Are faith and science compatible?

I actually snagged this from someone else's blog.

Are faith and science compatible? Should we bring God into scientific matters? P.J. O'Rourke entertains us with an insightful answer in his article in Search Magazine.

There are cashews in my dryer

My roommate and I had the same dream last night. And we both awoke convinced of the same opinion.

Also, I nearly plunged into another car today, but I remained quite calm and didn't miss a beat in my air drum solo.

And finally, I discovered some wandering thoughts that have been lurking about in my head for some time. I finally managed to pin them down and clothe them with words. It felt good.

My dear Watson, sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

The best theology

I attended a conference this past week at Parish Presbyterian Church on Christian Classical education. You might be relieved to know I wasn't going only to gratify my appetite for all things nerdy. I know I don't have to justify myself, but just in case, I'll tell you that there were practical reasons :) -- For one, I'll be helping to put together a teacher training manual for the Classical School of the Medes. Also, I'll likely be traveling to Iraq this January to teach at CSM, so a refreshment world-view training course was helpful.

One of the sessions I chose was on art in the classroom -- teaching towards beauty, goodness and truth. The speaker commented on how classical schools (in particular) tend to get the goodness and truth thing down well, but that beauty is a struggle. Beauty is often thought of as a subcategory of truth. But actually, it is essential to tying the other two (goodness and truth) together. Beauty is the visible manifestation of the other things. It is the first and sometimes last thing we notice about someone or something.

Because we often think of beauty as a subcategory, we tend to philosophize about it and theorize it more than we practice it. In other words, we talk our heads off about good art and bad art, but we never give a kid a paintbrush. At least, that was my experience. I'm glad I took aesthetics in high school, but I also wish I had been given a pencil and told to draw it. Today, I can write you a thesis paper about the biblical standards of beauty, but I'm sure I still don't have enough wisdom -- literally "skillful fingers" -- to actually believe it, practice it, taste it for myself.

There's the other side, too, of course. Some people, I've noticed, practice beauty (or think they are practicing it), but never think about what it is that they are glorifying through their production of art, music, writing, etc. Is it glorifying nature? Chaos? Is it celebrating our depravity? Or is it pointing us to that which is truly worthy of our honor? And is it even any good?

The best theology and philosophy, as I was taught in this session, is immensely practical.

So thennn....I was reading James 1, which talks about being both a hearer and a doer of the word. The last verse states: "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world."

Wait a minute...hang on...are you saying that even my best attempts at religion, theology and philosophy don't even make it on the radar? All that reading I did in high school and college, all the conversations I've had with friends and colleagues about methodology, all those trips I took to the museum -- those aren't enough to make me a pretty well rounded individual?

But, but....wait. I'm a fantastic note-taker, an intent listener, and I'm great at regurgitating flowery nonsense. I've also read some books on subjects like poverty, tyranny, the just war theory, and sanctification. Doesn't that count for anything?

I guess what James is saying is: um, that's a negative. "For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like."

So if I've learned anything, I guess I've learned that I have some work to do. Easier said than done, right?

What I'm reading right now (or attempting to read):





What I'm listening to:

“God is looking for people through whom He can do the impossible – what a pity that we plan only for the things we can do by ourselves.” – A.W. Tozer

Cafetière

Recently I've been re-discovering the beauty of the French Press. Unlike the typical drip brewing mechanism (like my trusty Krups), the press (or coffee plunger, as it's referred to in some places) retains more of the natural flavor and essential oils of the coffee bean.

I used to brew coffee like this at the little Orthodox cafe I worked for a couple of summers ago. I forgot all about its charm until I discovered a dusty 8 oz. French Press coffee pot in our kitchen a few days ago. I'm actually not sure where it came from. I need to remember to ask Chelsea about that.

Along with French fries, French kissing, and the French horn, I'm delighted that the French had the sense to popularize something so wonderful.

Intensity of Love

If you're anything like me, you often find yourself getting worn down by your own habits and patterns. One of my patterns has to do with the way I love others. At one point, I'm wholeheartedly engaged in my community, meeting with friends, trying to stay culturally aware, and leaving very little space in my brain for thinking. At another point, I'm a energy-less clam who makes no time for others.

One explanation might be that I'm a borderline introvert-extrovert (according to the Facebook Meyers Briggs application). Or it could just be that my affections run rampant, with seemingly no real object to set them upon.

This is why reading Spurgeon this morning was encouraging. He helps clarify this question that I wrestle with: what does it mean to be in the world but not of it? Hold loosely to worldly affections, and lament my lack of love for the One who is truly lovely and worthy of all love. The full entry is here, but I'll share the little blurb that got my blood pumping:

"It is written, and nothing can blot out the sentence, "The upright love Thee." The intensity of the love of the upright, however, is not so much to be judged by what it appears as by what the upright long for. It is our daily lament that we cannot love enough. Would that our hearts were capable of holding more, and reaching further. Like Samuel Rutherford, we sigh and cry, "Oh, for as much love as would go round about the earth, and over heaven—yea, the heaven of heavens, and ten thousand worlds—that I might let all out upon fair, fair, only fair Christ." Alas! our longest reach is but a span of love, and our affection is but as a drop of a bucket compared with His deserts. Measure our love by our intentions, and it is high indeed; 'tis thus, we trust, our Lord doth judge of it. Oh, that we could give all the love in all hearts in one great mass, a gathering together of all loves to Him who is altogether lovely!"