steve jacobsen – Page 6 – Steve Jacobsen, Ed.D

Waking The Dead

The documentary filmmaker Ken Burns was raised in a small, 2-bedroom home in Ann Arbor, Michigan. A recent article[i] describes his personal journey, which began with a traumatic childhood:

Ken was 11 and his brother, Ric, was 10, when their mother was on her deathbed. Their father, Robert Kyle Burns Jr., an anthropologist, was mentally ill.

As his mother’s cancer metastasized, Ken overheard conversations — his mother pleading with relatives, asking for someone, anyone, to take her boys in the event of her death. “I remember being scared — scared all the time,” he said.

With their mother in the hospital, the boys were left to wait at home for the inevitable. On the night of April 28, 1965, Ken went to bed with one of the worst stomachaches he had ever had — his body registering what none of the adults would speak about.

The pain disappeared suddenly. The phone rang. His mother was gone.

Following his mother’s death, his father would disappear “for hours and then days at a time” and sometimes be gone for months.

There is a saying I learned when I was at Hospice of Santa Barbara: “Pain that is not transformed is often transferred” — meaning if we don’t’ find a way to channel personal hurt and anguish into something positive, we can end up inflicting that pain on ourselves or others. In his grief and confusion, Burns found such a path:

The filmmaker remembers the exact moment when he decided what he wanted to do with his life: He had never seen his father cry — not in all the years his mother had fought an excruciating illness, not even at the funeral — until one night after her death. His family was in the living room in front of their black-and-white TV, watching a movie, and suddenly his father began weeping.

“I just understood that nothing gave him any safe harbor — nothing,” Ken Burns said, except the film, which had created the space for a bereaved widower to express the fraught emotions he had suppressed.

Burns began creating historical films that would present the past as something much more personal than just a series of facts. Through stories, letters, photographs, and music, he has been able to bring real people to life, whether the topic is baseball, music (jazz and country), war (World War 2 and Vietnam) or any other topic.

The article ends with this:

Years ago, a psychologist finally gave him an answer to the meaning of his work. “Look what you do for a living — you wake the dead,” the psychologist told him.

When I finished the article, I realized much of my life has been about “waking the dead.” I’ve been reading history and biographies since grammar school, constantly looking for how real people endured hardship and crises. I love listening to music that can seem to bring the composer’s lived experience accross time and directly into my heart and mind. I gaze at works of art hoping to time-travel into someone else’s world and imagination. I turn to the great spiritual traditions to listen to their wisdom and insights. I never thought of it as “waking the dead” but maybe that’s what I’m seeking – and not just to “wake” them but to be in a living and learning relationship with them.

Some years ago, I heard the writer, activist and defender of rural values Wendell Berry speak at UCSB as part of a series on environmental poets. In the question-and-answer period, someone asked if, given his dedication to family farms, gardening should be a required subject in high school. Berry paused for a minute, then said, “No, students should read Homer and the Bible, because they need to know they problems they are facing are not new.” Our world has changed a great deal in terms of technology and science, but the challenges of being a responsible and resilient human being have not. I’m grateful for those who can wake the dead so we can learn from them.

“As a baby, Ken Burns appeared in this photo showing his mother spoon feeding him.” (NY Times)

[i] “The Land That Allowed Ken Burns to Raise the Dead,” New York Times, Nov 27, 2024

Lead image: “Burns in the mid-1970s, just as he was starting to create his film studio” (from the Times article.)

Wherever You Go, There You Are

“Wherever you go, there you are” is a quote that has been around for many years.[i] It’s been nudging me recently.

This past week I decided to go through some old files. They included a selection of my academic papers, published articles, old sermons, early courtship letters from our marriage, and family Christmas letters we’d sent to friends over the years. I was surprised at some things – I didn’t remember taking that particular class or having that specific experience. It felt like I was watching my life go by and also sensing I’m the same person as when it all began. It’s like being on a train, passing through unknown places and having unexpected experiences, but realizing it’s an unchanged “me” looking out the window the entire trip. Wherever I went, there I was.

What I see now in the mirror looks different than what I’ve seen the past but it’s the same me that’s looking.

What will eventually happen to this “me” that seems to be the ongoing observer of my life?

A good friend of mine has been a hospice volunteer for many years and at the bedside of many dying people. Given the right care and support, he tells me people coming close to having their “me” leave their body feel no fear but experience a calm trust in the unknown.

Some say “dust to dust, ashes to ashes” … period. We are made of eleven basic elements, mostly carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. How amazing that eleven elements could come together in just the right way to create a space for a “me” that looks out at this world, tries to make sense of it, lives for decades, then dissipates and disappears.

Some say, “dust to dust, ashes to ashes, yet in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life.” The me that was carried along by the material elements doesn’t disappear when those elements cease functioning but continues in some form, and it all comes as a gift.

I remember someone asking Huston Smith, the great scholar of world spiritual traditions, what happens when we die. He said the spiritual traditions assume one of two possibilities. The first possibility is that we keep our self-awareness and become witnesses of something awe-inspiring like an eternal sunrise. The second possibility is our awareness simply dissolves into the sunrise. Then he smiled and said, “I like to think I might have a choice. If so, I’d choose to first witness the divine sunrise. But after a while – maybe after a thousand years — I’d decide that was enough. Then I’d let go and become part of it all.”

Back to sorting files. Happy New Year.

[i] There are numerous possible sources of this quote, but it gained popularity in 1994 as the title to a book by Jon Kabat-Zinn: Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation in Everyday Life.

A Restless Candle

On our last day in Vienna this past September, we decided to visit an impressive sight we had been passing every day: the Votivkirche, or ”Votive Church.”[i] Seeing its tall spires and ornate towers, I assumed it was an ancient Gothic cathedral. Upon entering, we discovered it is less than 150 years old — a “neo-Gothic” structure completed in 1879. The building is 325 feet high (second highest peak in the city) and features 78 stained glass windows; when you enter, it feels vast, mysterious and intriguing.

As we explored the interior, I noticed a small plaque on a stone pillar above a votive candle rack. No one else was nearby and only a few candles had been lit. The words were in German, Italian and English. Here is the English version:

God, there is a candle in front of me.

It burns restlessly, sometimes with a small flame, sometimes with a large flame.

God, I too am often restless.

May I become calm in you.

The candle gives me light and warmth.

God, may I also become a light for the world.

A simple prayer focusing on a single candle.

As we wandered and read more about the history of the building, we learned it was built as an expression of gratitude after the Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph survived an assassination attempt. It was expected to be a place where Austrian monarchs would be buried for generations to come. But history happened.

World War 1 began in 1914. The building was damaged, and the military was permitted to melt down parts of the organ and bells for the war effort. The war also led to the collapse of the monarchy. In the 1930s, the Nazis took control of the city and renamed the square outside the church Göring Square after the Nazi General. Following World War 2, the square was renamed Roosevelt Square after FDR. The building was restored in the 1970s.

A recent addition is the Multhausen stained glass window, designed and installed to commemorate the 90,000 who died in the Multhausen Concentration Camp. The window portrays prisoners helping each other up a stairway, supporting each other in their suffering; Christ is leading them at the top of the stairs.

Amid dramatic change and tragedy, the cathedral has been a sanctuary where anyone can enter, light a small candle, reflect, and pray.

I’ve been thinking how the life of a candle is like the life we live:

Both have a beginning and an end.
Both are vulnerable to being extinguished.
Neither needs to understand how it exists in order to exist.
Neither lights itself. A flame is given to it, which it bears as long as it can.
Both experience the world from its own point of view, and both affect the world around it.

The winter season is a time when we become more aware of light.

Christian communities observe Advent using a wreath with four candies in a circle and a single candle in the center. On each Sunday before Christmas, one of the outer candles is lit. On Christmas, the Christ candle at the center is lit.

Jewish communities celebrate Hannukah using a menorah of nine candles; the one at the center is always burning. Night after night, that flame is used to light one more of the other eight until all are glowing.

Both rituals assume there is a central flame. Both invite us to behold each candle as it is lit. In both, individuals become a community with the divine light at the center. Both affirm light can endure darkness.

I am paying more attention to candles this season, curious about what they can teach me. I know there are many candles burning. I know there are many people wondering. And here I am. This candle is me, burning as best I can, grateful to bear light as long as I can.

God, there is a candle in front of me.

It burns restlessly, sometimes with a small flame, sometimes with a large flame.

God, I too am often restless.

May I become calm in you.

The candle gives me light and warmth.

God, may I also become a light for the world.

[i] Votive: (adjective): consisting of or expressing a vow, wish, or desire.

Where’s Your Axis Mundi?

It’s a word I liked the first time I heard it: axis mundi.

I encountered it in graduate school reading The Sacred and Profane, a study of world religion and mythology by Mircea Eliade. It means the “axis” around which the earth “turns” — not physically, but spiritually and psychologically. It’s a place where people believe heaven and earth meet.

Jerusalem has long been seen as an axis mundi, a city sacred to Jews, Christians and Muslims. For traditional Japan, it has been Mt. Fuji. For Catholics it’s Rome.

Some indigenous tribes in Australia are always on the move, and they carry a sacred pole with them which they erect each place they stay – a portable axis mundi.

In 2000, I had a 3-month sabbatical project that focused on how digital technology was beginning to affect everyday life. I visited and conducted interviews in two locations.

Silicon Valley was already becoming the axis mundi of the tech age. In my interviews and observations, one could already sense that digital tech was becoming something close to a religion. In the Tech Museum in San Jose, I purchased a computer mouse pad made to look like a Muslim prayer rug. I visited one of the largest Fry’s stores (in the pre-internet retail era, Fry’s was a “Mecca” for electronic parts and gadgets.) Some were designed to look like Mayan temples:

One month later I went to India, which was becoming part of that revolution. After interviewing tech professionals and academics in Bangalore, I spent time in the ancient city of Varanasi on the banks of the Ganges River. In Hindu belief, there is no place on earth where heaven and earth come closer, and therefore no better place to bathe, die, be cremated and have your ashes scattered.

By 2006, I had realized the most sacred religious site in the Western Hemisphere was the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City. Growing up in California, I had seen the Guadalupe image all my life but knew nothing about what it meant. I learned that, in Catholic tradition, the Virgin Mary appeared to an indigenous peasant, Juan Diego, in December,1531. She looked more like a native woman than a European and spoke to him in his own dialect: “Am I not here, I who am your mother?” She gave Juan Diego her robe or tilma. When he took it to a skeptical archbishop and unfurled it, pink roses fell to the floor and her image had become imprinted on the garment. The tilma is preserved in a glass case in the cathedral. I spent a week in the city that summer, making several visits to the Basilica. I watched thousands of faithful pilgrims arrive to worship and celebrate, and was moved by their joy and devotion.

Mt. Shasta is just south of the Oregon border. We’d driven by it many times over the years as we traveled between Washington state and California, but I hadn’t considered it anything more than an impressive volcanic formation. In 2009, we spent a week at a yoga/hiking retreat in the town of McCloud at the base of the mountain. We could see the peak every morning from our window. As we hiked during the week, we saw it from many angles. On the last day of the retreat, our group hiked to Squaw Meadows, an alpine meadow on the side of mountain at an elevation of 7,900 feet. I felt smaller and increasingly insignificant in the presence of the mountain’s mystery and majesty; I began to appreciate why both native people and contemporary spiritual seekers from around the world consider it an axis mundi. We’ve returned to the area every summer for 15 years.

In 1233, St. Francis returned to Italy from the Holy Land where he had visited a cave that was the traditional site of Jesus’ birth. Wanting people to appreciate the setting of the Christmas story, he created the first outdoor nativity scene including live animals. Nativity scenes have become a familiar axis mundi in countless households and sanctuaries ever since. When viewed with reverence, candlelight and song, a nativity scene affirms that divine presence can be sensed not only on mountaintops, but also in the lives of humble people in unexpected places.

Some traditions have steered away from emphasizing any particular physical place where we encounter the divine and instead look within our individual awareness. Quakers affirm that every person has within them an “inward light” or spark of divine energy. By practicing silent introspection, we can access and experience that light and find guidance from it.

I have visited many sacred sites in my life. I always try to understand and appreciate the beliefs and imagination of the faithful who are drawn there.

At the same time, the purpose of visiting such places doesn’t end with the personal encounter. Recent studies have established a powerful connection between experiences of awe and an increased capacity to care for others.[i] Coming into the presence of axis mundi sites can have that effect. The purpose of spiritual life is not to have a specific experience, but to discover within us a deep reverence for life and others and let that form our character. As Huston Smith said, “Spirituality is not about altered states but altered traits.”

[i] https://drjsb.com/2022/09/03/starstruck-the-relationship-between-awe-and-caring/

Pocket Epiphanies #200: A Buffet of Past Posts

On December 17, 2020, I posted my first piece for this “PocketEpiphanies” blog. It’s hard to believe, but this week marks my 200th. I went back and picked out a dozen that may be worth reposting. Think of this as a “blog buffet” — see if any particular one interests you and put it on your plate. And thank you for being part of this project.

Narcissim of Small Differences We prize attention to detail in many areas of life. But we can easily fall prey to the “narcissism of small differences.” We can make choices about things that have little relation to their actual value.

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Silver Keys, Mean Moms and Compassion in the Workplace The right thing to do was not to simply feel compassion for everyone involved, but to find a solution to the problem. That took “art and skill.”

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Starstruck: The Relationship Between Awe and Caring Gazing at the heavens may help us make a better world on earth.”

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Two Questions, Two Art Works, One Life to Live Maybe the best way to find ourselves is to give ourselves away.

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Seeing People Like Trees And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.

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I Hope I’m Wrong Dear friends, I hope I’m wrong about all this. I know there may be some very positive uses for AI, especially in medicine. But I’m worried.

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The Intrinsic Power of Veriditas What I saw was a glimpse of the viriditas that permeates and surrounds us, an inner force we share.

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My Plan for Dementia Care …one of my constant themes is my sense of awe at the miracle of life, and gratitude for all the opportunities and experiences I’ve had. But I don’t want to live “beyond my time,” and I don’t want my family to be emotionally or financially burdened caring for me when I don’t have a life I can appreciate.

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“Mind Proposes, Soul Disposes” “This may be important. I need to be attentive.”

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GRACE: A Focusing Practice We are embodied human beings who have been gifted with this amazing multisensory life-form and a miraculous mind which, when they are working together, can open us to a rich awareness of where we are and what is possible.

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Private Thoughts I can’t believe a light that burned so brightly in my life has disappeared from my sight.

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Letting Your Soul Catch Up With You “Making good time” means you haven’t left your soul behind in the pursuit of speed and efficiency. Your soul has a chance to be present with you as you travel.

Chatbots, Humans, and the Holiday Season

“Generative A.I. took over my life. For one week, it told me what to eat, what to wear and what to do with my kids. It chose my haircut and what color to paint my office. It told my husband that it was OK to go golfing, in a lovey-dovey text that he immediately knew I had not written.” This is the opening of “I Took a ‘Decision Holiday’ and Put A.I. in Charge of My Life,” from a recent article in the “Business” section of the New York Times[i]. The author, Kashmir Hill, is a working mom with a husband and two young daughters. She decided to conduct an experiment by engaging more than 20 different A.I. bots to get advice on more than 100 decisions she faced in a week. Here are some highlights:

After giving one chatbot details about her family, it gave her not only a detailed menu plan for the week but also a shopping list for everything she would need in a matter of seconds. As she prepared meals, she could ask for cooking advice, like how to poach an egg. The bot’s voice was casual, warm, friendly and patient.
She was given a daily schedule for her week that balanced work, personal care, and family time.
She took photos of a room she wanted to paint and color swatches at Lowe’s, then let a bot help her choose the ideal color.
“Halfway through the week, I found myself in a J. Crew dressing room because A.I. hated my clothes. I had uploaded photos of my wardrobe to StyleDNA. Based on a scan of my face, it had determined my style and optimal color palette. Most of what I owned, including some of my favorite items, were not a good match for me, according to the A.I. stylist. The app fixated on two garments — a pair of light denim shorts and a fluorescent orange exercise shirt — encouraging me to incorporate them into almost every outfit. She tried them on and shared the recommendations with some friends. They thought she looked like a boring mannequin.
She wrote a personal greeting and made a video recording reading of it so a bot could use her image and voice to compose new messages to friends and family, as well as social media. But when it digested one of my articles for a TikTok video, the script was wooden and some of my movements were exaggerated in a creepy way. When I used my avatar to send a loving, A.I.-composed message to my mom, she was horrified. “You seemed so phony!!! I thought you were mad at me!!” she replied.’
She also had the bot create an invitation to her mother-in-law that didn’t go over well: “The messages A.I. composed on my behalf were overly effusive. Even when they reflected my own thoughts and desires, they came across as inauthentic to others, such as when I let A.I. craft the message to my mother-in-law letting her know she was welcome to come over to our house. “I was really delighted by your response and I felt so loved,” she told me, “and then it struck me that it might be A.I.”

At the end of the week, she concluded that the bots had been very helpful in organizing tasks, diagnosing a child’s illnesses, showing her how to clean the grout in her shower, and researching possible vacation destinations. “That efficiency allowed me to spend more time with my daughters, whom I found even more charming than usual. Their creativity and spontaneous dance performances stood in sharp contrast to algorithmic systems that, for all their wonder, often offered generic, unsurprising responses.” She said she “was happy to take back control of my life.”

My thoughts…

In recent years, digital devices, the internet and Smartphones have changed the way we live and learn. AI bots are accelerating this process rapidly, charming and amazing us along the way. They are being constantly refined and improved. We will be offered more and more opportunities to get what we want out of life in ways that we cannot now imagine. The author found them useful in many ways.

But if we allow ourselves to become increasing dependent on them, we are setting ourselves up for disillusionment. When the power grid goes out or when our digital systems fail or are hacked, we will be left with just each other and our own wits. Other people, including family members, are not being “improved” by technological advances day after day. They may not always act the way we want. They will make mistakes, show up late, and have ideas we don’t agree with. But they are real beings who have imagination and genuine feelings.

Human effort matters to us, and anything secretly crafted, or decided, by machines feels like a deception. Let’s treasure a handwritten note, a homemade pie, the sound of authentic human voices singing, and hand-made decorations. The coming holidays are not a time to give thanks for AI or to celebrate the birth of a bot. They are about human community and the fleeting moments of life.

[i] https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2024/11/01/technology/generative-ai-decisions-experiment.html

Image: dreamstime.com

The Things We Do Without Thinking Too Much

Are there actions you perform best without thinking about them?

The legendary Dodger pitcher Fernando Valenzuela died last month. He began his career in 1981 as an unknown 20-year-old from Etchohuaquilin, a small village in Mexico. He had developed a unique way to pitch. He’d begin his motion like most pitchers — by leaning forward to get a sign, then standing tall, then lifting his right leg and rotating his body to his left. At this point, most pitchers are staring at the catcher’s mitt as the target. But Fernando did something odd. Balancing on his left leg, he’d look up to the sky and pause for a minute. Then he’d focus on the catcher and throw.

Hitters had never seen anything like it. He won the first eight games he pitched, giving up an average of less than one run per game. That year he won not only the Rookie of the Year Award, but also the award for the best pitcher in the league. He became a sensation, a legend, a folk hero.

When someone asked what he was thinking when he went into his motion, he said wasn’t thinking about it at all; “I can’t do it if I think about it. I would fall down.”

We spend a great deal of energy on planning, training for, and practicing many tasks in life. But sometimes we learn to do something well without thinking too much about it.

My mother was not an accomplished cook. But she could create amazing apple pies. She didn’t use a recipe. She had developed a sense of how much of each ingredient was needed, when the pie dough was ready to be rolled, and how many drops of lemon juice should top the filling beneath the crust. If you asked her how she did it, she would say she simply did what seemed best; if she had thought too much about each step, it would have distracted her, and her better instincts would have been compromised.

It was the same playing piano. She had taken a few lessons, but was mostly self-taught. She could play Gershwin and Broadway tunes beautifully; the music began in her heart and the rest of her found a way to bring what she felt through the keyboard into the room. It was wonderful to hear.

I’ve led, participated in, and attended many memorial services over the last 40 years. The person’s accomplishments are often recited. But the most moving testimonials are people describing how the person lived, endured hardships, and treated other people. My sense is that that behavior was not rehearsed or carefully planned. If you could go back and ask the person, “How do did you do that?” many would say, “I don’t know. It just seemed right.”

I want to celebrate the actions we take and the ways we live well that aren’t a product of formulas and mental concentration but arise from a desire to simply do the right thing.

One of the widespread concerns following this election is the threat to the way we, as a democracy, have gone about the challenges of being an open society. We have always shared an assumption that we will, despite our differences, respect established norms of decency, foster mutual respect, follow due process and assume personal responsibility. If someone from another country would ask us, “How do you do that?” we might answer, “We don’t think about it too much. We have always assumed that’s the right way to do things in a democracy.” I wonder if now what seemed a given is something we are going to have to “think about;” if we don’t recover that attitude, we may very well “fall over.”

30 years after that first game when he was 51, Fernando was asked to throw out the first pitch to open the season at Dodger Stadium. In the Los Angeles Times, Dylan Hernandez wrote:

When he winds up to throw the ball, Valenzuela won’t look skyward the way he used to. “I can’t do it if I think about it. I would fall down, especially if I’m wearing street shoes,” he said, laughing… “I didn’t even know I did that until someone showed me a video…”

He said he didn’t notice more Latinos in the seats at Dodger Stadium. Or that he was helping ease long-standing ethnic and cultural tensions in the city. Or that he was drawing the attention of businesses to the growing Latino market. Or that because of him teams were increasingly looking outside the country for players.”[i]

Fernando didn’t plan all that. He simply found a way to perform a task exceptionally well. And in the process benefited his teammates, his community and the game.

[i] https://www.latimes.com/sports/la-xpm-2011-mar-30-la-sp-0331-fernandomania-20110331-story.html

Facing the Challenges

This has been an historic week in the U.S., and we are facing uncertain times. Like many people, I’ve been trying to understand what happened and what it will mean.

My thoughts have gone back to a piece I wrote several years ago, describing what I learned following the 2018 debris flow in Santa Barbara. We were put into a prolonged period of uncertainty. This is one idea that helped me navigate the situation:

Several years ago, I read a book by a Navy Seal who helped other vets get through PTSD experiences. He believed we have an option when we face hardship. Do we ask, “How will this affect me?” and passively let circumstances determine whom we become? Or do we say, “Facing these challenges, how can I respond in a way that will help me become the person I want to be?”

Past generations have gone through great challenges, and this may be our turn. I want to do what I can, where I am, with what I have to meet whatever lies ahead. In the meantime, I will invest in the relationships, activities and principles that bring out the best in us.

I also want to let beauty renew me. Here is a painting that captured my attention when I saw it in Vienna in September: Dusk, by Carl Moll, painted in 1902. I’m not sure why it calls me to now. Perhaps it’s the presence of light in the shadows.

Watching the Ships on Shelter Island

This past week we visited friends in the Point Loma area of San Diego. This being low tourist season, we got a room with a view on Shelter Island, which forms the northern shore of the harbor. I’ve always been fascinated by the variety of vessels that pass through, so several times I took time to find a seat and enjoy the sights. As I watched, I wondered: Why are they here? What are they for? What do they tell us about our life?

Sailboats — These come in all sizes. I’ve taken sailing classes, but don’t know enough to tell a sloop from a sunfish. When I see the smaller ones, I assume the owner uses it for the simple pleasure shared by humans for millennia: moving across water as skillfully as one can, powered only by the presence of wind. Like a hiker in the wilderness, one can get immersed in the moment-to-moment flow of navigation. Larger sailboats require a crew, which means folks sharing a purpose and a task. I have friends who delight in doing so.

Power Boats — These also come in an endless variety of sizes. Some owners simply enjoy the exhilaration of moving on water. Others use them for water skiing. Many use them for sport fishing. From where I was sitting, I could see the Coronado Islands in the distance; twice I’ve been on boats that went into the Mexican waters for yellowtail and albacore. (I’ve yet to bring home a prize but remain a fan of tuna sandwiches.)

Commercial Fishing Boats: One of our friends grew up in a nearby neighborhood populated by Portuguese immigrants who brought their fishing heritage and Catholic faith with them; the area was known as “Tunaville.” I remember attending mass at St. Agnes parish which had a fishing boat in the lap of the Virgin Mary near the altar. Our friend’s father captained large commercial vessels that went around the world on voyages that could last many months. He was prominent enough to be featured in a Chicken of the Sea commercial at the time. Fishing, like farming, has been part of human life from the dawn of human communities; it’s exciting to see these vessels leaving the harbor wondering what their catch will be.

Yachts: We were near three yacht clubs. Such clubs include a large range of boats, some quite modest and others that are like floating mansions. (Jeff Bezos owns one valued at $500 million.) There is an ancient human desire to display one’s wealth and status; here one can see the different ways people satisfy that desire.

Navy Ships: Sometimes, while watching the private boats, you see something like this approaching:

When it comes closer, it looks like this:

Two days earlier, I’d seen the nuclear carrier USS Ronald Reagan leaving port the same way. It brought back memories of when the Reagan had come to Santa Barbara in 2008, and a parishioner active in the Navy League arranged a tour for me.

The tour was eye-opening. The top deck is over 1,000 feet long. The ship is 20 stories high with a crew of 6,000 sailors. It is powered by two nuclear reactors that can operate for 20 years without refueling. It can carry more than 80 combat aircraft. Toward the end, a young officer escorted me up to the bridge to show me the control room. Then we went back down the stairs to the deck.

“So, what’s it like to be on this ship when it is on the move…say, heading up the Persian Gulf?” I asked.

“We wouldn’t be on our own,” she said. “We’d be part of a battle group…accompanied by a guided missile cruiser, two anti-submarine warships, two destroyers, submarines below us and helicopters and fighter jets above.”

I stood there trying to conceive what it would be like to be a fisherman in the Persian Gulf watching such a formation coming my way. I doubt he could conceive of the sophisticated and destructive firepower ready to be unleashed if called upon.

Warships of this magnitude are entering and leaving San Diego harbor every day, headed to all parts of the world. They pass by the little sailboats and outboards and pleasure craft and yachts – as well as people walking their dogs and vacationers sipping margaritas. I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.

There are some whose spiritual convictions lead them to be pacifists. I have deep respect for those traditions and individuals, but I’m not able to share that perspective.

In September my sister and I visited the “Resistance Museum” in Amsterdam, which chronicles the Nazi occupation and the ways in which the Dutch fought back. Towards the end, an exhibit highlights the days when Allied troops set the country free. My sister and I remembered with gratitude that our father had been a soldier in that liberating army that fought its way through Holland.

We know when there have been times when our armed forces have been used irresponsibly and unnecessarily, creating immense suffering. But in the imperfect world we live in, I believe there are times when the use of military force is necessary.

Now I am back in Santa Barbara where one sees all kinds of pleasure boats and an occasional cruise ship, but nothing like the carriers coming and going off Shelter Island. I earnestly hope that those in command of such power will always act with prudence, care, and sober judgement.

Where Were We?

This past Monday I woke up before sunrise. After coffee, I went into our backyard for my morning quiet time. The days are becoming shorter, and it had been a while since I was outside before daybreak. Ten years ago, I could see most of the night sky from my favorite spot. But our oak tree and our neighbor’s sycamore have flourished in recent years, and now only a small section of the heavens is visible. As I settled in and looked up to see beyond the trees, the sky was dark; the moon was half-full and next to it was a bright star. I was captivated.

Ten minutes later, the sun rose in the east, the sky began to brighten, and the star disappeared. But the fascination with seeing light in darkness remained.

I remembered being in a downtown theater in 2011 watching the opening scenes in Terrance Mallick’s film, The Tree of Life. It begins in darkness. Then there’s sound in the background, almost like what you might hear if you are underwater listening to the ocean. These words appear:

A mysterious image appears – like a flame, but not a flame; it moves and grows:

And then a voice whispers: “Brother, mother…it was they who led me to your door.” The image fades.

We see a young red-haired girl looking out a window on a farm, enchanted by what she sees. We hear her voice: “The nuns taught us there are two ways through life…the way of nature, and the way of grace….” The girl becomes a mother (played by Jessica Chastain), and her life unfolds. Over the next two hours, we witness the innocence, joys, struggles, heartbreaks and spiritual searching of her family; interspersed are dreamlike images of nature, evolution, and the mysteries of life. (Given Mallick’s impressionistic style, there are some sequences which make it hard to follow — but it is always entrancing.) What set the stage for it all is the passage from the book of Job. After Job questions God why life is the way it is, the divine voice speaks out of a whirlwind: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?”

Huston Smith once described an important difference between scientific and spiritual knowledge. Both seek to explain truth in everyday terms we can understand, but sometimes that language is not sufficient. With science, when the focus is the smallest scale of quantum reality or the immense scale of cosmology and ordinary language falls short, it turns to math – often very sophisticated math (which few of us can understand). Spirituality, on the other hand, also offers many insights in everyday terms, but when it needs to speak of the deepest realities, it turns not to math but to story, metaphor and imagination.

Some scientists say the Big Bang began with a “disturbance of the quantum field. ”One spiritual story says that in the beginning a divine force moved like wind over a dark void, and said “Let there be light, and there was light.”

I choose to listen to both. I want to understand the science of life as much as I can (though I’m limited by my knowledge of math.) But I also want to accept the gift of spiritual imagination with its stories and metaphors; they speak to my heart and resonate with the feeling of awe I feel when a star in the night sky shines before fading in the presence of a rising sun.

Where were we when that quantum field was disturbed and the universe emerged out of nothingness, bringing into being all the elements of the periodic table, time and space? Where were we when the foundations of the earth were set, and the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted with joy? I don’t know. But what we are began in those moments. As did our capacity for wonder and our desire to understand.

It was still and quiet when I watched the sky that morning. But in my imagination, I could almost hear the morning stars singing and the first living beings shouting for joy.

If you want to get a sense of the mood of the movie, here’s the official trailer