Jesus – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Getting a Peek at Heaven

Let’s say someone asks you, “Got any travel plans?” Imagine saying, “Yeah… I’m going to the place where heaven and earth meet, poke my head through, and see what I can see.” This is how one artist imagined someone doing that:

(The caption reads: “A missionary of the Middle Ages recounts that he has found the point where heaven and earth meet.”)

For thousands of years, people looked to the skies and imagined what might lie beyond – and wondered if there’s a heaven out there.

Then science came with those telescopes, star charts, and rocket ships.

Years ago, I was teaching an adult class. The passage we were studying mentioned heaven. One older lady raised her hand.

“You know,” she said, “I’m mad at those astronauts!”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, when they got up there into outer space I thought they would see heaven. But they didn’t find it. Now I don’t know where it is. It makes me angry.”

I have a friend who was a nun before becoming a doctoral student in mathematics at UCSB before becoming a Jungian therapist. We used to go to public lectures at the Institute for Theoretical Physics on campus. I appreciated having her with me because she could explain some of the concepts to me. I once asked her what she thought of the possibility of “worm holes” in space. She told me she thought it was an exciting theory, adding it might explain where heaven is hidden.

In spiritual traditions, “heaven” can be a reality beyond this one, but also accessible now.

In the book of Genesis, Jacob is alone in the middle of nowhere and lies down at night to sleep. He has a dream in which he sees something like a ladder or staircase leading from earth to heaven with angels traveling back and forth. He hears the voice of God promising that he will always be with Jacob. Jacob wakes, remembers the dream and pours oil on the stone on which his head was resting and names it. He says, “This is the house of God, the gate of heaven.” The story suggests that such an opening can exist in the most unlikely of places.

In the Gospels, Jesus speaks often of the “kingdom of heaven” and the “kingdom of God.” And while some passages suggest a realm beyond this life, others suggest it’s a reality available to us now: “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among (or within) you…”

I once led a retreat with the theme of how paradise has been envisioned in different spiritual traditions and popular culture. I showed a clip from the 1935 movie Top Hat in which Fred Astaire is wooing Ginger Rodgers. In one scene, he invites her to dance with him as he sings the Irving Berlin song “Cheek to Cheek.” Here’s the chorus:

“Heaven, I’m in Heaven, And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak; And I seem to find the happiness I seek When we’re out together dancing, cheek to cheek.”

After seeing the clip, I asked the group to suggest how the scene expresses ideas of heaven. People noticed that the set was full of light and beauty. Ginger Rodgers had feather boas on the arms of her costume that floated like angel wings as she moved. We also saw both dancers moving effortlessly with each other, yet each retained their individuality.

And we watched the last scene of the 1989 movie “Field of Dreams.” It’s a baseball fantasy in which Ray Kinsella has inherited a farm in Iowa and is raising his family. Ray hears a voice in the corn field calling on him to build a baseball field. He does. Soon players from the past start walking out of the corn to play the sacred game one more time. As one of them is leaving for the day, he asks Ray if this is heaven. “No,” Ray says, “This is Iowa.” As the story continues, the voice prompts Ray with new tasks, and he follows not knowing where it’s headed or what it means. The last player to appear turns out to be John Kinsella, Ray’s father; they were estranged years before at the time John died. Ray introduces his father to his wife and daughter. They begin playing catch. They have this conversation:

John asks, “Is this heaven?”

Ray: “It’s Iowa.”

John: “Iowa? I could have sworn this was heaven.”

Ray: “Is there a heaven?”

John: “Oh yeah. It’s the place where dreams come true.”

Ray: “Maybe this is heaven.”

I’m not sure where heaven is to be found. Maybe it’s somewhere out there in outer space. Maybe it’s somewhere here in inner space. Maybe it’s both. I welcome those moments when we seem to catch glimpses of it in our everyday lives, and remain open to the healing and beauty it might hold.

(Dear Reader: Not being satisfied with the way I ended this, two hours after posting I’m adding one more thought…)

I like to think of the fellow in the engraving and imagine what his life would be like when he came back from his journey. I’m guessing he’d be like most people who have had near-death experiences and profound spiritual encounters: he’d feel less fear, more peace, and a fresh committment to making each day matter.

(The lead image is an engraving from The Atmosphere: Popular Meterology, by Camille Flammarion, 1888; featured in Cosmigraphics: Picturing Space Through Time, by Michael Benson)

Better to Focus on the Green than The Sand Trap (Some Spiritual Advice)

I’m going to start with a bit of golf wisdom and then move on to something more important.

Golf is a funny game. When you get ready to hit a shot, an endless number of thoughts can flood your mind. Some may be specific ideas about how you are going to direct your body. Others may concern timing or an awareness of who might be watching you. What you have in mind before you swing is important.

If you are getting ready to hit a shot that has a chance of landing in a sand trap instead of on the green, a common thought is, “I just don’t want the ball to land in that sand trap!” But more often than not, having that thought will result in the ball finding its way to the sand. “That’s exactly what I didn’t want to do!” we say to ourselves. On we go, not only lamenting the outcome but frustrated with ourselves.

Wise coaches tell us the key is understanding how our mind works. The theory is that our mind will direct our body to try and fulfill what we want. However, it’s designed to focus more on a clear visual image than a word. When we say, “I just don’t want to land in that sand trap,” our mind sees “sand trap” but doesn’t hear the word “don’t.”

The better option, they say, is to take a long look at the green and think, “I want this ball to land on that green.” Then we take a relaxing breath and swing. There is no guarantee, but more often than not the shot will go in the right direction.

What does this say about our spiritual life?

I believe it suggests to us what we focus on and expect in our journey is important.

One problem is that for centuries, dominant strands of the Christian tradition have said the most important truth in life is: “You are a sinner. There is something fundamentally wrong with you, and you should never forget it.”

To me, it’s basically like telling yourself again and again, “Of course things go wrong. I deserve it.”

I don’t believe that’s the best approach.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus doesn’t dwell on the people who pass by the injured man, but lifts up the person who cared enough to stop and do something to help him. The implication: “Isn’t this kind of person who you want to be?”

In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, the main message is that the father of the two sons is more generous and forgiving than either son imagined and invites them both to a party celebrating that abundant grace.

I believe this perspective underlies the most profound set of teachings in the New Testament, the Beatitudes.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” isn’t inviting us to assume feeling empty or broken as a state we deserve. Instead, it’s an encouragement to trust that beyond our broken hearts there can be healing and new life.

When we hear “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” we are given hope that our grief can, over time, lead us to discover a humble sense of inner peace.

And there are the other six statements: “Blessed are the meek…Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…Blessed are the merciful…Blessed are the pure in heart…Blessed are the peacemakers… Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake …” All of these are words of encouragement to do and be the best we can, not dwell on our unworthiness.

Summoning all the best images and intentions as we play golf certainly doesn’t guarantee success every time. The game is designed to both humble and delight us; we will find our way into sand traps often enough. But that’s not when we quit. That’s when we do our best to meet the challenge before us, learn from each experience, and move on.

As maturing human beings, we have plenty of opportunities to recognize our own mixed motives, shortcomings and disappointments. But we don’t stop there. We are here for more than that. We are in this life to learn how to love and endure and serve. That’s worth keeping at the center of our intentions.

Lead image: St. Georges’s Golf Course, Ontario, Canada

Maybe Prayers Are Like Snowflakes

One early spring afternoon years ago, I was making the three-hour drive on Interstate 90 from Seattle to our home in central Washington. The highway passes through Snoqualmie Pass in the Cascade Mountains. There had been plenty of snow that winter and there were only a few cars on the road as light flurries were falling. I was alone. I heard a loud crashing noise. On the right side of the road ahead of me I watched a large snow-covered branch fall to the ground from a tall pine tree . As I continued driving, I wondered how much weight it must take to break that branch off from the trunk of its tree. How many snowflakes were required to make that happen? Did just one last snowflake tip the balance?

As I continued driving, I wondered if prayers might be like snowflakes. Individually, they are virtually weightless. But can they accumulate over time to make something tangible and unexpected happen?

There have been many theories over the centuries about how prayer might actually “work.” There are many spiritual traditions encouraging people to pray. Many people share stories of how prayer has led to some remarkable outcomes.

At the same time, many people can remember times when what they prayed for did not come to be. Much has been written trying to understand “unanswered prayer.”

I have had colleagues in the medical profession recount experiences when they were working with families and individuals who were facing serious health challenges who put all their faith in prayer, sometimes to the exclusion of good science. If the malady did not disappear, the family was faced not only with the loss of a loved one but questioning their faith as well.

I no longer expect to come up with a definitive answer to what prayer is and just how it “works.” But some stories come to mind. I’m going to share one this week and more in a future posting.

When I arrived to serve my congregation in Goleta, one man who became a friend and mentor was Hank Weaver. Hank had recently retired after ten years at UCSB in the Education Abroad Program. He was a faithful Mennonite and a lifetime pacifist. Hank was a warm, engaging and brilliant man who walked with a slight limp. I soon learned his story. Just two years before, he had been diagnosed with a serious form of cancer in his lower spine. The initial prognosis indicated he might not have long to live. He decided to learn as much as he could about what he could do. He had a PhD in chemistry and, as a dedicated scientist, worked carefully with his oncologist to begin the chemotherapy.

At this time, people were beginning to use visualization as part of cancer treatment; the idea is you use your imagination in meditatation to visualize the chemo overcoming the cancer. Hank was told one common example was to imagine cancer cells as small fish swimming in your bloodstream, and the chemo is a shark eating them up one by one. Hank thought about it and said that wouldn’t work for him due to his belief in nonviolence. He developed an alternative. He imagined a catfish swimming through his bloodstream, bottom feeding on things his body no longer wanted.

Hank asked anyone who was willing to pray for his healing to do so, and many did. One particularly dedicated member (in church speak, a “prayer warrior”) told me she had created an image in her mind of Hank entering the sanctuary fully healed, and many times prayerfully held that image in her mind and soul. Hank also did all the right things in terms of diet and physical activity.

Months passed. Slowly, the cancer began to disappear. Eventually it went into remission. The damage to his spine meant that his walk would always be impaired, but that was a small price to pay for the outcome. (He did tell me one benefit of his impairment was the handicapped placard he had now had for his car – he began to get invitations from friends asking to go with him to Dodger games to take advantage of his hard-earned status for a premium parking place.)

Hank ended up self-publishing a book about his experience, Confronting the Big C. Eventually he and his wife moved to Indiana where he served as interim President of Goshen College before retiring. Hank had experienced a remarkable healing, and he believed it was the combination of good science and open-minded spirituality that led to his outcome. He lived twenty-five more years until dying at the age of 93.

I believe Hank would say there are no guaranteed outcomes in this life. None of us are getting out of here alive, and death will eventually take every one of us. But when facing serious challenges, we can choose to gather and employ all the best resources to increase our chances for a desired outcome. We may never know how all these different forces – medical, spiritual, social, emotional – might interact with each other. Some effects we can see and measure. But others, like prayer, may involve forces that are small and subtle. But that doesn’t mean they can’t make things happen.

Image: Fineartamerica, Tera Fraley

“Have You Seen This Dog?” — Thoughts on Getting Away

(Dear Reader: I had a few tech challenges getting this posted…I hope this comes through now…)

Some years ago, we had a dog named Andy. He was a feisty soul who lived 18 years. One day, I had parked our car in the driveway and, for reasons I cannot remember, left him there for a few minutes. I returned for him, saw him in this pose and took the photo.

Just for fun, the next day I made flyers with “Have You Seen This Dog?” in large print and the photo below it. I added a comment that he was last seen driving a gray Honda Odyssey van on Patterson Avenue and included my contact info. I posted the flyer a few on telephone poles in our neighborhood. No one seemed to notice. A few days later I took them down.

Earlier this week I happened to come across the photo again. Something about it called to me — I thought about that impulse we can have to “get away.”

Do you ever feel this desire?

Maybe it’s just taking a break from our daily tasks and getting outdoors to take a walk. Or going out to spend time with friends. Or engaging in a physical or creative practice that reminds us of our inner capacity to experience new things. We often return from such activities with renewed energy and optimism.

The desire may lead us to travel. I am constantly thinking about trips I want to take to places I’ve never been. The travel industry offers us images and catalogues that stimulate that desire even more. If we have traveled to a new country or culture, we may return with an increased knowledge of how other people live, what the world offers, and our own possibilities.

Sometimes we “get away” for distraction and entertainment. Sometimes we do so for something deeper.

From a spiritual perspective, many transformational figures have found new direction by “getting away” from what’s familiar to find something new – Buddha, Abraham and Sarah, Moses, Elijah, Jesus, Mohammed and countless others who have gone on vision quests and personal pilgrimages.

In my years of involvement at La Casa de Maria Retreat Center, I saw countless people arrive feeling burned out, sensing they needed a new direction. They found an environment designed to encourage personal renewal. They were free to wander the 26 acres of oak trees set alongside a running creek. They could choose to rest, meditate or reflect at one of the spiritual gardens. Wonderful food was provided. Naps were encouraged. Unhurried conversations could take place. There were no television screens to distract attention. Time after time, people left feeling like their purpose in life was once again clear. They had found new hope and courage.

When we return from these kind of journeys, we may not feel the need to “get away” again any time soon. Instead, we can face our life, responsibilities and opportunities with clarity and confidence. We accept whatever limitations we may have, but now with a willingness to acknowledge them, making the best of the time and resources we have.

It’s good to get away. It’s also good to come home.

In my pastoral and hospice experiences, it was often instructive to see how many people at the end of life found purpose and meaning in simple things: personal relationships, a few treasured memories, and an awareness that life is a marvelous mystery and gift. They didn’t feel a need to be anywhere other than where they were.

I could have asked Andy what led him to take the wheel and contemplate getting away that day. Was it some deep spiritual calling? Or just a hope he could find a household with better food? But Andy never wanted to talk about his deeper feelings, and I respected that. I do know that as I opened the car door, picked him up, and brought him into the house he seemed glad to be home once again.

Personal Thoughts on “The Two Most Powerful Emotions: Humiliation and Dignity”

Last month, two long-time columnists of the New York Times, David Brooks and Thomas Friedman, were interviewed about how they are viewing the world we are living in. One of the comments caught my attention:

Friedman: … Let me start with what is a bedrock thing in my identity, and I think it’s in yours, too. For me, the two most powerful emotions driving human beings are one: humiliation and dignity. The quest for dignity and the revulsion of humiliation.That’s why I changed my business card back in 2015 from “New York Times Foreign Affairs Columnist” to “New York Times Humiliation and Dignity Columnist.” I felt that’s really what I was covering, whether it’s about China or Russia or Palestinians or anything else…”[i]

Brooks and Friedman continued discussing how this idea applied to politics, and it’s an impressive discussion. Leaving world affairs to them, I decided to see how this perspective might also illuminate everyday experiences.

I can start with something as trivial as being aware of the kind of car we drive.

Some years ago, I was invited to an event at “The Ritz-Carlton Bacara,” a 5-star luxury hotel here in Santa Barbara. I had been there before and remembered they had valet parking. I was driving a used Prius at the time, and my ego started thinking about how most other cars would be Porsches, Bentleys, Mercedes Benz and Land Rovers. I thought, “People will see my car and know I’m not a person of high status.” I decided not to care.

I thought of pets. If you have a dog or cat, the animal is not at all concerned with your social status. In their eyes, you have a full measure of dignity and deserve every ounce of their devotion. What’s not to love?

As we age, we can become disabled, dependent and frail. It’s not who we used to be, and we never thought this would be us. When we go out in public, it’s easy to feel humiliated. How meaningful it is when people interact with us in a way that recognizes our inherent dignity.

In my own career, I’ve attended many memorial services which are instructive and inspiring events. We often hear why the person being honored made a difference in the lives of others. A common theme is how they treated people – family members, employees, friends and strangers – with care and honor.

At their best, spiritual traditions affirm every person’s dignity.

In the Hebrew Bible, we read that human beings are created “in the image of God.”

Jesus was notorious for associating with people who were looked down upon – prostitutes, tax collectors, people with diseases and troubling spirits. He spoke to them with respect and broke bread with them. In those encounters, they began to release what society had said about them and instead discover their inherent worth. His form of execution was meant by Roman culture to be the ultimate display of humiliation. But instead, it became a paradoxical display of how divine love transcends the dehumanizing forces of life, conferring eternal dignity in the process.

In The Autobiography of Malcom X, the author describes his first visit as a Muslim to Mecca for the great hajj pilgrimage. Every person – no matter their race or social status in their home country– put on identical robes and joined the masses circling the Kabba and praying. After a lifetime of discrimination and humiliation as a black man in America, for the first time in his life he felt he was truly an equal: “There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. They were of all colors, from blue-eyed blonds to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displaying a spirit of unity and brotherhood that my experiences in America had led me to believe never could exist between the white and non-white.”[ii] The experience changed Malcom’s life. From then on, he saw the common humanity of all people.

In human affairs, politics and everyday life, there are forces at work which are used to humiliate other people. How powerful it is to reject those forces and instead affirm the dignity of others. This is what America’s best leaders have done. This is what Dr. King stood for. This is what our spiritual traditions call us to do.

Image: “Mother and Child,” Kathe Kollwitz, Kollwitz Museum, Berlin

[i] “Thomas L. Friedman Says We’re in a New Epoch. David Brooks Has Questions. Two columnists debate this strange moment.” New York Times, Dec. 12, 2025

[ii] “Letter from Mecca,” Malcom X, April 1964; https://malcolm-x.org/docs/let_mecca.htm

Five Tips for Your Spiritual Journey

On the first Sunday of the year, I was asked to give a sermon marking “Epiphany,” a day which focuses on the story of the Three Wise Men. As I kept reflecting on the story, five lessons emerged which I feel can be “wise” guidelines for our own journeys: Be Curious, Go With Friends, Be Careful, Give Your Best, and Be At Peace. As I resume my blogging practice for the year, I decided sharing this list would be a good beginning.

Be Curious In the Magi story, I see three forms of curiosity at work. Their quest began as they were studying the stars – it is rooted in a fascination with nature. They got as far as Jerusalem but then needed local scholars to give them their next clue – they needed to refine their search by turning to spiritual writings. And they choose to go home by another route after one of them had a dream – they knew how to listen to inner promptings. We can follow their lead:

Nature: whether it’s a daily practice of outdoor mediation or walks, studying any dimension of natural sciences, or simply being ready to ponder the mysteries of life that surround us, we can be open to moments of awe in the natural world that expand our mind.

Scriptures: Spiritual writings from long ago and the present day can open us to see new meaning in what we experience.

Inner promptings: We can gather important information from science and spiritual writings which can be complimented by paying attention to our own intuition, dreams and feelings.

Go With Friends Sometimes we need to go on a journey by ourselves to find what we need. But other times it’s best to go with friends – people who share our values and hopes and are open to new discoveries. There were at least three Magi. Spend time with good friends as you navigate your life this year.

Be Careful The Magi were warned in a dream not to return the way they had come – Herod was not to be trusted. We go through life wanting and wishing for the best, but we don’t want to be naïve about possible deceptions and wrong turns. Some leaders, institutions and people can pretend to want to help us, but they may be using us for their own ends. Be careful as you make important decisions.

Give Your Best The Magi offered gifts with specific significance: gold for a king, frankincense for a spiritual leader, and myrrh for a prophet who will be facing death. In our lives, sometimes material gifts we give can make an important difference in the world. But there are other ways to give. If we are part of a family, we give our support, love and attention year after year. This doesn’t guarantee outcomes we may prefer – over time we may have many sleepless nights as events unfold in the lives of people we love that we cannot control. But we still give our best. We are asked to love our neighbor, which is not always easy. But making a good effort to meet, understand and befriend people in our communities is what creates authentic social life. And our spiritual traditions ask us to honor the stranger in our midst, for they too are part of the human family. We can seek to do that in our jobs and in volunteer work. And we can do that by supporting worthy causes with our time and talents. Since retiring, I have been helping raise money for a new community medical clinic in town that serves people who would otherwise be unable to receive such care. I may never know personally anyone who will be served, but I believe it’s the right thing to do.

Be At Peace: After the Magi worship the child and offer their gifts, they go home and are never heard from again. It will be 30 years before that child in the manger will begin his work in the world, and it’s unlikely the Magi would still be alive to learn what unfolds. But they did what they could with what they had in the time they had, and they did it well. As we get older, we realize there are many things we care about and want to know “how it all will turn out.” But life is never finished. What we can do is to stay curious, travel with friends, be careful along the way, and give our best. And then it’s OK for us to be at peace. We’ve earned it.

Photo credit: pixabay.com

Visualizing the Christmas Stories

Over the years, I’ve grown in appreciation for the different ways artists imagine and portray traditional stories. The Advent and Christmas season is a great example. Here are a few of the works I have come to treasure over the years.

The Angel Visits Mary

A young peasant girl named Mary receives a surprise visit from the angel Gabriel, who announces she has been chosen to bear a child with a divine destiny. In 1485, Botticelli imagined it this way:

…the incoming of the divine Spirit seems to almost be knocking the angel over as it travels towards Mary.

In 1898, the English painter Tanner imagined it this way:

…the “angel” appears as a shaft of pure light; Mary seems to be contemplating what she is experiencing.

Joseph’s Dreams

Mary was engaged to Joseph, and when he discovers she is pregnant, he decides to break the engagement. But an angel appears in a dream and changes his mind.

In 1645, the French painter Georges de La Tour imagined it this way:

Joseph has fallen asleep in a chair while reading, and the unseen messenger is near him with an unseen candel illuminating the space between them as the dream is transmitted.

After the child is born, the family must flee due to threats from the government. In the process, Jospeph is twice more guided by dreams. In 1645, Rembrandt imagined one of those times this way:

…the angel is in the room with Mary and Joseph as they sleep. The angel extends the left hand to Mary while touching Joseph’s shoulder to impart the dream.

“The Visitation” — Mary Visits Her Older Cousin Elizabeth

In this episode, the newly pregnant Mary travels south to visit her older cousin Elizabeth, whom the angel Gabriel had told her has also become pregnant. When Mary arrives and greets Elizabeth, the baby in Elizabeth’s womb senses Mary’s presence and “leaps” in response; the women share an intimate moment of mutual knowing.

In 1440, the sculptor Luca Della Robia created this scene:

…here’s a close-up of the two women looking into each other’s eyes:

In 1530, the Italian painter Pontormo envisioned it this way:

…this image also merits a close-up of the faces as they behold each other:

That woman between the two of them who is looking at us — what does she want us to understand? No one knows for sure. I was excited to view this in person recently when it was at the Getty Museum a few years ago.

The Birth of the Child

In 1500, Botticelli created this scene, which he called “Mystic Nativity:”

…the manger is in the center of the picture…Joseph is asleep…Mary and the child are gazing at each other…while above, below, and around them, angels dance in celebration.

In 1646, Rembrandt created this contrasting version:

Simple, earthy, quiet, intimate.

And in 1865, the pioneering British photographer Julia Margaret Cameron created a “Nativity” scene in her studio using working class people as her models:

Great spiritual stories can contain a “surplus of meaning” – there is not just one way they can be interpreted or portrayed. Just as scientists use math to reveal important truths, artists engage our imagination. Our souls welcome this. Imagination allows us to see beyond the surface of life into the mysteries and wonder which surround us.

Merry Christmas, dear readers!

Lead image: “L’Annuncio” (The Annunciation), Salvado Dali, 1967

The Fragrance of a Christmas Tree

The holiday season can be full of sensory experiences that call forth memories and emotions. I recently came into a room that had been decorated with an advent wreath, pine tree cuttings, and a live Christmas tree. The fragrance was inspiring, and I’ve been thinking about why. Do any of these associations resonate with you?

It reminds me of childhood. Going to a Christmas tree lot which smelled amazing. Bringing the tree home and letting it fill our home with that aroma. The odor became the olfactory backdrop for all the joy of the season.
It calls to mind being in a forest. It could be the Sierra Nevada, the Cascades, or any other forest — places many of us have gone for vacation and renewal. The trees could be pine, fir, cedar, or redwood, but the association is the same: we have left our distracted lives and are now in a natural cathedral of quiet and timeless living beings.
Smelling the fragrance calls forth the color green – always a sign of life.
The fragrance smells clean. Maybe it’s the association with being in nature. I don’t know why but that comes to mind.
And the more I thought about it, another word that comes to mind is pure. The fragrance of a live Christmas tree is evocative on its own; it doesn’t need anything added. But the aroma at this time of year complements the visual experience of gazing at lit candles in a darkened room or quiet sanctuary: they both suggest the mysterious source of life is with us, fresh and full of promise. Our eyes behold a symbol of that truth, and the fragrance of a Christmas tree, wreaths and cuttings confirm it. Light and life arise in darkness and the darkness will never overcome it.

Romantic Fiction, Baseball Passions, and Spiritual Masterpieces

A high school friend once told me her mother had gotten a phone call from a neighbor:

“He died!” the neighbor said in tears, “He’s gone! He’s really gone!”

My friend’s mother was shaken. “Who?? Who died?”

In between sobs, the friend named a character from her favorite television soap opera. And continued to cry.

Why do we get invested in imaginary situations?

An anthropology professor I know once invited me to a day-long conference at UCSB focusing on the emerging field of evolutionary psychology. Scholars were exploring how much human behavior could be explained by tracing it back to the adaptive needs of our ancestors. While some of the presentations were over my head, one stuck with me. Many people spend a great deal of time reading “romance novels” and “pulp fiction”. The presenter wondered: why would we be wired to spend our time this way? It seems like such a waste. If life is all about survival, reading about fictional characters in melodramatic stories seems pointless – it doesn’t put any food on the table or make us physically stronger. After exploring several alternatives, he concluded that this activity must be a way for us to exercise our capacity to understand and navigate our social relationships without any actual personal risk or vulnerability. We human beings are social animals who live in groups and tribes: fiction allows us to explore how to do this in a way that doesn’t expose us to any real danger.

Puppies may romp, wrestle and bite each other but never actually hurt one another. Such play is a rehearsal and training for a time when, as adult dogs, they may encounter actual adversaries. They’re safely rehearsing skills they may need in real life.

Which leads to a critical question someone asked me this week: “Why do you get so wrapped up following your baseball team? It’s just a game, but you talk about it like its real life.” I have been pondering this question. Why do I care so much about a made-up game? When the season is over, nothing has changed in my life or the fate of the world. I think being a sports fan is like reading compelling works of fiction: It’s a way to see how human beings behave under pressure over a long period of time. In the process, we become emotionally and mentally invested in the drama and look for lessons to live by. Some examples…If you learn how to function well under high expectations and pressure, you will live a better life. If you let one disappointing experience stay with you, your performance will suffer. If you learn how to be a good teammate, you’ll go farther.

Baseball is like a novel with 162 chapters – plus up to 22 bonus episodes if you make the playoffs. All the while, human drama is unfolding.

When I was a kid, I was short. So was Maury Wills, the Dodger shortstop. He didn’t hit many home runs. But he figured out how to get on first and steal bases. He showed how you could adapt and thrive even if you weren’t the biggest and strongest guy out there.

Or take Sandy Koufax. The greatest pitcher of his time, he declined to pitch the opening game of the 1965 World Series because it fell on Yom Kippur, the sacred Jewish holiday. He showed everyone what personal integrity looks like. (As an example of divine favor, he pitched and won the final game that clinched the Series.)

We human beings are story tellers and game players. From these activities we learn crucial lessons.

Our spiritual traditions are full of invaluable stories.

Buddhism has an abundance of tales, parables, and koans that elegantly convey great insight.

Judaism has a remarkable abundance of brilliant stories, passed down over the centuries to help us reflect on our assumptions and values.

An expert once asked Jesus what he needed to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus affirmed the two most important commandments: love God and love your neighbor. The expert asked him, “Who is my neighbor?” And Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan.[i]

When he wanted to teach about the loving and merciful nature of God, he didn’t give a lecture on ethics, but said, “A man once had two sons…” and told the story of the Prodigal Son.[ii]

Many of us have heard these two stories countless times. But they never lose their power.

Both stories are total fictions. They never really happened. Jesus made them up. But they tell us profound truths about who we are and who we can be in simple and unforgettable ways.

Years ago I taught a class in religious studies at Heritage College in rural Washington. One of the required books was Black Elk Speaks, an account of teachings attributed to Black Elk, an Oglala Sioux Medicine Man. I always have appreciated this statement attributed to him:

“This they tell, and whether it happened so or not I do not know; but if you think about it, you can see that it is true.”[iii]

[i] Luke 10: 25-37

[ii] Luke 15: 11-32

[iii] “The Offering of the Pipe,” Black Elk Speaks, John G. Niehardt, 1932

Lead Image: Sitting Around The Campfire; ar.inspiredpencil.com

Who Let the Dogs In? The Genius of Rembrandt’s Spiritual Imagination

Over the years, I’ve done a variety of presentations exploring the way Rembrandt portrays Biblical scenes. Time and again, I’ve been fascinated by the surprising ways he imagines and creates visual details. One example is his apparent fondness for dogs.

We can start with “The Hundred Guilder Print.” This work captures in one scene the various encounters Jesus has with a crowd of people as described in Matthew 19. Here’s the print:

If we read the text carefully and study the scene, we see how he includes all the important characters: people who are hoping to be healed, scholars who like to debate fine points of law, mothers bringing children to receive his blessing, etc. Near the bottom left, we find something not mentioned in the text:

When I’ve seen dogs positioned like this, it is usually because they have determined they are near a spot where food scraps are likely to fall. This is certainly not mentioned in the story – it’s something Rembrandt decided to add.

Here is his portrayal of “The Good Samaritan:”

In the story, a Samaritan sees a stranger who has been beaten and robbed, and no one is stopping to help. But the Samaritan binds his wounds, puts him on his horse, takes him to an inn, and arranges for the man’s lodging and care. All that is in the story. But in the lower right corner, we see an unexpected sight:

Suffice it to say, when we see dogs in this posture, we can guess what they are doing. This is not a detail noted in any translations I am familiar with.

He doesn’t limit canines to outdoor scenes. In “The Presentation in the Temple,” Joseph and Mary bring their 8-day old infant to be dedicated. Two elders, Simeon and Anna, express joy upon seeing the child. Divine light streams down from the upper left highlighting the sacred moment:

And there, in the bottom left corner, we see one of our four-legged friends:

This dog is scratching his left ear with his back foot.

I have not found any articles explaining why Rembrandt inserts oridnary dogs into scenes that portray profound spiritual experiences. But my guess is he understood great spiritual moments in life don’t occur in situations where everything is perfectly staged, as if designed by Martha Stewart. They happen in nitty-gritty, down-to-earth settings where ordinary human beings experience something profound. And what is more down-to-earth than the presence of a dog in the midst of a human gathering doing what dogs do?

I have had memorable spiritual experiences in stunning cathedrals and in sanctuaries filled with glorious music. But I have also had them in hospital rooms next to bedpans and beeping monitors, dusty home building sites in the barrios of Tijuana, and while changing irrigation lines in an alfalfa field. And, like many people, I have had experiences with a dog when I feel a deep bond of knowing and caring for each other in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s all part of life, and there’s no limit to the ways and settings in which the Spirit can appear. Rembrandt shows us what that looks like.

Lead Image: “Sleeping Puppy,” Rembrandt, 1640; Victoria and Albert Museum