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