Epiphany: Still Shining

Posted on January 6, 2019 by Brian H. Gill

While writing about Epiphany, I meandered past Gothic cathedrals, kings and chancellors, and some of what’s happened over the last two millennia.

The magi, too: the first of many from all nations who recognized and welcomed the good news our Lord brings. That’s in the day’s Gospel reading this year, Matthew 2:1–12.

Maybe listing this post’s headings will help. Then again, maybe not:

The Magi, Herod — and Three Anxious Days

Epiphany is when we celebrate the Magi’s arrival — first in Jerusalem, then Bethlehem. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 528; Angelus, Pope St. John Paul II (January 6, 2002))

Their first stop, in Jerusalem, had consequences. But I don’t blame them. They were looking for a newborn king, so checking in with the regional boss made sense.

Their interview with Herod directed them towards Bethlehem, and obviously impressed the Roman client king.

Herod seemed eager to “do him homage,” as Matthew 2:8 puts it. Maybe Herod wanted to keep his “homage” low-profile.

Whatever he had in mind, Herod waited for the magi’s report.

The magi paid their respects and left their gifts gold, frankincense, and myrrh. (Matthew 2:11)

Acting on information received, they headed for the border after honoring our Lord, not Jerusalem. Joseph, Mary and Jesus headed for Egypt. After sundown.

Lacking the magi’s information, Herod fell back on his usual protocol: killing whoever might become a threat. All the boys in Bethlehem age two or under, in this case.

Not surprisingly, the deaths of a few unimportant kids in a small town didn’t make it into Herodian records. (January 15, 2017)

Our Lord’s family stayed in Egypt until things cooled off a bit back home.

A bit, but not completely. Herod hadn’t gotten around to killing one of his sons.

After Herod’s death, the Roman emperor let Archelaus keep part of his father’s territory: Judea.1 Joseph, Mary and Jesus settled across the border, in Nazareth. Maybe because it’s Mary’s home town. (Matthew 2:9–23; Luke 1:26–27)

Christmas-to-Epiphany Gospel readings aren’t in chronological order. Last Sunday’s was was mostly about three very stressful days for Mary and Joseph, when Jesus was 12.

They’d been in Jerusalem, celebrating Passover. On the way back, a day into the trip, Mary and Joseph realized that Jesus wasn’t in the caravan. (Luke 2:44)

Any parent might be anxious if their 12-year-old disappeared.

These two were the foster-parents of God’s son, responsible for his welfare. And they’d lost him. Small wonder they experienced “great anxiety.” (Luke 2:48)

That account has a Hollywood ending of sorts.

“And Jesus advanced [in] wisdom and age and favor before God and man.”
(Luke 2:52)

But our faith isn’t all about good times and Hollywood endings. The Feasts of St. Stephen and the Holy Innocents follow Christmas in the Church’s yearly cycle.

Light

My language gets “Epiphany” from ancient Greek by way several other languages.

The word’s Greek roots had meanings like “display” and “shine.” “Manifestation,” too.

Folks have called Epiphany the festival of lights, Three Kings’ Day and Little Christmas. And still do.

If Epiphany is about light, how come my culture shows the magi in Bethlehem at night? That gets me back to light.

The magi were following a star.

Not, maybe, a particularly bright one. But a light in the darkness just the same.2

“…Perhaps because the star was not eye-catching, did not shine any brighter than other stars. It was a star – so the Gospel tells us – that the Magi saw ‘at its rising’ (vv. 2, 9). Jesus’ star does not dazzle or overwhelm, but gently invites….”
(Homily, Epiphany of the Lord; January 6, 2019; Pope Francis)

“…He is the ‘sun that shall dawn upon us from on high’ (Lk 1,78). He is the sun that came into the world to dispel the darkness of evil and flood it with the splendour of divine love. John the Evangelist writes: ‘The true light that enlightens every man came into the world‘ (Jn 1,9)….”
(Homily, Epiphany of the Lord; January 6, 2002; Pope St. John Paul II)

Perceptions

I’ve run across folks who see Europe’s Middle Ages as the Age of Faith.

For some, all that faith made it the Dark Ages, when ignorance and superstition reigned. Others might see it as an equally-mythical Golden Age.

I see the millennium after the Roman Empire’s decline as another few pages in humanity’s continuing story.

Folks in Europe coped with good times and bad, punctuated by the occasional incident like Charlemagne’s Verden massacre.3 (April 30, 2017)

One of Western Civilization’s more promising periods started a couple centuries later.

Europeans had nice weather from about 950 to 1250.

That gave them time for something other than surviving. Some folks living in Frankish lands designed stone buildings — with walls made mostly of glass.

I think they were perhaps the most innovative architectural engineering Western civilization produced until the 19th and 20th centuries.

Not everyone felt that way. “Gothic” buildings blatantly disregarded Roman architectural norms. That, I suspect, is why Giorgio Vasari used the term “barbarous German style,” and that’s another topic.4

Medieval Legacies

Medieval Europe, or any other place and time, wasn’t all about architecture.

Christianity was increasingly common in Europe, so some of the most notable Gothic buildings are cathedrals.

Schools run by cathedrals and monasteries, and scholastic guilds, became the first universities.

Folks like Saints Hildegard of Bingen and Albertus Magnus were laying foundations for today’s science.5

Meanwhile, top-rank warlords had limited control over territories that were becoming today’s nations. I see that as a good news/bad news situation.

On the ‘up’ side, kings occasionally kept their vassals from raiding and pillaging each other’s manors.

On the ‘down’ side, Europe’s national leaders upheld their warlord traditions through centuries of increasingly-destructive warfare.

A little over a century back now, they decided that war wasn’t a particularly good idea. Not between Europe’s rulers, anyway.

Their solution was a network of interlocking treaties. One country in the network attacking another would bring each country’s buddies into the war — then each of the buddies’ allies.

Nobody, they figured, would be stupid or crazy enough to set off a pan-European war. Not with the Edwardian era’s state-of-the art weapons.

It looked good on paper. Then, on June 28, 1914, a student activist of sorts killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Este.

Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Russia supported Serbia. Germany declared war on Russia.

By the end of August, Europe’s war had spread across Asia and reached the Pacific. Nearly a half-century later, survivors decided that we’d had enough.6

I think they were right. (December 24, 2018; April 15, 2018)

I’m getting ahead of the story. Let’s see, where was I? Herod. Magi. Charlemagne, Hildegard of Bingen. Right.

Archbishops and Kings

We don’t hear much about Theobald of Bec these days. That’s probably due to his successor being Thomas Becket.

England’s King Stephen made Theobald Archbishop of Canterbury in 1138.

I’m not sure why. Maybe he figured Theobald would be more cooperative than someone in Stephen’s own family.

Archbishop Theobald wasn’t particularly easygoing. He figured that as Archbishop of Canterbury, he needn’t take orders from the Bishop of Winchester.

I think that makes sense, since Winchester was in the Canterbury archdiocese.

The Bishop of Winchester didn’t. Maybe because he was Henry of Blois, AKA Henry of Winchester, King Stephen’s brother’s son. He’d wanted to be Archbishop of Canterbury. Like most things involving humans, it’s complicated.

Then there was the Council of Reims in 1148. I gather that Reims was an important city at the time.

Reims had been capital of the Remi when Julius Caesar’s troops arrived. The Remi decided that cooperating with the Romans was a good idea. That helped their city become home to between 30,000 and 100,000 folks.

Fast-forward nearly a millennium. Charlemagne’s Holy Roman Empire was a couple centuries into its millennium-long run. Reims was still an important city, and headquarters for an archdiocese.

Hugh Capet was a king — of the Franks or of France, depending on who you listen to. Either way, he was boss of a territory that’s roughly where France is today. That’s likely why so many folks paid attention when Hugh called the 991 Council of Reims.

A top item on the 991 council’s agenda was the case of Arnulf, Archbishop of Reims, against Hugh.

Hugh said Arnulf was part of a conspiracy against Hugh. The Council went along with Hugh, deposing the archbishop.

Pope John XV didn’t accept the verdict, or the Hugh-friendly chap Hugh’s council said was Reims’ new Archbishop. That mess wasn’t settled until Pope Gregory V’s time.

The Catholic Church was dealing with one of our rough patches around the 10th and 11th centuries.

One of the problems was excessive overlap of royal and church authority.

A reform was in progress. From King Stephen’s viewpoint, it was too successful, partly due to Archbishop Theobald’s work. Again, it’s complicated.

The 991 council’s aftermath, and Theobald’s track record, may explain why King Stephen didn’t want ‘his’ archbishop going to the 1148 Council of Reims.

Theobald was in a bind. His king told him to stay put, the Pope told him to attend.

Theobald attended, talked the Council out of excommunicating his king, that’s yet another topic, but asked the Pope to let Stephen fix the problem.

King Stephen didn’t like that, so he confiscated Theobald’s property and didn’t let him back into England.

The exile didn’t last. Theobald outlived King Stephen, and historians still don’t agree on what sort of person the archbishop was.7

“…This Turbulent Priest?”

From Book of Hours, Use of Sarum, by a medieval artist from Glasgow: The martyrdom of St Thomas Becket. (14th century) see https://cudl.lib.cam.ac.uk/view/MS-DD-00004-00017/1

Thomas Becket was Theobald of Bec’s Archdeacon of Canterbury, starting in 1154. Theobald added more ecclesiastical jobs to Becket’s job description. Thomas got the work done, which got Theobald’s attention.

The archbishop told King Henry II that Thomas would make a good Lord Chancellor. Henry II gave Thomas that job in 1155.

Becket took his Chancellorship seriously, enforcing the king’s revenue sources — including churches and bishoprics. Like I said, that was one of our rough patches.

Theobald died in 1161.

A royal council of bishops and nobility confirmed Becket as Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162. Henry II let Becket take the position, maybe because he figured Becket would keep his ‘king first’ policy.

Becket didn’t.

He resigned his job as Chancellor and kept doing what Theobald had been doing: unraveling royal control over clergy and churches in England.

Henry II didn’t like that. At all.

A particularly tense situation in 1170 ended with Henry’s now-famous “will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?”

Henry II may not have used those exact words. Probably didn’t, since the “turbulent priest” quote is an oral tradition; and my language has changed in the last eight and a half centuries. Another version, in Latin, is far more flowery.

Whatever Henry said, four knights figured their king wanted Thomas out of circulation. They went to Canterbury Cathedral and told Becket that he’d go with them to see Henry.

Becket didn’t cooperate. They left the Cathedral, retrieved their weapons, returned with drawn swords, and vivisected Canterbury’s archbishop.

The bloodstains have long since been cleaned up.

Thomas Becket was recognized as a Saint. Henry II did a high-profile public penance for ordering the hit.

Folks set up a shrine in Canterbury Cathedral, marking the spot where Becket died.8

Henry VIII’s Decisions


(From Mike Peel, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(A bit of Merton’s Priory, after Henry VIII’s agents did their work.)

Richard the Lionheart was England’s after Henry II. Henries IV through VI reigned during the 1400s. Lancaster’s Henry VI had another go at the throne, followed by York’s two Edwards and a Richard.

The House of Tudor came out ahead in one of England’s civil wars.

That put Henry VII in charge. England’s next king would have been Arthur: the one born in 1486, not the famous one.

Saying that the King Arthur couldn’t have existed caught on, at least as far back as 1925. Mainly because Arthur most likely lived after the Roman Empire pulled out of the British Isles. They’ve got a point. We’ve got precious little British documentation for the generations after from Rome’s pullout.

The now-familiar Arthur-Guenevere-Lancelot tales make good melodrama, showed up something like a millennium after Arthur’s day, and that’s yet again another topic.

Back to Henry VII and the 1486 Arthur. Briefly. Briefly for me, that is.

Henry’s heir apparent got sick and died. Henry VIII was the next-oldest legitimate male heir, and England’s next king.

England’s Henry VIII may be most famous for his half-dozen wives.

His reign might have been much less messy if he’d lived well before the 16th century. Or been less concerned with appearances.

Henry’s wife #1 had several kids, including Mary I. Her sons were either stillborn or died shortly after birth.

Maybe Henry VIII figured he’d gotten a defective wife.

What’s more certain is that he told Pope Clement VII to annul his marriage. The Pope refused, one thing led to another, and Henry VIII decided he’d do better with a state-run church.

That’s a huge over-simplification. So is what follows.

State-sponsored churches were becoming popular among northern European leaders. England and Europe had been nominally Christian for centuries. That, and tithing customs, gave high-level Catholic clergy considerable economic and political clout.

The Italian Renaissance was in progress. Wealth from global trade was trickling into northern Europe, but not fast enough for monarchs like Albert, Duke of Prussia and England’s Henry VIII.

The situation arguably led to centuries of region-themed propaganda, the Thirty Years’ War and the Enlightenment. (January 12, 2018; September 10, 2017; August 4, 2017)

Henry VIII’s decision to nationalize England’s religion did wonders for the royal treasury.

His appraisers traveled the country. Some churches and monasteries were converted to profitable rental properties. Reclamation crews “rescued” books, furniture, lead roofs and anything else with resale value. (October 27, 2017)

Becket’s shrine in Canterbury Cathedral lasted until 1538. Henry VIII’s agents had it removed, along with other reminders of the “turbulent priest.”

The nationalized church became a useful part of England’s government.

Purging Thomas Becket’s memory from England wasn’t entirely successful. Folks remembered the spot where Becket was killed. Some have been keeping a candle burning there.9

“The King’s Good Servant…”

These days, Thomas More may be the best-known casualty of Henry VIII’s national church: thanks to Bolt’s “A Man for All Seasons” and film adaptations of the play.

That picture isn’t More. It’s John Fisher, another Englishman who thought even kings should follow some rules.

Thomas More became Henry VIII’s Lord Chancellor in 1529.

In 1530, he refused to sign a letter to Pope Clement VII, asking that their king’s marriage be annulled. That didn’t endear More to the solid English churchmen and aristocrats who wrote the letter.

A royal decree of 1531 required all English clergy to take an oath, saying that Henry VIII was “supreme head” of the Church of England. English bishops at the 1532 Convocation of Canterbury agreed, after getting the words “as far as Christ law allows” added.

Some bishops in England wouldn’t cooperate. John Fisher was one of them. He was a cardinal by the time he was accused, tried and convicted of treason.

More didn’t take the oath either, and resigned as Lord Chancellor. He might have survived, since he didn’t publicly criticize the king’s actions.

Then More didn’t attend Anne Boleyn’s 1533 coronation. She’s wife #2. That, apparently, was an act of high treason. Thomas More was accused, tried and convicted. It took the jury all of 15 minutes to reach their verdict.

Before his execution, More said he was “the king’s good servant, and God’s first.”10

I hope I never have to make the sort of choice Thomas Becket, John Fisher and Thomas More faced. But I think they had their priorities straight.

Simple, Not Easy

Ideally, obeying a national leader and following God’s rules would be easy.

As Jesus said, God’s laws are quite simple:

“He said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.
“This is the greatest and the first commandment.
“The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
“The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.'”
(Matthew 22:37–40)

I should love God and my neighbor. That’s “the whole law and the prophets”

It’s simple. And not at all easy. Particularly since the ‘Samaritan’ story makes it clear that everyone is my neighbor. No exceptions. (Matthew 5:43–44, 22:36–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 6:31, 10:25–27, 29–37; Catechism, 1789)

Those principles don’t change. This natural law is written into each of us. How we apply the principles should change as our cultures and circumstances change. The trick is to make new rules that fit natural law. (Catechism, 1950–1960)

We’ve learned that societies work better if someone’s in charge. How we pick our leaders is our choice. What’s important is that the system supports the common good, and that we’re comfortable with it. (Catechism, 1897–1917)

But as I keep saying, we’re not in an ideal world.

Maybe it’d be easier if blindly following whatever the nearest boss says would be okay. It’s not. No king, emperor, or other leader is above the natural law. (Catechism, 1902, 1960, 2155, 2242–2243, 2267, 2313, 2414)

Reason for Hope

Anguished laments are easy, and fashionable in some circles. What’s being deplored varies. My guess is that climate change is still on the A-list, but American news has been focusing on politics lately.

Don’t get me wrong. I care about what’s happening on Earth, and would prefer more reason and less hysteria in politics. (January 8, 2018; May 26, 2017)

But instead of lamenting the prevalence of angst, I’ll take a quick look at a few things that haven’t gone horribly wrong.

The Industrial Revolution left a mess we’ll be cleaning up for generations. That’s the bad news.

The not-so-bad news is that we’re cleaning up the mess.

We’re still plagued by wars. That’s bad news.

But folks in a few places aren’t slaughtering each other in wholesale lots. Europe is one of those pockets of comparative calm.

European leaders have somehow avoided killing each other’s subjects for nearly three quarters of a century.

That’s reason for hope. So is what I think could be an end to our empire-collapse-rebuild cycle.

Sargon’s Akkadian Empire brought a measure of stability to Mesopotamia. Later Mesopotamian civilizations remembered him as a wise and strong leader. Maybe for the same reasons that Lincoln, Washington and Alfred of Wessex seem a bit larger than life.

Four millennia after Sargon, we’re trying something new: an international entity that’s open to all nations. The United Nations is no more perfect than the Sargon’s empire. But I think it’s a good first effort.11

The Best News Ever

Now, about that good news — the best humanity’s ever had.

God loves us, and wants to adopt us. All of us. Each of us. (Romans 8:15; Ephesians 1:3–5; Peter 2:3–4; Catechism, 1–3, 27–30, 52, 1825, 1996)

I thought God’s offer sounded good, and accepted it. That’s why I keep trying love my neighbor, and see everyone as my neighbor. That won’t change the course of history, make war obsolete or solve this world’s problems. But it’s a start.

That’s why I keep suggesting that working together is a good idea, and passing along the best news ever:

This post’s first photo is from ISS036-E-28913; courtesy of the Earth Science and Remote Sensing Unit, NASA Johnson Space Center. (eol.jsc.nasa.gov….; August 4, 2013)

1 Roman provinces, mostly:

2 About Epiphany:

3 Ages, assumptions, and all that:

4 Architecture, mostly:

5 Mostly medieval:

6 Wars and survivors:

7 Kings and an archbishop

8 Another king and archbishop:

9 16th century politics :

10 Deciding who’s the boss:

11 Efforts, good and otherwise:

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World Day of Peace, 2019

Posted on January 1, 2019 by Brian H. Gill
Marc Chagall's memorial 'Peace Window', free-standing piece of stained glass. (ca. 1963-1964)

For two dozen centuries, at least, a few folks have said that peace is a good idea. Many others have agreed.

Making peace a practical reality has remained an elusive goal. But I think we’re closer to it than when Chu won the Battle of Bi, or Sparta lost the Battle of Leuctra.1

I’m quite certain that finding an alternative to war is a good idea. No matter how long it takes us to get there.

“…There is no true peace without fairness, truth, justice and solidarity….”
(Message for the celebration of XXXIII World Day of Peace, 13, Pope St. John Paul II (January 1, 2000))

“…But above all you should understand that there can never be peace between nations until there is first known that true peace which is within the souls of men….”
(“The Sacred Pipe,” Black Elk (1953) as told to Joseph Epes Brown)

“Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.”
(Jesus, in Matthew 5:9)

“Love and truth will meet;
justice and peace will kiss.
“Truth will spring from the earth;
justice will look down from heaven.”
(Psalms 85-11–12)

“Better than a thousand hollow words
“Is one word that brings peace.
“Better than a thousand hollow verses
“Is one verse that brings peace.
“Better than a hundred hollow lines
“Is one line of the law, bringing peace.”
(“Dhammapada,” Verses 100-115, Siddhartha Gautama, translated by Thomas Byrom)

Utopias That Didn’t Work

We had a bumper crop of utopian societies in 19th century America.

Folks from the Harmony Society in Pennsylvania decided to try communal living in the Indiana Territory. They called their town Harmony, lived there from 1814 to 1824, then moved back east.

They gave their Indiana property to Robert Owen, a social reformer and wealthy industrialist. Owen figured the ready-built town was a dandy spot for showcasing Owenism: his version of Enlightenment ideals.

Owen’s New Harmony lasted from 1825 to 1827. That time around, folks decided to chuck their ideology but keep the town. Less utopian, but more durable, New Harmony eventually became part of the Evansville metropolitan area.

Many, but not all, American utopian experiments involved some sort of communal living. Maybe because Americans looking for private property and a chance at prosperity were already living in that sort of society.

Some utopias, like the Harmony Society, apparently thought the ideal community would be communal — and discouraged the process by which we grow new humans. Such communities tended to have trouble lasting more than one generation.2

A Golden Age by Any Other Name – – –

Trappist monk, reading. Daniel Tibi's photo, used w/o permission. (2007)On the other hand, ‘no kids’ outfits like the Trappists have lasted for centuries: as communities within a larger society.

Americans aren’t the only folks who’ve imagined utopias, or tried building one.

Thomas More’s 1516 satire, “Utopia,” added the word to my language. His readers probably realized that More’s “Utopia” meant something in Greek. The prefix ou- means “not,” topos means “place,” and place-names often got the suffix -iā.

“Utopia,” for More, meant “Nowhere:” a place that doesn’t exist. Somewhere along the line, we got the idea that “Utopia” means eu-topos: “Goodplace,” sort of.

Maybe because Hesoid’s ‘Golden Age’ is such an enduring dream in Western civilization. Hesoid’s “Works and Days” discusses, among other things, five Ages of Man.

Apparently Greek myth and folklore of his day had us starting out living carefree lives in a ‘Golden Age.’ And that it’s gotten steadily worse ever since.

Folks in what’s now China have their dàtóng and Peach Blossom Spring.

Another tradition says we cycle through the Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, Dvapara Yuga and Kali Yuga.

I gather that truth typifies the Satya Yuga, and that we’re currently in a Kali Yuga.3

I see parallels between Eden and the apparently-common idea of a ‘good old days’ that we’re not in.

That doesn’t bother me. I’m a Catholic. My obligations include taking Sacred Scripture seriously. Also not assuming that the Bible was written from a particular Western viewpoint. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 101-133)

More specifically, Hesoid’s Ages of Man remind me of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream in Daniel 2:31–45 and Genesis 2:8–3:19.

I suspect that’s partly because I grew up in a culture that is still mostly ‘European.’ Europeans almost certainly had their own utopian folklore when they heard the Genesis account, and that’s another topic.

‘Discovering’ that the Christian Bible’s origins are in the ancient Middle East has been big lately. So has comparing the Bible to standards that are in vogue at the moment: Freudian psychoanalysis, postmodern dialectics, whatever.

I don’t particularly like that sort of thing. Going ballistic over higher criticism or creation science is an option. But not, I think, a reasonable one.

I’d much rather spend time and energy trying to make sense. (Catechism, 369-379, 385-412)

And learning what I can from a store of accumulated wisdom that’s older than Western Civilization’s current iteration.4

Europeans also had some distinctly non-Biblical utopian dreams: like Cockaigne and Schlaraffenland, its German counterpart.

Schlaraffenland and Cockaigne looked like reversals of European life in the 1300s.

Instead of wars punctuated by famines, plagues and the Black Death, Cockaigne was a place with no rules, all the food you can eat — and nothing to do all day except see how far gluttony and sloth will take you.

Folks saddled with dubiously-competent landlords and unreasonable production quotas might enjoy Cockaigne dreams. Particularly if they’d heard claims that whatever wasn’t painful was Satanic.5 Some Catholics have that attitude, but it’s not what the Church says. (Ecclesiastes 2:24–25; Catechism of the Catholic Church, 27, 1718-1719, 2112-2114)

Xanadu and Cheesy Rain

Schlaraffenland, Cockaigne and America’s Utopian communities are a pretty small sample from humanity’s long story.

Not enough, I think, to let me give an informed opinion.

That won’t stop me from sharing what I think may be true of at least some wannabe utopias. Or maybe not.

Folks living in 19th century America who wanted to try living with private property and a chance at prosperity didn’t need to go anywhere. The society they were in worked like that.

Schlaraffenland and Cockaigne’s no-rules land of cheesy rain, streets paved with pastry and houses made of barley sugar and cakes — was almost exactly what 14th-century European life wasn’t like. The same goes for America’s 19th century communal utopias.

My statistically-insignificant sample suggests that throughout history, Utopia has been the opposite of whatever’s currently ‘normal.’

Or sometimes, maybe, something in current events: swollen beyond all reason.

“…Force Peace Right Down Their Bloodthirsty Throats!”

I occasionally run into someone with an attitude like Pogo’s Deacon Mushrat.6

It’s not 1952 any more, happily. Or 1969. Quite a few folks, myself included, had gotten thoroughly fed up with warped versions of “peace” by the late Sixties.

“‘…Peace iss vhat ve vant und do have,
Und a piece of anything you have.”
(“Bored of the Rings,” Henry N. Beard, Douglas C. Kenney; Harvard Lampoon (1969) via Google Books)

Mushrat-style malignant virtue has long since been replaced by equally-toxic attitudes. Or the same attitude with different ideology and slogans. (April 11, 2018; February 4, 2018)

The good news is that quite a few folks don’t act like comic strip characters.

Another World Day of Peace

I like nostalgia, but only within reason.

Yearning the ‘good old days’ of my youth isn’t an option. My memory’s too good.

And I know enough about humanity’s story to realize that whatever’s behind our assorted tales of better days long past — it was uncounted ages before our earliest written records.

As an adolescent, I realized that we weren’t living in a perfect world. We aren’t now.

We don’t live in the worst of all possible worlds, either.

If we were, folks around London wouldn’t have responded to senseless killing by saying that love is a good idea.

I think they’re right. Having been one of ‘those crazy kids’ in the 1960s makes accepting the idea easier for me, maybe, than for some. A little easier, anyway.

Like it or not, I should love God and my neighbors. And see everybody as my neighbor. No exceptions. (Matthew 5:43–44, 22:36–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 6:31, 10:25–37; Catechism, 1789)

That’s what I should do. I don’t, not consistently.

But it’s still a good idea, so I keep trying. I also keep suggesting that loving, or at least not hating, other folks is a good idea.

Forgiving others is another incredibly difficult task, and a good idea.

Maybe, if enough of us start trying to act as if ‘love your neighbor’ matters — and focus on solving problems more than getting even — we’ll get a little closer to experiencing peace.

I think it’ll be worth the effort. And I think we’re making progress. Slow progress.

Today, January 1, is another World Day of Peace. It’s international, but isn’t the International Day of Peace. That’s September 21.

The World Day of Peace is a Catholic thing. Instead of talking about that, I’ll wrap this up with a few more quotes — and an opinion:

“…A great project of peace
“In these days, we celebrate the seventieth anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted in the wake of the Second World War. In this context, let us also remember the observation of Pope John XXIII: ‘Man’s awareness of his rights must inevitably lead him to the recognition of his duties. The possession of rights involves the duty of implementing those rights, for they are the expression of a man’s personal dignity. And the possession of rights also involves their recognition and respect by others’….”
(“52nd World Day of Peace 2019 – Good politics is at the service of peace,” Pope Francis (December 8, 2018))

“…The answer to the fear which darkens human existence at the end of the twentieth century is the common effort to build the civilization of love, founded on the universal values of peace, solidarity, justice, and liberty….”
(“To the United Nations Organization,” St. John Paul II (October 5, 1995))

“Why then do you judge your brother? Or you, why do you look down on your brother? For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God;”
(Romans 14:10)

“Then Peter approaching asked him, ‘Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?'”
(Matthew 18:21)

“Wrath and anger, these also are abominations,
yet a sinner holds on to them.
“The vengeful will face the Lord’s vengeance;
indeed he remembers their sins in detail.
“Forgive your neighbor the wrong done to you;
then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.
“Does anyone nourish anger against another
and expect healing from the LORD?”
(Sirach 27:30–28:3)

Wrath and anger are part of today’s world. Forgiveness is still more an ideal than a reality. But I think we’re making progress: slowly.

Humanity’s plagued with many small wars, but we haven’t had a global conflict for nearly three quarters of a century. A remarkable number of folks say international cooperation makes sense. Some even act as if they believe it.

We don’t have a close approximation to St. John Paul II’s civilization of love.

Getting there will take generations of hard work. Millennia, likely enough. We’ve got an enormous backlog of unresolved injustices to sort out.

But I think working toward that goal is a good idea. And I think it’ll be worth the effort. Eventually.

Remembering peace in 2018:

1 Business as usual and a few good ideas:

2 Utopia lost:

3 ‘We had it made’ around the world:

4 Making sense:

5 Daydreaming and other ideas:

6 Deacon Mushrat, Pogo and Albert:

  • “The Pogo Papers”
    Walt Kelly (1952-1953)
Posted in Discursive Detours | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Peace: Optional

Posted on December 24, 2018 by Brian H. Gill

We’ll be hearing Luke 2:1–14 during the Christmas Mass During the Night. The first half leads with A-list VIPs. The second starts with folks at the other end of society’s ladder.

I’ll be talking about VIPs, shepherds and status. Also remembering what the shepherds heard, and why it still matters.

“Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock.”
(Luke 2:8)

Magi and Farmers

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

It’s not a new idea:

“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.
“The more it changes, the more it’s the same thing.”
(Alphonse Karr)

“Everything changes and nothing stands still.”
(Heraclitus; via Plato’s “Cratylus,” Diogenes Laërtius in “Lives of the Philosophers” Book IX, section 8; one of many translations)

My guess is that Heraclitus paraphrased something he’d heard, which in turn had been passed along through uncounted generations. Change happens. Pretty much anyone who pays attention will notice that.

Folks fretting over new tech and new ideas is, likely enough, as old as humanity. (June 1, 2018; March 26, 2018)

Some folks, that is. Others have been making life miserable for testy traditionalists — or contributing to the common good — by finding new solutions to old problems.

My guess is that at least a few folks warned that growing crops instead of hunting and gathering was a bad idea. Agriculture caught on anyway.

Farmers learned that supporting specialists who could accurately predict seasons was a good idea. Several millennia later, that’s still among astronomy’s functions. (January 8, 2017)

“Magi from the east” — we hear about them in Matthew 2:1, Epiphany’s Gospel — weren’t astronomers. Not the sort we’ve had for the last few centuries. They weren’t like today’s astrologers either. (September 29, 2017; June 23, 2017)

There’s nobody quite like them, or Rome’s emperor, today.

“Magi” is my language’s version of the Avestan word “magâunô,” via Old Persian, Greek and Latin.

Avestan was an important religious language when Darius was following a ‘don’t bug me, I won’t bug you’ policy toward different religions. That started with the Achaemenid Empire’s founder, Cyrus the Great.1

Shepherds and Almost-Golden Ages


(From Fredarch, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(Niniveh’s Mashki Gate, reconstructed. Across the river from Mosul.)

Magâunô and the Achaemenid Empire are long since “one with Nineveh and Tyre.”

But we still have shepherds.

Some preserve a tradition that began long before our Lord’s birth. Or Sargon of Akkad’s, for that matter.

Shepherding started when somebody decided that small bovine critters were useful, and decided to keep a herd or two on hand. We think it was about a dozen millennia back, near the Mediterranean’s east end.

Herding sheep was a long-accepted tradition a few millennia later, when folks started storing data on clay tablets. Sumerians even had a god of shepherds, Dumuzid. The name was Tammuz in Ezekiel 8:14.2

The Axial Age was in progress then, upsetting apple carts at what was probably an alarming rate. (April 15, 2018)

We’ve had a few moderately stable eras since then, like when Shoshenq I and Psamtik I were running Egypt.

Parts of the Han Dynasty were good times too.

And, probably, the Maurya Empire under Ashoka.

The good times didn’t last. Neither did the bad times.

Ashoka died around the time King Zhuangxiang of Qin ruled land between the upper Wei and Yangtze Rivers. Ashoka’s empire lasted another 45 years, more or less.

Sima Yan became the Han Dynasty’s Emperor Wu around the time Roman Senators were trying to solve their problems by assassinating troublemakers like Tiberius Gracchus.

The Roman Republic’s leadership then hailed Tiberius Gracchus as a hero and went back to business as usual. Republican Rome’s problems got worse.

Decades later, another Roman politico threatened the status quo.

A few anxious Senators, seeing his policies and influence as a threat, defended the Republic by killing him.

That, eventually, set off the Final War of the Roman Republic.

The Pax Romana began when Augustus sorted out Republican Rome’s mess.

The next two centuries were arguably closer to a Golden Age than anything we’ve had since. Seen in retrospect, at any rate. At the time, they probably didn’t seem quite so blissful.3

Maybe, a few millennia from now, someone will look back on those idyllic centuries after the Enlightenment — when an educated and rational populace chose the wisest of their number to work for the good of all.

They won’t be entirely wrong.

Overly-selective in their choice of memories, perhaps, but no less accurate than folks who insist on seeing a dark lining in every silver cloud.

Readers Beware!


(From Kaaveh Ahangar, via Wikimedia Commons, used w/o permission.)
(The Cyrus Cylinder, in British Museum Room 55 / Mesopotamia 1500–539.)

I might be more worried about the destruction of all that is fair and noble in this great nation, if I knew less about humanity’s continuing story.

And didn’t remember my own ‘good old days,’ when angsty op-eds said television and the telephone were ruining America’s youth.

Times, and imagined bogeymen, change.

But not much.

These days it’s social media and the ‘other’ political party causing moral decay, decadence and deplorable stuff like that. (October 22, 2017; August 11, 2017)

On the other hand, I think Plato’s Socrates, as portrayed in “Phaedrus,” had a point. Athenian civilization faced a threat worse than any military menace: a deceptively appealing new information tech, writing.

A disturbing number of Athenians thought Egypt’s upgrade of Mesopotamian cuneiform would help them absorb more knowledge.

Plato’s Socrates warned that reading would lead to ignorance and folly.

“…this discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves. The specific which you have discovered is an aid not to memory, but to reminiscence, and you give your disciples not truth, but only the semblance of truth; they will be hearers of many things and will have learned nothing; they will appear to be omniscient and will generally know nothing; they will be tiresome company, having the show of wisdom without the reality….”
(Socrates, in Plato’s “Phaedrus;” Translated by Benjamin Jowett, via Gutenberg.org)

Two dozen centuries later, I see evidence that Plato’s Socrates was right. Some folks apparently read a lot and know very little.

I could say that’s because digital media replaced printed books. Or shows what happens when we abandon hand-lettered and bound manuscripts.

Or maybe the issue isn’t our tech. I suspect that some of Aesop’s neighbors had memorized his fables, Homer’s epic poems — and stopped there.

I figure having facts is one thing. Thinking about them is another, and not necessarily the same as understanding what they mean.

Memorization can be useful. So, I think, is knowing how to use a good index. Or how to make one, when necessary. Research skills also help. So does being willing to use any or all of those abilities.

I’d probably be much better at rote memorization, if I hadn’t learned to read. On the other hand, I almost certainly wouldn’t know about 5th century BC Athenian future shock — if Plato hadn’t written it into a play.

Athenians and others didn’t heed Plato’s dramatic warning. Including, apparently, Plato.

Writing caught on.

So did other technologies.

Cuneiform and hieroglyphs led to Proto-Sinaitic and Cyrillic scripts, and the Latin alphabet my cultural forebears modified for their language.

The pace picked up about five centuries back, with movable type. Destabilizing tech like steam engines, data networks, robots and social media followed. The last three items hit after my youth.

I like living in “the future.” Some don’t.

Using ‘after this, therefore because of this’ reasoning — it sounds cooler in Latin, “post hoc ergo propter hoc” — I could say that learning to read and write doomed Athenian democracy. But I won’t.

Athenian good times ended, assorted empires and kingdoms rose and fell, and sheep remained an important part of life. Some families still see their herds as a measure of their wealth.4

Change Happens

It’s been two millennia since that first Christmas. Times have changed. Again. Still.

Roman, Parthian and Kushan empires flourished and faded. Europeans re-discovered ancient Greek philosophers, learned that Aristotle wasn’t right about everything, and established new empires.

There’s lively debate — several, actually — over what’s happened since Columbus and da Gama, and whose fault it was. I’m not sure that playing the blame game is useful, and that’s another topic.

What’s more certain is that a global war started in 1914.

Most folks see two wars, World Wars I and II, during the next few decades. I’ve suggested calling conflicts from 1914 to 1945 the ‘Colonial War.’ (November 10, 2017)

Many of us survived, and began rebuilding our civilizations.

A remarkable number of leaders decided that trying something new was a good idea.

We may be developing a viable alternative to ancient empire-collapse-rebuild cycles. (April 15, 2018; November 5, 2017)

After so much change, what’s the point in remembering what happened two thousand years ago in one of Rome’s eastern provinces?

Our tech and cultures change.

Human nature doesn’t, not that I can see.

We’re still creatures with a physical body and a soul.

We can decide to help or hurt each other, use our brains or follow our whims. (January 15, 2017)

The house I live in isn’t just like those my ancestors had, a millennium back. The laws I deal with aren’t just like theirs, or Republican Rome’s, or Hammurabi’s. (February 5, 2017; September 25, 2016)

But they’re not all that different. Some things, like theft, are still bad ideas. Good ideas haven’t changed, either. I’ll get back to that.

Paying Attention

Shepherds in Roman Judea had a vital role in society, one with low pay and lower status. They didn’t own sheep. Their job was looking after another person’s herd.

The closest we come to their rung on society’s ladder might be folks who work in turkey barns and poultry plants. Or maybe a factory’s cleaning crew and night watchman.

Let’s imagine folks like Luke’s shepherds, in some American town.

It’s just another night shift. The cleaning crew is at work on the shop floor. The night watchman is doing his rounds.

Then someone’s standing there, on the shop floor; apparently lit up by Klieg lights.

He’s obviously not part of the staff. Probably not even from around here. Make that obviously not.

“The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear.
“The angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”
(Luke 2:9–10)

Give the shepherds credit. Afraid or not, they didn’t run.

They paid attention.

That’s a good thing — since the angel had a message, the best news humanity’s ever had.

“For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord.
“And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.’
“And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying:
“‘Glory to God in the highest
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.'”
(Luke 2:11–14)

You know what happened next.5

The shepherds went into Bethlehem, found our Lord in a feeding trough.

It was a bit like finding a couple and their newborn infant behind a motel, using a tool box as a cradle. Not exactly four-star accommodations.

The baby grew up. He said and did things that impressed some and bothered others. Folks in the regional A-list had him tortured and executed.

Then, a few days later, our Lord stopped being dead.

That got Mary of Magdala’s attention. And Simon’s. Thomas caught on, too. Eventually. Then our Lord had a final meeting with the 11, gave them standing orders, and left. (Matthew 28:18–20; John 20:1–18, 24–29; Luke 24:30–43; Acts 1:6–11)

“…Peace to Those on Whom His Favor Rests”

We’ve been passing along what our Lord told the Apostles ever since.

God loves us. All of us. Each of us. And wants to adopt us. (Romans 8:15; Ephesians 1:3–5; Peter 2:3–4; Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1–3, 27–30, 52, 1825, 1996)

Maybe it sounds too good to be true. There is a catch, sort of.

God wants to adopt each of us. But I decide to accept the offer: or refuse it. It’s a choice everyone makes. (John 1:12; Catechism, 154, 1730–1730)

I thought God’s offer makes sense. What you decide is up to you.

That makes me ‘part of the family.’ Which isn’t as nifty as it may sound.

I can’t reasonably expect God’s peace if I say ‘I’m God’s kid’ — and leave it at that.

Acting like I accept the family values is part of the package. (James 2:17–19; Catechism, 1814–1816)

The family values are quite simple. It’s like our Lord said, when an expert asked which commandment was greatest.

I should love God and my neighbors. All my neighbors. Everyone in the world. No exceptions. (Matthew 5:43–44, 22:36–40; Mark 12:28–31; Luke 6:31 10:25–27, 29–37; Catechism, 1789)

“…The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.'”
(Matthew 22:34–40)

Two millennia later, it’s still simple. Memorization isn’t my strong suit, but remembering those two point isn’t hard.

Acting like I believe them is incredibly difficult. But they’re still good ideas.

‘Loving my neighbor’ means responding when I see a neighbor in trouble. Doing what I can makes sense. Even if all I can do is pray. (Catechism, 2558–2856)

Recognizing humanity’s “transcendent dignity” makes sense too. It’s in each of us. That doesn’t mean we’re all alike, or that we should be. Individual differences are part of the package. (Catechism, 1929, 1934–1938)

So are qualities like generosity, kindness, sharing and planning for future generations. Make that ‘should be.’ I’m definitely a work-in-progress. (Catechism, 1734, 1803–1832, 1937, 2415, 2419–2442)

Our world is a work in progress, too.

Building a Civilization of Love

Some of us have acted as if loving our neighbors makes sense.

Some haven’t.

I think a 20th century Pope had a good idea:

“…We must overcome our fear of the future. But we will not be able to overcome it completely unless we do so together. The ‘answer’ to that fear is neither coercion nor repression, nor the imposition of one social ‘model’ on the entire world. The answer to the fear which darkens human existence at the end of the twentieth century is the common effort to build the civilization of love, founded on the universal values of peace, solidarity, justice, and liberty….”
(“To the United Nations Organization,” St. John Paul II (October 5, 1995))

About 23 years later, We don’t have a “civilization of love.”6

I’d be astonished if we’d cobbled together an international authority that actually worked in such a short time.

Maybe in 23 decades. That’s how long it’s been since revolutions in a few English colonies plunged Europe’s empires into chaos and confusion.

Or started ‘natives’ thinking about freedom and self-government.

Or it could take something like the 23 centuries since Republican Rome destabilized the Mediterranean world.

Or laid foundations for the Pax Romana’s peace and prosperity.

Either way, I’d rather live now than when the Punic Wars were current events. Or when tea-drinking colonists got fed up with the status quo.

On the whole, I like living in today’s world: even though it’s not perfect.

Humanity has an enormous backlog of injustices and unresolved issues.

We also have folks willing to consider working with others: including others with different backgrounds and viewpoints.

Willingness to work together won’t solve all our problems.

But it’s a start. A good start.

I think seeking justice and practicing mercy will be worth the effort. If we keep working at it. And are willing to be patient.

If not we’re not, God won’t make us accept peace.

It’s our decision:

1 Magi, languages and history:

2 Sheep and perspective:

3 History and nostalgia:

4 Sheep, tech and being human:

5 About Advent and Christmas, mostly:

6 Working toward a “civilization of love:”

  • Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2302–2317
  • “Gaudium et Spes,” Second Vatican Council, Pope Paul VI (December 7, 1965)
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Advent, Luke, and Good Advice

Posted on December 7, 2018 by Brian H. Gill

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
“He was in the beginning with God.”
“the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”
“And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.”
(John 1:1–2, 5, 14)

This wasn’t the Gospel reading for last Sunday. We’ll be getting to John’s “In the beginning…” on December 27, 2018.

Getting Ready

This year’s First Sunday Gospel starts at Luke 21:25. It opens with “‘There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars…” and ends with some good advice.

I’m pretty sure a key part of that advice is to “be vigilant at all times.” Looking at what we’ve been learning over the last couple millennia, and a nearly-constant background prattle of false alarms — I don’t see the verse as part of an ‘End Times Bible Prophecy.’

I’m also pretty sure that I should be vigilant by keeping an eye on what I’m doing. I’ll get back to that. Also Luke 21:36 and taking the long view.

I’m starting my ‘Advent’ post with John’s quote from Genesis 1:1 because I like it. Besides, it talks about “the beginning” and we’re beginning Advent.

Advent is the season when we get ready for Christmas.

Moral Outrage and “the True Spirit of Cyber Monday?”

Some holiday preparations are cultural: like picking out a Christmas tree, untangling string lights and — for some — listening to classics like “I Yust Go Nuts At Christmas.”

“I Yust Go Nuts…” disappeared from my home town radio’s Christmas playlists a few decades back. I was living in another part of the Upper Midwest then. Maybe it’s still verboten. I haven’t checked, and don’t listen to radio as often as I once did.

Moral outrage over the evils of alcohol was popular around that time, not just in my part of the country. Maybe radio stations decided to play it safe. Maybe they had some other motive. Or incentive. I realize that DUI is a bad idea, and that’s another topic.

I didn’t, and don’t, see protecting Americans from novelty songs as a vital issue. And I sure don’t miss the days when “banned in Boston” mattered.

I also don’t see a problem with enjoying my culture’s year-end celebrations, including the Christmas-themed ones.

Provided that they don’t become obsessions. There’s more to life than fruitcake and holiday glitz.

Maybe I’ll talk about “the true spirit of cyber Monday,” problems with being a spendthrift or miser, and Canto VII of Dante’s “Inferno” later this year. Or maybe not.

Traditions and Me

Some Christmas preparations are shared by all Christians, one way or another.

Ours are arguably similar to those of all folks who see theological or metaphysical significance in the northern hemisphere’s winter solstice.

I’m a Catholic, so I’m used to seeing folks wearing albs near the altar.

It’s part of a uniform that started as what many folks wore when the Roman Empire was a big deal. I gather that it was a bit like today’s ‘business casual.’

Our worship celebrations are colorful, literally. Depending on what part of the calendar we’re at, we’ll see white, red, green, purple, black, rose, and gold or silver.1

Our traditions, lower case “t,” didn’t start with that color scheme. I’ve heard that our cycle’s colors changed slightly around 1969. Maybe some folks are still upset about that.

I’m not. I’m living in 21st century central North America, not 1st century Rome or 11th century Munster. Customs change, and that’s okay. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 814, 864–865, 1200–1206)

Our Tradition, upper case “T,” is very important. Our local and regional traditions are too, in their own way. And that’s yet another topic. (June 18, 2017; June 2, 2017)

I’m enjoying some of my culture’s customs: looking at colored lights, listening to holiday-themed music, being very glad one of my daughters picked out the Christmas gift I’m giving my wife.

That last is more of a personal and family tradition, not quite so much cultural. On the other hand, “I Yust Go Nuts…” mentions a vaguely-similar scenario.

Advent is also — and more importantly — a time for getting my heart and mind prepped for Christmas. That’s the idea. Experience tells me there’ll be a disconnect between what could be done and what I actually do. I try, anyway.

I’ve got what could be an overwhelming range of options for my Advent preparations. They include, but aren’t limited to, Lectio Divina for Advent, “O Antiphons” and customs involving my culture’s traditions involving wreaths and trees.2

I could try following each of my culture’s seasonal customs. Or get even more discouraged by trying to adopt every Advent-related habit we’ve accumulated over the last two millennia.

And failing. I don’t think there are enough hours in each day to do it all. (June 4, 2017)

Instead of re-enacting the ‘glass mountain’ folktale, I’ll do what’s worked for me in previous years. I’ll look back at our Lord’s birth and ahead to Christ’s second coming — taking opportunities for reflection as they come. I don’t think I’m being lazy. Just aware of how my mind works and dealing with my realities.

I’ve read that the ‘glass mountain’ story started in Poland, Sweden and Ireland. Each claim is probably true, for that particular variation. My guess is that the basic story is part of northern Europe’s shared heritage, with roots going back long before the glaciers melted. And that’s yet again another topic.

Rapture Reruns

This year’s first Advent Gospel, in Luke 21, includes some of what our Lord said about “signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

Taking the Bible seriously is part of being Catholic. An important part. So is believing that it’s true, and that it includes figurative language. (Catechism, 101–133, 390)

Happily, I’m not expected to decide exactly what each verse ‘really means.’ (Catechism, 74–95)

That, and having a moderately good memory, would keep me from jumping on the latest Rapture bandwagon. Even if I felt drawn toward that sort of enthusiasm.

I don’t, but a remarkable number of folks apparently do. They’re not all like Non Sequitur’s Eddie.

I haven’t noticed any high-profile ‘End Times Bible Prophecies’ lately.

Certainly not on the scale of Harold Camping’s remarkably successful 2011 effort. I’m impressed by his success in keeping the ball rolling with a second prognostication.

October 21, Camping’s second predicted Rapture, wasn’t entirely without incident. Slovenian poet and author Tone Pavček died. NATO commander James G. Stavridis made an important statement.

But divine fire and brimstone remained conspicuously absent. (August 7, 2016)

I talked about a couple more fizzled End Times predictions, the Bible, a “blood moon prophecy” and Nibiru last year. (September 29, 2017; August 23, 2017)

I might see my culture’s perennial ‘End Times’ fads as nothing more than a sort of cottage industry and fodder for humorists. I figure that’s part of the picture.

But I also realize that some folks believe the nonsense. Others assume that all Christians are either con artists, deluded leaders or their equally-deluded followers. I can’t reasonably see any of that as harmless fun. And that’s still another topic.

“Last things” is what some folks in my culture say when they’re talking about Christian eschatology. So do I, sometimes.

Judgment Day is in my list, which isn’t even close to thinking I can second-guess its timetable. (Catechism, 1021–1050)

The way I see it, scheduling this creation’s closing ceremony is a top-level command decision. What I’ve read in Matthew 24:36–44, 25:13 and Mark 13:32–33 strongly suggests that its details are available on a need-to-know basis.

The Son of God didn’t need to know, so I sure don’t. Trying to second-guess the Almighty, or pretend that I’ve decoded celestial secrets seems imprudent, at best.

Mary’s Interview

We’ll be reading Luke 1:26–38 this Saturday. It records one of several important interviews. I talked about them in 2016. (December 18, 2016)

The way I see it, Mary asked a reasonable question. And was remarkably unperturbed. The initial response of some prophets, in similar circumstances, was to try talking their way out of the assignment.

“But Mary said to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?'”
“And the angel said to her in reply, ‘The holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God.”
(Luke 1:34–35)

Zachariah’s question probably seemed reasonable to him, and Joseph handled a potentially-awkward situation very well.

Anyone who’s listened to the Gospels during Advent and Christmas seasons knows what happened later. Mary said ‘yes,’ Zachariah didn’t say anything for a while, and Joseph accepted his role as Mary’s husband and foster-father to Jesus, the Son of God.

Jesus grew up, said things that made sense and rubbed some folks the wrong way. Then he was executed and buried.

That wasn’t unusual. Folks throughout history have gotten themselves killed by annoying uptight authorities. Or being seen as a threat to the status quo.

What makes that execution triple-header stand out is what happened a few days later.

Jesus stopped being dead. (Catechism, 571–655)

Jesus gave the surviving Apostles standing orders that haven’t changed. Then he told them that he’d be back, and left. That’s why we’re still passing along what we were told and waiting for our Lord’s return.

Jesus is human and the Son of God: human and divine, a person in the Holy Trinity, the Incarnate Word. (John 1:1, 14; Catechism, 241–422, 258, 436–445, 456–478, 484–507)

And no, I don’t understand the Holy Trinity’s relational processes. I don’t know how the Resurrection worked either. I’m curious, as I am about pretty much everything. But God’s God, I’m not, and I’m okay with that.

I have more to say, but it will wait. This post took longer to write than I expected. Then WordPress software, this blog’s content management system, wanted updating. That’s an example of anthropomorphism, and that’s — you guessed it — another topic.

“Imminent”

Two millennia have gone by since Jesus stopped being dead. We’re still passing along what we’ve been told, and getting ready for our Lord’s return.

It’s taking a great deal longer than many folks expected. Maybe that’s why some claim that Judgment Day is nigh, or believe the latest wannabe prophet.

Or maybe not. I expect that our Lord’s return will happen — when it happens.

Meanwhile, I’ve got plenty on my to-do list.

I’d better wrap this up with good advice from last Sunday’s Gospel:

“‘Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life, and that day catch you by surprise
“like a trap. For that day will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth.
“Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.'”
(Luke 21:34–36)

Being vigilant at all times and praying makes sense to me. So does remembering that troubles, big and small, keep happening.

And that Christ’s second coming has been “imminent” for two millennia so far:

How others see holiday shopping frenzies, Advent, and all that:

1 Colors and calendars:

2 About Advent, mostly:

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InSight on Mars: Now What?

Posted on November 30, 2018 by Brian H. Gill

Another robotic lander is on Mars.

InSight landed last Monday, November 26, 2018. Folks at NASA and JPL are happy about that.

The lander has taken a few pictures and started sending back weather reports. The mission’s main ‘science’ work won’t start for another month or so. They’re hoping to learn more about what’s deep inside Mars. I’ll talk about that, too; and why I’m looking forward to whatever they discover.

Martian Speculation and Science

Thinking Mars might be a colder, drier and smaller version of Earth was reasonable from the mid-1600s to around 1900. (February 16, 2018; December 16, 2016)

Percival Lowell’s canal-building Martians may have been the last serious speculation about Martian civilizations.

I gather that most scientists didn’t take his ideas about a desperate civilization’s struggles on a dying world very seriously. I think they had good reasons. (October 13, 2017)

That didn’t keep science fiction writers and artists from imagining a Lowellian Mars, and that’s another topic.

“A Mighty Soberin Thought”


(From NASA/JPL-Caltech, used w/o permission.)

I’m not sure how many Christians believe that science and religion are at war. Or that someone can’t be Christian and acknowledge what we’ve learned since Babylonian astrologers were at the cutting edge of what’s now astronomy.

I’m a Christian, living in the 21st-century.

I could, in principle, try believing that Babylonian cosmology was true. By today’s scientific standards.

Or that Aristotle’s spheres accurately describe this universe.

I could also try believing that the Tooth Fairy lives next to Santa at the North Pole. But I won’t.

I can appreciate poetic imagery, Biblical and otherwise, and enjoy flights of fancy.

But I don’t see a point in trying to believe that Wordsworth actually saw “…a host, of golden daffodils; … fluttering and dancing in the breeze….” Coleridge might have, or imagined he had. We’ve learned that laudinum, although an effective painkiller, isn’t always the best choice.

I’m a Christian and a Catholic, so rejecting what we’ve learned in the last half-millennium isn’t necessary. Or, I think, a good idea.

We live in a magnificent universe. We’ve known that — probably from day one, certainly since folks started recording ideas in writing.

“God looked at everything he had made, and found it very good. Evening came, and morning followed—the sixth day.”
(Genesis 1:31)

“All your works give you thanks, LORD and your faithful bless you.
“Our God is in heaven and does whatever he wills.”
(Psalms 115:3)

“They speak of the glory of your reign and tell of your mighty works,
“Making known to the sons of men your mighty acts, the majestic glory of your rule.”
(Psalms 145:10–12)

“Indeed, before you the whole universe is like a grain from a balance, or a drop of morning dew come down upon the earth.
“But you have mercy on all, because you can do all things; and you overlook sins for the sake of repentance.
“For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for you would not fashion what you hate.
“How could a thing remain, unless you willed it; or be preserved, had it not been called forth by you?”
(Wisdom 11:22–25)

The way I see it, we live in a magnificent universe. God is large and in charge. What keeps changing is how much we know about how this reality works.

What we learn won’t force someone to think God is there. But paying attention to and thinking about what we see can lead us to that knowledge. There’s more to faith than reason, but reason and faith get along. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 31–35, 50)

We have free will. I can decide to use my brain — or ignore what my reason tells me is true. (Catechism, 1704, 1730–1738)

Science and religion both pursue truth:

“It’s something too many of us forget, that reality has layers. Occasionally people ask me how I can be Catholic and a science journalist. The answer is simple: Truth does not contradict truth. Both science and religion are pursuit of truth. They’re after different aspects of truth, different layers of reality, but they’re still both fundamentally about truth….”
(Camille M. Carlisle, Sky and Telescope (June, 2017))

“Religion and natural science are fighting a joint battle in an incessant, never relaxing crusade against skepticism and against dogmatism, against disbelief and against superstition, and the rallying cry in this crusade has always been, and always will be: ‘On to God!'”
(“Religion and Natural Science,” Max Planck (1937) translation via Wikiquote)

“…Even if the difficulty is after all not cleared up and the discrepancy seems to remain, the contest must not be abandoned; truth cannot contradict truth….”
(“Providentissimus Deus,” Pope Leo XIII (November 18, 1893))

Refusing to learn about the wonders and beauties surrounding us is also possible. But I think it’s a poor way of showing admiration for God’s work.

God gives us brains and a thirst for truth. Seeking truth, using our God-given brains, is a good idea. (Catechism, 27, 50, 159, 214–217, 283, 294, 341, 355–379)

Sometimes we find truths that don’t match what we expected.

Stalwartly defending obsolete ideas is possible. But probably not prudent. Priestley’s unyielding allegiance to phlogiston theory — is yet another topic.

I’d much rather accept previously-unknown truths as more reasons to appreciate the reality we’re in. And accept the new questions they raise as puzzles that may not be solved in my lifetime.

One of the most lucid discussions of what we’re learning about life and the universe is in, of all things, a 1950s comic strip.

“I been readin’ ’bout how maybe they is planets peopled by folks with ad-vanced brains. On the other hand, maybe we got the most brains…maybe our intellects is the universe’s most ad-vanced. Either way, it’s a mighty soberin thought.”
(Porky Pine, in Walt Kelly’s Pogo (June 20, 1959) via Wikiquote)

InSight on Mars


(From EPL, via BBC News; used w/o permission.)
(“InSight quickly returned its first image from Elysium Planitia”
(BBC News))

“Mars: Nasa lands InSight robot to study planet’s interior”
Jonathan Amos, BBC News (November 26, 2018)

“The US space agency Nasa has landed a new robot on Mars after a dramatic seven-minute plunge to the surface of the Red Planet.

“The InSight probe aims to study the world’s deep interior, and make it the only planet – apart from Earth – that has been examined in this way.

“Confirmation of touchdown came through on cue at 19:53 GMT….”

NASA has been giving more updates than the folks at JPL so far. That may change about 10 weeks from now, when InSight and folks back on Earth finish getting the ‘science’ equipment set up.

I’d like to see more results, faster. I’m pretty sure scientists who’ll be looking at InSight’s data would, too. Probably more so than me.

I’ve read that InSight’s TWINS, Temperature and Winds for InSight, package is up and running. I haven’t confirmed it, though. Spain’s Centro de Astrobiología designed the TWINS weather station and will be running it.

The lander’s ‘weather reports’ will help scientists make sense of data from InSight’s main instrument: a seismometer. Setting it up will take weeks.1

SEIS: Third Time’s the Charm?

Scientists want to be very sure they’re picking the right spot for the Seismic Experiment for Interior Structure, SEIS.

After finding a good spot, they’ll have the lander place SEIS on the surface. NASA said that’ll probably be three or four weeks after landing.

Putting a wind and thermal shield on the seismometer will go faster. It should be in place within two weeks of placing SEIS.

That seems like a long time. I figure it’s partly because the scientists know SEIS can’t be moved once it’s in place. And partly because robots that are light, durable and reliable enough for long missions aren’t fast.

CNES, the French Space Agency, designed and produced SEIS, along with an alphabet soup of other outfits and the Max Planck Institute.

SEIS is the third seisomometer placed on Mars. Viking landers carried the first two instruments. The Viking seismometers weren’t as sensitive as InSight’s SEIS, which is probably just as well. They mostly gave scientists information about vibrations made by other devices on the landers. That’s a good reason for planting SEIS directly on the Martian surface.

The Heat Flow and Physical Properties Package, HP3, goes on the surface too. It’s designed to measure heat flowing under the Martian surface. That’ll help scientists figure out how the planet has been changing since its formation.2

InSight’s First Picture


(From NASA/JPL-Caltech, used w/o permission.)
(“This is the first image taken by NASA’s InSight lander on the surface of Mars. … The transparent lens cover was still in place to protect the lens from any dust kicked up during landing.”
(NASA))

That picture came from InSight’s ICC — Instrument Context Camera. Its mounted on the lander’s deck.

“Context” in the name probably reflects the camera’s function. Its 120-degree fisheye lens works with the IDC’s narrower field of view. IDC?? I’ll talk about that later.

Both help folks back on Earth decide where to put equipment like the seismometer. And give folks like me a chance to see Mars from the lander’s viewpoint.

Maybe InSight’s designers could have saved a few bucks by using an opaque lens cap. And hoping that it’d come off after landing. Or omitting the lens cap completely, hoping that they’d be able to see around the dust.

I’m not saying either alternative would have been a good idea. Inexpensive and practical alternatives to high-end solutions are nice. Cheap alternatives? I don’t see “cheap” and “inexpensive” as being quite the same thing.

Another Postcard from Mars


(From NASA/JPL-Caltech, used w/o permission.)
(“This image was acquired on November 26, 2018, Sol 0 where the local mean solar time for the image exposures was 14:04:35. Each IDC image has a field of view of 45 x 45 degrees.”
(NASA))

IDC stands for Instrument Deployment Camera. It’s the ICC’s narrower-field counterpart. At 45 by 45 degrees, the lens isn’t telephoto. The image is a bit like what what I’m used to seeing from my digital camera. Except InSight is on Mars and I’m in Minnesota.

The IDC, mounted on the arm that moves InSight’s instruments, helps folks back on Earth see what they’re doing. Or what they’re telling the lander to do, looking at it another way.

They’ll use the camera to look at equipment on the lander’s deck, and get images of the surrounding terrain. I’ve read that at least some will be stereoscopic.

Aside from letting folks like me see postcards from Mars, images will let scientists learn more about the Martian surface around InSight.

Under the Martian Surface

We know more about Mars than we did when the Mariner 4 flyby showed nothing but craters.

Then Mariner 9 started orbiting Mars, showing us the Tharsis Bulge and what looked like dry river beds. It’s a near-certainty that they look like dry river beds because that’s what they are. Very dry. And very, very old for the most part.

There’s much more left to learn about Mars, including what’s below the surface.

“Overview”
Mars, InSight Mission, NASA

“InSight will study the deep interior of Mars, taking the planet’s vital signs, its pulse and temperature. This makes InSight the first mission to give Mars a thorough checkup since the planet formed 4.5 billion years ago.

“Previous missions to the Red Planet have investigated its surface by studying its canyons, volcanoes, rocks and soil. But the signatures of the planet’s formation can only be found by sensing and studying its vital signs far below the surface….”

We’ve measured Martian surface temperatures before. What’s new this time is a thermometer that’s designed to get under the surface.

InSight’s HP3 experiment will burrow up to five meters below the Martian surface, trailing a tether. That’s the plan.

If it works, scientists will get temperature reports from sensors on the tether, spaced 10 centimeters apart. Data from the heat sensors will help scientists learn more about heat coming from the planet’s core.

I’ve read that InSight’s seismometer is the most important part of the lander’s science package. Maybe that’s accurate, although I suspect most folks see what they do as the most important job. Those who give a rip, at any rate, and that’s yet again another topic.

The seismometer should give scientists a better look at what’s deep inside Mars.

The sort of high-resolution seismic imaging we’ve gotten used to in recent decades will wait until the Martian seismic station network is as extensive and well-equipped as Earth’s.

That may have to wait until folks have started living full-time on Mars. Or our robotic explorers become ‘smarter,’ stronger, faster and much better at self-maintenance.

The two main parts of the Rotation and Interior Structure Experiment, RISE, stay with the lander. RISE data will tell scientists more about Martian rotation and wobble. Someone may see that as the most important part of the InSight mission.

My opinion is that it’ll give us another part of the puzzle. Whether it’s the most important part? That’s likely enough something folks will still be discussing a millennium from now.

In a way, InSight probably won’t tell us anything mind-bogglingly new. What scientists are hoping for is much more accurate and precise data than they’ve had up to now.

As usual, I’ve put ‘resource’ links at the end of this post.3

Terrestrial Planets

Mars is a terrestrial planet, but not what many might think of as ‘Earth-like.’

Quite a few folks say “Earth analog” when they mean something like Star Trek’s “Class M” planet. That’d be a planet or moon with a surface environment like Earth’s. For planetary scientists, a terrestrial planet is one with a solid surface and layers of silicate rocks over a metal core.

Leave “planet” out — and at least a modest-sized metal inner core — and that describes Earth’s moon, two or more of Jupiter’s moons and at least one of Saturn’s.

Titania, one of Neptune’s moons, may have a rocky core too. A small one, probably not enough to make Titania “terrestrial.”

Io, Europa and Enceladus aren’t even close to being Star Trek’s “Class M” worlds. What might make them terrestrial is their internal structure. We’re quite sure they’re mostly rock inside. And maybe some metal. Unless there’s something seriously amiss with our current understanding of physics, which doesn’t seem likely.

I’m not sure how many planetary scientists would describe those moons as “terrestrial” in the structural sense. I’m not even sure that the ‘is Pluto a planet?’ debate is over.

Titan, Saturn’s moon, isn’t “terrestrial.” Not by today’s planetary science definition. We’re pretty sure Titan’s core is mostly hydrous silicates: a sort of “rock” that’s silicone, oxygen and hydrogen. Earth’s silicate rocks are silicone, oxygen and other elements.4

Oddly enough, Titan’s more like Earth in other ways than either Io or Europa. Or any other world we’ve found. So far. (September 15, 2017)

Life

Of the Solar System’s ‘terrestrial’ moons and four rocky planets, there’s life on only one that we know of: Earth.

Europa’s under-the-ice ocean could probably support living critters. That’s one reason so many scientists want to learn more about it.

We know more about why Earth is habitable for critters like us than we did in, say, 1898. That’s when a “Startling Scientific Prediction” hit the news.

Lord Kelvin’s math, as reported in Cassel’s Magazine and repeated in the Evening Post, was accurate enough. So, likely enough, was his data. He apparently figured we’d run out of coal in 500 years.

That wasn’t the bad news. The coming fuel shortage wouldn’t matter. At late-19th century consumption rates, humanity had all the all the coal we’d ever need.

Mainly because we’d all suffocate in about four centuries, when coal fires burned through the last of Earth’s oxygen.

And you thought today’s climate change news was bad. (August 11, 2017)

Still-Unanswered Questions

Like I said, we’ve learned more about how Earth works. But we’re still not sure why our world still has oceans, while Venus and Mars don’t.

Maybe it has something to do with Earth’s comparatively lively geological processes.

Venus has two highland areas that’d be continents if the planet had oceans. The largest is about Australia’s size. We’re pretty sure at least some Venusian mountains are volcanic. And ‘new’ by cosmic standards.5

But there’s little or no sign that the planet’s ‘ocean’ beds get recycled. That’s happening on Earth, and may be why Earth isn’t like Venus. Maybe Martian highlands didn’t quite become distinct continents because Mars was too small. Then again, maybe not.

Today’s Mars may have more water than we thought after Mariner 4 and before Mariner 9. There may even be life there, or fossils of critters that lived in the brief Martian ‘spring.’

I’ve seen informed opinions on Martian life go from ‘quite likely’ to ‘highly improbable.’ Finding evidence of liquid water, lots of it, below the surface is helping swing that pendulum back toward ‘likely.’ So has what we’re learning about how planets form.

Whether or not we find vast aquifers or life on Mars, I think studying the planet will help us learn how terrestrial planets in general develop. Besides satisfying scientific curiosity, that’ll help us do one of our jobs: taking care of our world.

And that’s still another topic.

Admiring and studying this magnificent universe:

1 A new Martian science station:

2 Measuring the Martian interior:

3 Measuring wobbles and seismic sounds:

4 Worlds, Earth-like and otherwise:

5 Learning about Earth and this universe:

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