Carl Sagan and Stephen Hawking have always had my interest and respect. Now, coming back to them after spending time in seminary and working in ministry, I see this.
What an amazing eschatology these two have. Here are the lyrics and comments from the creator.
A musical tribute to two great men of science. Carl Sagan and his cosmologist companion Stephen Hawking present: A Glorious Dawn - Cosmos remixed. Almost all samples and footage taken from Carl Sagan's Cosmos and Stephen Hawking's Universe series.
Lyrics:
[Sagan]
If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch
You must first invent the universe
Space is filled with a network of wormholes
You might emerge somewhere else in space
Some when-else in time
The sky calls to us
If we do not destroy ourselves
We will one day venture to the stars
A still more glorious dawn awaits
Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise
A morning filled with 400 billion suns
The rising of the milky way
The Cosmos is full beyond measure of elegant truths
Of exquisite interrelationships
Of the awesome machinery of nature
I believe our future depends powerfully
On how well we understand this cosmos
In which we float like a mote of dust
In the morning sky
But the brain does much more than just recollect
It inter-compares, it synthesizes, it analyzes
it generates abstractions
The simplest thought like the concept of the number one
Has an elaborate logical underpinning
The brain has it's own language
For testing the structure and consistency of the world
[Hawking]
For thousands of years
People have wondered about the universe
Did it stretch out forever
Or was there a limit
From the big bang to black holes
From dark matter to a possible big crunch
Our image of the universe today
Is full of strange sounding ideas
[Sagan}
How lucky we are to live in this time
The first moment in human history
When we are in fact visiting other worlds
The surface of the earth is the shore of the cosmic ocean
Recently we've waded a little way out
And the water seems inviting!
"lower case, Upper Case" - Sermon for Project Renewal 9-19
I preached this sermon during a worship service for a group called Project Renewal. It is a group that bring folks with disabilities together for worship, lunch, Bible study and friendship. The scripture that was read is Romans 8:16-39.
This is the first sermon I've written and presented.
"lower case, Upper Case" - 9/19/09
I have good news! I realize it is in my job description to have The Good News. But this is a bit different. This is good news in lower case. My wife and I are expecting our first child in March! Now deciding to have a child is frequently a difficult decision. But for Mary and me, it was even more complicated. I have a genetic disorder called Marfan’s Syndrome. It is a connective tissue disorder that affects every system of the body. It is autosomal dominant, which means that there is a 50-50 chance our child will have it. It is a leap of faith for us to decide to have a child whose future health is decided by the same odds as a coin-flip.
Marfan’s is a serious condition. As I said, it affects every system of the body and it affects every person differently. For me, the most problematic part is that Marfan’s can affect the structure of blood vessels; Most at risk, is the aorta, the artery that attaches to the heart and which carries all of the blood to the rest of the body. To keep it strong, the aorta is encased in connective tissue, sort of like a garden hose with a hard outer casing and a softer lining. In people with Marfan’s this connective tissue is weaker than normal. This causes weak spots that can lead to a tearing of the inner lining (called a dissection) or even a total rupture. In 1994, my aortic arch ruptured. By the grace of God and expert medical care, I survived.
I was working behind the counter at a small electronics store in St. Louis, were I was living at the time. I was talking to a customer and I bent over to pick up an owners manual, in order to explain something to her. As I bent over, I felt like somebody had punched me in the throat. No pain really, just a pop. Then everything went black. I went to the hospital. I had surgery immediately. Recovery from this kind of surgery is long, difficult and frequently incomplete. It was a few weeks before I could walk any distance at all. It was over 2 months before I could drive. I was prescribed a permanent and daily dose of blood thinners that complicates everything from the food I eat to dentist appointments, to say nothing of further surgery. I was almost fully recovered when, a year to the day, I had another emergency room visit that led to another surgery. Another year of recovery and I was able to function somewhat normally.
Since those surgeries in 1994 and 1995, I have had 4 others on my aorta. Actually, six years ago today, I had surgery to almost completely replace it. I’ve also had numerous other procedures for Marfan’s related issues; the most recent was just six months ago.
So, why am I telling you this? I certainly don’t have a monopoly on health issues; especially not in this room. I’m telling you because having this history is really the only way I feel like I can say anything to you about the love of God amid suffering. It frustrates me to no end when good-intentioned folk try to offer reassurances when it is clear that they have no understand of what chronic illness is about. Especially professional theologians who write about suffering from academic ivory towers, or preachers in expensive suits who clearly don’t get it.
However, there are some professional theologians who understand suffering and have their own dramatic stories. Jurgen Moltmann is one. I recently had the good fortune to meet him when he spoke at Garrett-Evangelical Seminary’s academic convocation. I already knew his story from reading his books, but it was much more moving to hear him personally recount the story of his conscription into the German army in WW II and how he watched his hometown of Hamburg burn to the ground as a result of the Allied bombing campaign. Professor Moltmann eventually found himself in the forests of Belgium where he surrendered and became an English Prisoner of War. He ended up in a labor camp in Kilmarnock, Scotland. He plunged into despair as he learned for the first time about the systematic murder that took place in Nazi concentration camps. But it was also at this point when he received a Bible. It was his first encounter with scripture. He was struck immediately by the Psalms of lament. He discovered that not only was it permissible to rail at God, the Bible actually gives us a way to do it! Even more dramatic though, was Professor Moltmann’s reaction to the story of the Passion of Christ. As he read the words, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Moltmann thought “now, here is one who understands me!”
Moltmann’s encounter with the crucifixion came comparatively late in life. Many of us have been taught from childhood that Christ died to save us. We see it on t-shirts and bumper stickers that we are “Saved by the blood of Christ”. It is unfortunate that this truth has become a soundbite. I imagine that the use of these slogans is in many cases more of a shot across the bow in the so called Culture Wars than a real theological statement. Perhaps it is the politically charged rhetoric that some use, perhaps it is the gruesome reality of crucifixion. Perhaps it is for other reasons, but many have turned away from discussing the story of Christ’s painful and bloody death. It doesn’t take much imagination to realize that crucifixion was a lousy way to die.
But, No matter how disturbing or controversial the story of Christ’s painful death is, it is crucial in understanding the scriptures like the passage from Romans we heard earlier. Christ’s death has much to say about suffering in our own lives. Many of the world’s greatest theologians have tried to explain the existence of suffering and how we, as Christians should respond to it.
Allow me to briefly outline the tradition this way: St. Augustine, in his discussion of the Psalms, expresses concern that we not grieve for our pain too much. It might show a lack of faith and is a preoccupation with the world when we should be concerned with higher things. We should understand that any suffering that we experience has a purpose, and as Augustine writes “it’s purpose is that the flame of our own desire for God may burn into a brighter blaze.” This may be wonderful theologically, and is appropriate for his time and place, but I can imagine the response Augustine might get if he said something like that to you folks.
Martin Luther is slightly more helpful. He says that grieving is understandable and God wants us to be able to do so, but in the end he really only disagrees with Augustine by a matter of degrees. God wants us to be able to grieve, just not too much.
John Calvin discusses suffering through the lens of predestination by writing that “all adversities proceed from God’s hand.” Calvin redeems suffering explaining that it is part of the divine. Pain is as much a part of life as is pleasure. Again, helpful academically, but unfortunately, well meaning people incorrectly invoke Calvin saying such things as “This must be all part of God’s plan.”
Now, these ideas were ground breaking and probably helpful in their own time and context. But things have changed greatly since when Calvin, the most recent of these three wrote in the 16th century. The modern theologian Karl Barth discusses the miracle of The Cross by saying that Christ’s death is a victory over sin and death. I think Barth is getting closer to something very helpful. We also know that he initially posited this idea during a funeral sermon for his son, who had been killed in an accident a few days earlier. Clearly, Barth knows something about suffering.
Building upon Barth is Jürgen Moltmann. In his book The Way of Jesus Christ, Moltmann writes, “At the centre of Christian faith is the history of Christ. At the centre of the history of Christ is his passion and his death on the Cross.” This is echoed in the comments he made to my seminary colleagues a week ago when while telling the story of his first reading of the Bible he said that, “Christ became (his) brother in suffering.”
But for many of us, God still seems remote. So, how do we bridge the gap? How can we be comforted by God? One way is in community, by coming together as you have today with similarly situated friends. Another way is through prayer and the rituals of the church.
Since my first surgery in ’94 and ’95, I have had numerous others. But, the most extensive and serious was in April of 2008. The most powerful example of the power of prayer and ritual I have ever experienced occurred during the bleakest point of my recovery from that surgery.
Before I had surgery, I told my wife Mary that if things got bad and I was very sick, the UMC Book of Worship had a wonderful service that might make the family feel better. Initially things went well, but after a few days, my condition worsened. I spent 4 weeks in Intensive care on a ventilator. I became so sick and was having such trouble breathing that the doctors decided to perform a tracheotomy. The doctors then told my family that it might be months before I was well enough to walk out of the hospital if, in fact, I ever recovered that well at all.
My parents’ pastor, Rev. Alex Hendrickson, agreed to perform the ceremony at my bedside. She even had an anointing balm that she had gotten on a recent trip to Jerusalem. I remember that my whole family, including Mary’s parents and older sister, were arrayed about my hospital bed. They laid their hands on me. Rev. Hendrickson took the balm and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. I remember feeling a wonderful warmth come over my body and a sensation of light going through me, piercing my chest and going skyward. I could actually feel the light! It was a feeling I had not felt before but somehow, I knew exactly what it was. I hesitate to name it for fear of minimizing it, somehow limiting it. It is indescribable, impossible to understand, but I think most call it the Holy Spirit.
Now, despite being in seminary and being a candidate for ordination, I am a bit of a skeptic. I realize that I was heavily medicated. Prior to and after this experience I was having hallucinations. But I remember vividly that everyone in that room was in tears. They all felt something too.
Again, I don’t recommend relying on faith to cure disease. I’m a big fan of doctors and am in awe of their skill. I believe it is important to pray but believing that prayer can cure disease is a theological slippery slope that I’m not willing to tread on. But having said that, the prayers of my family and friends were heard. While I’m not willing to say that I was cured by prayer and by the anointing with oil, they made me and the ones I love feel closer to God in their time of greatest loneliness and despair.
So, The Good News. And this time I mean The Good News in capital letters.
The Good News is that God gets it. God is not a clockmaker who set the world in motion and has gone away. God became human knowing that pain, limitedness, sorrow and grief waited. God became Christ knowing that Christ’s death would be painful and bloody. God knew Christ’s friends would betray him and God knew that Christ ultimately would be abandoned.
But God also knew that ultimately God in Christ would be raised from the dead. God knew that his death and resurrection would give us hope that someday we too will overcome our grief and our sorrow and our anger and our pain.
As Paul wrote,
I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Truly, this is one who understands us.
Amen.
This is the first sermon I've written and presented.
"lower case, Upper Case" - 9/19/09
I have good news! I realize it is in my job description to have The Good News. But this is a bit different. This is good news in lower case. My wife and I are expecting our first child in March! Now deciding to have a child is frequently a difficult decision. But for Mary and me, it was even more complicated. I have a genetic disorder called Marfan’s Syndrome. It is a connective tissue disorder that affects every system of the body. It is autosomal dominant, which means that there is a 50-50 chance our child will have it. It is a leap of faith for us to decide to have a child whose future health is decided by the same odds as a coin-flip.
Marfan’s is a serious condition. As I said, it affects every system of the body and it affects every person differently. For me, the most problematic part is that Marfan’s can affect the structure of blood vessels; Most at risk, is the aorta, the artery that attaches to the heart and which carries all of the blood to the rest of the body. To keep it strong, the aorta is encased in connective tissue, sort of like a garden hose with a hard outer casing and a softer lining. In people with Marfan’s this connective tissue is weaker than normal. This causes weak spots that can lead to a tearing of the inner lining (called a dissection) or even a total rupture. In 1994, my aortic arch ruptured. By the grace of God and expert medical care, I survived.
I was working behind the counter at a small electronics store in St. Louis, were I was living at the time. I was talking to a customer and I bent over to pick up an owners manual, in order to explain something to her. As I bent over, I felt like somebody had punched me in the throat. No pain really, just a pop. Then everything went black. I went to the hospital. I had surgery immediately. Recovery from this kind of surgery is long, difficult and frequently incomplete. It was a few weeks before I could walk any distance at all. It was over 2 months before I could drive. I was prescribed a permanent and daily dose of blood thinners that complicates everything from the food I eat to dentist appointments, to say nothing of further surgery. I was almost fully recovered when, a year to the day, I had another emergency room visit that led to another surgery. Another year of recovery and I was able to function somewhat normally.
Since those surgeries in 1994 and 1995, I have had 4 others on my aorta. Actually, six years ago today, I had surgery to almost completely replace it. I’ve also had numerous other procedures for Marfan’s related issues; the most recent was just six months ago.
So, why am I telling you this? I certainly don’t have a monopoly on health issues; especially not in this room. I’m telling you because having this history is really the only way I feel like I can say anything to you about the love of God amid suffering. It frustrates me to no end when good-intentioned folk try to offer reassurances when it is clear that they have no understand of what chronic illness is about. Especially professional theologians who write about suffering from academic ivory towers, or preachers in expensive suits who clearly don’t get it.
However, there are some professional theologians who understand suffering and have their own dramatic stories. Jurgen Moltmann is one. I recently had the good fortune to meet him when he spoke at Garrett-Evangelical Seminary’s academic convocation. I already knew his story from reading his books, but it was much more moving to hear him personally recount the story of his conscription into the German army in WW II and how he watched his hometown of Hamburg burn to the ground as a result of the Allied bombing campaign. Professor Moltmann eventually found himself in the forests of Belgium where he surrendered and became an English Prisoner of War. He ended up in a labor camp in Kilmarnock, Scotland. He plunged into despair as he learned for the first time about the systematic murder that took place in Nazi concentration camps. But it was also at this point when he received a Bible. It was his first encounter with scripture. He was struck immediately by the Psalms of lament. He discovered that not only was it permissible to rail at God, the Bible actually gives us a way to do it! Even more dramatic though, was Professor Moltmann’s reaction to the story of the Passion of Christ. As he read the words, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Moltmann thought “now, here is one who understands me!”
Moltmann’s encounter with the crucifixion came comparatively late in life. Many of us have been taught from childhood that Christ died to save us. We see it on t-shirts and bumper stickers that we are “Saved by the blood of Christ”. It is unfortunate that this truth has become a soundbite. I imagine that the use of these slogans is in many cases more of a shot across the bow in the so called Culture Wars than a real theological statement. Perhaps it is the politically charged rhetoric that some use, perhaps it is the gruesome reality of crucifixion. Perhaps it is for other reasons, but many have turned away from discussing the story of Christ’s painful and bloody death. It doesn’t take much imagination to realize that crucifixion was a lousy way to die.
But, No matter how disturbing or controversial the story of Christ’s painful death is, it is crucial in understanding the scriptures like the passage from Romans we heard earlier. Christ’s death has much to say about suffering in our own lives. Many of the world’s greatest theologians have tried to explain the existence of suffering and how we, as Christians should respond to it.
Allow me to briefly outline the tradition this way: St. Augustine, in his discussion of the Psalms, expresses concern that we not grieve for our pain too much. It might show a lack of faith and is a preoccupation with the world when we should be concerned with higher things. We should understand that any suffering that we experience has a purpose, and as Augustine writes “it’s purpose is that the flame of our own desire for God may burn into a brighter blaze.” This may be wonderful theologically, and is appropriate for his time and place, but I can imagine the response Augustine might get if he said something like that to you folks.
Martin Luther is slightly more helpful. He says that grieving is understandable and God wants us to be able to do so, but in the end he really only disagrees with Augustine by a matter of degrees. God wants us to be able to grieve, just not too much.
John Calvin discusses suffering through the lens of predestination by writing that “all adversities proceed from God’s hand.” Calvin redeems suffering explaining that it is part of the divine. Pain is as much a part of life as is pleasure. Again, helpful academically, but unfortunately, well meaning people incorrectly invoke Calvin saying such things as “This must be all part of God’s plan.”
Now, these ideas were ground breaking and probably helpful in their own time and context. But things have changed greatly since when Calvin, the most recent of these three wrote in the 16th century. The modern theologian Karl Barth discusses the miracle of The Cross by saying that Christ’s death is a victory over sin and death. I think Barth is getting closer to something very helpful. We also know that he initially posited this idea during a funeral sermon for his son, who had been killed in an accident a few days earlier. Clearly, Barth knows something about suffering.
Building upon Barth is Jürgen Moltmann. In his book The Way of Jesus Christ, Moltmann writes, “At the centre of Christian faith is the history of Christ. At the centre of the history of Christ is his passion and his death on the Cross.” This is echoed in the comments he made to my seminary colleagues a week ago when while telling the story of his first reading of the Bible he said that, “Christ became (his) brother in suffering.”
But for many of us, God still seems remote. So, how do we bridge the gap? How can we be comforted by God? One way is in community, by coming together as you have today with similarly situated friends. Another way is through prayer and the rituals of the church.
Since my first surgery in ’94 and ’95, I have had numerous others. But, the most extensive and serious was in April of 2008. The most powerful example of the power of prayer and ritual I have ever experienced occurred during the bleakest point of my recovery from that surgery.
Before I had surgery, I told my wife Mary that if things got bad and I was very sick, the UMC Book of Worship had a wonderful service that might make the family feel better. Initially things went well, but after a few days, my condition worsened. I spent 4 weeks in Intensive care on a ventilator. I became so sick and was having such trouble breathing that the doctors decided to perform a tracheotomy. The doctors then told my family that it might be months before I was well enough to walk out of the hospital if, in fact, I ever recovered that well at all.
My parents’ pastor, Rev. Alex Hendrickson, agreed to perform the ceremony at my bedside. She even had an anointing balm that she had gotten on a recent trip to Jerusalem. I remember that my whole family, including Mary’s parents and older sister, were arrayed about my hospital bed. They laid their hands on me. Rev. Hendrickson took the balm and made the sign of the cross on my forehead. I remember feeling a wonderful warmth come over my body and a sensation of light going through me, piercing my chest and going skyward. I could actually feel the light! It was a feeling I had not felt before but somehow, I knew exactly what it was. I hesitate to name it for fear of minimizing it, somehow limiting it. It is indescribable, impossible to understand, but I think most call it the Holy Spirit.
Now, despite being in seminary and being a candidate for ordination, I am a bit of a skeptic. I realize that I was heavily medicated. Prior to and after this experience I was having hallucinations. But I remember vividly that everyone in that room was in tears. They all felt something too.
Again, I don’t recommend relying on faith to cure disease. I’m a big fan of doctors and am in awe of their skill. I believe it is important to pray but believing that prayer can cure disease is a theological slippery slope that I’m not willing to tread on. But having said that, the prayers of my family and friends were heard. While I’m not willing to say that I was cured by prayer and by the anointing with oil, they made me and the ones I love feel closer to God in their time of greatest loneliness and despair.
So, The Good News. And this time I mean The Good News in capital letters.
The Good News is that God gets it. God is not a clockmaker who set the world in motion and has gone away. God became human knowing that pain, limitedness, sorrow and grief waited. God became Christ knowing that Christ’s death would be painful and bloody. God knew Christ’s friends would betray him and God knew that Christ ultimately would be abandoned.
But God also knew that ultimately God in Christ would be raised from the dead. God knew that his death and resurrection would give us hope that someday we too will overcome our grief and our sorrow and our anger and our pain.
As Paul wrote,
I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Truly, this is one who understands us.
Amen.
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