Was it a good time to get married?

29 02 2012

My wife and I have been enjoying married life for the past six months. We regularly look back to our engagement, wedding and honeymoon. In every way, it seemed to be perfect timing. When some of my friends heard I was engaged and about to be married, one of the comments was «Well, it’s about time! You’re in your thirties!!»

It snowed on our wedding day. Some would say that’s terrible. We thought it was exciting – perfect timing! Our second evening as a married couple was Valentine’s day. We ate at a charming restaurant to the sound of a violin and guitar. That too seemed like perfect timing!

During these past months, though, magazines and statistics here in France are noting how marriage is less and less popular[1]. Marriage is seen more and more as «a noose choking you, an exhausting burden».

So, I could not help but wonder, was it really a good time to get married?

Jean-Claude Kaufmann, a French sociologist, makes some interesting remarks: «The general movement towards individualism and celibacy is complex… It is rare, for example, that singleness is deliberately sought. Yet a growing number of those who live it don’t wish to leave it (at least temporarily), or have high expectations on the conditions for leaving it.»[2]

As one who was single for over three decades, I think his observation on complexity is accurate. When we consider the different paths people follow, many factors are at play around us and in us, making it difficult to understand why many of us remain single. In many ways, singleness is a great option. It can be very well lived. Yet, as I look back to my own path, does that mean that I didn’t have any other commitments ? Jean-Claude Guillebaud makes a provocative statement about our generation: «We judge the value of constancy, commitment and perseverance as if that involves a benevolent servitude which has become outrageous. [...]  Amazingly though, we willingly submit at the same time to other types of commitment which previously would have been judged constraining, for example, allegiance to a professional project, to oneself against all odds, to a social group or, of course, to one’s own natural tendencies.»[3] It is not that we do not know about commitment anymore. Instead, other commitments have taken the place of marriage. They come with their own limitations and burdens.

So, was it a good time to get married? At our wedding celebration, a Bible verse was shared that I found insightful. «Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm. » (Song of Solomon 8:6). The woman in the poem is asking her spouse for a commitment, inwardly and outwardly, to remain faithful to her. Wouldn’t one’s spouse find more security and stability through one’s commitment to marriage? Wouldn’t it be more fulfilling to lighten the other’s burden for him or her to be more free ?

That pattern of a commitment that sets free, lightens the burden is not easy to maintain, though. But it is found ultimately in the love Christ demonstrated, which the Scriptures place as the model of all relationships, marriage included. « Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her » (Ephesians 5:25). At the appointed time, he was committed to love and give Himself totally.

Paul Harrison


[1]« Pacs ou mariage, faire le bon choix » Publié le 30/06/2010 lepoint.fr ; http://www.insee.fr/fr/themes/document.asp?ref_id=ip1276#inter2

[2] Jean-Claude Kaufmann, La femme seule et le prince charmant, Nathan, 1999, p. 19

[3] Jean-Claude Guillebaud, La tyrannie du plaisir, Seuil, 1998, p. 471-472





Yearning to Make Sense of Things

11 11 2011

It is a truth of nature that we yearn to make sense of nature, often with the profound sense that there is more to things than meets the eye. “Religious faith”, wrote the celebrated psychologist William James, is basically “faith in the existence of an unseen order of some kind in which the riddles of the natural order may be found and explained.” Human beings long to make sense of things – to identify patterns in the rich fabric of nature, to offer explanations for what happens around them, and to reflect on the meaning of their lives. It is as if our intellectual antennae are tuned to discern clues to purpose and meaning around us, built into the structure of the world. “The pursuit of discovery,” the philosopher of science Michael Polanyi noted, is “guided by sensing the presence of a hidden reality toward which our clues are pointing”. Small wonder, then, that men and women have pondered what they observe around them, alert to the possibility of deeper levels of meaning lying beneath the surface of experience.

This quest for meaning transcends historical and cultural boundaries, even if cultures and individuals within them may offer very different accounts of what that meaning of life might be. For example, based on extensive personal interviews, psychologist Roy Baumeister suggested that basic needs – purpose, efficacy, value, and self-worth – appear to underlie the human quest for meaning, understood as “shared mental representations of possible relationships among things, events, and relationships.”

So why is this quest for meaning so important? Social psychologists Stefan Schulz-Hardt and Dieter Frey suggested that three main reasons may be identified as lying behind the universality of this quest. First, it gives stability to existence, allowing people to orientate themselves in life. Second, it offers a rationale in the face of a perceived threat of meaninglessness, which can overwhelm individuals and leave them unable to cope with life. The perception of meaninglessness can thus lead to distressing negative outcomes, such as depression, attempted suicide, alcoholism, or addiction. And third, it can be understood as the subjective response to an objective reality, in which we attempt to realign their internal world to conform to a deeper order of things, which is believed to exist independently of us. The subjective quest for meaning is thus grounded in a conviction that such a meaning exists objectively, and can be discovered by those with the will and ability to do so.  

Indeed, history reinforces our appreciation of the importance of this quest for meaning for human identity. Our distant ancestors studied the stars, aware that knowledge of their movements enabled them to navigate the world’s oceans and predict the flooding of the Nile. Yet human interest in the night sky went far beyond questions of mere utility. Might, many wondered, these silent pinpricks of light in the velvet darkness of the heavens disclose something deeper about the origins and goals of life? Might they bear witness to a deeper moral and intellectual order of things, with which humans could align themselves? Might nature be studded and emblazoned with clues to its meanings, and human minds shaped so that these might be identified, and their significance grasped? The emergence of the discipline of semiotics has encouraged us to see natural objects and entities as signs, pointing beyond themselves, representing and communicating themselves.

To find the true significance of things requires the development of habits of reading and directions of gaze that enable the reflective observer of nature to discern meaning where others see just happenstance and accident. Or, to use an image from Polanyi, where some hear a noise, others hear a tune.

Alister McGrath is Professor of Theology, Ministry and Education at King’s College, London, and author of The Future of Atheism, with Daniel Dennet, and A Fine-Tuned Universe: The Quest for God in Science and Theology, among several other books.





iFreedom

10 10 2011

I remember it vividly, as if I had heard those words today, even if two years have already passed.

I was in a car with the band of an Italian singer and one of them asked me: “Enzo, are you in the truth or in untruth?” I didn’t get what he wanted to say, but it seemed to have nothing to do with God. “Do you have a Mac or a PC?”, he finally asked. I laughed, and  he told me musicians simply can’t live without their Mac.

Last week one of the most brilliant minds of the past century died: Steve Jobs. All around the planet people talk about him: Twitter, blogs, Facebook, offices, television, radio, squares… everybody talks of “the genius” and what he created in the past years. One sentence that struck me went like, “seldom is there someone with the profound impact that Steve had; the consequences of his work will be felt for generations.” In many ways this is true: millions of people around the world have changed the way they work, think and communicate thanks to Jobs’ intuitions, including me. Every year there was a new idea or event that would change a small facet of our lives.

Yet listening to all these eulogies and all the celebrations of Apple-introduced changes, I can’t but think about things that are unchangeable, which all of us face. Even the man who invented the first personal computer with windows and mouse, or who changed the way we think about phones, had to think about the big questions of life, about fate and love and death and meaning. One day we will all be remembered some way, and more about who we were than what we’ve done or invented. If not in a musicians car, Jobs, like all of us, still had to ask at some point: am I in the truth?

And what does it mean to be in the truth? To have an iPhone, iPod or iMac?In an often-quoted passage, Jesus linked truth to something curious: freedom. To know the truth sets us free. I have often thought that my Mac is the staple of my freedom: freedom from Microsoft’s dominance, freedom from the crushing claws of capitalism, freedom to be creative and hip and cool. Yet, even as I cherish my beautiful Mac, and marvel at all the nice graphics it lets me see, I realize that well… it does not set me free. Maybe my iFreedom  comes from something else, from something that transcends computers and the grave, something unchangeable that sets us free to change the world.

Enzo Bifano





Looking for Infinity

26 08 2011

It is a fault of infinity to be too small to find. It is a fault of eternity to be crowded out by time. Before our eyes we see an unbroken sheath of colors. We live over a bulk of things. We walk amid a congeries of colored things that part before our steps to reveal more colored colored things. Above us hurtle more things, which fill the universe. There is no crack. Mountains and hills, lakes, deserts, forests, and plains fully occupy their continents. Where, then, is the gap through which eternity streams?

And this is what we love: this human-scented skull, the sheen on the skin of a face, this exhilarating game, this crowded feast, these shifting mountains, the dense water and its piercing lights. It is our lives we love, our times, our generation, our pursuits. And are we called to forsake these vivid and palpable goods for an idea of which we experience nor one trace? Am I to believe eternity outranks my child’s finger?

Let us rest the material view and consider, just consider, that the weft of materials admits of a very few, faint, unlikely gaps. People are, after all, still disappearing, still roping robes on themselves, still braving the work of prayer, insisting they hear something, even fighting and still dying for it. The impulse to a spiritual view persists, and the evidence of that view’s power among historical forces and among contemporary ideas persists, and the claim of reasoning men and women that they know God from experience persists.

This Bible, this ubiquitous, persistent black chunk of a bestseller, is a chink – often the only chink – through which winds howl. It is a singularity, a black hole into which our rich and multiple world strays and vanishes. We crack open its pages at our peril. Many educated, urbane, and flourishing experts in every aspect of business, culture, and science have felt pulled by this anachronistic, semibarbaric mass of antique laws and fabulous tales from far away; they entered its queer, strait gates and were lost. Eyes open, heads high, in full possession of their critical minds, they obeyed the high, inaudible whistle, and let the gates close behind them.

Annie Dillard

(Excerpt abridged from “The Book of Luke”, The Annie Dillard Reader, 265-266.)





Is There Life After Success?

24 08 2011

To answer this question, we need to understand what success in life is:
When you are 12-months-old, success is to be able to walk.
When you are 2, success is not pee in the pants.
When you are 15, success is to have sex.
When you are 18, success is to have a driver’s licence.
When you are 30, success is to have money.
When you are 60, success is to have a lot more money.
When you are 70, success is to have a driver’s licence.
When you are 80, success is to have sex.
When you are 85, success is to have a lot of friends.
When you are 90, success is to not pee in the pants.
When you are 95, success is to be able to walk.

Moral: success varies according to what it signifies in each stage of life and in the culture we belong to. For a competing athlete, success is to be a champion. For the gunman, success is the number of unhappy souls that have crossed his path. Success is the realization of a dream, but once the target is met, success loses its reason for being and we feel aimless.

I, for one, fell in love with cars as a little boy, and aspired to become a race driver for my whole life. I worked hard, trained exhaustively, tried to summon all the resources I could reach to fund my racing, until I arrived at the top racing category: the Formula 1. Those were thrilling, challenging, intense years, but when they finished, I could not help but ask: now what?

Unhappy is he who depends on success to be happy. For such a person, the end of a successful career is the end of the line. His destiny is to die of bitterness or to search for more success in other careers and to go on living from success to success until he falls dead. In this case, there will not be life after success.

In order to survive success, we need instead to find the meaning of our life, to discover our true vocation and the purpose that justifies our existence. As Frederick Buechner puts it, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”[1] In this perspective, Mother Teresa was much wealthier than Bill Gates, at least until the day in which he stopped running Microsoft to dedicate himself to philanthropy and humanitarian help, in the search for a purpose for his life. To help others is surely a more noble kind of enterprise, yet the problem is that noble and praiseworthy success is still perishable success. Any life project that does not transcend the here and now is faded to end in a cemetery.

I believe lasting success is success that transcends the grave. Death gathers all limitations that result from our disconnection from the source of life. And in my analysis, throughout cockpits and soccer stadiums and victory celebrations and losses at the last inch and days of plain routine, I have not found someone who can reconcile and reconnect us to the source and maintainer of life as Jesus Christ does. Only through him will there be life after all and every success.

Alex Dias Ribeiro is a former Formula 1 driver, and has accompanied the Brazilian teams as a chaplain in many of the last World Cups and Summer Olympics.


[1] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC (New York: HarperOne, 1993).





“Smaller Bites”

19 08 2011

Two years ago, I walked into a stranger’s hospital room just hours after she’d given birth to a little blue eyed, blonde boy – my boy!  I hadn’t foreseen adoption when I embarked on my own journey of becoming a mom.  Such an unconventional path – a mom would go to a hospital and give birth to a beautiful son, but a different mom – me – would be taking that son home.  Though the process was out of the ordinary, there was no question in my heart – this was my son Tristen, now and forever.

His existence in our hearts was conceived one night when Ken and I looked at each other and said “Let’s have kids.”  Little did we know, that very month, our son’s older sister was born (who was adopted by another family) and it would still be more than a year before his mom would become pregnant with him. The day I carried him out of the hospital was the day a two year dream came true.

I have an inexplicable connection to both of my sons—Trey was the child who would routinely go 23 hours without moving inside my uterus (if baby goes 24 hours, it’s the first signal of concern to doctors) and when I see his calm, thoughtful personality, I remember my pregnancy. He’s always been this way.

I have a different connection to Tristen. Ironically, he looks just like me, and our birthdays are 4 days apart. With him, I have the questions that existed in my heart answered daily: What will he look like? What will his personality be like? He existed in my heart well before he was even conceived, and daily I celebrate who he is and the little person he is becoming.

Adopted children respond to the initial rejection from their biological parents in different manners, and psychological studies show that most of them exhibit specific behavioral patterns. One of these currently manifesting in our family involves food.  Our darling angel can pack food into his mouth faster than a squirrel can pack nuts. He’s convinced that his mouth can fit his whole sandwich, rather than a rational sized bite. He chokes, coughs, gags and tries to take drinks to help it all down. “Smaller bites,” we say, but the minute we turn our backs, his entire cupcake has disappeared….and it is not on the floor.

His little mind is saying “I need to eat enough food today so if they abandon me tomorrow, I will have prepared for it,” despite the fact that in his 2 years of life we have neither abandoned him nor forgotten to feed him.

And yet my heart does that, too. Even though my Christian faith tells me I’m God’s child, and that He takes constant care of me, I often find myself stuffing my stomach, my schedule, my bank account, and my dreams, so I have something in case God abandons me. You know–just in case. He has never let me down before, but my fears tempt me to accumulate, and to prepare for the worst.

I look at Tristen, and laugh at his cupcake-filled mouth, and all the little crumbs left on the table. I think that’s how God looks at His adopted children too. When we worry, wondering if He will be there to provide for us, He sees our anxious insecurity, our proneness to fear and accumulation, and laughs: “Smaller bites, Darling. Smaller bites.”

Roanna Canete currently lives in Rome with her two small sons and lovely husband Ken.





What shape are you?

27 05 2011

Consumerism has given us many globally recognisable shapes. Creative types might think instantly of iconic design profiles: the figurine coke bottle, the Nike swish, the sleek Apple Mac. The cynical among us might suggest more sinister outlines: the increasing Western waistline, the reducing Arctic ice.

But nothing the consumer mould produces is as significant as this: the way it shapes our souls. The problem with consumer culture, to put it bluntly, is not so much the products it makes – these can be ingenious, useful and, increasingly, more sustainably produced. The problem is not so much the mess it makes – this is a massive global challenge, but still only a symptom of a deeper malaise. The problem with consumer culture is the people it makes.

Let’s make this personal. The problem is me. ‘Hi, my name’s Mark and I’m a consumer.’

The truth is that I am hugely shaped by my addiction to stuff. I am formed by my fear of a dull, reduced life. I am defined by the ever-present danger of lagging too far behind the consumer pack. Funnily enough, I don’t feel addicted. But, at the same time, I really don’t want to be the only person who hasn’t seen the latest blockbuster / hasn’t been skiing / isn’t culturally up-to-date (delete as appropriate). All this is deeply formational, and the shape it gives me is a rushed, dissatisfied and self-focussed life.

God is, of course, in the formation business too. He has a particular shape in mind for us – ‘to be conformed to the image of his Son’ (Romans 8:29). It’s an image of suffering and glory, as Paul makes clear. It’s an image of generosity and blessing (at times ‘poor, yet making many rich’ – 2 Corinthians 6:10 – easy now, Paul!). Eugene Peterson calls it ‘the soaring and swooping life of grace’.

Or we could say ‘less stuff, more life’.

Mark Powley is author of the newly published Consumer Detox: Less Stuff, More Life (Zondervan).





Amature Lovers and Remembered People

11 05 2011

Cockroaches big enough to be ridden by small jockeys squirmed across the floor, the smell of urine and alcohol hung in the air, and everything seemed to be caked with filth. I recoiled at the thought of helping a forgotten old man named Wayne last week. Standing in the doorway of his single room apartment I could see that “helping him” around the house would mean entering into a chasm of filth and pain. Wayne’s weathered face peered into my own, watching me take in what lay before us. A few hours later I am heaving his limp old “mattress” into a dumpster in the heavy rain. Much to my distress it somehow collapses over top of me and I find myself sandwiched inside of strangely warm, wet stinking mattress. Once freed, I want to get away. I want to run so far away from Wayne that I never have to remember him again. Instead, I take a minuet to “break”.

Wandering onto the apartment’s top floor I overlook the city. “How many other “Wayne’s” are out there?”… I quietly wonder. It is an overwhelming feeling. I realize in this moment that Wayne’s messy apartment is just the surfaced expression of his entire life. I also realize that there are many Wayne’s out there in the city, and, in fact, in me! I, too, have carefully concealed messes and “dirty rooms” needing to be cleaned. Wayne’s obvious mess simply leaks a larger truth that American philosopher Henry David Thoreau’s rightly observes: that “most men live lives of quiet desperation.” I’m not the first person to overlook a city and consider these things… Jesus approaches his own city and weeps at the thought of those like Waynen – those desperate for peace, people like me.[1]

Walking back into Wayne’s apartment I notice something I hadn’t before. In the middle of Wayne’s dimly lit room is a single chair. But who has one chair? A forgotten person nobody hears. I realize that my own desires to run away and forget Wayne would be commonplace. I re-entered Wayne’s apartment settled to not let myself forget him. I wouldn’t be content to just “cry over the city;” Jesus didn’t. Jesus entered the city and famously sat among those most eager for peace, the poor and the broken. He listened, remembered, and taught how to rightly love one another.

Still, I wonder who will remember all the Wayne’s we daily pass on the streets… who will notice when they “check out”? Will they be remembered? While Jesus is dying on the cross a forgotten criminal asks Jesus a simple request, “Remember me when you enter your kingdom.” People want to be remembered. It means their life meant something, that their life mattered. Jesus replies to the criminal “Don’t worry, I will remember you… but not only that, I am going to bring you with me to paradise.”[2] God not only hears the forgotten, He remembers the forgotten while promising a great party. It tells me that each person is of great value and significant in God’s eyes – worth hearing and remembering. That’s good news for all those thirsty for purpose and hungry for peace.

God hears and remembers people like you, Wayne, and even amateur lovers like me. In the words made famous in the movie Wayne’s World, “Party on Wayne…party on”.

Luke 23:38-43

Ryan Vallee is an an adventure seeker, amateur lover, and Jesus follower who enjoys good books, movies, and coffee.


[1] Luke 19:41-42.

[2] My paraphrase of Luke 23:39-43.





A Look into Ourselves

22 04 2011

[Editor's note: today we have an excerpt from a classic argument by John Locke, the seventeenth century philosopher, to shake things up a bit]

I think that it is beyond question, that man has a clear idea of his own being; he knows certainly he exists, and that he is something. He can doubt whether he be anything or no, I speak not to; no more than I would argue with pure nothing, or endeavor to convince nonentity that it were something. If one pretends to be so skeptical as to deny his own existence (for really to doubt of it is manifestly impossible,) let him for me enjoy his beloved happiness of being nothing, until hunger or some other pain convinces him of the contrary. This then I may take for a truth, beyond the liberty of doubting, that he is something that actually exists.

In the next place, man knows, by an intuitive certainty, that bare nothing can no more produce any real being, than it can be equal to two right angles. If, therefore, we know there is some real being, and that nonentity cannot produce any real being, it is an evident demonstration, that from eternity there has been something; since what was not from eternity had a beginning; and what had a beginning must be produced by something else.  This eternal source, then, of all being must also be the source and original of all power; and so this eternal Being must also be the most powerful. 

Again, a man finds in himself perception and knowledge. We have then got one step further; and we are certain now that there is not only some being, but some knowing, intelligent being in the world. Thus, from the consideration of ourselves, and what we infallibly find in our own constitutions, our reason leads us to the knowledge of this certain and evident truth, – That there is an eternal, most powerful, and most knowing Being; which whether any one will please call God, it matters not.

If, therefore, it be evident, that something necessarily must exist from eternity, it is also as evident, that that something must necessarily be a cogitative being: for it is as impossible that incogitative matter should produce a cogitative being, as that nothing, or the negation of all being, should produce a positive being or matter.

John Locke

This excerpt is slightly abridged, from Francis Collins, Belief: Readings on the Reasons for Faith (New York: HarperOne, 2011), 53-54, 57,





Poetry and Sacredness

23 03 2011

The German poet, theologian, and philosopher Novalis, a leading figure of European Romanticism, wrote these words about the poet’s identity: “Poets and priests were at first the same thing; they were separated only in later ages. But the true poet has always remained a priest, as the true priest has remained a poet. Shouldn’t we recuperate this old state of things?” I have loved poetry since I was a little girl, and am privileged to teach and write today, and I cannot but agree with Novalis. For me there was always something sacred in poetry.

Poetry helps us describe reality with the eyes of the soul. Poetry is the breath of life. It is heaven descending on earth. Poetry is to talk with God. Poetry is the silence of God. Only through poetry can we describe the beauty that surrounds us, the beauty of creation and of love.

Poetry is not simple language. Poetry is the dawn, strawberries with cream, the wind blowing through the hair, a kiss, silk, two people who love each other, blueberries, pleasure, Chagall, the sunset, a flake of satin, a butterfly, popcorn, to cuddle, a child’s foot, words of love, the moon, to talk with God, a smile, a dance step, the stars, a dream, a yes, the sun, tango, a strike, red wine, a tulip, a tickle, a hug, a hand meeting another hand, to run until exhaustion, music, ice-cream, flowers, a white screen, Friday night at the movies, eyes, roller coasters, New York, Bach, car racing, art, a shiver, the sea, the cross, a mother’s breast, cherries, snow, perfume, to talk with friends, Botticelli’s Venus, ballerinas, a park bench.

Poetry helps touch infinitude, to feel alive amidst the immensity of the universe, to know the largeness of our soul: a reality too deep to be just earthly. There is a piece of infinitude, of heaven, of God inside us. The God who one day made himself man and descended on earth to die on the cross and offer us life: through that blood the most beautiful poetry of all history was crafted, because in that gesture of love was written my name and your name. There were all the hope and beauty of a new life in that sacrifice: you are the poetry of God.

I can’t describe God except through poetry. When I look at You I live the dream of the star that breathes charm. Poetry helps me talk with God and about God: poetry is sacred. The poet is, after all, a priest.

Federica Gramiccia is a poet and writer in Rome, Italy. She blogs at Fragili Pensieri Estemporanei.








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