There is a time in everyone’s life when God breaks in, when all the artifices of man crumble like so much dust. Culture, race, language, identity, and time itself melts alway before the eternal, incorruptible, all-encompassing presence of God Himself. His timelessness steps into our time. The eternal Word takes on flesh to speak in a human tongue eternal truth. Grace and mercy descends to rescue a cruel and corrupt world. Love looks into our eyes with everlasting tenderness.
It’s not so difficult to believe that God, the Creator of the universe, sings. After all, he made so many creatures that can sing including humans (to varying degrees), birds, crickets, wolves, frogs, dolphins, yes, even mice!
There is singing in all of creation in one form or another, the sounds of nature in the air, earth, and sea. There are those who have believed in the singing of the stars, the music of the spheres as they move about it space.
Zen and the Art of Preparing for Death
“I’m sure that the little girl in that back seat was signing us,” Karl said.
Why So Superstitious?
No one can argue against the great advances of science and technology in virtually every sphere of modern life. We know more today than we have ever known. But we are more superstitious today than ever. Why?
Superstitions have lasted for millennia across every class, culture, and clan known to man. Did you know that the first cave paintings were probably part of a ceremony for good fortune in hunting?
I know brilliant scientists, researchers, doctors and surgeons working with the latest advances in scientific knowledge in their fields who are more likely to consult an astrologer than not for life-changing decisions or are devoted to the pursuit of what some may term the greatest superstition of all: religion. Why?
The Tricky Quandary
Say, it’s tricky, quite tricky, isn’t it,
To talk to a squirrel or a rock or a tree
Or a painting by your favorite artist
And believe that somehow it can see
The heart of you that can bleed
And give you all that you desperately need?
Or maybe you talk to the farmer as he hoes
Or the doctor you pay two hundred by the hour
Or your friend who is trying on her clothes
Or the starry-eyed fan who brings you a flower
And say there’s a part of you that’s dying inside
A soul-crushing pain from which you can’t hide.