Resolutions

And with deafening crack, showers of sparks, cheers and clinking glasses, we welcome the first hour of a brand new year, striving to kick free of all the mistakes and failures of the past twelve months. Let it not be a token protestation, “I’ll do better next time,” as if with fingers crossed we secretly swore never to change.

And let us not consign our regrets to the unchanging past like millstones tied around the neck. Dead memories are dead weight and we are formed by our past no matter how hard we try to forget.

We bid farewell, but the old year will never leave us. We can only surrender our ugliest moments trusting Mercy and Wisdom to salvage beauty from the wreckage.

And though we know the will is weak, let our resolutions spring from a surer heart this year, and may the hope that flies high today still carry us, never abandon us to easy despair, and when we are about to give up, burst with the sudden brilliance of that shower of sparks in the apex of night’s parabola, and recall to us that every second--not just the one that takes us from December into January, but every second--all things are new.

Bethlehem: In Occupied Territory

When our tour bus entered Bethlehem it was the first time we saw "the Wall" (a.k.a. "security perimeter") from the Palestinian side. The Israeli side of the Wall is clean, unmarked. The Palestinian side is a seemingly endless mural of "prison art." I was too slow getting out the camera and missed taking photos of some of the more striking images: a weeping Statue of Liberty, holding a dead child (after Michelangelo's Pieta); the desolate stumps of a clear cut forest; Alice about to step through an intriguing little door.

Bethlehem was in occupied territory at the time of Jesus' birth, as well. Mary and Joseph were compelled to leave their home by order of the ruling powers, and after arriving in Bethlehem, forced to flee again in terror of violent government oppression. Today the Palestinian people, who were also compelled to flee their homes by an occupying military regime, still find their movements through the country controlled and curtailed by the Israeli government.

Our Palestinian guide was frequently tearful, describing what it's like to live under foreign military rule. She told us of the humiliation and frustration she felt every time she had to pass through a security check point: an ordinary, unarmed woman routinely treated as a suspected terrorist.

I can't imagine what that must be like, as someone who's never lived in "occupied territory" ... or have I? The Gospels of Matthew and Luke may emphasize the Roman occupation, but John highlights the spiritual occupation: that Jesus came into this world to overthrow its invisible, intangible ruler, the Prince of Darkness.

The question of whether Satan is a person, a principle, a force, etc. could be the subject of a separate post. That's not important here. It is clear that we are living under the occupation of the powers of greed and reckless opportunism, exclusion and vanity, selfishness and deliberate ignorance--the powers of darkness and evil. And the birth of Jesus was the beginning of a resistance movement, called the Kingdom of God.

There's this old comedy starring Danny Kaye, The Court Jester--it's always been a favorite of my family. I think it must be spoofing the Scarlet Pimpernel or something, but part of the plot is that there is a false king on the throne, and the rebels who live in the woods are fighting to protect the true heir to the crown, still just a small infant. The movie pokes fun at the idea that a tiny baby could be considered "the king." But that's just what we say about Jesus at Christmastime.

The work of salvation began not on the cross but in Mary's womb. Why? Because the Resistance is not about fighting with swords or machine guns or missiles--because the Almighty who strips completely, surrendering all power and authority to become a helpless, naked, and hungry infant is the true king and savior of this world. Because peace will not be purchased through war but will come to us only by the power of the vulnerable God, the weak God, the God of love.

At the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where they say Jesus was born, the welcoming signs asks visitors to "Pray for the Freedom of Palestine." Please do. Please pray for the freedom of Palestine, and for the freedom of the world.

Appropriate Anachronism

I remember reading somewhere that Jesus was probably born around October when shepherds in Palestine would be most likely to sleep outside with their sheep. Jesus may not have been born in December, and it certainly was not a "bleak mid-winter" with blankets of snow. Images of a frosty night are historically inaccurate ... but I don't mind them, because they're theologically correct.

The celebration of Jesus' birth was combined with winter festivals for sound spiritual reasons. The prologue of John's Gospel (which says nothing about Jesus' birth, yet is considered a classic Christmas text) speaks of Jesus entering the world as a light shining in the darkness. And that is what Christmas is about.

It is at the darkest, coldest time of year--in the time most bleak, when we feel closest to death--that we remember how God entered the world. Because he didn't just come for a pleasant holiday. He came because we needed him. Desperately. Christmas reminds us that God is with us in our darkest hour.

Tree Devastation

There was a huge windstorm in Pasadena last Wednesday night. They're still cleaning up the debris. Here are some pictures.

This is supposed to be a sidewalk in front of our apartment. Can't see it at all, can you?

A huge Callery Pear (a.k.a. Bradford Pear) limb (maybe 20-ft.) is blocking the sidewalk in the other direction.

The same Callery Pear limb seen from the other side.

I took some branches and put them in a pitcher. So beautiful!

Then I went to check on the Sweet Gum trees--most of their amazing, beautiful foliage was gone.

This one still looked great.

I added some Sweet Gum branches to the "bouquet."

Another casualty: one of the two Firewheel trees featured in Episode #2 of Virgie's Guide to Pasadena Trees.

I was able to get a better picture of the spidery flowers (these trees bloom twice a year).

This giant fallen cedar was still blocking the road three days after the storm.

Learning to Walk

It seems like when I was a kid I always had my eyes trained to the ground when I was walking. Maybe a throwback from my toddler years, when it was necessary to be constantly scanning the terrain, lest some unexpected obstacle trip me up. Or maybe because I liked finding small objects and picking them up off the ground--a feather, a discarded air freshener, a comb.

But I remember sometime when I was a teenager I realized that looking down, just watching the pavement slip by beneath my feet meant keeping my spirit narrow and confined. There was a kind of fear attached to it--it took an effort--it took courage--it was a bold move, deciding to look up, to lift my eyes to the trees, the sky, the horizon.

At that time I walked--really, I slinked--around with stooped shoulders--like a criminal, terrified I could be apprehended at any moment. And what crimes had I committed? Well, when I was about seven years old, I drew on the wall beside my bed. Another time I was trying to make a tent by hanging a blanket over a yardstick, and it broke. But my real crime was that I existed at all.

I’m not sure I can explain that last sentence. I imagine some people will know immediately what I mean. Perhaps to those who don’t, it can’t really be explained. In any case, I was so used to slouching all the time, one day I tried to correct my posture, and found that standing up straight was actually painful. I don’t know how old I was. Maybe sixteen. That was scary.

Trying to remember to straighten my spine did not change my habit. Improving my posture has been a major project of my adult life--because the only thing that really helps is changing how I feel about myself. Only as I know myself and my worth do I walk with head held high, facing the world without shame and fear.

I have been learning to walk these many years. But recently I realized something else. I walk fast. So does Brandon. And we do a lot of walking, being “car-free.” We are efficient, impatient people, zipping from A to B, trying to get things done as quickly as possible.

I asked Brandon the other day why we should tire ourselves out like that. What if we stopped hating the “wasted” transportation time, what if we stopped the pressure and anxiety--it’s only we who’ve been oppressing ourselves, after all--what if we walked slowly? Walking could be restful, enjoyable, a time of quiet meditation, or enlivening conversation. It’s a cliché that every moment in life is precious, if only we would notice it. But it’s true. And time spent walking from A to B needn’t be wasted.

And if you want to see the kingdom of God, you must become like a little child, like a little child, still learning to walk ...

Wind Chimes

When I was a kid, walking to the public library, there was one house just down the street from us that had wind chimes hanging in their front balcony. I always looked forward to walking by that house.

Such a soothing sound—almost like birdsong or the chirp of a cricket—a simple object fashioned by human hands to capture the wild, gentle, calming, quickening sound of the wind.

I’ve been a grown up for quite some time now. And I have loved wind chimes for that entire period. For the past four years I’ve even lived in an apartment with a balcony. Wind chimes are not very expensive. And yet, I never bought them for myself. I never even thought to put them on my Christmas list.

Why settle on disappointment? Why forget the things that make us smile? Why resign ourselves to less than our hearts had secretly hoped to enjoy? Why let dreams fade and longings die away?

Fear will do that. It comes from being hurt. Yes, we all know what that’s like. But sometimes the resignation becomes a habit. Even after the wounds have healed and the fear subsided, still, the heart forgets. Like a bewildered flower, forgetting to strain toward the sunlight.

But I heard wind chimes the other day.

And I remembered.

The Mattress, Bowling Ball, Marble Illustration

So many times I’ve heard this illustration of Einstein’s general theory of relativity: gravity occurs because space itself curves around massive objects. It’s like if you put a bowling ball on a mattress, and then roll a marble near it--the marble will be sucked into “orbit” around the bowling ball, drawing closer until they collide.

For the longest time, this illustration bothered me because aside from the curvature of the mattress, what pulls the marble down toward the bowling ball is gravity. How can you use gravity to explain how gravity works?

But as I thought about it more carefully, I guess it’s not really a major flaw. The problem is, the illustration is trying to explain something that happens in “the real world,” which we generally think of as being in three “spatial” dimensions (plus time); but the illustration envisions three-dimensional objects (bowling ball, marble) on a two-dimensional plain (the surface of the mattress) which has been distorted into three dimensions (that surface is no longer flat, but now has a roughly conical indentation). I suppose the role of gravity in this illustration is really just to keep the marble on the curved two-dimensional plain. (Because without gravity, the marble would continue floating forward in a straight line and leave the plain.

I guess the real problem is that it’s so difficult to visualize the distortion/curvature of a three dimensional field (because that would mean visualizing in four dimensions), so we just have to envision a two-dimensional plain being curved into three dimensions and use it as an analog, but then for the sake of making it easier to visualize, the illustration involves three-dimensional objects, which is a little confusing if you think too much about it, as I have.

But the other thing that always bothered me about this illustration is that it assumes the bodies are in motion relative to each other. Isn't the force of gravity just as powerful between two objects that are stationary in relation to each other as between two objects in relative motion? Maybe some smart person who understands such things can explain.

Further remarks added now after some comments have been made: 


Okay, it seems I did not make the original question clear enough. Let me try again.

The illustration assumes that the two bodies are already in motion relative to each other. The only motion that takes place is not due to the "force" of gravity, but due to the marble already having been set in motion by some other force. Gravity in this illustration does not cause any kind of motion--all it does is to redirect the path of something already in motion. There is a reason why persons offering this illustration will always say that the marble was rolled near the bowling ball, rather than saying it was placed on the curved part of the mattress (because in the latter scenario, they really would be using gravity to explain gravity). If the analogy worked properly, placing the marble on the curved part of the mattress would have no effect; they would both remain stationary in relation to each other. The only reason there is any motion in this illustration is because some unknown force set the marble going to begin with. Gravity does not "pull" the marble, and does not cause motion of any kind--all it does is affect the direction of something that is already in motion.

My question is, in real life (not the analogy), isn't gravity able to cause motion? If you were to place two objects near each other (not moving) and if they were far enough away from other massive bodies that the force of gravity would be greater between these two objects than between them and anything else around, would they not start to move toward each other? Newtonian physics seems to say that they would. I don't know about actual general relativity, but the illustration used to explain it implies they would not.