August 2026 - Evangelizing the Moravians
A plea for prayer
(Author's note: Originally, this work was published as "Evangelizing the Bohemians", but as our mission was to the eastern side of Czechia, Moravia, a name change made more sense.)
Prague! It is widely considered one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, and, many would argue, in all the world. It has been nicknamed “The City of a Hundred Spires.” The great irony is that those spires were built to point heavenward toward the Source of the beauty of which those many churches were meant to honor. But today, the Czech Republic has earned the title of most secular nation in Europe with nearly 80% of its inhabitants identifying with no religious affiliation. This is rather amazing considering its rich history and the influence of Christianity on its soil. Sadly, though, there is a fascinating self-defeating phenomenon that Christianity, when it has become the norm, has been susceptible to, and it appears that Czechia has fallen victim to it.
Allow me to personify the nation of Czechia for a moment by using a man’s life as a metaphor for its centuries of existence.
Prague! It is widely considered one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, and, many would argue, in all the world. It has been nicknamed “The City of a Hundred Spires.” The great irony is that those spires were built to point heavenward toward the Source of the beauty of which those many churches were meant to honor. But today, the Czech Republic has earned the title of most secular nation in Europe with nearly 80% of its inhabitants identifying with no religious affiliation. This is rather amazing considering its rich history and the influence of Christianity on its soil. Sadly, though, there is a fascinating self-defeating phenomenon that Christianity, when it has become the norm, has been susceptible to, and it appears that Czechia has fallen victim to it.
Allow me to personify the nation of Czechia for a moment by using a man’s life as a metaphor for its centuries of existence.
***
Imagine a man, unmarried, and without children. We’ll call him Vojta (pr. VOY-tuh). He is a pagan man who has known nothing other than self-gratification and tribal conflict, yet his innate sense of the transcendent has led him to pursue dark religious practices in an attempt to appease the mysterious gods he naturally perceives must exist. Through a combination of ancestor worship, animism, and animal sacrifice, he wallows in a thatched hut on a subsistence level, barely scraping by. He is by nature a self-debasing man who has little other option than to find humor in his own miserable state, and therefore he is amicable to all who meet him. He is certainly not proud. In spite of his hobbit-like congeniality, he is pushed around by his bulkier neighbors from all cardinal directions. He is sat upon, bullied, mocked, and spit at. Yet he maintains his place in the center of the town.
Then, one day, Vojta hears the Gospel of Jesus Christ preached by missionaries and embraces the good news that life has a purpose and that we can know and be reconciled with the mysterious Creator of our grand earth. With a newfound vigor for life, he begins to get his life in order. He commits himself to making lovely things that glorify the Creator of all things bright and beautiful. In time, the realities of his faith pervade his life through and through. His faith becomes the bedrock of his existence.
After a while, inner torment strikes him as his Roman Catholic friends show inconsistencies in their own teachings, so he embraces an alternate, more reformed perspective on the Christian faith. Here his vigor is renewed and is missionized itself, and with great zeal (and at great cost to himself), he pursues spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the far ends of the earth. God blesses him richly. He marries and has a family. His self-built home becomes ever more magnificent; the envy of every other Christian in that town. It is obvious from his life that the truths of biblical wisdom lead to human flourishing.
Over the decades, though, this too runs its course, and the flame of charity lit in his middle aged years blends with a relativistic approach to all of faith. He focuses on the inconsistencies and hypocrisies of his years as a Christian, though not at all on those during his years as a pagan. He forgets that the blessings of the God of beauty were a direct result of a self-sacrificial, humble, and generous attitude toward others—an imitation of the Song of God, Love himself.
Vojta begins to see exclusivity as hate, and, in the misapplication of Christian charity, he invites everyone into his home. Even house rules go out the window, because that, too, he sees as hateful, closed-minded, and evil. He is now a progressive-minded man, keeping in lock-step with his neighbors who, too, have lost their moorings. Due perhaps to his many years of witnessing Christians strive in vain against one another, he now believes in Science as having the answers for life’s most difficult questions, because the Christians sure didn’t seem like they had them.
***
This is a simplified metaphor of the religious course the Czech people have been on over the last 1,200 years. Today, they are thoroughly secular with approximately 9% as Roman Catholic and 2% as Protestant.
Czechia serves as the crossroads of Europe, the bridge between the Latin West and the Slavic East, and our mission to this spiritually vacant nation is to aid in the defibrillation of its once-Christian heartbeat. We won’t likely face physical persecution, but some manner of ridicule is to be expected. Pray that we have the boldness to speak the truth plainly and with conviction. Pray that our conversations with the Czech people would reach their hearts. Pray that any who have been given the germ of faith would have their seed watered and, in time, reach maturity.
Finally, one of my favorite true stories about the fervent faith of the Czech/German Moravians led by Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf involved two men, Johann Leonard Dober and David Nitschmann, who knew of an un-evangelized and un-reachable community among the Caribbean slave trade. They, therefore, planned to sell themselves into slavery in order to minister to these lost souls. Within two years, Moravian missionaries to the Caribbean baptized 13,000 people. In 1734, Dober and Nitschmann returned to Europe to serve as a bishops, but Nitschmann relocated to Bethlehem, PA where he and John Wesley helped establish the Moravian presence there.
It is not known what the lasting impact will be when carrying the Gospel to the lost, but the arm of the Lord is not too short to save (Isa. 59:1). His Word is like a two-edged sword piercing joints and marrow (Heb. 4:12). Nor should we be anxious, for in that hour we will be given what to say (Mark 10:19). Now we go to make disciples (Matt. 28:19) of the Czech nation. Pray to that end.
Czechia serves as the crossroads of Europe, the bridge between the Latin West and the Slavic East, and our mission to this spiritually vacant nation is to aid in the defibrillation of its once-Christian heartbeat. We won’t likely face physical persecution, but some manner of ridicule is to be expected. Pray that we have the boldness to speak the truth plainly and with conviction. Pray that our conversations with the Czech people would reach their hearts. Pray that any who have been given the germ of faith would have their seed watered and, in time, reach maturity.
Finally, one of my favorite true stories about the fervent faith of the Czech/German Moravians led by Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf involved two men, Johann Leonard Dober and David Nitschmann, who knew of an un-evangelized and un-reachable community among the Caribbean slave trade. They, therefore, planned to sell themselves into slavery in order to minister to these lost souls. Within two years, Moravian missionaries to the Caribbean baptized 13,000 people. In 1734, Dober and Nitschmann returned to Europe to serve as a bishops, but Nitschmann relocated to Bethlehem, PA where he and John Wesley helped establish the Moravian presence there.
It is not known what the lasting impact will be when carrying the Gospel to the lost, but the arm of the Lord is not too short to save (Isa. 59:1). His Word is like a two-edged sword piercing joints and marrow (Heb. 4:12). Nor should we be anxious, for in that hour we will be given what to say (Mark 10:19). Now we go to make disciples (Matt. 28:19) of the Czech nation. Pray to that end.
“I hope, by God’s grace, that I am truly a Christian, not deviating from the faith,
and that I would rather suffer the penalty of a terrible death than wish to affirm anything outside of the faith.”
Czech pastor and martyr Jan Hus (1369-1415)
and that I would rather suffer the penalty of a terrible death than wish to affirm anything outside of the faith.”
Czech pastor and martyr Jan Hus (1369-1415)
July 2026 - Children of Men
(Parent book discussion for October)
British author P. D. James is noted for her crime thrillers and detective mysteries. In 1992, she diverted from her usual detective fare—a series featuring detective Adam Dalgliesh—and penned a stand-alone, post-apocalyptic, dystopian science fiction novel called Children of Men. The book was in many ways ahead of its time, noticing trends present in her day and extrapolating them to their mathematically inevitable conclusions if left unchecked.
The premise for Children of Men is that mankind has suddenly and mysteriously become incapable of procreating both naturally and artificially, which is a dramatic similarity to a real global decline in birthrates in our day as noted by Al Mohler in his June 23, 2026 The Briefing podcast (Part II). The novel wrestles with the question of what makes life worth living if there is no future for posterity, which is sadly a reality for a growing number of couples worldwide. I am only one chapter into the book (trying to finish The Brothers Karamazov first), and I’ve already underlined over two dozen instances of striking prescience for our day. James, like C.S. Lewis, was ahead of her time in identifying cultural sins and predicting the impact they would have on society.
There is a 2006 film adaptation by director Alfonso Cuaron. Only, be not deceived!, this version is not at heart the same story. According to this First Things article by Anthony Sacramone, the film is merely a masquerade of subtle left-wing propaganda. In Sacramone’s blunt words, it is even “an act of vandalism” to James’ message. View at your own risk.
To be fair, though, I was first introduced to the story through the film, and, owing perhaps to my youthful inability to read into political commentary, I did not pick up on its messaging nor did I even entertain the notion that the film might differ much from the book. In fact, I rather liked it for the countercultural message it does possess: human life is sacred and must be preserved. Still, I cannot enthusiastically recommend the film for having read Sacramone’s enlightening article, not to mention due to its graphic nature though Cuaron’s gritty eye as a 21st century director. For some, however, it might be worthy of a side-by-side analysis after having read the book.
Worth noting also is that while James’ novel was written in 1992, it’s set in 2021. And Cuaron’s 2006 film version is set in 2027. A quarter-century after the genesis of the book and the film, the details are not perfectly prophetic, but the parallels in both tellings are uncanny.
In 2014, P. D. James’ Christian faith became sight.
The premise for Children of Men is that mankind has suddenly and mysteriously become incapable of procreating both naturally and artificially, which is a dramatic similarity to a real global decline in birthrates in our day as noted by Al Mohler in his June 23, 2026 The Briefing podcast (Part II). The novel wrestles with the question of what makes life worth living if there is no future for posterity, which is sadly a reality for a growing number of couples worldwide. I am only one chapter into the book (trying to finish The Brothers Karamazov first), and I’ve already underlined over two dozen instances of striking prescience for our day. James, like C.S. Lewis, was ahead of her time in identifying cultural sins and predicting the impact they would have on society.
There is a 2006 film adaptation by director Alfonso Cuaron. Only, be not deceived!, this version is not at heart the same story. According to this First Things article by Anthony Sacramone, the film is merely a masquerade of subtle left-wing propaganda. In Sacramone’s blunt words, it is even “an act of vandalism” to James’ message. View at your own risk.
To be fair, though, I was first introduced to the story through the film, and, owing perhaps to my youthful inability to read into political commentary, I did not pick up on its messaging nor did I even entertain the notion that the film might differ much from the book. In fact, I rather liked it for the countercultural message it does possess: human life is sacred and must be preserved. Still, I cannot enthusiastically recommend the film for having read Sacramone’s enlightening article, not to mention due to its graphic nature though Cuaron’s gritty eye as a 21st century director. For some, however, it might be worthy of a side-by-side analysis after having read the book.
Worth noting also is that while James’ novel was written in 1992, it’s set in 2021. And Cuaron’s 2006 film version is set in 2027. A quarter-century after the genesis of the book and the film, the details are not perfectly prophetic, but the parallels in both tellings are uncanny.
In 2014, P. D. James’ Christian faith became sight.
“Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men.”
Psalm 90:3 (KJV)
Psalm 90:3 (KJV)
June 2026 - Count that [Life] Lost
(Commencement address for the graduating class of 2026)
Born on November 22, 1819, Mary Ann Evans, better known by her pen name George Eliot, began her life as a fervent Christian. Raised in a middle-of-the-road Anglican home, Evans had a proclivity for brilliant writing and thinking. Later in her life, she adopted the alias George Eliot, a distinctly masculine-sounding name, because the Victorian era in which she swam fancied male sensibilities in literature over those of the female.
I emphasize that George Eliot was an ardent Christian not because she has long ago died and her faith has been made sight, but rather because her faith faltered and she exchanged it for a generic agnosticism and progressive humanism heavily seasoned with Victorian Christian ideals.
Though George Eliot wrote such home library staples as Silas Marner & Middlemarch, ALC’s high school students know her best for her posthumously published poem “Count That Day Lost.” This poem, recited weekly, has served as a reminder to the student body to reflect on our acts and deeds – both large and small – at the day’s end and to evaluate the worth of our deeds in the light of eternity.
Why did we spend our time learning a poem written by someone who ceased to identify herself as a Christian? Well, for one reason, the poem contains biblical truth: actions matter and have eternal implications. And for another reason, as a wise woman within our community recently put it, “While it can be good to learn from our mistakes, it is far better to learn from someone else’s.” In other words, when seeing the truth in the words of this poem – words which I truly hope all the students carry with them through life – we can both acknowledge and avoid the errors of their author.
Graduates: guard your hearts carefully as you journey through a world which wants to steal you away from Jesus.
With that, let’s revisit the poem again. It goes like this:
I emphasize that George Eliot was an ardent Christian not because she has long ago died and her faith has been made sight, but rather because her faith faltered and she exchanged it for a generic agnosticism and progressive humanism heavily seasoned with Victorian Christian ideals.
Though George Eliot wrote such home library staples as Silas Marner & Middlemarch, ALC’s high school students know her best for her posthumously published poem “Count That Day Lost.” This poem, recited weekly, has served as a reminder to the student body to reflect on our acts and deeds – both large and small – at the day’s end and to evaluate the worth of our deeds in the light of eternity.
Why did we spend our time learning a poem written by someone who ceased to identify herself as a Christian? Well, for one reason, the poem contains biblical truth: actions matter and have eternal implications. And for another reason, as a wise woman within our community recently put it, “While it can be good to learn from our mistakes, it is far better to learn from someone else’s.” In other words, when seeing the truth in the words of this poem – words which I truly hope all the students carry with them through life – we can both acknowledge and avoid the errors of their author.
Graduates: guard your hearts carefully as you journey through a world which wants to steal you away from Jesus.
With that, let’s revisit the poem again. It goes like this:
|
If you sit down at set of sun
And count the acts that you have done, And, counting, find One self-denying deed, one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind That fell like sunshine where it went -- Then you may count that day well spent. But if, through all the livelong day, You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay -- If, through it all You've nothing done that you can trace That brought the sunshine to one face-- No act most small That helped some soul and nothing cost -- Then count that day as worse than lost. |
It is a worthwhile poem; a strong reminder to do well towards others every day, because this is a command from God above: Love thy neighbor as thyself.
But there’s a subtle and true message in the poem which I fear its perceptive author seems to have missed. In her turning from the truths of scripture and her embrace of man’s wisdom over God’s wisdom, she inadvertently emptied the final of line of her poem of all meaning. “Count that day as worse than lost.”
You see, for the atheistic nihilist, there is nothing after this life, so anything gained or sacrificed will merely be forgotten and therefore lost to the memory of the self and ultimately lost to all conscious thought whatsoever. For, kind-hearted humanist though she was, she who rejected the God of the Bible also rejected the justice of the Bible. And if there is no justice, then there is no reward for righteousness and no punishment for wickedness. And if there is no follow-through, then how can a life of greed or malice be condemned? Without God to judge, how can such a day be “worse than lost.”
Here, at the end of all things, might I propose to you graduates a new charge? Yes, the poem you’ve learned definitely contains wisdom, but only for the one who acknowledges God’s justice, and on the surface, it seems only to apply to daily reflection. But what if we turned the word “Day” in the poem into a metaphor for “Life”? “Count that Life lost.” In fact, what if we reengineered the poem’s words entirely to more accurately resemble the truths of scripture?
|
When you lay down and breathe your last
And search the life of decades past, And, searching, own One self-denying God, The Word Whose awful death our sins incurred, The Lord of Hosts Whose life of love was heaven-sent-- Then you may count your days well spent. But if, through all your numbered years, You’ve loved no Lord, nor served, nor feared, If, through it all You’ve honored not the Lamb whose face Is very sunlight to each race-- A debt most tall To Him whose life knew bitt’rest cost Then weep, for you are worse than lost. |
(Some may accuse me of committing a literary heresy by altering Eliot’s words. Maybe so. But if I am right about Christ’s eternal lordship over this cosmos, then I think Eliot would find the alterations justifiable. And if I am wrong, and we find an eternal nothingness inhabited by nothing and no one, then I don’t think Eliot will be minding very much at all.)
I picked this poem for these ladies because it is helpful and because it was written by a lady (though with a man’s name): George Eliot. Sadly, however, the general trajectory of her life ought not be emulated. So, I will do a not-so-subtle switch and link this message to a different lady Elliot. Ironically, and with entirely coincidental – or should I say providential – happenstance, the last time we had a graduating class of all young ladies was in 2020, and for that commencement speech, I chose Elisabeth Elliot to set the bar. She bore no relation to the poet George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), and their lives could probably not be any more different.
The revised poem (Count That Life Lost) captures this other Elliot’s story. In 1953, Elisabeth Howard married Jim Elliot where they moved to Ecuador, had a baby daughter, and fervently evangelized to the secluded native people there. Three years later, her husband, Jim, was speared to death while trying to take the Gospel message deep into the heart of Ecuador. Jesus said, “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Jim Elliot knew the risks and was even willing to act on this “self-denying deed” wherein he could lose all the things he loved most in this world. But he also had the great wisdom to pen the following: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” In other words, these frail, temporary lives have been gifted to us, and we have been vested with talents and abilities to give back to our Maker. Only a fool thinks he is immune from this responsibility.
While Jim Elliot’s self-sacrificial martyrdom was amazing, what is perhaps even more incredible is the sacrifice endured by his surviving widow, Elisabeth. She and her young daughter eventually returned to the Auca Indian community in forgiveness. It was there that she laid down her life every day, again and again, to continue the work that Jim lost his for. In a similar vein as her husband, Elisabeth herself said, “You can never lose what you have offered to Christ.” Ever since, her self-sacrificial acts have impacted tens of thousands of people. And this is all because both she and her husband served a Lord who embodied this highest form of true love to the world.
Ladies, it would feel redundant for me to say “choose this day whom you will serve”, for you’ve been raised in homes that echoed this refrain from day one. It will be yours to choose, though, in future years, the legacy you wish to leave on the world: one of small acts of selflessness, Christlikeness, and forgiveness, or a life of self-indulgence, self-centeredness, and self-love.
Like Elisabeth Elliot, do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. I can grant you no more significant charge than this.
I picked this poem for these ladies because it is helpful and because it was written by a lady (though with a man’s name): George Eliot. Sadly, however, the general trajectory of her life ought not be emulated. So, I will do a not-so-subtle switch and link this message to a different lady Elliot. Ironically, and with entirely coincidental – or should I say providential – happenstance, the last time we had a graduating class of all young ladies was in 2020, and for that commencement speech, I chose Elisabeth Elliot to set the bar. She bore no relation to the poet George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans), and their lives could probably not be any more different.
The revised poem (Count That Life Lost) captures this other Elliot’s story. In 1953, Elisabeth Howard married Jim Elliot where they moved to Ecuador, had a baby daughter, and fervently evangelized to the secluded native people there. Three years later, her husband, Jim, was speared to death while trying to take the Gospel message deep into the heart of Ecuador. Jesus said, “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Jim Elliot knew the risks and was even willing to act on this “self-denying deed” wherein he could lose all the things he loved most in this world. But he also had the great wisdom to pen the following: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.” In other words, these frail, temporary lives have been gifted to us, and we have been vested with talents and abilities to give back to our Maker. Only a fool thinks he is immune from this responsibility.
While Jim Elliot’s self-sacrificial martyrdom was amazing, what is perhaps even more incredible is the sacrifice endured by his surviving widow, Elisabeth. She and her young daughter eventually returned to the Auca Indian community in forgiveness. It was there that she laid down her life every day, again and again, to continue the work that Jim lost his for. In a similar vein as her husband, Elisabeth herself said, “You can never lose what you have offered to Christ.” Ever since, her self-sacrificial acts have impacted tens of thousands of people. And this is all because both she and her husband served a Lord who embodied this highest form of true love to the world.
Ladies, it would feel redundant for me to say “choose this day whom you will serve”, for you’ve been raised in homes that echoed this refrain from day one. It will be yours to choose, though, in future years, the legacy you wish to leave on the world: one of small acts of selflessness, Christlikeness, and forgiveness, or a life of self-indulgence, self-centeredness, and self-love.
Like Elisabeth Elliot, do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. I can grant you no more significant charge than this.
May 2026 - When through the deep waters
(Address to a church daddy-daughter dance)
Have you ever felt like you were drowning? I mean when you were in water (a pool, the ocean, a river) and you went under and couldn’t catch your breath? I have. It’s extremely scary! When I was little, my cousin used to throw me into the deep end of the pool, even though I was a poor swimmer. I was terrified, because being in deep water where you can’t catch your breath is a terrifying thing.
Once when I was at the shore, I was trying to get out to a sand bar where my older brothers were. In between the shoreline and the sandbar, though, there was a deep portion with swiftly moving water called an undertow. I couldn’t get my footing, and, faster than I could swim, I began to be swept out of the region between the safety flags designated for swimming. The lifeguard blew the whistle at me motioning over to the area I was supposed to be in, and upon realizing I was helpless, splashed out with the torpedo flotation device and pulled me in to dry land.
Feeling like you are drowning is such a scary sensation. When normally you can decide to control your movements by walking this way or that, when in deep, fast-moving water, you suddenly realize that you are powerless to do so. You can’t get your footing. No matter how much you splash, you can’t go where you want. And if left alone, you will begin to grow weaker and weaker and eventually succumb to the relentless waves. This sense of drowning in water is a feeling common to many people. But it is also a picture of what life itself can sometimes feel like when we are not capable to handle all its pressures. Such pressures could involve difficult relationships or school assignments which seem impossible. We feel powerless, and if left by ourselves, the pressures might overcome us and bring us great trouble. Sometimes God even allows us to go through these difficulties in order that we remember our reliance on Him. That is why the hymn writer penned these familiar words:
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
I want to share a picture with you. It has recently become one of my favorites. It is called “The Life Line” and was painted by an artist named Winslow Homer in 1884. It depicts a real kind of scenario. During the age of tall sailing ships, sometimes one of the ships would run too close to the shore during a storm. It might get stuck on rocks where it would begin to take on water and start to sink.
Once when I was at the shore, I was trying to get out to a sand bar where my older brothers were. In between the shoreline and the sandbar, though, there was a deep portion with swiftly moving water called an undertow. I couldn’t get my footing, and, faster than I could swim, I began to be swept out of the region between the safety flags designated for swimming. The lifeguard blew the whistle at me motioning over to the area I was supposed to be in, and upon realizing I was helpless, splashed out with the torpedo flotation device and pulled me in to dry land.
Feeling like you are drowning is such a scary sensation. When normally you can decide to control your movements by walking this way or that, when in deep, fast-moving water, you suddenly realize that you are powerless to do so. You can’t get your footing. No matter how much you splash, you can’t go where you want. And if left alone, you will begin to grow weaker and weaker and eventually succumb to the relentless waves. This sense of drowning in water is a feeling common to many people. But it is also a picture of what life itself can sometimes feel like when we are not capable to handle all its pressures. Such pressures could involve difficult relationships or school assignments which seem impossible. We feel powerless, and if left by ourselves, the pressures might overcome us and bring us great trouble. Sometimes God even allows us to go through these difficulties in order that we remember our reliance on Him. That is why the hymn writer penned these familiar words:
When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;
for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.
I want to share a picture with you. It has recently become one of my favorites. It is called “The Life Line” and was painted by an artist named Winslow Homer in 1884. It depicts a real kind of scenario. During the age of tall sailing ships, sometimes one of the ships would run too close to the shore during a storm. It might get stuck on rocks where it would begin to take on water and start to sink.
"The Life Line" (1884) by Winslow Homer
In such a situation, a crewman on the ship would get out a tool called a distress flare and shoot it into the air to signal for help. And all along the coast there were special buildings called Lifesaving Stations. These stations had strong, hearty men living in them, always watching for such a distress signal. And storm or calm, night or day, these men would come to rescue those on the sinking ship. Sometimes the men would row out with smaller lifeboats. Other times, they would fire off a specialized cannonball with a rope attached to one end. This ball would fly over the ship carrying the rope with it to make a sort of pulley cable like the one in this picture. Here, a woman is being carried from the ship to the safety of land. She has even fainted and does not know she is being rescued. This is so much like how we are when we believe in Jesus as our savior. By placing our whole lives fully in his care through faith, we are saved from eternal destruction! Paul explained it this way to the Romans, “If you say with your mouth that Jesus is Lord AND believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Rom. 10:9). All you have to do is trust and put yourself entirely in his secure arms.
At our dance this evening, we can both celebrate the beauty and respect the dangers of the sea in safety. As the sea can be both beautiful and dangerous, so too can life itself be incredibly beautiful and terrifyingly dangerous at the same time. And if ever we realize we are drowning, whether in real water or the metaphorical waters of life, it is critical that we call out for help. We are in a church full of life-saving wisdom and strong, seasoned men and women who are here to help you, because they too have known what it feels like to be drowning. Is it wise to go swimming outside of the lifeguard’s view? No! Is it wise to go out into the world without family and friends for accountability and to help us when the deep waters overwhelm us? No! God made the church be a lot like a Lifesaving Station.
More than that, we have a God who is like a solid rock or firm ground. He is our shelter in the storm. And His son Jesus is like an anchor that keeps us steady even when the swift current around us wants to smash us against the craggy shoreline. And one of the most amazing miracles Jesus ever did was when he calmed the storm at sea. His disciples knew at that time that not only was he the master of the weather, but even storms of life would be powerless against him. If we trust in Jesus, we are like the woman in this painting who entirely put herself in the care of her rescuer, then he will carry us through to safety.
And that is even a more beautiful reason to celebrate than the sea itself.
At our dance this evening, we can both celebrate the beauty and respect the dangers of the sea in safety. As the sea can be both beautiful and dangerous, so too can life itself be incredibly beautiful and terrifyingly dangerous at the same time. And if ever we realize we are drowning, whether in real water or the metaphorical waters of life, it is critical that we call out for help. We are in a church full of life-saving wisdom and strong, seasoned men and women who are here to help you, because they too have known what it feels like to be drowning. Is it wise to go swimming outside of the lifeguard’s view? No! Is it wise to go out into the world without family and friends for accountability and to help us when the deep waters overwhelm us? No! God made the church be a lot like a Lifesaving Station.
More than that, we have a God who is like a solid rock or firm ground. He is our shelter in the storm. And His son Jesus is like an anchor that keeps us steady even when the swift current around us wants to smash us against the craggy shoreline. And one of the most amazing miracles Jesus ever did was when he calmed the storm at sea. His disciples knew at that time that not only was he the master of the weather, but even storms of life would be powerless against him. If we trust in Jesus, we are like the woman in this painting who entirely put herself in the care of her rescuer, then he will carry us through to safety.
And that is even a more beautiful reason to celebrate than the sea itself.
And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and
the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, “What sort of man is this,
that even winds and sea obey him?”
Matthew 8:26-27
the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, “What sort of man is this,
that even winds and sea obey him?”
Matthew 8:26-27
April 2026 - Easter
(Four poems for easter and the resurrection)
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“He Hath Abolished the Old Drouth”
by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889) He hath abolished the old drouth, And rivers run where all was dry, The field is sopp'd with merciful dew. He hath put a new song in my mouth, The words are old, the purport new, And taught my lips to quote this word That I shall live, I shall not die, But I shall when the shocks are stored See the salvation of the Lord. We meet together, you and I, Meet in one acre of one land, And I will turn my looks to you, And you shall meet me with reply, We shall be sheaved with one band In harvest and in garnering, When heavenly vales so thick shall stand With corn that they shall laugh and sing. |
“Love (III)”
by George Herbert (1593-1633) Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing. A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I? Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat. |
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“A Better Resurrection”
by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894) I have no wit, no words, no tears; My heart within me like a stone Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears; Look right, look left, I dwell alone; I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief No everlasting hills I see; My life is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me. My life is like a faded leaf, My harvest dwindled to a husk: Truly my life is void and brief And tedious in the barren dusk; My life is like a frozen thing, No bud nor greenness can I see: Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring; O Jesus, rise in me. My life is like a broken bowl, A broken bowl that cannot hold One drop of water for my soul Or cordial in the searching cold; Cast in the fire the perish'd thing; Melt and remould it, till it be A royal cup for Him, my King: O Jesus, drink of me. |
“Easter Dawn”
by Malcolm Guite (1957-) He blesses every love which weeps and grieves And now he blesses hers who stood and wept And would not be consoled, or leave her love’s Last touching place, but watched as low light crept Up from the east. A sound behind her stirs A scatter of bright birdsong through the air. She turns, but cannot focus through her tears, Or recognise the Gardener standing there. She hardly hears his gentle question ‘Why, Why are you weeping?’, or sees the play of light That brightens as she chokes out her reply ‘They took my love away, my day is night’ And then she hears her name, she hears Love say The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day. And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.
Matthew 28:2 |
March 2026 - Abandon Hope All Ye Who [Live] Here
(Addressing a declining West)
Classical education strongly values certain aspects of western culture, and rightly so. Generations of shared cultural heritage (literature, art, architecture, cuisine, etc.) have amassed to help give context and place to the societies within our hemisphere and the individuals within our societies. This is something that has been rapidly eroding over the last several decades—some would argue centuries—as a global conglomerate of corporations has made it possible to eat KFC in Beijing and order sushi in Morgantown, PA. Amazon has allowed us to access whatever we want (provided the price is right), and Google allows virtually infinite knowledge anywhere there’s signal.
Before you think that this humble headmaster is complaining (I happen to enjoy conveniently local sushi and receiving Amazon miscellany) you might have gotten wind that the world is shrinking and not everyone is pleased. Many intellectuals have studied this phenomenon and offer their opinions as to where it will take us. One fascinating 2025 book on this subject is by Paul Kingsnorth called Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity. While you might find yourself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing with Kingsnorth throughout the read, his book is no less insightful and prescient for Christians to carefully consider our cultural moment.
One critique Kingsnorth presents is that Western culture, for all its contributions to human history, has its limitations and even detractions from what leads to the abundant life. I think we can all agree on this to some extent. And it is this topic that I wish to unpack myself, leaving you to spar with Kingsnorth on your own watch.
Classical education has praised and valued Western civilization for many centuries. And yet, there are aspects of our civilization which do not seem in keeping with the tenets of classicism. How can this be? It comes back to the old adage about the baby and the bathwater. I contend that our western world has been primarily influenced by the truths of the Bible. The hierarchical authority structures of the middle ages, English common law and legal justice, the protestant work ethic, and the balance of power in government can all arguably find their origins in the principles of scripture. This is the metaphorical baby. And this, I would argue, is what has made Western culture great.
But now we are steeping in some bathwater that has comingled with the good, true, and beautiful elements of our culture. Floating as bathy detritus include consumerism, scientism, expressive individualism, the self-love movement, transgenderism, and even transhumanism. This is cultural bathwater that needs to be thrown out, for it is not in keeping with the truths that have made our culture great.
That said, it is not Western culture at all, then, that is what we value but biblical culture. Now the trouble with this is that there are excellent Western literary works and artistic creations which precede the New Testament and the coming of Christ, so it can’t be solely Christian things which lay claim to the transcendentals. Even so, if there is any authentic beauty in pagan creations, it was gleaned from the common grace extended to all men from the God of the Bible. For this very same reason we can appreciate aspects of Eastern culture insofar as they are in keeping with those transcendent values which proceed from the Creator.
It is for this reason that I believe Jesus was not born in a manger in New York City or Barcellona or Tokyo or New Delhi. He wasn’t born in Hawai’i or the Philippines or Siberia or Patagonia. Instead, the Son of God came to a culturally-backward ancient people who were struggling for survival and geographically located at the crossroads between East and West: the tiny Middle Eastern nation of Israel, which is fixed on the coast of the Mediterranean (literally “Middle Earth”) Sea. Furthermore, in addition to the real, penal, substitutionary, atoning work of our Lord on the cross, the symbol of the cross itself is meaningful as its horizontal arms and vertical supports point in all cardinal directions signifying that the Gospel is for all who believe, Gentiles included (praise be to God!), regardless of ethnic bloodline.
Let’s pitch the bathwater and keep our focus on the baby of Scripture being careful not to get soiled by the filth of a culture that resists the Truth. Let’s not confuse Westernism for Christianity and vice versa, and, when we’ve figured out what we truly stand for and stand upon, let’s establish peculiar rules that allow us to stand out from that culture. If we do not do these things, I’m afraid we too will dissolve with the increasingly invisible culture around us. If we instead cling to that core trunk of God’s Word, revolutionary winds may blow around us, but we will remain intact, preserved, and equipped for everlasting life in glory. And that is the hope we are holding on to.
So, to respectfully reverse and revise the phrase in Dante’s Inferno written over the gates of Hell, do not “Abandon hope, all ye who [live] here.”
Before you think that this humble headmaster is complaining (I happen to enjoy conveniently local sushi and receiving Amazon miscellany) you might have gotten wind that the world is shrinking and not everyone is pleased. Many intellectuals have studied this phenomenon and offer their opinions as to where it will take us. One fascinating 2025 book on this subject is by Paul Kingsnorth called Against the Machine: On the Unmaking of Humanity. While you might find yourself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing with Kingsnorth throughout the read, his book is no less insightful and prescient for Christians to carefully consider our cultural moment.
One critique Kingsnorth presents is that Western culture, for all its contributions to human history, has its limitations and even detractions from what leads to the abundant life. I think we can all agree on this to some extent. And it is this topic that I wish to unpack myself, leaving you to spar with Kingsnorth on your own watch.
Classical education has praised and valued Western civilization for many centuries. And yet, there are aspects of our civilization which do not seem in keeping with the tenets of classicism. How can this be? It comes back to the old adage about the baby and the bathwater. I contend that our western world has been primarily influenced by the truths of the Bible. The hierarchical authority structures of the middle ages, English common law and legal justice, the protestant work ethic, and the balance of power in government can all arguably find their origins in the principles of scripture. This is the metaphorical baby. And this, I would argue, is what has made Western culture great.
But now we are steeping in some bathwater that has comingled with the good, true, and beautiful elements of our culture. Floating as bathy detritus include consumerism, scientism, expressive individualism, the self-love movement, transgenderism, and even transhumanism. This is cultural bathwater that needs to be thrown out, for it is not in keeping with the truths that have made our culture great.
That said, it is not Western culture at all, then, that is what we value but biblical culture. Now the trouble with this is that there are excellent Western literary works and artistic creations which precede the New Testament and the coming of Christ, so it can’t be solely Christian things which lay claim to the transcendentals. Even so, if there is any authentic beauty in pagan creations, it was gleaned from the common grace extended to all men from the God of the Bible. For this very same reason we can appreciate aspects of Eastern culture insofar as they are in keeping with those transcendent values which proceed from the Creator.
It is for this reason that I believe Jesus was not born in a manger in New York City or Barcellona or Tokyo or New Delhi. He wasn’t born in Hawai’i or the Philippines or Siberia or Patagonia. Instead, the Son of God came to a culturally-backward ancient people who were struggling for survival and geographically located at the crossroads between East and West: the tiny Middle Eastern nation of Israel, which is fixed on the coast of the Mediterranean (literally “Middle Earth”) Sea. Furthermore, in addition to the real, penal, substitutionary, atoning work of our Lord on the cross, the symbol of the cross itself is meaningful as its horizontal arms and vertical supports point in all cardinal directions signifying that the Gospel is for all who believe, Gentiles included (praise be to God!), regardless of ethnic bloodline.
Let’s pitch the bathwater and keep our focus on the baby of Scripture being careful not to get soiled by the filth of a culture that resists the Truth. Let’s not confuse Westernism for Christianity and vice versa, and, when we’ve figured out what we truly stand for and stand upon, let’s establish peculiar rules that allow us to stand out from that culture. If we do not do these things, I’m afraid we too will dissolve with the increasingly invisible culture around us. If we instead cling to that core trunk of God’s Word, revolutionary winds may blow around us, but we will remain intact, preserved, and equipped for everlasting life in glory. And that is the hope we are holding on to.
So, to respectfully reverse and revise the phrase in Dante’s Inferno written over the gates of Hell, do not “Abandon hope, all ye who [live] here.”
“A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it.”
G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (1925)
G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man (1925)
February 2026 - There and Back Again
(Uncommon reflections on a brief visit to Hawai’i)
It’s funny how, if you wait long enough, the Lord provides opportunities you never could have expected. I was 38 when I first left this country (okay, the Niagara Gorge doesn’t count). Our destination was the Czech Republic which has one of the most beautiful cities in Europe: Prague. Having been a geek for medieval castles and European history in general since childhood, the sensation was surreal when I first laid eyes on the patchwork hamlets of England from the air and when we touched down on the mainland in Czechia itself. Over three decades of longing was finally met.
Then, this past fall I was approached by one of my middle brothers about taking a trip to Hawai’i to see our oldest brother who lives on Oahu, as the latter would be turning 50 in January. I was the only one of the siblings in my family never to have made the 12+ hour trip, punctuated by a layover in Los Angeles. Finances and work schedule had been prohibitive. Another reason I was reticent to go is a bit hard to explain, but I’ll do my best to keep it brief. Imagine you were granted the opportunity to visit Heaven. Would you want to return? Everything I had ever heard about Hawai’i was that it is Heaven on earth, a tropical paradise, utterly ambrosial. But I didn’t want to experience Heaven only to be ripped back to January in PA. I’m the kind of guy who prefers New Jersey beaches, perhaps because of their imperfections. Even if that does make sense, I don’t expect anyone to agree – it’s definitely a quirk. But I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse; lodging, food, transportation, activities, and an expert tour guide (the resident brother) would be free of charge. So, I agreed to something I never imagined would happen: a three-day weekend jaunt to the Aloha State bookended by two days of travel. Again, what seemed impossible was now materializing, and the feeling was surreal.
The first thing worth noting occurred on the flight over, and it in and of itself made the half-day-long economy-class window-seat journey worth it. You might remember that I’ve been teaching a Sunday school class on Genesis and the global flood. Though there was no GPS flight tracking system for passenger use on this plane, as we were flying, for some reason I remembered that a Philly to L.A. flight might take us over New Mexico and Arizona. I slid open the window visor and watched the desert southwest creep by, wondering if we’d get to fly over the Grand Canyon – that mighty, ancient testament to rapidly receding flood waters. Would I be on the correct side of the plane? Would it even be noticeable from 35,000 feet in the air. Gradually, a crack became visible, like a split in concrete. It lengthened and widened to unimaginable proportions, extending beyond the scope that my narrow porthole availed. I experienced the unrivaled Grand Canyon at last! This gift was truly Heaven-sent. God knew I expected to never see it, let alone from such a magnificent vantage. The sky was cloudless; the angle of the sun was ideal. The canyon walls were dramatic. The foliated layers of strata were unmistakably vivid. My eyes misted. I worshiped God!
Then, this past fall I was approached by one of my middle brothers about taking a trip to Hawai’i to see our oldest brother who lives on Oahu, as the latter would be turning 50 in January. I was the only one of the siblings in my family never to have made the 12+ hour trip, punctuated by a layover in Los Angeles. Finances and work schedule had been prohibitive. Another reason I was reticent to go is a bit hard to explain, but I’ll do my best to keep it brief. Imagine you were granted the opportunity to visit Heaven. Would you want to return? Everything I had ever heard about Hawai’i was that it is Heaven on earth, a tropical paradise, utterly ambrosial. But I didn’t want to experience Heaven only to be ripped back to January in PA. I’m the kind of guy who prefers New Jersey beaches, perhaps because of their imperfections. Even if that does make sense, I don’t expect anyone to agree – it’s definitely a quirk. But I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse; lodging, food, transportation, activities, and an expert tour guide (the resident brother) would be free of charge. So, I agreed to something I never imagined would happen: a three-day weekend jaunt to the Aloha State bookended by two days of travel. Again, what seemed impossible was now materializing, and the feeling was surreal.
The first thing worth noting occurred on the flight over, and it in and of itself made the half-day-long economy-class window-seat journey worth it. You might remember that I’ve been teaching a Sunday school class on Genesis and the global flood. Though there was no GPS flight tracking system for passenger use on this plane, as we were flying, for some reason I remembered that a Philly to L.A. flight might take us over New Mexico and Arizona. I slid open the window visor and watched the desert southwest creep by, wondering if we’d get to fly over the Grand Canyon – that mighty, ancient testament to rapidly receding flood waters. Would I be on the correct side of the plane? Would it even be noticeable from 35,000 feet in the air. Gradually, a crack became visible, like a split in concrete. It lengthened and widened to unimaginable proportions, extending beyond the scope that my narrow porthole availed. I experienced the unrivaled Grand Canyon at last! This gift was truly Heaven-sent. God knew I expected to never see it, let alone from such a magnificent vantage. The sky was cloudless; the angle of the sun was ideal. The canyon walls were dramatic. The foliated layers of strata were unmistakably vivid. My eyes misted. I worshiped God!
It will be difficult to cram all of what we did, discussed, and learned together in those three days within the remainder of this newsletter. But I will say that the trip was medicinal in many unforeseen ways. One thing I realized was that, for all its celebrated pomp and glory, Hawai’i, too, is tinged with the effects of a cursed globe. It has giant, poisonous centipedes. It has prickly grass along some beaches. Its rock hard coral reefs, though excellent erosion protectors, can be deadly to surfers. Though it has a large Christian and Mormon contingency, Hawai’i has sin-fueled poverty in some places, and opulent vice in others. Contrary to every travel commercial, there is no perfect world within our world. And even if there was, we bring our own sin with us to spoil it. The pithy statement is true: “No matter where you are, there you are.”
Far from infinitely chasing the fleeting notion of the perfect getaway, I am more and more convinced that the closest place to perfection on this earth is the loving fellowship of a community of believers. Such a fellowship has the potential to make any environment heavenly. Moreover, it is God alone who can sprinkle any circumstance, no matter how incredible or mundane, with the magic of unexpected delights.
Far from infinitely chasing the fleeting notion of the perfect getaway, I am more and more convinced that the closest place to perfection on this earth is the loving fellowship of a community of believers. Such a fellowship has the potential to make any environment heavenly. Moreover, it is God alone who can sprinkle any circumstance, no matter how incredible or mundane, with the magic of unexpected delights.
“He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change. Praise Him!”
G. M. Hopkins, Pied Beauty (1877)
G. M. Hopkins, Pied Beauty (1877)
January 2026 - The Goldilocks Principle
(Our home is unique)
“Not too hot, not too cold. Just right.”
This is a concise way of summarizing the remarkably unique place the earth has in the solar system. Actually, it’s a lot deeper than that. We have a unique location in the galaxy, and possibly even the universe itself. More on that later.
As faithful readers might remember, for the past few weeks I have been teaching an adult Sunday school class on Genesis 1-2 and 6 (the Flood). The course is not limited to these passages but uses them as a catalyst to explore the uniqueness of creation in general and how God’s fingerprints are rife throughout the cosmos, if one has eyes to see.
In my readings, I re-encountered some fascinating and likely unintentional admissions by atheist, humorist, and historian author Bill Bryson. In his ironically titled work A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bryson seems to accidentally let the cat out of the bag.
"… [S]ome experts believe there may have been many other big bangs, perhaps trillions and trillions of them, spread through the mighty span of eternity, and that the reason we exist in this particular one is that this is one we could exist in."
Infinite big bangs? And this one happens to support life? Some experts seem to be content with grasping at straws. Elsewhere, Bryson writes,
Martin Rees, Britain’s astronomer royal, believes that there are many universes, possibly an infinite number, each with different attributes, in different combinations, and that we simply live in one that combines things in the way that allows us to exist. He makes an analogy with a very large clothing store: “If there is a large stock of clothing, you’re not surprised to find a suit that fits. If there are many universes, each governed by a differing set of numbers, there will be one where there is a particular set of numbers suitable to life. We are in that one.”
Here is where the imaginative yet popular multiverse theory rears its head. Aside from the deliberately far-fetched hypothesis it is, this theory diminishes the importance of our own stories in the here and now. It reduces the significance of circumstances or of consequences, because in some other universe, things would have been different. It’s ultimately a worthless view.
In 1980, astronomer and amateur philosopher Carl Sagan hosted a series called Cosmos. In it, he provides a memorable narrative about how our earth is merely a pale blue dot “suspended in a sunbeam.” He adds that all the wars and religions of human history are quite insignificant when compared with the vastness of outer space and the fact that we are one among countless other celestial bodies. While there is a faux-humility in the lines—that is, we oughtn’t take ourselves too seriously—his conclusion is a nihilistic one. If he is right, and if we are just a random collection of particles gathered on one larger particle in no particularly special place in the universe, then our time will one day end, everything will be forgotten, and nothing really matters. Sadly, this is the narrative that many people take for granted, especially because the work of other astrophysicists presuppose that there is nothing special about us.
But few have heard of Mach’s Principle, which makes the daring claim that maybe we are not a random particle in the universe but rather that all of the stars surround us in order to give a framework for motion and allow physics to behave as it actually does. Thant would make us pretty special. Think about it: the stars exist so that we can enjoy a Friday night at the bowling alley. Note carefully the following lines, again from Bryson, who nearly gets it:
“We are all at the center of [the universe]. Actually, we don’t know that for sure; we can’t prove it mathematically. Scientists just assume that we can’t really be the center of the universe—think what that would imply [emphasis mine]—but that the phenomenon must be the same for all observers in all places. Still, we don’t actually know.”
Bryson is marvelously honest here, but damningly dense. As he said, what would that imply? It would imply that we are at the center of something that we’ve been told was the result of chaotic and random forces. What are the chances of that?! It’s as if we are some sort of special creation and that our position might not totally be accidental. And if not accidental, then orchestrated by some power far greater and wiser than any man.
Even so, many of our trusted scientists, who “by their unrighteousness suppress the truth” (Rom. 1:18), have “exchanged the truth for a lie” (Rom. 1:25). Imagine a man who so hated ducks that even upon seeing one at the Duck Zoo, he would concoct an alternate hypothesis. “It walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck, but it must be some sort of disguised rhinoceros which over millions of years has learned to survive on pond weed and snails by pretending... ” and so on.
Such is the one who is faced with the enormously obvious truth that our universe, galaxy, solar system and planet are all uniquely designed to support life, in order that you and I can enjoy the richness of the story God has written us into. My sympathies extend to the stars, who enjoy no such honor.
And all of this implies that no matter what happens, if our story’s author is a good God, then everything will ultimately end up “just right.”
This is a concise way of summarizing the remarkably unique place the earth has in the solar system. Actually, it’s a lot deeper than that. We have a unique location in the galaxy, and possibly even the universe itself. More on that later.
As faithful readers might remember, for the past few weeks I have been teaching an adult Sunday school class on Genesis 1-2 and 6 (the Flood). The course is not limited to these passages but uses them as a catalyst to explore the uniqueness of creation in general and how God’s fingerprints are rife throughout the cosmos, if one has eyes to see.
In my readings, I re-encountered some fascinating and likely unintentional admissions by atheist, humorist, and historian author Bill Bryson. In his ironically titled work A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bryson seems to accidentally let the cat out of the bag.
"… [S]ome experts believe there may have been many other big bangs, perhaps trillions and trillions of them, spread through the mighty span of eternity, and that the reason we exist in this particular one is that this is one we could exist in."
Infinite big bangs? And this one happens to support life? Some experts seem to be content with grasping at straws. Elsewhere, Bryson writes,
Martin Rees, Britain’s astronomer royal, believes that there are many universes, possibly an infinite number, each with different attributes, in different combinations, and that we simply live in one that combines things in the way that allows us to exist. He makes an analogy with a very large clothing store: “If there is a large stock of clothing, you’re not surprised to find a suit that fits. If there are many universes, each governed by a differing set of numbers, there will be one where there is a particular set of numbers suitable to life. We are in that one.”
Here is where the imaginative yet popular multiverse theory rears its head. Aside from the deliberately far-fetched hypothesis it is, this theory diminishes the importance of our own stories in the here and now. It reduces the significance of circumstances or of consequences, because in some other universe, things would have been different. It’s ultimately a worthless view.
In 1980, astronomer and amateur philosopher Carl Sagan hosted a series called Cosmos. In it, he provides a memorable narrative about how our earth is merely a pale blue dot “suspended in a sunbeam.” He adds that all the wars and religions of human history are quite insignificant when compared with the vastness of outer space and the fact that we are one among countless other celestial bodies. While there is a faux-humility in the lines—that is, we oughtn’t take ourselves too seriously—his conclusion is a nihilistic one. If he is right, and if we are just a random collection of particles gathered on one larger particle in no particularly special place in the universe, then our time will one day end, everything will be forgotten, and nothing really matters. Sadly, this is the narrative that many people take for granted, especially because the work of other astrophysicists presuppose that there is nothing special about us.
But few have heard of Mach’s Principle, which makes the daring claim that maybe we are not a random particle in the universe but rather that all of the stars surround us in order to give a framework for motion and allow physics to behave as it actually does. Thant would make us pretty special. Think about it: the stars exist so that we can enjoy a Friday night at the bowling alley. Note carefully the following lines, again from Bryson, who nearly gets it:
“We are all at the center of [the universe]. Actually, we don’t know that for sure; we can’t prove it mathematically. Scientists just assume that we can’t really be the center of the universe—think what that would imply [emphasis mine]—but that the phenomenon must be the same for all observers in all places. Still, we don’t actually know.”
Bryson is marvelously honest here, but damningly dense. As he said, what would that imply? It would imply that we are at the center of something that we’ve been told was the result of chaotic and random forces. What are the chances of that?! It’s as if we are some sort of special creation and that our position might not totally be accidental. And if not accidental, then orchestrated by some power far greater and wiser than any man.
Even so, many of our trusted scientists, who “by their unrighteousness suppress the truth” (Rom. 1:18), have “exchanged the truth for a lie” (Rom. 1:25). Imagine a man who so hated ducks that even upon seeing one at the Duck Zoo, he would concoct an alternate hypothesis. “It walks like a duck, and it talks like a duck, but it must be some sort of disguised rhinoceros which over millions of years has learned to survive on pond weed and snails by pretending... ” and so on.
Such is the one who is faced with the enormously obvious truth that our universe, galaxy, solar system and planet are all uniquely designed to support life, in order that you and I can enjoy the richness of the story God has written us into. My sympathies extend to the stars, who enjoy no such honor.
And all of this implies that no matter what happens, if our story’s author is a good God, then everything will ultimately end up “just right.”
The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the skies above proclaim his handiwork.
Psalm 19:1
Psalm 19:1