Scrapbooks

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I've seen some pretty fancy modern scrapbooks.  These are the ones assembled lovingly by detail-oriented fanatics, typically proud moms, using commercial tools and purchased colorful self-stick decorations to be sure each cherished photo is framed and ornamented perfectly. These scrapbooks are masterpieces, assembled all at once with a special occasion in mind, usually with all the love and pride in the world.

I have a scrapbook too.

Mine is different. Years ago I bought an empty scrapbook binder – it has greenish hard cover and construction paper pages that are faded. When I started in grade school I carefully taped artifacts and memorabilia onto the pages. In later years I started using the scrapbook more like a folder – just a place to insert odds and ends that told of memories from my formative years. Some memories received detailed attention with recorded provenance. Others were included at the spur of the moment, with less record of when or where or why. All of these artifacts are about me in one way or another, and they were assembled for a kind of purpose, but it is nothing like the pretty polished shiny mounted scrapbooks I've seen on the coffee tables of soccer moms.

My scrapbook is now in a large cardboard box in the back furnace room of my basement, 30 paces from here. I'm about to turn 53 and I know where it is, but I haven't looked through it for years. It's bulging and there are clippings hanging out. Nothing has been added since some time during college.

My scrapbook is all "true" but it isn't like a detailed HD movie of my life.

My scrapbook is much more interesting than that – it is an odd, almost inexplicable sampling of snippets of what it meant to be me. The artifacts tell different stories – some of the stories aren't even remembered.

If you were to page through my scrapbook, you'd encounter all kinds of different artifacts and memories that represent different kinds of stories about who I am, where I am from, who influenced me, and what seemed at the time to be worth saving. Some of the items are relatively factual –  there are newspaper clippings with faded text and photographs. But there are other more wonderful things – movie ticket stubs from a forgotten date – programs from concerts – the cover of a matchbook from prom – a piece of a holiday costume – a snapshot from a school play. And then there are even more mysterious and intriguing things – a short poem scribbled on paper, inspired by young love – a printed flyer explaining the gospel message of Jesus – some hair in an envelope.  There is a love letter that still smells faintly of perfume, and a trinket from a bachelor party. There is a ticket stub from a Queen concert, and an essay about the first and only time my father ever showed us how to fire a rifle. A picture of a faintly smiling teenager in a hospital bed is near a sepia photo of two young people posing in fake western garb. There is a music award certificate. There is the picture of a pet cat, long gone.

My scrapbook is all "true" but it's more interesting, more mysterious, more inviting than a detailed full-length HD movie of my life.

It's a collection about me. It's a collection by me. It's a collection of me.  The stranger who pages through this loose and lively collection shouldn't expect neat order, consistency, chronology, or simplicity. No – this collection is more art than history, more music than science. I'm in there, but not digitally – it's an analog 33 rpm LP record, and its pretty scratchy. This is no DVD.

But it's me, and there is a message that pours out from these pages. It's just that you will never understand it all, or grasp the significance, until you get to know me.  Looking at my scrapbook prepares you for someday seeing me – you get a tiny flavor of who you might know if you encounter me and get to know me face-to-face. The scrapbook is full of hints about me. My scrapbook is all "true" but its more interesting than HD.

The Bible is a scrapbook.

There – I said it: the Bible is a scrapbook – not an HD movie or DVD. The Bible is more wonderful and interesting and mysterious than some kind of instruction manual.

The Bible is more art than history, more music than science.

The pages of the Bible reveal snippets and pictures, stories and anecdotes, poems and ticket stubs, clippings, essays, and fragments of love songs. Sometimes we know why the poem was saved and from which play the program – sometimes we can only guess. Sometimes it doesn't matter. 

Some of the Bible records an impression of history, some clippings, some recipes, some instructions, some lyrics, some receipts, some poems, some transcriptions of dreams, some hazy snapshots with no familiar people tagged.  Some pages have first-hand accounts, but some pages are pieces of letters where most of the correspondence is missing.

The Bible is a scrapbook. It is like my scrapbook, full of remarkable fragments and anecdotes and smells and artifacts and pieces of larger things. It wasn't assembled with commercial adhesive corners and stickers in one sitting for one special occasion.  It is just like my scrapbook – accumulating pieces of my life in mysterious and unpredictable ways.

Looking at this scrapbook prepares me for someday meeting someone else – I get a tiny flavor of him who I will eventually encounter and know face-to-face.

Studying my scrapbook is fun and frustrating and mysterious and intriguing – which parts must be understood with a calendar and cross-referenced to a yearbook or diary? Which parts are art and poetry and convey a heart rather than a mind? Which parts were exaggerated or angry or blurred, or tear-stained? What is missing from that blank page?  Whose hair is that? Why is there a playing card tucked next to the obituary of a friend?

The Bible is a scrapbook.

It's worth studying carefully, cherishing, investigating. It's worth challenging the mystery of this epic scrapbook if only sometimes to meet another mystery. It's not easy. It's not an HD movie or DVD.

The Bible is special because it's the most remarkable scrapbook we've ever been given. Collected in different and puzzling and uncertain ways, it's the scrapbook we were meant to have.

It's the scrapbook I was meant to have.

11.15.13

Lewis James

My name is Louis James and I'm 52 years old. 

I have a friend named Lewis James who just turned 6.

I happened to be in Lewis' garage early this evening. It was breezy outside and huge white clouds raced across the sky - the first May-like weather in weeks. The garage was lit only by early evening sunlight coming through the side window.

Never mind why I was in Lewis' garage.

I just happened to be quietly alone for a moment in Lewis' garage saying a prayer for Lewis' mom…and dad.

The outside door to the garage opened and Lewis appeared with his buzz haircut and muscle shirt. I whistled casually so as not to frighten him, but he didn't seem to care in the least. It was as if he was accustomed to 52-year-old grey-haired guys praying in his garage.

Lewis was carrying a long screwdriver.

"Hi Lewis"

"Hey" said Lewis.

Before I could try to explain what I was doing, Lewis spoke, matter-of-factly

"I need your help.  I need to find a shorter screwdriver."

No hello, no inquisition about what I was doing in his garage. Just complete trust and a screwdriver help request.

"Ok Lewis. Where does your dad keep his tools?"

Lewis proceeded to show me the dark garage shelves and we looked through the tool boxes until we found something that looked promising.  I helped him figure out the latches, and we dived into the box, trying to feel our way through the hidden tools in the dim light of the dusky garage. We unearthed pliers and wrenches and huge screwdrivers.

"What's this?"

Lewis pulled out a really big switchblade-like knife. Luckily, I saw that it was latched shut. Before I could tell the 6-year-old to be careful I heard a tell-tale sound

"click."

Lewis stood up and a shaft of sunlight from the garage window fell across a very long shiny blade.

I once had daughters this age. Neither of them would have even tried to flick open a knife this size.

Lewis held up the blade and inspected it with a knowing gaze, unspeaking, turning the shiny steel slowly in the shaft of sunlight. After 10 seconds I half expected to hear a movie director call out "cut and print!"

It was a surreal moment.

I was working on the proper words to admonish the little boy to be careful, when he adjusted his gaze directly to me as he held up the huge knife.

"Do you like costumes?" said Lewis.

Long pause.

"What??"

"I said, do you like costumes? Do you have a lot of costumes at your house?"

Long pause.

"I guess I used to like costumes, Lewis."

"I have tons of costumes in my room" said Lewis, slowly manipulating the knife.

I told Lewis that I guessed I didn't have as many costumes as I used to.

"Let me help you with that knife -  I'll show you how to close it."

Before I could make a move, Lewis was trying to figure out the latch and how to fold the knife closed. Trying to show him was pointless- it would involve me having the knife.

Lewis tried a variety of tactics to close the knife, all of them involved grasping the sharp open blade with his bare hands.

Part of me was thinking about how exactly I would explain to Lewis' dad how Lewis sliced off his finger while I was with him in the dark garage playing with a really big knife.

Another part of me was recollecting what Lewis' dad kept telling me about little boys. It boiled down to "little boys are going to insist on figuring out how to close big switchblades without help."

About the time I really thought I was going to see one of Lewis James' severed pinkies wriggling on the oily garage floor, I heard another click. The blade swung mercifully shut, unimpeded by little boy flesh. 

In 30 seconds Lewis had found the desired smaller screwdriver and I, the father of two demure adult girls, had hidden the closed switchblade at the bottom of the toolbox.

Lewis smiled at me.

"Your name is the same as mine, right?"

We compared spellings as he walked to the door out of the garage, heading into the late afternoon sunlight, white clouds, breezy afternoon, small screwdriver in hand.

"Hey Lewis"

"What?"

"Hey why did you need to find a smaller screwdriver?"

Lewis eyed the tool, rotating it slowly in the sun. He pointed it toward the yard.

"I'm working on carving the letter 'L' into that big fence post up there."



5.31.13

Why I'm not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

I have known and respected many Mormons. Some are among the smartest and most sincere people I have ever met. Others are seriously flawed and struggling. The point of this short note is that I believe Mormons have been misled and are following the teachings of a Christian sect whose central documents cannot be trusted.

Many spend their time arguing about  the various doctrinal differences (subtleties of beliefs) that separate the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints from evangelical Christianity. Some don't care about these differences. Many Mormons are mystified about why their lovely and sincere faith is not accepted by their Christian friends.  Many see the central documents of Mormonism provided by the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith as simply additional testaments of biblical revelation. Like my Muslim friends, these Mormon friends would have all believe that God has simply updated earlier faith traditions with new revelation.

So why am I not a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, choosing instead to be an evangelical Christian?

It is not about doctrine. We can argue about doctrine all day. It is simply because I do not believe the central documents of Mormonism can be trusted. In contrast, I believe the biblical manuscripts that form the core of evangelical Christianity, though centuries older, are historically and archeologically valid. I base this conclusion on three central problems with the Mormon scriptures (The Book of Mormon, The Doctrine and Covenants, The Pearl of Great Price). These problems are scientific and historical, unrelated to doctrine.

1.There is no evidence that Joseph Smith was an accurate translator.

Two major problems argue that Smith's documents are not trustworthy translations.

First, the Book of Mormon was produced by Joseph Smith in the early 1800's, supposedly translated by divine power from golden plates since lost. However, the Book of Mormon contains a large number of passages from the King James Bible. Far from this making the document more believable, these King James passages are a huge problem. There is no reason to believe that a divine translation of writings on ancient artifacts would come to Smith in the early 1800's in the English language of Shakespeare's time (1611; 200 years earlier). A divinely inspired translation of the original Hebrew words would be in the form of 1800's language (Smith's time).

Second, there is clear evidence that Joseph Smith was completely unqualified to translate ancient documents. In a tremendous embarrassment to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we have very specific evidence that Smith had no skills in translating ancient Egyptian. His 1835 translation of Egyptian papyri to produce his Book of Abraham is the perfect example. The original Egyptian documents used in the translation were thought lost after Smith's translation was complete. However, key fragments were rediscovered in 1966 and examined by academic Egyptologists. It was immediately obvious that Smith's "translation" was a fraud. The papyri represent a historically important collection of Egyptian funeral instructions and have absolutely nothing to do with Abraham or any of Joseph Smith's alleged translation. The papyri are now known in academic circles as the Book of Breathings. The argument that Smith was given a different "spiritual" translation of the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics shows the deep embarrassment of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints regarding this matter. Joseph Smith completely fabricated his translation of this ancient document.

2. The Mormon documents are not historically valid.

Large parts of the Old and New Testaments of the Bible are well documented by the archeology of the Middle East. In fact, archeologists use biblical texts to understand Middle Eastern archeology. The opposite is true of the Mormon literature. There is no new world archeological evidence for the validity of any of the stories, places, and peoples described in the Mormon texts. As a student of North American archeology I have studied the rich and interesting cultures of North and Middle America. There is no scientific evidence that any of the Native American, Mayan, Inca, Aztec or Toltec civilizations are described in the Mormon literature. None of the places or people or events is connected with any modern archeological evidence, and archeologists find no value in the Mormon literature. This is also a tremendous embarrassment to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Even more problematic are scientifically and historically invalid references in the Book of Mormon, including descriptions of horses and elephants in the New World. Both species had been extinct in the Americas for thousands of years before the arrival of the first humans. Horses were only introduced by the Spanish after Columbus. Nor is there any evidence to support the description of steel implements. Thus, though wildly creative and imaginative, there is no evidence that any of the allegedly written accounts translated in the Book of Mormon have scientific or historical validity. This is quite the opposite for the historical and archeological validity of the Old and New Testaments.

3. Genetic relationships predicted by the Mormon scriptures are incorrect.

Finally, modern molecular genetic research has created a central problem for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. This is because scientists have been able to sequence the DNA contained in cellular mitochondria, the membrane-bound organelles that produce much of the energy of the cell. Mitochondria contain small circles of DNA code that are inherited almost completely from the mother. These sequences provide wonderful genetic "fingerprints" that allow relationships to be traced over many generations. At the very heart of the stories in Mormon literature is the fantastic myth that some Middle Eastern people, including the "lost tribes" of Israel, migrated to the New World in more than one wave,  contributing to the pre-Columbian civilizations of North and Central America. At least one such immigration would have been about 1500 years before Christ. This is an extremely recent date relative to New World archeology. Early in Mormon history, this concept that Middle Eastern people contributed to Native American civilizations seemed quaint and plausible. However, modern genetic testing has completely disproven this possibility: there is absolutely no evidence that any of the people of the New World are related to any of the Semitic people of the Middle East. All evidence shows that Native Americans are related to the Asian peoples through migrations across the Alaskan land bridge. DNA evidence clearly proves that the central claims of the Mormon documents about North and Central American prehistory are wrong. No Middle Eastern DNA is present in the native peoples of America.

To summarize, discussions of doctrinal differences between Mormons and Evangelical Christians are quite irrelevant. The point is that the documents originating with Joseph Smith have no supporting evidence of accuracy or legitimacy, either scientific or historical. There is every reason to believe that Smith and/or other very creative writers fabricated these documents on their own. Because the documents are fraudulent, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints traditions based on these documents can simply be ignored.

This does not mean that Mormon people are insincere or evil. It simply means that Mormon people are being misled.

As with all my friends from other faith traditions, I share the same Christian message: 

Most people think they can earn their way to heaven by being good. I hear it all the time. That’s not what the Bible teaches, but it’s what most people think. “If I follow the golden rule, or try to do my best, I can live with God forever.” “Bad” people go to hell, right?

Jesus taught something very different, and the New Testament makes it clear. Nobody is good enough to go to heaven. NOBODY. Saint Paul writes in the Bible (Romans 3:23) “There is nobody who is righteous, not even one. For all have sinned and fall short of God’s glory.” He writes in Romans 6:23 “For what we deserve is death, but the GIFT of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ.” 

The Bible teaches that God is perfectly good, and he has planned a way to live with us forever, but it requires that we become perfectly good too. That is impossible for us to achieve by trying. God proved it by giving us the 10 commandments, and all of us have broken many of them many times. If breaking even one of them once makes us imperfect, then we’re hosed and none of us can get to heaven.

No, God made a plan so that we can be perfect and holy like him. We can have this forgiveness and perfection even though we are bumbling sinful humans. We can meet God now, and we can meet him in heaven someday, and we can be confident that we will be accepted. How? Not because we deserve it or are “good enough.” No, it is because we can receive God’s forgiveness as a gift.

The Bible teaches that Jesus didn’t suffer and die on the cross by accident or because of a tragedy. Jesus was God on earth, and he died on purpose for you and for me. He died as a perfect sacrifice in my place and in your place. He died on the cross to receive the punishment that you and I deserve. He took God’s punishment in our place, his one perfect life paying the price for all the imperfect lives that have ever been lived. John 3:16 in the Bible (what you see at football games) says that “God so loved the world that he gave his only son so that whoever believes in him would not die, but have everlasting life.”

So what do we have to do to be forgiven and receive this gift? The Bible says that it isn’t automatic, but we just have to ask. I did it when I was a junior in high school. If you haven’t done it yet, you can do it right now, and then learn more by beginning to read the Bible (try starting with the book of John in the New Testament). You can pray a simple prayer just by talking to God. I think I prayed something like “God, I know now that I could never be good enough to live with you in heaven. I’m so sorry for that, and I’m sorry that I have fallen so far short of your commands. But I am so happy that I now understand that you made a way for me to be forgiven forever so I can live with you in my heart now and live with you in heaven forever. I accept the gift of Jesus Christ, and his death for me on the cross. Lord Jesus, come into my heart as my savior and my Lord.”

5.11.13

Mantis

 
On Monday night, August 29, 2011, during the eighth inning of Kansas City's baseball game against the Tigers in Detroit, a praying mantis temporarily stopped play before Brayan Peña of the Royals carefully rescued the insect.

Who cares?

This episode (and note that praying mantises have actually stopped play at several recent professional baseball games) paints a picture of an important concept at the very center of what has been called the struggle between science and faith. I want to use this analogy as I reach out to many who are committed to science and many who are committed to faith.

How can we understand the relationship between science and faith?

What does a praying mantis at a baseball game have to do with it?

Some of my dear friends are frustrated that I, a professional scientist, could also choose to embrace the Christian faith. They are frustrated because such a commitment would seem to mean that either I am a poor scientist (always looking for divine intervention in my experiments), or a lousy Christian (skeptical of every piece of revealed literature and every personal testimony of God at work in this world).

So how can commitment to science and commitment to faith coexist in one individual?

It's like a Cuban-born catcher stopping in the midst of a nationally-televised baseball game to gently save the life of a small, bright green insect.

Although many of us are passionate about science and its power to reveal and change the world, we must understand that science is a kind of game.

Science is not so different from baseball or football. These sports are defined by special playing fields and agreements between players and fans and referees to abide by sets of rules and principles. These rules and principles determine how the game is to be played, and how a meaningful outcome can emerge. Participants (whether players or observers) engage in sports with assumptions about the rules and outcomes. These assumptions mean that the "truth" about the game and its outcome will be officially measured in a score, and in statistics describing the measurable facts recorded during the game. These facts are measured in certain ways, by certain skilled observers. The "truth" about the final score can be verified by the observers, and by recordings during the game.

The sporting event is "true" and it results in a "true" outcome.

However, the participants understand that although the event is "true," attendance won't help them make sense of their lover's blue eyes, or their son's death at the hands of a drunk driver, or their friend's cancer diagnosis. The "truth" of the game must be understood in the context of its rules. Though specific and essential for the success of the game, these rules are meaningless off the playing field, and are powerless to provide judgment or clarity in situations at the dinner table, or in the operating room, or at the hospice.

This is not because organized sporting events are worthless or "false." It is because the "truth" of these events is defined by the rules and expectations of the participants.

Science is like that too. Science is the very best game for learning about our world when we agree to use certain kinds of tools and abide by certain kinds of rules. We use tools of accurate measurement, and we agree to rules that involve principles like reproducibility and explanations that do not invoke capricious divine intervention.

The best way to find out which of two professional baseball teams is better on a given night is to have them compete in a fairly-officiated baseball game, not to see which team can eat the most ice cream, or to ask which is most patriotic.  This is not because appetite and patriotism are meaningless.  It is because measurement of sports prowess is best accomplished within the rules of the game.

When the praying mantis landed on the Detroit baseball field in the fall of 2011, something remarkable happened.

Brayan Peña didn't break a rule of baseball by stopping the game to rescue a praying mantis - baseball rules don't know anything about insects. The universe of baseball doesn't have tools for measuring or describing the praying mantis.  There is no statistic for number of praying mantises saved in a season.

Brayan Peña reminded us that there are "truths" beyond the "truth" of the baseball game.

We know this, but we agree to set these other "truths" aside while we enjoy baseball. We know that there are stars in the sky above the baseball field. We know that a player may be grieving the loss of his father, and that an announcer may be battling an addiction. We know that an official may be afraid about the future.

And we know that a bright green praying mantis can invade the playing field from another universe.

You see, there are "truths" that can be known in baseball, but we cannot say that these are the only "truths."

If a die-hard sports fanatic tells us that baseball statistics are the only "truths" worth knowing about the world because all other "truths" are subjective and can't be verified by the game film and records, we would be justifiably concerned about her sanity.

Science is like that. Science is the best game we have for its playing field. Science is the best way for sorting out "truths" about the measurable world, just like baseball is the best game we have for judging the skill of baseball teams.

But just as baseball isn't equipped to say anything about a praying mantis on the field, so science doesn't have the tools to tell me why I think the insect is beautiful, or whether there is another life after this...

...or why a supreme creative being would enter time as a servant and sacrifice himself for me.

I love the game of science. I love learning about the tiniest and most immense universes with tools and rules. I am in awe of what the game of science reveals about how we exist and the stunning world around us and beyond. I believe science is the best game for a playing field where we choose not to ask the "why" questions, and where we decide the only things we will admit as "true" are both measurable and reproducible. Science is a great game to play on that playing field.

But we must remember that science is just a game on a playing field. It is dangerous to believe that the playing field of science is all there is.

I need you to know that there is more. There is a beautiful, mysterious realm beyond the reach and rules of science. Faith is that world of choice where measurement and reproducibility do not define "truth." Faith is a world where, among many stories that compete for my attention, I find the one most beautiful story of all...the story of the rescue of the most worthless by the most worthy.

When a bright green praying mantis interrupted the Tigers - Royals baseball game in 2011, it reminded us that there is a "truth" beyond what baseball can measure and understand. The mantis was a visitor from a different universe so much bigger and more vibrant and interesting than the game.

Science is like that. It is fun and important. It's just that there is a much bigger universe of "truth" far beyond what science can ever understand.

The praying mantis reminds us that games aren't everything.