arrived safely and were “in quarantine.” This brought to mind an image of the Apollo astronauts looking out from a silver trailer window on an aircraft carrier after returning from the moon. Fortunately, like the astronauts, the four Rochester banditos emerged within a week without anything contagious. It wasn’t long before I got the second e-mail that I mentioned at the start of this story (obviously gaining enviable dramatic impact by leaving out the detail that I was talking about mice).

Based on past experience I’m not holding my breath about paraganglioma incidence among the spawn of this mousey Rochester-Seville junket. I do wonder if the four guys (now tired and smiling and the founders of their very own colony) recall their lives in the staid confines of Rochester. I suspect they still have their attention focused on the mousey heterozygous succinate dehydrogenase D females of Seville. Like I said, I’m not holding my breath. I won’t be at all surprised if the mice will again refuse to succumb to paraganglioma. One of these days I expect to get an e-mail from my Spanish colleagues conveying (with the appropriate euphemism en Español) that the new succinate dehydrogenase B/D hybrid mice are all living to a ripe old age (in Spain).

11/08

mid-life

Some years call us to dream of the future while other years remind us to take stock and reflect. 2008 brought so many moments for reflection that I have captured some impressions—partly for me, and partly to share with two daughters who can’t yet imagine what it will be like to turn 48 and face rather surprising emotions.

Despite a thousand reasons to be thankful, there was something about grieving in the air during 2008. I felt it repeatedly and was caught off guard. Grieving implies tragic or unexpected loss. Why should there be any sense of grief in my well-cared-for life, filled with grace and countless undeserved blessings? Yet there it was, a lingering sense of sorrow, maybe even regret, maybe even despair?

After thinking hard about the significant hurdles of the year, I have realized that each of us who is given the chance to reach mid life will encounter grief and regret about who we are, and about the set of choices that brought us here. I recognized four realities this year.

I live in an aging body. Reaching 48 means realizing that I will never in this life be young again. This is a physical reality. I used to enjoy jogging for exercise. Now sore joints plague even casual running. The mirror tells me that an imagined exercise plan could never really restore fitness. Cancer treatments have also left marks on my life by marking my body. Abdominal scars tighten and disfigure. Skull radiation has left a hairless patch. Radiation to the hip has created an unnatural skin darkening. There is constant uncertainty about the origin of new twinges here and there. My body has served me well, but it is starting to wear out. Admiration for its intricacies and complexities is now tempered by my recognition that it was designed to fail—eventually. There is a sense of grief and despair in beginning to say goodbye to my own body.

I am also an aging scientist. In younger professional life we convince ourselves that we may one day be famous. As a researcher, I have kept set before me a course full of challenges intended to demonstrate professional achievement: conceiving clever laboratory experiments to understand and manipulate cellular engineering, publishing impressive articles, winning prestigious research grants in competition with my peers, traveling and gaining the recognition of other scientists. Reaching these goals has made legends of some of my colleagues in science. Yet 2008 reminded me that these professional dreams are both fleeting and elusive. Few achieve much notoriety. Those who do often pay dearly for it. In truth, my research career is unlikely to bring me fame. As I get older my ideas are seldom fresh or daring. Too often I read of the experiments of others probing questions I had once intended to study. Choices I made about where to work and how to balance career and home have set me on a course that is not likely to change. There is little chance that I will make discoveries that will inspire many others or revolutionize our ideas about life and health. There is a sense of grief and despair in saying goodbye to the career dreams of my youth.

I am getting to be an old musician too. Every young rocker joins a garage band and every garage band dreams of trading life’s certainties for a daring career on the road. We imagine living in the emotions of our audiences, traveling, playing, riding on a magic carpet of adrenaline and euphoria in our music. I’ve been playing almost all my life, and a little piece of me has always been living in that dream. What if I were to be a professional musician? Could I make it? Wouldn’t it be fantastic to work with the most talented of the talented, the best and the most creative? 2008 saw me again acting as a part-time music promoter to bring some of my favorite performing artists to our community to share with my friends and our church family. It can be painful and poignant to realize that the lives of these artists are the lives we will never have. Maybe we don’t really want those lives, and maybe this becomes more clear when we meet these guests, but there is always that other voice inside saying “What if? Why not? Is it too late?” There is a sense of grief and despair for a musician to realize that he will never be a professional and that his craft will always be shabby. I must bid farewell to the musical dreams of my youth.

I have been in love with the same person for all of my adult life. The “mid-life crisis” is most famous for the toll it takes on marriages. 2008 marked 25 years of marriage for Laura and me. In fact, we’ve enjoyed each other for all of 29 years. Our daughters are now sophomores in college and high school. We had planned a romantic getaway to Mackinac Island for our 30-year anniversary, but found ourselves accelerating our timing and taking the trip this past summer. I became aware more powerfully that I have indeed chosen to love Laura for the rest of our lives. More importantly, I have chosen to be exclusive about my love for her. I may have female friends, some of them very dear, but I have chosen Laura as my mate while we both live. The implications of this vow seemed simple on a warm July day in 1983. Now I am better coming to terms with what it means to say that I really am committed to limiting my dreams and desires to this one person. I revel in a life where my intimacies and ecstasies will forever and always be about the wife of my youth. Time and choices have closed all but one door for me. Yes, in brutal honesty I must admit that there is a sense of regret in saying goodbye to the dream of some other mysterious mate.

Grief? Despair? Regret? Yes, I guess these really are the correct words if I am to be truthful about this life and this year. Natural instincts easily lead to mid-life melancholy if there is no source of external strength or purpose. Mid life is truly a dangerous place if one lives in an existential world: one faces an ever-growing proportion of life’s dreams that will never come true.
———

But wait. The sense of resignation also led to new discoveries—it was a year where grief and despair pointed to a much deeper and unthreatened joy. Mine is a life filled with external strength. I have been given what would be impossible without Him whose love for me brings purpose, meaning and significance to each choice and sacrifice.

“You know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met. Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow.” Matthew 6:33-34.

“Whoever wants to be great must become a servant. Whoever wants to be first among you must be your slave. That is what the Son of Man has done: he came to serve, not to be served—and then to give away his life in exchange for the many who are held hostage.” Matthew 20:27-28

“We neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing.” Ephesians 2:9-10.

This body of mine was designed to last for just a flicker of time so that I could be prepared to know Him with whom I will share timelessness. I am like a caterpillar regretting the impending chrysalis—unaware of the reality of glorious wings, flowers and warm breezes to come. This body is serving me well enough.

A life in science is about building relationships with people. My career is a worthy end in itself if it allows me to portray integrity and honesty. The way that I conduct my work is more important than the work I conduct. Resiliency and enthusiasm are priceless, regardless of who is watching or noticing. This is because the One who matters is always watching and noticing.

Who am I trying to fool by thinking that I would trade all of the people and relationships of my life for the allure of the touring musician? What a crazy idea. I have been given almost all the joys of music with few of the sacrifices. I was made to offer praise, and I have been privileged to serve by making music. If I never played another note, would I have any reason for sadness or regret?

I have been blessed beyond all measure by finding in Laura the answer to my every seeking for warmth, romance and giving. She is to be the object and target for my love and affection, and for my sacrifice. The balance of my life is not about what some other woman might have given to me—it is about what more I can give to the wife of my youth.

Yes, 2008 has taught me that grief and despair can be found even in the most blessed of lives. These emotions are natural and could easily overwhelm me at mid life. Yet if I focus on the many things I will never be, I deny focus on the purposes for which I have been created. Beyond grief, despair and regret is a rich and unfathomable joy. It reminds me that true satisfaction is found in doing and being those things for which I was designed. My daughters, when you find yourselves in my place, and that day will come so very soon, remember that you were not made for yourselves, but for Him.


11.08

living with cancer

Some may know that I have been living with a form of cancer called malignant paraganglioma. My first abdominal surgery, radiation and chemotherapy were 33 years ago. Upon moving to Rochester 13 years ago it was discovered that the tumor had recurred and spread as metastases to the bones of my skull and pelvis. Radiation therapy and more surgery followed. It was the warm embrace of the people of Autumn Ridge Church in 1995 that brought the peace of Christ to our young family during this terrifying time.

Without pain, the cancer continues to slowly show up in my skeleton as revealed by annual scans. This fall it became necessary to treat one of the sites of tumor growth in my hip. This involved 7 weeks of daily radiation therapy. There was no pain, but plenty of discomfort (and self-pity) associated with intestinal upset due to internal radiation damage.

The treatments have concluded and I want to mention a few of the reflections I shared with close friends at a celebration dinner we hosted recently.

I was reminded that when one person in a family is suffering, the whole family suffers.

The Lord showed me that, despite my own self-pity, I am surrounded by suffering people. Even during my 7 weeks of discomfort I became aware of many close friends carrying difficult burdens that made my own problems fade into insignificance. The day of my last treatment, my wife Laura learned that what appeared to be a minor skin lesion was malignant melanoma, though apparently detected early.

I became immensely thankful for the gift of music and for the wonderful family of Autumn Ridge musicians whose love and concern means more than they will every know. I found that making music provided a beautiful distraction from my self-concerns.

I learned how precious it is when one’s children have matured to the point that they no longer must be shielded from difficult realities. Our two daughters are now women whose prayers and actions comfort Laura and me.

I was reminded that suffering, even minor suffering, draws one closer to Christ and inspires authentic emotion and spiritual vision. Lyrics come alive. Tears are more frequent. Colors take on deeper hues.

I was touched by the depth of friendship and love of the people I too often take for granted. The kind words and patient actions of Tim and April Rowe meant so much 13 years ago, and so much now. As a radiotherapy supervisor in the unit where I was treated, our precious friend Mollie Baker was a constant source of joy, comfort, and good humor—a profound provision for our family.

Finally, I was reminded of the undeserved grace I have been shown in this life through God’s gift of Laura, the wife of my youth, now the wife of my middle age.

God’s grace and mercy are given in many ways, Some become particularly clear by living with cancer.



Autumn Ridge Church RidgeLines

10.08

lessons from Galileo: a summer discussion with undergraduates

For a related video recording, please click here

It is a real joy for me to be able to be with you this evening to share some ideas and to engage in some discussion. I’m a Christian and I’m a scientist, and I’ve chosen a topic that blends these two facts. It’s a topic that I hope you will also find interesting.

Besides being a Christian and a scientist, I’m also a dad with a daughter in college. I’m so pleased that Liz is here tonight with a number of her friends. Speaking as a dad, there is something I need to say right away, and right from my heart. On behalf of all of your parents, I want you to know how much we love you, and how much we miss you! Learning to let go of you is just about the hardest lesson we parents are facing. We are so proud of you!

I was raised in a church-going home, and was quite devout and religious as I grew up. Although I believed in God and had been baptized and confirmed, the truth is, I had little knowledge of God or the Bible. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that a friend challenged me to explain the basis for my faith. When I described it to him, we both realized that I believed I had to constantly earn God’s love, and I needed to bargain with God for everything. I believed, like very many people, that God would bless me if I was good, and punish me if I was bad. Getting to heaven meant being more good than bad. It had never occurred to me that God’s standard might be perfect goodness, or that God might love me unconditionally. My friend shared a small booklet written by Billy Graham. It explained the idea that God’s love for me was extreme, and that Christ had died for my sins, to pay my lifetime of debts once and for all. Accepting that gift creates a bridge back to intimacy with my heavenly father. I was amazed by this offer, and I prayed a prayer of acceptance that changed my life. I am deeply thankful for God’s unconditional love, and for my savior’s willingness to die on the cross in my place.

And I love science. My father was a geology professor at the University of Wisconsin—Madison, so I have always been exposed to science and scientific thinking. I did my undergraduate and PhD training in molecular Biology at UW—Madison, and then I did my postdoctoral fellowship at Caltech. At age 30 I took my first job as an assistant professor at the University of Nebraska Medical Center. I moved my lab here to Mayo Clinic in 1995. I love doing molecular biology research, and I love working with PhD students. I enjoy the vibrancy of young people, about your age, and the crucial questions and decisions and dynamic changes my students face. It is a very exciting time of life, and the chance to invest in my students as their mentor is a joy and a privilege.

I grew up in a world where evolutionary theory and an ancient earth were important scientific truths. When I became a Christian and started to carefully study the Bible, I met loving people who had decided that a high view of the Bible meant rejecting modern scientific views about the origin of our universe and the origin of humans. I temporarily jumped from one side of the fence to the other, assuming that Darwinian theories could not be correct and that I had no choice but to become a creationist or a proponent of what came to be known as Intelligent Design.

What I want to do this evening is to depart from that topic for a while, and talk about something else. I loved the history of science courses I took as an undergraduate, and tonight’s topic will start with history of science before eventually getting us back to where we started. Bear with me.

Two things motivated me to choose this evening’s topic. The first was a series of conversations I’ve had with Liz during her time so far as an undergraduate at the University of Minnesota. She has a number of Christian friends, and she and I have both been dismayed to hear that many of them avoid taking college courses in geology or even biology because they are afraid to be taught about evolutionary theory. The concern seems to be that even hearing about this scientific topic is somehow evil and dangerous. What an unfortunate attitude! What does this fear say about curiosity and the search for truth? Why do we go to college anyway? Isn’t it possible that there is more to learn than what we already know? Couldn't some ideas be bigger and more profound than we previously thought? I was disturbed to think that Christians are afraid to learn more about nature and science and technology. How else can we understand what really is true? Shouldn’t we listen and sift, using our minds and our God-given intellect to determine honestly for ourselves what is real? After all, college should be the one time when we get to decide what we believe (and why), so we don’t unquestioningly inherit what our parents believe. Remember, somebody’s paying a lot for you to have this college experience! So I was annoyed.

Second, I read two wonderful books this spring. I recommend both to you with great enthusiasm. You can get them from amazon.com. The first is:

Francis S. Collins. The Language of God: a scientist presents evidence for belief. Free Press, New York, NY. 2006.

This excellent book is by the molecular biologist who managed the publicly-funded human genome project to sequence, for the first time, the 3 billion base pairs of human DNA. Collins is a wonderful and thoughtful Christian believer. Like some of the Christian professors who influenced me at UW—Madison, Collins is committed to the Bible and he is not a creationist. This book is extremely helpful, and I urge all of you to read it. In fact, a section of the book gave me the idea for my talk this evening. It is called “Lessons from Galileo.”

The other book that influenced me is actually about Galileo. It is:

Dava Sobel. Galileo’s Daughter: a historical memoir of science, faith and love. Penguin Books, New York, NY. 2000.

This tremendous book collects actual letters written to the famous Italian scientist, Galileo, from his daughter in her convent. The book gave me the opportunity to review Galileo’s life, and I drew some conclusions that I wish to share this evening.

After we briefly review the historical record of Galileo’s life and scientific contributions, I want to remind us of his spiritual legacy. I’ll let you connect the dots from this discussion to the issue I mentioned at the beginning. Finally I’ll suggest some key principles drawn from the story of Galileo.

I want to emphasize that my comments this evening represent my own opinions. I will quote some famous people, but my presentation is not meant to imply that these views are officially shared by our hosts this evening, or by my church. I feel strongly about these ideas, but I feel even more strongly about other things that I know more certainly. I know more certainly that my savior Jesus Christ loves me, and died for me, and that his death has rescued me, and, amazingly, his death makes me clean in God’s eyes. We can enjoy lively debate about science and origins, but these are not nearly so important as understanding how to come into personal relationship with the God of this universe.

To understand Galileo and the momentous importance of his scientific and spiritual contributions, we need to dust off a bit of scientific history. We’ll start with Ptolemy, a Roman scientific philosopher who, around 83 AD, published his geocentric model for the solar system (and the entire universe, for that matter). The study of cosmology has much more ancient roots, but Ptolemy captured the western thought of his age: both our physical experience and our healthy egos make it clear that the earth is stationary and everything moves around us.

Duh.

This core truth is self-evident, and we just have to work out the details of predicting the movement of sun, moon and stars in celestial spheres that move around us. Those pesky planets (the “wandering stars” whose motions break the rules) were just minor exceptions to Ptolemy.

The geocentric cosmology made sense with experience and with our human perception that the universe is about us. This model was also consistent with the language used by the biblical writers (more on that in a few minutes). Ptolemy’s views held sway for almost another millennium and a half. Then things changed.

To put the matter in context, recall that the brilliant artist and scholar Leonardo da Vinci lived from 1452-1519. Shortly afterwards the equally brilliant Polish scientist, Copernicus, put into writing something that had intrigued other (less daring) western scientists for centuries—the concept of a heliocentric solar system. In fact, Arab, Greek, Indian, and likely Chinese philosophers had been toying with these ideas as well. In 1543 Copernicus argued that a heliocentric model for the solar system could account at least as well as the geocentric view for the phenomena we observe in the sky during the day and night. The sun, not the earth, might be the stationary object.

With hindsight, it is fascinating to read about how the Copernican model was viewed by his contemporaries. One of them was Martin Luther, who was busy inventing Protestantism. Luther, who lived from 1483-1546, was not a fan of Copernicus or his idea that earth orbits the sun. Luther wrote:

"There is talk of a new astrologer who wants to prove that the earth moves and goes around instead of the sky, the sun, the moon, just as if somebody were moving in a carriage or ship might hold that he was sitting still and at rest while the earth and the trees walked and moved. But that is how things are nowadays: when a man wishes to be clever he must . . . invent something special, and the way he does it must needs be the best! The fool wants to turn the whole art of astronomy upside-down. However, as Holy Scripture tells us, so did Joshua bid the sun to stand still and not the earth."

What else was going on in 1543? It was a busy time for science, religion, and culture. John Calvin lived from 1509-1564, and William Shakespeare from 1564-1616. They were both contemporaries of Copernicus.

Then we get to Galileo and our story for tonight. Born in the same year as Shakespeare, the Italian scientist Galileo Galilei lived from 1564-1642. More than a philosopher of science, Galileo was an observational scientist. By this I mean that he invented scientific instruments that revolutionized his ability to observe the universe. With the ability to see the universe more clearly came fresh evidence, not just opinions, about truth. It was this evidence, and the conclusions he drew from it, that got Galileo into trouble.

Galileo built a refracting telescope in 1609, when he was 46 years old. This changed everything.

Galileo used his telescope to observe the night sky. Though it wasn’t a very good instrument by modern standards, it revealed evidence that shook the Ptolemeic cosmology. Galileo observed sunspots that challenged the notion of heavenly perfection. More amazing, he observed, for the first time, that there were moons around the planet Jupiter. In a wonderfully detailed set of observations, Galileo discovered that Jupiter’s moons circled…Jupiter! Not everything in the heavens need circle the earth. Maybe our planet isn’t…gulp…the center of everything after all. Galileo’s thorough, and thoughtful, observations and writings helped to establish the Copernican view as very likely. The retrograde planetary motions are easily explained if earth and the other planets are circling the sun at different rates and on different orbits.

In a moment, we’ll review the ecclesiastical arguments that ended up costing Galileo his freedom.

In the tradition of astronomers, the next major figure was Kepler, who in 1571 (during Galileo’s life), deduced that planetary orbits are elliptical rather than circular. It was then the British genius, Isaac Newton, who in 1642 published his massive treatise laying out the laws of motion, gravitation and mechanics. By the 1700s it became plain that the heliocentric view of the solar system was correct. Modern space exploration depends on it. Moreover, our understanding of the universe made possible by observations from the Hubble Space Telescope and other instruments descended from Galileo, prove that we’ve lost our place in the center of it all. In fact, our planet is in the middle of nowhere in a solar system in the middle of nowhere within a galaxy in the middle of nowhere in an unimaginably vast and expanding universe.

In case you missed that—it appears we are in the middle of nowhere.

So we know now that Galileo was right and Ptolemy was wrong. I’m not aware of many Christian students who are afraid to take college astronomy because they might be taught that the sun is the center of the solar system. Galileo was right. The sun IS in the center of the solar system. We’ve stopped arguing about it. We accept it. We can still be Christians and yet believe in heliocentrism.

Duh.

Well not so fast. Galileo paid dearly to teach us this lesson, and it took many decades and bitter arguments with the religious leaders of his day. Let’s remember that there were Bible students in both the Roman Catholic and Protestant establishments who were committed to the view that Galileo’s teaching was heresy of the worst kind. The Catholic Church worked hard to suppress this teaching and censured Galileo. Before we’re too judgmental, remember the quote from Luther about Copernicus. Most leading Christians of the day were not leading scientists of the day.

Thoughtful Jews and Christians have, for centuries, been trying to understand how the Bible is inspired, why it was provided to us, and how to understand the many kinds of literature collected within it. Those wishing for some kind of literal interpretation of all passages struggled violently against heliocentrism. For example, I did a search that found the word “sun” 170 times in the New International Version of the Bible. 55 of those verses involve rising or setting movements. Clearly, if the sun is stationary, these verses are not literally true, right? A number of other famous verses caused particular arguments between church authorities and the new cosmologists. I will mention just seven examples:

Psalm 93:1
The LORD reigns, he is robed in majesty;
the LORD is robed in majesty
and is armed with strength.
The world is firmly established;
it cannot be moved.

Psalm 96:10
Say among the nations, "The LORD reigns."
The world is firmly established, it cannot be moved;
he will judge the peoples with equity.

I Chron 16:30
Tremble before him, all the earth!
The world is firmly established; it cannot be moved.

Psalm 104:5
He set the earth on its foundations;
it can never be moved.

Ecc: 1:5
The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

Josh 10:12-14
On the day the LORD gave the Amorites over to Israel, Joshua said to the LORD in the presence of Israel:
"O sun, stand still over Gibeon,
O moon, over the Valley of Aijalon."
So the sun stood still,
and the moon stopped,
till the nation avenged itself on [b] its enemies,
as it is written in the Book of Jashar.
The sun stopped in the middle of the sky and delayed going down about a full day. There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the LORD listened to a man. Surely the LORD was fighting for Israel!

Job 9:6
He shakes the earth from its place
and makes its pillars tremble.

I think it is tremendously important to think through these seven examples. We now know with great certainty that the earth orbits the sun. We also know that the Bible is an important collection of ancient documents that somehow expresses God’s message for us. So how do we understand these passages?

Well, as we develop our own analysis, let’s look at what Galileo so eloquently said on this very point. In his letter of 1613 to churchman Benedetto Castelli Galileo writes:

“…Holy Scripture cannot err and the decrees therein contained are absolutely true and inviolable. I should only have added that, though Scripture cannot err, its expounders and interpreters are liable to err in many ways…when they would base themselves always on the literal meaning of the words. For in this way not only many contradictions would be apparent, but even grave heresies and blasphemies, since then it would be necessary to give God hands and feet and eyes, and human and bodily emotions such as anger, regret, hatred, and sometimes forgetfulness of things past, and ignorance of the future…I believe the intention of Holy Writ was to persuade men of the truths necessary for salvation such as neither science nor any other means could render credible, but only the voice of the Holy Spirit. But I do not think it necessary to believe that the same God who gave us our senses, our speech, our intellect, would have us put aside the use of these, to teach us instead such things as with their help we could find out for ourselves, particularly in the case of those sciences of which there is not the smallest mention in the Scriptures; and, above all, astronomy, of which so little notice is taken that the names of none of the planets are mentioned. Surely if the intention of the sacred scribes had been to teach the people astronomy, they would not have passed over the subject so completely.”

And so we come to the crux of my presentation. I want to raise five questions for discussion:

1. Why did I choose this topic, and how does it relate to my introductory comments?

2. How do modern Christians treat/understand difficult passages that imply a stationary earth and moving heavenly bodies?

3. Why aren’t Christians fighting with scientists about geocentrism any more? Are there many Christian schools founded on the principle that geocentrism must be taught? Is that the focus of home school curricula?

4. Why aren’t Christian students afraid to take astronomy and physics in college (except if they don’t like math)?

5. What is the point?

[an extended period of discussion ensued as students responded to these questions].

OK. Thank you for your very interesting and thoughtful ideas. You have correctly discerned that I chose this topic because I think the 16th and 17th century battles over Scripture and heliocentrism teach some crucial lessons about how Christians should think about science. These “Lessons from Galileo” have totally changed how we understand our solar system and our place in the physical universe. Galileo taught us that these scientific truths need not force us to abandon Christianity. We owe Galileo huge thanks.

There is, however, remarkable irony. After just a few hundred years, many of us Christians have forgotten the lessons of Galileo. We are afraid to examine scientific evidence that might broaden our horizons, as Galileo’s evidence did. We claim a literal framework for biblical interpretation when we actually have no such framework. Galileo already demonstrated that we must think poetically about some biblical literature, including the astronomy passages of the Bible. And we have accepted this! We have already abandoned a literal interpretation of the Scriptures. As several of you stated so clearly during the discussion time, Galileo reminded us that the Bible contains many kinds of literature, intended for many purposes. This literature includes poetry, lyrics, proverbs, letters, historical accounts, allegory, mythology, and apocalyptic visions. Asking whether a Bible passage is literally true is sometimes (not always) like looking at a painting and asking if it is literally “true,” or hearing the lyrics to a love song and asking if they are literally “true.”

When Christians sign on to the creation/evolution debate, it reflects forgetfulness about the lessons of Galileo, and it also reflects forgetfulness about even more profound lessons. Let me share some remarkable quotes from deep Christian thinkers on the problem of understanding biblical teaching about origins.

Saint Augustine lived from 354-430 AD (long before Galileo). In 408 AD he wrote “The Literal Interpretation of Genesis.” Here is what he writes in Chapter 19:

“It not infrequently happens that something about the earth, about the sky, about other elements of this world, about the motion and rotation or even the magnitude and distances of the stars, about definite eclipses of the sun and moon, about the passage of years and seasons, about the nature of animals, of fruits, of stones, and of other such things, may be known with the greatest certainty by reasoning or by experience, even by one who is not a Christian. It is too disgraceful and ruinous, though, and greatly to be avoided, that the non-Christian should hear a Christian speaking so idiotically on these matters, and as if in accord with Christian writings, that he might say that he could scarcely keep from laughing when he saw how totally in error they are. In view of this and in keeping it in mind constantly while dealing with the book of Genesis, I have, insofar as I was able, explained in detail and set forth for consideration the meanings of obscure passages, taking care not to affirm rashly some one meaning to the prejudice of another and perhaps better explanation.”

Augustine also writes:

“… as I have noted repeatedly, if anyone, not understanding the mode of divine eloquence, should find something about these matters [about the physical universe] in our books, or hear of the same from those books, of such a kind that it seems to be at variance with the perceptions of his own rational faculties, let him believe that these other things are in no way necessary to the admonitions or accounts or predictions of the scriptures. In short, it must be said that our authors knew the truth about the nature of the skies, but it was not the intention of the Spirit of God, who spoke through them, to teach men anything that would not be of use to them for their salvation.”

And finally,

"In matters that are so obscure and far beyond our vision, we find in Holy Scripture passages which can be interpreted in many different ways without prejudice to the faith we have received. In such cases, we should not rush headlong and so firmly take our stand on one side that, if further progress in the search for truth justly undermines this position, we too fall with it."

One of my favorite Christian authors, C.S. Lewis, an expert on mythology and a deeply committed Christian, speaks eloquently about the Biblical record in this passage from his book, The problem of pain:

“For long centuries, God perfected the animal form which was to become the vehicle of humanity and the image of himself. He gave it hands whose thumb could be applied to each of the fingers, and jaws and teeth and throat capable of articulation, and a brain sufficiently complex to execute all of the material motions whereby rational thought is incarnated. The creature may have existed in this stage for ages before it became man: it may even have been clever enough to make things which a modern archaeologist would accept as proof of its humanity. But it was only an animal because all its physical and psychical processes were directed to purely material and natural ends. Then, in the fullness of time, God caused to descend upon this organism, both on its psychology and physiology, a new kind of consciousness which could say “I” and “me,” which could look upon itself as an object, which knew God, which could make judgments of truth, beauty and goodness, and which was so far above time that it could perceive time flowing past…We do not know how many of these creatures God made, nor how long they continued in the Paradisal state. But sooner or later they fell. Someone or something whispered that they could become as gods…They wanted some corner in the universe of which they could say to God, “This is our business, not yours.” But there is no such corner. They wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives. We have no idea in what particular act, or series of acts, the self-contradictory, impossible wish found expression. For all I can see, it might have concerned the literal eating of a fruit, but the question is of no consequence.”

And so I want to leave you with four principles. I consider these to be lessons from Galileo.

1. The Bible is beautiful, not simple. The Bible contains many kinds of literature. We must work hard to understand each of them, and the purpose for which each was written. We must humbly admit that we cannot be certain about some meanings.

2. The Bible is a collection of documents revealing God’s character and relationship to us. It is apparently not a technical scientific document.

Here I would like to provide a short anecdote. Once upon a time Liz was learning about heredity, and was just starting to be curious about the birds and the bees. One day when she was about 5 years old I commented on her beautiful blue eyes, and how my eyes are also blue. Her mom’s eyes aren’t blue. Liz is smart. She looked at me and said, “how come my eyes are blue when I came out of Mom’s body?” Now that caught me off guard. Being a molecular biologist, I recognized a teachable moment. It was a perfect chance to explain the idea of DNA codes, and how the DNA instructions in my cells specified how to make blue eyes, while the DNA in mom’s cells had instructions for making gray-green eyes. I proudly steered clear of trouble while explaining some molecular biology and how children reflect hereditary information from both parents. Liz stared at me. “OK, so how did YOUR DNA get into MOM’s body!?”

Wow.

I faced a choice. She was five years old! I had no problem some years later talking with her about human sexuality in pretty thorough detail. But such a conversation in such detail would have been neither appropriate nor helpful for a little five-year-old girl with blue eyes. She wasn’t ready for it, and she wouldn’t have understood it had I provided the detail. A loving father communicates what is needed in terms that can be understood. Rather than a continued science lecture, I told my little girl that I loved her very much and I loved her mom very much. “When a mom and dad love each other, they long to have kids to share their love. So moms and dads share their DNA.” There were two seconds of silence. “OK” she said, “do you want to do a puzzle with me?”

And that was that. Why do I share this story along with principle 2? I think God gave us a beautiful story to express to us what we need to understand about our origins. A technical explanation wasn’t necessary and would not have been helpful. The beginning of Genesis is, to me, more like poetry or lyrics or a painting than a scientific manuscript. I think I was imitating God when I had that conversation on origins with my five-year-old daughter. As Bible readers, our challenge is to understand the different forms of literature we encounter, and to do our best to understand the purpose for which each was written.

3. Galileo teaches us that Christians must discern that there is poetry in scripture. When scientific observation appears to contradict the “plain teaching” of scripture, it is sometimes the “plain teaching” of scripture that is wrong.

4. By wrapping Christianity in single issues like the creation/evolution debate, or moral issues like gay rights, we diminish Christ and make it harder for unsaved people to accept him.

Thank you for your interest and for your discussion. Please don’t hesitate to email me at maher@mayo.edu with your comments and questions.

And remember, we parents love you so very much, and we are intensely proud of you!

06/08

minor prophets

I've been reading through one Bible chapter each day during my prayer time. The last few months have been in the minor prophets.

This gives one an interesting and disturbing perspective. These are the Bible chapters telling the story of the moral and spiritual failings of Israel and Judah 25 centuries ago, their corruption, their disregard for covenant law, their idolatry, their unfaithfulness, their chasing after the gods of the neighboring nations, their social exploitation, and their lack of justice.

In response, the prophets speak threats, predictions of punishments, calls to repentance, and the general message that the misbehavior of God's chosen people will be repaid with plague, famine, political disaster, and destruction at the hands of foreign armies. Israel and Judah are told that they will be decimated in a most horrific way.

I’ve been confronted by the age-old question: is this threatening and vengeful God of the Old Testament the God I know in my heart?

Today in prayer I became aware of an application that brought unexpected clarity. I realized that I am personally guilty of the same sins as the ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah. The condemnation of the prophets applies to me for my comparable thoughts, actions and inactions.

The failure of the Jews to uphold the covenant, and the corresponding punishment, paint a picture of what God's standard demands. I am as culpable and guilty as Israel and Judah. Their national corporate sins are what I have committed and still commit. As God's chosen child, I am just as undeserving and rebellious as the targets of the prophetic writings.

The profound difference is that my punishments, my decimation, my plagues, tortures, famines, my destruction at the hands of foreign enemies—all these deserved and just calamities were executed upon my savior, Jesus, rather than upon me.

This changes everything. The messages of the prophets are no longer abstract and distant warnings to some ancient Jews with whom I have nothing in common. These are warnings and curses that remind me what I deserved, what I deserve, and what I have "coming to me" for my rebellion.

This morning I realized that the prophets were accusing me personally from the pages of scripture. I couldn’t dismiss them or claim to be innocent or victorious or living in a different age. I heard myself whispering in response, "yes, you are right—I deserve the punishments and calamities you describe—I am no better than my brothers and sisters in ancient Israel and Judah. But—by unimaginable and inexplicable mercy—Jesus has suffered these in my place."

3.1.08