Stories about dying, going to heaven (or hell) and selling books about it has become a veritable cottage industry these days.
Two pastors, Don Piper and Steve Sjogren, both wrote about visions of heaven in their death or near-death experiences. Piper’s 90 Minutes in Heaven, (2004) was followed by Sjogren’s, The Day I Died (2006).
The stories of two children and their encounters with heaven were published in 2010. The boy who came back from heaven, A remarkable account of miracles, angels, and life beyond this world, recounts 6-year-old Alex Malarkey’s journey into heaven while he was in a two-month coma. The story of Colton Burpo, who was almost four-years old at the time of his surgery when he had his visitation of heaven, is described in Heaven is for Real, A Little Boy’s Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back.
In Colton Burpo’s heaven no one wore glasses, no one was old, everyone appeared to be in their twenties, but everyone Reverend Don Piper encountered in heaven was the same age they had been the last time he saw them---“except that all the ravages of living on earth had vanished.” The people Colton saw in heaven had angel-like wings, a detail unique to his vision. Alex Malarkey’s heaven is a lot like earth, only it’s perfect and has a hole that leads to hell. Sjogren didn’t actually have a vision of heaven, although he heard the voice of God.
Colton’s father is forthright is stating that Colton’s experience of heaven happened while he was in surgery.
Malarkey’s injuries were severe, but he was never pronounced dead.
Sjogren’s heart stopped, but neither was he pronounced dead.
Piper’s claim of death comes from the testimony of those who were at the scene of his car accident: “Someone examined me, found no pulse, and declared that I had been killed instantly.” It would be 90 minutes before another EMT checked on Piper and again found no pulse.
Could a distracted EMT have missed something? Or was Piper actually dead?
We can’t know for sure.
What should we make of these accounts?
Dr. Kevin Nelson, M.D., Professor of Neurology at the University of Kentucky maintains that near death experiences are in the brain. After the heart stops, brain activity continues for another 10-20 seconds and develops other wave forms. As the blood flow stops, memories become very discombobulated.
Furthermore, during cardiac arrest there is often a small amount of blood flow to the brain, allowing the brain to go in and out of consciousness, even though those around the person don’t know it. Nelson concludes from his research that in near-death experiences, the brain blends REM (rapid eye movement) with non-REM sleep, and this gives near-death experiences many of their important qualities. Out of the body experiences are a part of this phenomenon and have even been clinically reproduced by disrupting the temporal parietal areas of the brain.
During near-death episodes, people are likely to draw on life memories that are most significant to them---hence the visions of heaven and encounters with people of personal significance. Nelson documents his findings in his just published book, The God Impulse, Is Religion Hardwired into the Brain?
His conclusions would help explain why people of different faiths and cultures frequently have varying visions of heaven during near-death experiences. Other studies report, for example, a Hindu entering heaven on the back of a cow and a Muslim identifying the bright light as Allah.
I have no doubt that something profoundly spiritual happened to the Burpo and Malarkey children, as well as the pastors, Piper and Sjogren. I also am convinced they have no deceptive motive; they are sincere and convinced that the events they describe truly happened.
And maybe they did.
And maybe they didn’t.
That’s why we must not anchor our belief in the reality of heaven on such accounts.
Now, if someone were to come back after being dead several days, and in doing so fulfill a myriad of ancient prophesies about the event, and if this person were to live on earth in a resurrected body for several weeks before ascending into this heaven--- well, that would be something worth banking a belief in heaven on.
Hmm, wouldn’t that be the story about Jesus, the One whose resurrection Christians just celebrated last Sunday?
Wherever he is, that’s heaven. Whatever it’s like, that’s where I want to be.
You can contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or on his website, davidbwhitlock.com.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Sad Side of Easter
My family followed traditional American Easter traditions, so when I was a child---in addition to preparing for the Sunday morning worship of the resurrected Christ---we anticipated the Easter event by dyeing Easter eggs for the family Easter egg hunt, sending Easter cards, and exchanging little chocolate Easter bunnies. Dad was a dentist and candy was generally discouraged in our house, so chomping down on one of those miniature chocolate Easter bunnies was a rare and unusual treat. (One year my older brother Mark was lucky enough to receive a life-sized chocolate bunny, not a tiny one--- but he was permitted to eat only one bunny ear on Easter day.)
Ahh---Easter, a very happy celebration of life.
It wasn’t until years later that I came to know the sad side of Easter.
It came not at once but in a slow accumulation of events---beginning with the death of my brother, Dougie, my buddy, my playmate, my friend--- and the realization at age 6, that he wasn’t coming back from up there in the sky, that death was permanent. It continued with other tragedies along life’s way: the assassinations of John F., Bobby, and Martin Jr., ---- their murders marking the end of innocence--- grandmother’s funeral, then another grandmother’s funeral, and granddad too. Then my “happily ever after, I do,” was followed after so many years, by the death of my wife--- and the subsequent massaging of grief in the lives of my two children who no longer had a mother.
Easter brought no one back, nor did it preserve life from other tragic events.
But neither was it meant to.
After all, Lazarus did at last die--- once and for all.
The sad side of Easter is life before Easter, without Easter---life without the hope of Easter-life.
That means the road to Easter cannot be an easy one. Millions of Christians will celebrate Easter this Sunday. But to get there, they must go through Good Friday. And Good Friday is no walk in the park. At least it wasn’t for the One who made it Good Friday. For him it was anything but good. The betrayal, the scourging, the crown of thorns, the leering crowds, the nails piercing his hands and feet, the spear in his side---that’s not exactly a T.G. I. F. day.
Tragic events of life remind us that there is a sad side of Easter. It’s real. And it’s painful.
The recently released film, “Soul Surfer,” depicts that unpleasant truth in the life of surfing champion, Bethany Hamilton, whose left arm was ripped off in a shark attack in 2003, when she was 13 years old. Refusing to give up on her dream of becoming a professional surfer, Bethany learned to surf with one arm and went on to compete successfully.
But she struggled with why it happened; she burned with jealous feelings when she saw beautiful girls with pretty arms; she had to train hard to do what once came easily.
And she worked through it.
“God put me on earth to serve Him, and I know He’s gone through so much worse things. I know that having one arm is the way He uses me. And I’m so happy,” Bethany said in a 2006 interview.
When Bethany spoke of God going through so much worse than she had experienced, I assume she was talking about the suffering of Jesus---something Christians observe this week in what is called Holy Week, which culminates with Jesus’ death on Good Friday.
Good Friday is good only because of the bad that Jesus endured. I like the way cartoonist, Johnny Hart, put it in a poem he has one of his “B.C.” cartoon characters write. Wiley sits under a tree and pens the words:
“When History has recorded it all/Events both happy and sad/Good Friday shall reign as the worst and the best/that mankind has ever had.”
The worst and the best, the very same day, gave way to what Easter is: an invitation to life.
I think Bethany Hamilton would agree. And so would all of Jesus’ followers--- at least those who know how the sad side of Easter can lead to its happy side, come Sunday morning.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. is a resident of Marion County and is an instructor at Campbellsville University in Campbellsville, Ky. You can contact David at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or at his website, davidbwhitlock.com
Ahh---Easter, a very happy celebration of life.
It wasn’t until years later that I came to know the sad side of Easter.
It came not at once but in a slow accumulation of events---beginning with the death of my brother, Dougie, my buddy, my playmate, my friend--- and the realization at age 6, that he wasn’t coming back from up there in the sky, that death was permanent. It continued with other tragedies along life’s way: the assassinations of John F., Bobby, and Martin Jr., ---- their murders marking the end of innocence--- grandmother’s funeral, then another grandmother’s funeral, and granddad too. Then my “happily ever after, I do,” was followed after so many years, by the death of my wife--- and the subsequent massaging of grief in the lives of my two children who no longer had a mother.
Easter brought no one back, nor did it preserve life from other tragic events.
But neither was it meant to.
After all, Lazarus did at last die--- once and for all.
The sad side of Easter is life before Easter, without Easter---life without the hope of Easter-life.
That means the road to Easter cannot be an easy one. Millions of Christians will celebrate Easter this Sunday. But to get there, they must go through Good Friday. And Good Friday is no walk in the park. At least it wasn’t for the One who made it Good Friday. For him it was anything but good. The betrayal, the scourging, the crown of thorns, the leering crowds, the nails piercing his hands and feet, the spear in his side---that’s not exactly a T.G. I. F. day.
Tragic events of life remind us that there is a sad side of Easter. It’s real. And it’s painful.
The recently released film, “Soul Surfer,” depicts that unpleasant truth in the life of surfing champion, Bethany Hamilton, whose left arm was ripped off in a shark attack in 2003, when she was 13 years old. Refusing to give up on her dream of becoming a professional surfer, Bethany learned to surf with one arm and went on to compete successfully.
But she struggled with why it happened; she burned with jealous feelings when she saw beautiful girls with pretty arms; she had to train hard to do what once came easily.
And she worked through it.
“God put me on earth to serve Him, and I know He’s gone through so much worse things. I know that having one arm is the way He uses me. And I’m so happy,” Bethany said in a 2006 interview.
When Bethany spoke of God going through so much worse than she had experienced, I assume she was talking about the suffering of Jesus---something Christians observe this week in what is called Holy Week, which culminates with Jesus’ death on Good Friday.
Good Friday is good only because of the bad that Jesus endured. I like the way cartoonist, Johnny Hart, put it in a poem he has one of his “B.C.” cartoon characters write. Wiley sits under a tree and pens the words:
“When History has recorded it all/Events both happy and sad/Good Friday shall reign as the worst and the best/that mankind has ever had.”
The worst and the best, the very same day, gave way to what Easter is: an invitation to life.
I think Bethany Hamilton would agree. And so would all of Jesus’ followers--- at least those who know how the sad side of Easter can lead to its happy side, come Sunday morning.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D. is a resident of Marion County and is an instructor at Campbellsville University in Campbellsville, Ky. You can contact David at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or at his website, davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, April 14, 2011
It's in your smile
I was at one of my favorite restaurants, Jason’s Deli, when I noticed the man sitting at another table, eating with his wife and three young children. He was a big, raw-boned, burly guy, who towered over me when I walked by him, both of us on our way to sit down. He plopped onto his chair, perhaps exhausted from work. I slid into the booth with my wife.
That’s when I took a good look at him. Stern-faced and serious, he cast what seemed like an intimidating aura over his family as they ate together.
On a second trip to the salad bar, I couldn’t help but overhear a piece of his conversation with his oldest boy, who appeared to be about 8 or 9 years old. “You got three RBIs, but I think you can do even better,” he said, rather gruffly, obviously referring to his son’s little league baseball game.
Immediately I began creating a personality profile of the man. “He must be one of those dads,” I thought to myself. You know, the father who pushes his children to excel in sports. As he sat there at the dinner table with his brow furrowed, his big hand enveloping his fork, which he used with rapid-fire efficiency to attack his food, and his broad shoulders slightly slumped over his plate, I found myself visualizing him at the ball park, barking orders to his son to throw farther, hit harder, and run faster.
Interesting, isn’t it, how quickly we form first impressions, and in our mind create an image of what someone is like? Based on someone’s facial expression, body language, demeanor, and dress we make a quick evaluation. And, once our opinion is formed, it’s difficult to change it.
Evolutionary psychologists argue that making snap judgments is an evolutionary adaptation necessary for survival: life or death situations demanded speedy decisions. The prehistoric hunter couldn’t dally before concluding either to run from a wooly mammoth or gather a team of hunters and spear it for dinner. And assembling a team of hunters was itself an evolutionary social development that required quick evaluations.
In his book, Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point, concludes: “The only way human beings could ever have survived as a species as long as we have is that we’ve developed another kind of decision-making apparatus that’s capable of making very quick judgments based on very little information.”
Inviting a co-worker over for dinner, for example, is a conscious decision. It’s something we think through. A spontaneous decision to argue with that co-worker is made unconsciously from a different part of the brain. “Whenever we meet someone for the first time, whenever we interview someone for a job, whenever we react to a new idea, whenever we are faced with making a decision quickly and under stress, we use that second part of the brain,” says Gladwell.
Sizing up that dad at Jason’s Deli, I was forming an instant image of who he was. And imagining him swaggering over to my table and demanding my dessert, that part of my brain that evaluates danger would instantly process the situation--- and estimating the size of his arms compared to mine, his large body frame next to my smaller one, a spontaneous decision would be made: relinquish the dessert, grab my wife, and run to the car.
Then something unexpected happened that totally changed my image of this man.
The big guy got up with his wife and kids to leave. For some reason, I glanced at his children, and approvingly smiled at them. Then my eyes met his, and in that unspoken communication, one dad connected with another dad, one father---with a daddy-smile to another’s children, spoke to the other dad without saying a word, “I see your precious children, and they are beautiful.”
In that moment, his stiff upper lip melted into a soft smile, and with his eyes gleaming, it was as if he said, “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
My image of the dad was suddenly transformed from that of a hard-driving, performance-requiring, disciplining-demanding sergeant into a teddy-bear of a pappa---a daddy who might invite his kids to sit in his lap while he read Winnie the Pooh, a guy who could break into a grin, and nodding in agreement to my smile, whisper, “Aren’t kids great?”
It happened, all in an instant.
First impressions can’t be avoided. But they aren’t always right. And when we are willing to take a second or third, longer look---and maybe flash a sincere smile--- our whole perception can change for the better.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be contacted at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or at his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
That’s when I took a good look at him. Stern-faced and serious, he cast what seemed like an intimidating aura over his family as they ate together.
On a second trip to the salad bar, I couldn’t help but overhear a piece of his conversation with his oldest boy, who appeared to be about 8 or 9 years old. “You got three RBIs, but I think you can do even better,” he said, rather gruffly, obviously referring to his son’s little league baseball game.
Immediately I began creating a personality profile of the man. “He must be one of those dads,” I thought to myself. You know, the father who pushes his children to excel in sports. As he sat there at the dinner table with his brow furrowed, his big hand enveloping his fork, which he used with rapid-fire efficiency to attack his food, and his broad shoulders slightly slumped over his plate, I found myself visualizing him at the ball park, barking orders to his son to throw farther, hit harder, and run faster.
Interesting, isn’t it, how quickly we form first impressions, and in our mind create an image of what someone is like? Based on someone’s facial expression, body language, demeanor, and dress we make a quick evaluation. And, once our opinion is formed, it’s difficult to change it.
Evolutionary psychologists argue that making snap judgments is an evolutionary adaptation necessary for survival: life or death situations demanded speedy decisions. The prehistoric hunter couldn’t dally before concluding either to run from a wooly mammoth or gather a team of hunters and spear it for dinner. And assembling a team of hunters was itself an evolutionary social development that required quick evaluations.
In his book, Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking, Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point, concludes: “The only way human beings could ever have survived as a species as long as we have is that we’ve developed another kind of decision-making apparatus that’s capable of making very quick judgments based on very little information.”
Inviting a co-worker over for dinner, for example, is a conscious decision. It’s something we think through. A spontaneous decision to argue with that co-worker is made unconsciously from a different part of the brain. “Whenever we meet someone for the first time, whenever we interview someone for a job, whenever we react to a new idea, whenever we are faced with making a decision quickly and under stress, we use that second part of the brain,” says Gladwell.
Sizing up that dad at Jason’s Deli, I was forming an instant image of who he was. And imagining him swaggering over to my table and demanding my dessert, that part of my brain that evaluates danger would instantly process the situation--- and estimating the size of his arms compared to mine, his large body frame next to my smaller one, a spontaneous decision would be made: relinquish the dessert, grab my wife, and run to the car.
Then something unexpected happened that totally changed my image of this man.
The big guy got up with his wife and kids to leave. For some reason, I glanced at his children, and approvingly smiled at them. Then my eyes met his, and in that unspoken communication, one dad connected with another dad, one father---with a daddy-smile to another’s children, spoke to the other dad without saying a word, “I see your precious children, and they are beautiful.”
In that moment, his stiff upper lip melted into a soft smile, and with his eyes gleaming, it was as if he said, “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
My image of the dad was suddenly transformed from that of a hard-driving, performance-requiring, disciplining-demanding sergeant into a teddy-bear of a pappa---a daddy who might invite his kids to sit in his lap while he read Winnie the Pooh, a guy who could break into a grin, and nodding in agreement to my smile, whisper, “Aren’t kids great?”
It happened, all in an instant.
First impressions can’t be avoided. But they aren’t always right. And when we are willing to take a second or third, longer look---and maybe flash a sincere smile--- our whole perception can change for the better.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be contacted at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or at his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
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