The Sun and amatuer science thoughts

Did you know that the sun burns approximately 4 million metric tons per second? 

I thought that was pretty interesting.  But don't worry; it'll be billions of years before it has burned up enough of its mass to actually affect any perceptible changes.

I've been taking a science class lately, and it's quite enthralling.  I'm certainly no scientist, but I have wondered about the foundations of matter.  I remember a very specific conversation with my parents as a boy during which I learned that substances like water are actually composed of many itsy bitsy pieces.  Water is not one, it is many.  Whoa!  Big revelation to a boy, and I remember it well.  And I remember asking often - if food is made of ingredients, then what are ingredients made of?

Brace yourself for my utterly amature glimpse at scientific history:  Once upon a time, thinkers thought that all matter was, in its most reduced form, basically composed of a few things like earth, fire, water, rock, flesh, etc.  Later, science seemed to get more specific, discovering cells and tiny organisms with the advent of the microscope.  Not too long after that, it turned out that things are actually built of much smaller particles called elements.  Then it turned out that even elements are made up of still smaller things - protons, neutrons, and electrons.  Now scientists are hypothesizing that protons and neutrons are made of smaller particles called quarks or leptons, and further speculation is that these could be composed of "point like" particles called preons.

That's where we're at now.  Scientists wonder what those might be made of, and I wonder what the things that all of these *ons are made of are made of.  Supposing we had infinite resources and time, would we continue discovering smaller and smaller composition ad infinitum?  It is strange to me to think that matter contains far, far more empty space than actually substance.  Like the larger universe;

what appears to be a star, solid and substantial, may actually be a galaxy of multiplied billions of stars like our Milky Way,

consisting primarily of utter void.  Keeping in mind that atoms are primarily empty space with a small nucleus and far smaller bands of electrons, we know that water, milk, stone, wood, and all that we think of as substantial also contains primarily nothing, in approximately the same ratio as that of our solar system

- which is a whole lot to nearly nothing (space to mass). 

Well, by golly, what if protons, neutrons, and electrons are made of the same sorta thing?  What if they too consist of particles so much smaller than themselves that space defines them more than actual matter?  What if they are made up of particles that are made up of particles that actually take up no real space at all because they are "point like"? 

So I got to thinking (breath a sigh of relief; this'll be over soon enough) - the Bible says that God created what is seen out of what cannot be seen: the visible is made up of the invisible (Heb. 11:3).  What if everything is actually made of nothing?

Now, perhaps not really nothing, but what if matter is actually not made of substance?  What if it is made of agape (love), or logos (word), or energema (energy), or simply the pure thelemos (will) of God? ...Or fill in the blank in any way you like. 

Please understand that this speculation really has almost no bearing on anything whatsoever - I just like to think about it.  And it certainly does not imply that the universe or existence could even possibly be fictional in any way.  Our universe is very, very real, even if it is made of nothing.  How does that work, you might ask? 

No idea, I just like to think about it.  And if there is any truth whatsoever to this mystic rambling, then it sure does support the idea that we are called to live not by what we see but by what is unseen, "for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."

But we don't need particle physics to know that.  We just need a wee dose of spiritual sight and an openness to truth.

More Wildlife Encounters

The other night I went for a walk to the Mill Dam (you can read more about that particular spot, I believe, in an ancient post somewhere deep in the bowels of my Xanga stuff.  Great word, bowels, isn't it?  Does Xanga really have bowels?  If so, I wonder what its - ahem - movements would look like.).  It was a beautiful, quiet night, if you can pardon the awkward transition away from excrement to wildlife, and I went there late as I often do to enjoy the quiet and be with Jesus.  After I had been there for a time, I noticed in the corner of my vision some slight movement.  At first I couldn't tell if it was a cat or, as I suspected, a fox.

I was standing next the bridge, and the little creature would edge closer and closer, then retreat.  Then it would edge a little closer still, stop, and retreat.  Over and over this happened for perhaps 10 or 15 minutes before it came close enough for me to see clearly that it was a fox.  That was a delight to me, as you might guess, as cats are rather common, but a fox encounter is a special thing indeed.

I stood as still as I possibly could, desperately hoping the adorable little creature would be brave enough to cross the footbridge.  It eventually came within five or six feet of me and stopped.  It stayed that close for a time and then hastened its retreat.  He repeated that several times, and I could tell he was very close to making the dash, but it still didn't quite trust me.  But he would come very near and sit quietly, observing and seeming very peaceful.

Eventually I prayed that God would give the little guy the courage he needed to make a break for it.  He would have to pass within two feet of me, and I really wanted him to do it!  After another two or three approaches, he finally made the dash.

Also, our little birds have flown the coop.  I took this picture just prior:

Just afterwards, one of the little buggers jumped out and landed inside the folded up trampoline!  I had flashbacks of my youthful indiscretions and felt quite guilty, like I had pushed him out and was to blame for his approaching demise.  Surely my selfish picture would result in his being devoured by a puma, a stray crocodile, or a wandering regiment of hungry militia out for a night of wings and beer.  I tried to get him back into the nest without touching him, but he would have none of it.  But he did manage to make it out of the crease in the bottom of the trampoline, thankfully.  Later that day the rest of them flew the coop as well.  So I think they were just ready to get out.  It did look a little crowded in there.  They're all bulging out of the nest like fat rolls that just won't fit into the skinny jeans.

Oh hey!  And this is a first - my mother just called.  She borrowed my car to go uptown on some errands.  She got in an accident!  Fear not, she's quite alright, but my car got busted up a little.  Weird; I thought the kids were supposed to make those calls to the parents.  :)

Post-Master's Grace

A radical change in context always come with certain challenges and blessings.  Leaving Master's Commission is famous for being a particularly difficult transition (at least, among those who have ever entered and subsequently left, of which I am recently - and finally - a member).  It is expressed as "going back to the real world," or something equally simplistic.

Yes, I say that with a condescending tone, for that phrase has been a pet peeve of mine for years.  Tell me, if you can, who has ever left the "real world" and then returned?  Aside from near-death experiences, I believe that would be... nobody.  Thanks.  :)

I have finally left my beloved Master's Commission, but I have not gone back to the real world.  I'm still in the real world as much as I ever have been, and I am just as much in the heart of Master's Commission as I ever have been.  Maybe more so.

But this post is not supposed to be about that ridiculous phrase.  It is supposed to be about grace.  Forgive me for that voluptuous tangent, and forgive me for using words like voluptuous to ever describe a rather modest and minor tangent.  A voluptuous tangent - that would have to involve a departure into something more along the lines of ... nevermind, I tried to think of something funny to say there and only managed to bore myself.

Grace.

The thought begins with a confession.  I think that I have sinned more often and more seriously in recent weeks than I usually do.  So I am experiencing grace from that perspective.  I say that in passing, but do not mistake it me for cool or uncaring.  My heart is grieved and has shattered at the feet of Christ many times lately. 

But, again, the point is not that.  The point is grace.

As I was driving home and allowing grace to wash over me a week or so ago, I was struck by the thought that we must be as dependent on grace when we are walking in victory as when we've stumbled miserably.  It is easy to see the need when recently rescued from the filth of a particular sin.  It is not so easy to see the need when all is well and you aren't face to face with your own depravity.  (A word such a "depravity" is strong medicine, but drink it well, for it describes us accurately.  Is there really any sin of which you are incapable?  Perhaps there are sins to which you are not normally inclined.  Perhaps there are sins which your pride, your greed, your very animal selfishness would prevent.  Perhaps your ambition to advance socially would keep you from doing an evil deed that you might otherwise be quite happy to perform.  There is much sin we are not inclined to, but there is no sin which we are incapable of committing, given the right circumstances.  Thus, depravity.  Not only so, but regarding those sins to which we are inclined, there is no limit to the number of times we would willingly and gladly and knowing wallow there.  Thus, depravity.  Nor is there an end to the depth of evil inherent even in any one sinful act.  Thus, depravity.)

So I saw how much we need to rely on grace even in our finest moments.

Then I also realized that it works the other way as well.  His mercy is just as near and available to me when I've sinned my very worst sin as it is in my most beautiful moral victory!  I am equally an object of His love when about to sin, when sinning, and when coming to my senses as I am when I resist temptation by the power of His Spirit.  That should not relax our hatred of sin.  God forbid.  But it should open wide our wonder.  And the truth of it could help set us free.

To the post-master's:  Maybe you find yourself struggling bitterly right now.  Maybe you are thrilled at the level of victory in your life.  Most of us are somewhere in between.  But all of us need grace equally. 

Hey you!  Feeling like a failure!  You are no further from grace than anybody else.  So just let go as grace reaches its accepting arms around your weary heart.  Let go and be loved right there in the filth.  Let go and be lifted into a purity that no filth can stain.

Hey you!  Warrior!  I simply offer a reminder: Never forget that you walk only by the grace of God if you walk well.  The only thing that matters is faith expressing itself through love, so let your faith reach out to the grace of God just as dependently and desperately as if you were still wallowing in your most godless depravity.

And welcome to the real world of God's grace.

I mentioned that I feel I have sinned more of late.  Through that regretable path I have learned a great deal about how to walk in victory.  Doubtless God would have preferred to teach me these things another way.  And I pray that I will learn more and more lessons from the perspective of victory in the future.  In the meantime, stay tuned for another post on walking in victory.  Also coming up (and I write this for my own sake, to remember, more than for yours) is a post on the nature of sub-atomic particles and the foundation of all matter, a post on family, a post on the avalanche which is our economy and our response, and I'm kinda hoping lots of weird, fun, adventurous things will happen to me soon as well.

Love ya!

...or the first time in a long time...

When I was a very young boy we had birds nest in the lower rafters of our woodshed nearly every spring.  About the time I had become large enough to pose my innocent little threat to the creatures, my mother warned me not to touch them or to turn them into an animated zoological toy.  I may have been around six years at that time, and the suggestion perfectly awakened me to the possibility.  Thus I made haste to immediately enact the forbidden.  I suppose I must have fetched me a step-ladder or some such extension of my six year old stature, ascended to the exalted summit of those lower rafters, and promptly yanked the nest from its perch. 

I don't remember exactly how the whole escapade proceeded, but I do remember the little birdies skittering about the yard, much to my delight, and our black labrador, Princess, joining me in the chase.  She was gentle with them, I am quite sure, but I'm not so sure the same could be said of me, despite my genuinely innocent intentions.  I promise I meant them no harm, but my mother rushed out and informed me that they would die; their mother would utterly and irreversably reject them, and they would ultimately perish.

That was a shocking revelation (and it might have helped to know in advance, but I cannot be sure).  I'm quite sure it saddened me.  But I was a little boy and must have quickly recovered and rushed into other destructive adventures, hopefully with a lesson learned.  Certainly I haven't pulled down another bird's nest from that day to this.  Of course, I haven't had much opportunity, as birds have refused to nest anywhere on our property from that very day perhaps 27 years ago.

Until now!  This spring, right inside our garage, a dear momma bird has built a nest high in the crook of our folded up trampoline and hatched herself three little eggies!  I'm very thankful that the be-feathered community has finally either forgiven or forgotten my heinous trespass.

In honor of their return, a picture:

I'm genuinely thankful that they're back.

It has been an interesting week in regard to wildlife, actually.  On my return, I immediately resumed the habit of going to the shore near my house.  It's a walk I especially like to do first thing in the morning with my coffee and my Lord.  I usually go to this beach:

While enjoying my quiet time there, I noticed a slight movement near my feet.  Looking down, I saw the largest, most bizarre and rather hideous worm-ish creature I have yet seen.  I think it may have been what we call a Blood Worm, but I'm not really sure.  It was almost two feet long, rather thick, and at first its mouth was puffing in and out of its writhing body like a babboon's butt - really attractive, thanks:

I've also seen a couple of deer lately.  The first was during a run down the backside of Beehive Mountain.  I do love trail running; it is one of the great joys of being here, especially when the trail is perfectly steep enough to pull your run along without being too steep to semi-control.  Steep enough to be wild, a little deadly, and urgent, but not so steep as to be a lobotomy waiting to happen.

Halfway down the mountain I heard a familiar snort.  I stopped, thinking that a deer had trumpeted a warning because of my heavy footed tromp.  Instead, she was scratching her nose with her hind hoof and trying to snort bugs - maybe blackflies - out of her snout.  I don't even know that she noticed me at all (because I am, naturally, deft of foot, nimble, and utterly stealth when trail running.  I have often snuck up on the shiest of creatures like snow leopards, little bunnies, and Osama bin Laden).

Then we had a deer in our backyard later that day!

Ummm... I think that's all the wildlife for now, but I'll keep you posted.

By the way, my heart is overflowing with joy and thankfulness that God has allowed me to spend the summer here.  I miss you all a TON, to be sure, but I cannot even begin to describe how much my heart overflows to be here.  I am profoundly unworthy of a summer like this, desperately so, and the very grace of it overwhelms me. 

Do come for a visit if you can!

Voice, part whatever

Words cannot capture the mixture of sorrow and joy in my heart these days.  I have left my beloved friends in Fort Myers and moved back to my beloved New England.  It hurt deeply to leave them all.  Pastor Art and Lisa, their dear beautiful girls, all those incredible people in FMMC and the most encouraging, gracious, generous, and radiant church family I've ever known or witnessed - they are deeply missed.

Ah, but to be back in Acadia for an entire summer is a gift that brings me to tears of joy just as leaving such dear loved ones brings me to those other tears.  "Sorrowful, yet always rejoicing" indeed!  May it never end. 

As I drove away from Fort Myers with tears streaking my face, I couldn't help but think of when I first left Southwest Harbor to move to southern Florida 10 years ago.  At that time I wept to leave my Danny boy, my wonder pooch, my constant canine companion.  I wept for missing him but not for any human relationship.  Leaving Fort Myers, I wept because I loved people, because individuals and that community had become so dear to me.  I'm thankful for the change.

It was a beautiful drive.  God's voice was very near to me through much of it.  There was a little of that divine vocalization of which I have already written - His universal voice through creation that we might call His common voice, or His panphonic voice, or His creative voice, or (feel free to improvise your own suggestions as I am now doing).  But there was much more of His very specific voice.

Now I want to touch on His voice as it comes via Scripture.  Here we get a much more specific utterance.  I see the Word as offering us His voice in two related but distinct ways: the logic (hard 'g') and the rhemic .  The logic voice of God is the clear meaning of Scripture in its original context as understood by its original audience.  By this we learn the history of God's relationship to His creation and the doctrinal truths that He has seen fit to reveal.  Then the rhemic voice of God; as the logic voice is store up in our hearts and filters through into the momentary realities of life, the rhemic word very personally and intimately fits the logic into the three dimensional realities of following Him here and now.  The Holy Spirit takes specific passages or thoughts and applies them (without violating original context, of course) to modern, immediate context. 

For instance, as I was driving the other day, God used various verses to remind me specifically of how much, how very desperately He loved me, despite my feelings of unworthiness.  He took other verses to challenge me regarding what sort of man I want to be during this summer - a man exemplary in speech, life, love, faith, and purity; a man radiant with health, humor, holiness, and (any other 'h' words I can think of? ...nope; I'll just leave it there)... a man disciplined, hard working, prayerful, and very intentional about bringing God glory in all that I do.  He used a variety of specific verses that I know and love to speak His heart directly to me in my current need.  It was quite personal and conversational, and based solidly in the revelation of Scripture.  It touches my heart deeply and feeds me, fuels me, impassions me, inspires me, and breaks me as nothing else can do.  He spoke to me concerning temptation and forgiveness (maybe another entry there).  He spoke to me about sermons I would like to share.  He spoke to me of many things through His rhemic voice.

I believe the rhemic voice of God is one of the primary goals of Scripture, of the logic voice of God.  The place where so many go astray, however, is when the rhemic is loosed from the foundation of the logic.  In fact, this is deadly; it is a divorce that God never intended.  The rhemic must be anchored to the logic or there will certainly be deception.  That is, in part, exactly why we have the logos!  We, being fallen and knowing only in part, must have an anchor.  It is through the logic, and ONLY through the logic, that the rhemic is enabled to grow and flourish.  The rhemic flows from the logic as a river from its watershed, as rain from cloud, as dream from inspiration, as restful sleep from the honest toil of labor.  The rhemic is when you know deep inside that it was God speaking to you directly and not just your own mind happening to comprehend the words of His Bible as it speaks to everyone.  It is like God reading a specific portion or passage or concept from the Bible directly to you and for you rather than you reading it and pondering it for yourself.  It's when He leans in close and lovingly whispers in your ear, in a moment when you might be tempted to misunderstand what matters most, "The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love" (Ga. 5:6).  Or when you feel most vulnerable to temptation, and He comes alongside as your biggest fan and urgently exhorts you to "flee the evil desires of youth, and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace..." (2 Tim. 2:22).

So let us study to show ourselves approved, and let us listen intently to the logos, well studied, loved, and obeyed, as it overflows into rhema everywhere and in everything.  It will.  It cannot help but do so, if we nurture the logic voice.