The words surprised me, especially since they came from Grandma.
“She says she can’t find her soul, and she’s ready for God to take her home,” my mother-in-law told me on the phone, her voice cracking as she spoke through her tears, trying her best to quote Grandma. By “home” Grandma meant heaven. That made sense. Grandma had not been feeling well for days, and after all, she is one month shy of being 102 years old.
But her words, “I can’t find my soul,” puzzled me. She didn’t say she didn’t know where she was going or that she was clueless about who would take her there. No, she was ready for God to take her home to heaven.
Where is the soul, anyway, and why couldn’t Grandma find hers?
For skeptics like Michael Shermer the soul is located in the patterns of information coded in our DNA and neural memories. In his book, The Soul of Science, he states that “it appears that when we die our pattern is lost.” The soul is the mind and dies when the brain ceases to function: “Either the soul survives death or it does not, and there is no scientific evidence that it does.”
But British scientist Dr. Sam Parnia, in studying heart attack patients, says he is finding evidence that suggests consciousness may continue after the brain has stopped functioning and a patient is clinically dead. Parnia is even conducting research to isolate where in the brain such consciousness is located. Would that be where the soul is?
Although he is by no means a scientist, I wonder if philosophy professor and literary giant, William H. Gass, would agree with Shermer and the scientific skeptics. With his typical piercing intellect, Gass states in his wonderful book of essays, Finding a Form, “I am going to insist that what we sometimes call the soul is simply the immediate source of any speech---the larynx of the logos--- a world without words would be a soulless one…”
Grandma may not have known where her soul was, but she knew she had one and that it lives forever; she may have been momentarily confused about its place--- was it somewhere in her neural memories? between heaven and earth? deep within herself, in whatever gives rise to words, i.e. thought itself?---but she was certain God would take her soul home.
Maybe Grandma was going through something like what St. John of the Cross termed, La noche oscura del alma, “the dark night of the soul,” a painful, lonely time of hardship and suffering when God often seems far away and praying is difficult. When I called to pray for Grandma, she didn’t feel like praying, (unusual for her) but was grateful that I would pray nonetheless.
In the midst of pain and suffering it’s easy to lose our place, forgetting our souls, interpreting the darkness of the night as the obliteration of light, the fogginess of the moment as the suspension of forever.
But God is there even when we have lost our footing and feel like we are hopelessly slipping into an endless quicksand of doubt. St. John in his gospel quotes Jesus as saying that no one or anything can take the soul of a believer because God’s children are safe and secure in his hands: “No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and he is more powerful than anyone else” (John 10:28-29).
Grandma knew God was there, really, all along, even when she couldn’t find her soul.
When my sister-in-law, Lisa, called her and asked about what Grandma had said, Lisa tried to help her. “Did you mean the nursery rhyme you’ve prayed before, 'Now I lay me down to sleep?’”
“Oh, yes, that’s it, honey,” Grandma said. And then she repeated the prayer with Lisa, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."
If Grandma couldn’t remember for the moment, at least she knew where she could find her soul: safe in the hands of God who will keep it and not take it until he is ready for her.
Contact David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, Davidbwhitlock.com
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Thursday, August 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Midnight Wherever You Are
It’s been quite a summer for movies: I was hijacked to Bangkok by Hangover II, thankful for the bad bosses I haven’t had in Horrible Bosses, reminded that women can be just as flat-out stupid-crazy as men in Bridesmaids, and glad I’m not anyone but me in The Changeup.
But my favorite film of the summer is one that catapulted me back in time to another era, a golden age. Is there any such thing as a golden age, an age marked by prosperity, happiness, creativity, and achievement? Most of us have a personal golden age---perhaps it’s an earlier day in our life or another age in history altogether. What if you could actually go back to that time in your life or that period in history?
That question is explored in Woody’s Allen’s wistfully charming and at times hilarious, Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson plays Gil Pender, a disenchanted Hollywood screen writer who visits Paris with his materialistic fiancé and her boorish parents. No one appreciates Gil’s enchantment with Paris or his desire to write a significant novel. “I'm having trouble because I'm a Hollywood hack who never gave real literature a shot,” he admits.
Mostly to escape his company, Gil wanders the streets of his beloved Paris. And that’s when the magic begins. At midnight he tumbles back in time to the Paris of the 1920s, escaping to his personal golden age, the City of Lights that was in that prolific decade of the 1920s the center of the artitistic universe.
Gil encounters a magnificent array of authors and artists and even manages to develop a crush on Pablo Picasso’s mistress. But alas, she mirrors Gil’s own ennui, is dissatisfied with the Paris of the 1920s, and wants to time travel to the Belle Époque, her golden age.
It’s then that it comes to Gil: he realizes the truth in Peter De Vries observation, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.”
It never was.
It’s in the present moment that we live the life given us. The past is never what we think it was or remember it as. Escaping the present by retreating to the past cheats us of the only time we have: now.
Those who lived in what we think was a golden age rarely recognized it as one. And we ourselves lose today anticipating tomorrow, waiting for a better day, never realizing, as Carly Simon crooned, that “these are the good old days.” The adage, “Wherever you are, be there,” is a good reminder for us to wake up and smell the present moment in all its aroma.
But wait a minute, that’s not entirely right either.
We can gain inspiration for the present moment by returning to the past. That’s one reason why people go to the Holy Land, make Renaissance tours of Europe, and visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. There is something about being there in that place where something significant happened, if only in our minds, that place and time that beckons us back in hopes of returning to the present with some of that past surging through our veins.
That’s what happened to Gil, who like a fish out of water, was suffocating on the shore (recall his name, Gil), of the wrong era, dying a slow death in fear of a meaningless existence, confused about his role in life, doubting his capabilities as a writer and authenticity as a person. It took someone from the past, Gertrude Stein, to remind Gil of his purpose in writing: “The job of the artist is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”
But that was only Woody Allen speaking, not Gertrude Stein, right?
Right, but what does it matter? It’s still a magical thinking that returns us to the past, giving us strength and courage for today and hope for tomorrow.
Yes, I believe in that magical thinking: By embracing the past we can return to the present more fit and ready to live the life we were always meant to live now.
And that, in my opinion, is a golden age in any age.
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
But my favorite film of the summer is one that catapulted me back in time to another era, a golden age. Is there any such thing as a golden age, an age marked by prosperity, happiness, creativity, and achievement? Most of us have a personal golden age---perhaps it’s an earlier day in our life or another age in history altogether. What if you could actually go back to that time in your life or that period in history?
That question is explored in Woody’s Allen’s wistfully charming and at times hilarious, Midnight in Paris. Owen Wilson plays Gil Pender, a disenchanted Hollywood screen writer who visits Paris with his materialistic fiancé and her boorish parents. No one appreciates Gil’s enchantment with Paris or his desire to write a significant novel. “I'm having trouble because I'm a Hollywood hack who never gave real literature a shot,” he admits.
Mostly to escape his company, Gil wanders the streets of his beloved Paris. And that’s when the magic begins. At midnight he tumbles back in time to the Paris of the 1920s, escaping to his personal golden age, the City of Lights that was in that prolific decade of the 1920s the center of the artitistic universe.
Gil encounters a magnificent array of authors and artists and even manages to develop a crush on Pablo Picasso’s mistress. But alas, she mirrors Gil’s own ennui, is dissatisfied with the Paris of the 1920s, and wants to time travel to the Belle Époque, her golden age.
It’s then that it comes to Gil: he realizes the truth in Peter De Vries observation, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.”
It never was.
It’s in the present moment that we live the life given us. The past is never what we think it was or remember it as. Escaping the present by retreating to the past cheats us of the only time we have: now.
Those who lived in what we think was a golden age rarely recognized it as one. And we ourselves lose today anticipating tomorrow, waiting for a better day, never realizing, as Carly Simon crooned, that “these are the good old days.” The adage, “Wherever you are, be there,” is a good reminder for us to wake up and smell the present moment in all its aroma.
But wait a minute, that’s not entirely right either.
We can gain inspiration for the present moment by returning to the past. That’s one reason why people go to the Holy Land, make Renaissance tours of Europe, and visit Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. There is something about being there in that place where something significant happened, if only in our minds, that place and time that beckons us back in hopes of returning to the present with some of that past surging through our veins.
That’s what happened to Gil, who like a fish out of water, was suffocating on the shore (recall his name, Gil), of the wrong era, dying a slow death in fear of a meaningless existence, confused about his role in life, doubting his capabilities as a writer and authenticity as a person. It took someone from the past, Gertrude Stein, to remind Gil of his purpose in writing: “The job of the artist is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.”
But that was only Woody Allen speaking, not Gertrude Stein, right?
Right, but what does it matter? It’s still a magical thinking that returns us to the past, giving us strength and courage for today and hope for tomorrow.
Yes, I believe in that magical thinking: By embracing the past we can return to the present more fit and ready to live the life we were always meant to live now.
And that, in my opinion, is a golden age in any age.
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, August 4, 2011
“Lord, I want to thank you for my smoking’ hot wife…”
No, I didn’t say it! (My wife warned me if I prayed that publicly it might be my last prayer.) Those are the words of the Reverend Joe Nelms, Pastor of the First Baptist Church of Lebanon, Tn., praying at NASCAR’s Federated 300 Nationwide Series Race in Nashville, Saturday last week. Pastor Nelms became an instant star on the internet with comments about his prayer ranging from “the greatest prayer ever,” to “blasphemous.”
It is neither.
As far as I can tell, it’s simply the heartfelt prayer of a man, in this case a pastor and life-long NASCAR fan (this wasn’t the first time he has prayed at a NASCAR event), who didn’t want to pray what he called, “ the cookie-cutter prayer.” Every NASCAR event begins with an invocation, and like most prayers before public events, they are generally quite the same. And most people don’t pay attention.
But Pastor Nelms woke them. The Bible says we should give thanks in all things, and that’s exactly what Nelms did. He thanked the Lord for Toyotas, Dodges, and Fords, for Sunoco racing fuel, for GM performance, and most of all, as he put it, "Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin' hot wife tonight, Lisa…'"
Actually, Nelms adapted the line about his wife from Ricky Bobby’s (Will Farrell) prayer to Baby Jesus in the movie, Talladega Nights. Pastor Nelms was, I believe, trying to communicate something spiritual in a humorous way.
Our church custodian picked up on it, although he may not have realized it at the time. On Monday morning of last week, as I arrived at church, he summarized the latest weekend news (he does this most Mondays), and at the top of his broadcast was the story of Reverend Nelms’ prayer. My instinctive response was, “Well, is she? (Smokin’ hot, that is.)
“I don’t know,” he said, “she must be to him.”
Good answer.
With all the publicity about his prayer, pictures of the Reverend Nelms and his wife were all over the internet. If by “hot” one means a female that resembles Ricky Bobby’s wife, Carley (Leslie Bibb), or Miss Sprint Cup (any Miss Sprint Cup), then Ms. Nelms isn’t there. And some of the snide remarks posted on the internet made that observation. But they’ve missed the deeper lesson.
If she’s “hot” to Pastor Nelms, that’s all that matters. She, or anyone---male or female--- doesn’t have to fit the American cultural image of “hot” to be “hot.”
Security in a long term relationship must have as its basis something more than mere physical attraction. In a recent poll taken by askmen.com and cosmopolitan.com, half of the men surveyed say they would drop their partner if she gained weight. Twenty percent of the women said the same. Maybe we’ve let the Miss Sprint Cup and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader image of “hot” determine what’s acceptable and what’s not for us. But sooner or later we will be disappointed.
The important thing is to love and appreciate the one you are with, extending unconditional acceptance in relationships.
It works both ways---for male and female---this expression of gratitude for the one you are with. And there are benefits to being grateful; sometimes it ricochets back in unexpected ways.
When things get a little tense on my home front, as they invariably do in most normal relationships, when an annoying habit of mine (Did I just admit to having those?) grates on my wife’s last nerve, when I see those beautiful eyes start to narrow (signaling anger), her right foot begin tapping (a sign of frustration), her pretty face turning away from me (a sure indication of exasperation, warning me of imminent danger), I know it’s time for the NASCAR PRAYER.
I look heavenward, stretch my arms wide, and utter those words, “Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin’ hot wife.”
Her frown instantly transforms into that familiar cute grin as she coyly turns her face back towards me, rolls her eyes and exclaims, “Oh, you!”
Ahh, God has once again intervened. And lo! I am forgiven.
And then my prayer she doesn’t hear, “Lord, I really do thank you for my smokin’ hot wife…
And for your mercy!”
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
It is neither.
As far as I can tell, it’s simply the heartfelt prayer of a man, in this case a pastor and life-long NASCAR fan (this wasn’t the first time he has prayed at a NASCAR event), who didn’t want to pray what he called, “ the cookie-cutter prayer.” Every NASCAR event begins with an invocation, and like most prayers before public events, they are generally quite the same. And most people don’t pay attention.
But Pastor Nelms woke them. The Bible says we should give thanks in all things, and that’s exactly what Nelms did. He thanked the Lord for Toyotas, Dodges, and Fords, for Sunoco racing fuel, for GM performance, and most of all, as he put it, "Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin' hot wife tonight, Lisa…'"
Actually, Nelms adapted the line about his wife from Ricky Bobby’s (Will Farrell) prayer to Baby Jesus in the movie, Talladega Nights. Pastor Nelms was, I believe, trying to communicate something spiritual in a humorous way.
Our church custodian picked up on it, although he may not have realized it at the time. On Monday morning of last week, as I arrived at church, he summarized the latest weekend news (he does this most Mondays), and at the top of his broadcast was the story of Reverend Nelms’ prayer. My instinctive response was, “Well, is she? (Smokin’ hot, that is.)
“I don’t know,” he said, “she must be to him.”
Good answer.
With all the publicity about his prayer, pictures of the Reverend Nelms and his wife were all over the internet. If by “hot” one means a female that resembles Ricky Bobby’s wife, Carley (Leslie Bibb), or Miss Sprint Cup (any Miss Sprint Cup), then Ms. Nelms isn’t there. And some of the snide remarks posted on the internet made that observation. But they’ve missed the deeper lesson.
If she’s “hot” to Pastor Nelms, that’s all that matters. She, or anyone---male or female--- doesn’t have to fit the American cultural image of “hot” to be “hot.”
Security in a long term relationship must have as its basis something more than mere physical attraction. In a recent poll taken by askmen.com and cosmopolitan.com, half of the men surveyed say they would drop their partner if she gained weight. Twenty percent of the women said the same. Maybe we’ve let the Miss Sprint Cup and Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader image of “hot” determine what’s acceptable and what’s not for us. But sooner or later we will be disappointed.
The important thing is to love and appreciate the one you are with, extending unconditional acceptance in relationships.
It works both ways---for male and female---this expression of gratitude for the one you are with. And there are benefits to being grateful; sometimes it ricochets back in unexpected ways.
When things get a little tense on my home front, as they invariably do in most normal relationships, when an annoying habit of mine (Did I just admit to having those?) grates on my wife’s last nerve, when I see those beautiful eyes start to narrow (signaling anger), her right foot begin tapping (a sign of frustration), her pretty face turning away from me (a sure indication of exasperation, warning me of imminent danger), I know it’s time for the NASCAR PRAYER.
I look heavenward, stretch my arms wide, and utter those words, “Lord, I want to thank you for my smokin’ hot wife.”
Her frown instantly transforms into that familiar cute grin as she coyly turns her face back towards me, rolls her eyes and exclaims, “Oh, you!”
Ahh, God has once again intervened. And lo! I am forgiven.
And then my prayer she doesn’t hear, “Lord, I really do thank you for my smokin’ hot wife…
And for your mercy!”
Contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D. at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com
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