Jews and Christian Science

I think I was a Christian Scientist even before I ever heard of the actual denomination. As a kid, I knew that I could influence "reality" by how I thought/prayed about it.

I practice Christian Science in my daily life. I don't say that I'm great at it; in fact, sometimes I fall far short of the ideal. Often, even. But sometimes I have a mental breakthrough and pray rightly, and healing results in me or someone else.

I'm not gonna try to explain CS here but to tell a brief story that I just read in an e-mail from a friend. It was a testimony recently in the Mother Church in Boston, by a respected member of the CS community:

"I spoke for a few hours last week with a Jewish Rabbi. He told of coming from Israel a couple years ago to see his father here in the US because the doctors said a disease had progressed to the point his dad had only days to live. After visiting with his dad the Rabbi took a walk to clear his thought and he walked by a CS Reading Room. He walked in and had a discussion with the attendant.

"This happened a couple of days in a row and to make a long story short, his dad was healed in those few days. It caused quite a commotion with the doctors and the family.

"The Rabbi is now quietly sharing this revelation he has found in [the book] Science and Health with friends and acquaintances in Israel, feeling CS is the answer for him and his country. A Jewish Rabbi can discover and demonstrate this revelation so decisively in today's world. To him it's a simple matter, spelled out on pages 360-361 of Science and Health, where the book talks of the Jew and Christian finding common ground in divine revelation."

I know some Jews will brush off this story as propaganda from the Jews for Jesus folks. However, I know the man who told the story and trust him. 

Druthers

On the whole, I think this afternoon, I may prefer to be a woman.

Unencumbered by male vanity and arrogance, impossible dreams and missions.

The females I see and read are, on the whole, superior to the males. 

Better authors, for one thing; more readable, more humane, more sensitive and peace-loving.

Women seem to contain this giant unspeakable...SECRET that their quiet subtle smiles leak.

Unknowable by a male such as myself, I can only look at their physical attributes and lust for what is contained within.

Sobbing quietly, I withdraw into myself and find....

DROOD, mystery of

DROOD, a recent novel of immense size by Dan Simmons, purports to tell the story of the relationship between Charles Dickens and fellow author Wilkie Collins (THE MOONSTONE, WOMAN IN WHITE, etc.). Told through Collins' narration, it reveals some biographical details of Dickens (he walked fast, about 4 mph, on daily strolls of 10-20 miles), was somewhat vain, etc. But about Collins the book is savage: according to this, Collins, an opium and morphine addict, hated just about everyone and loved nobody--except, perhaps, Dickens...with whom he had a serious case of competitive envy and ended up plotting to kill Dickens...and did, in an opium dream.

Which reveals the most serious flaw in the book: we cannot believe much of what Collins tells us. In fact, it seems that Dickens had mesmerized Collins (aided by the daily doses of opium) into believing in the existence of a supernatural creature named Drood.

Drood and Collins introduce us to many scenes of horror: rotting corpses, hideous murders, scary things in the dark, etc. But none or all of it may be real. 

I couldn't read the whole book: I read the first 150 pages, then skipped and rambled through the rest until reading the last part, where Collins dies in a horror-filled dream.

Pfui.

Peace I ask of thee, O river

Penny was feeling sad this morning, overcome by too many responsibilities, until she remembered a song she learned at Girl Scout camp in the Fifties. She started to sing it and I started to tear-up. We don't know the source of the song but here are the words and one among many URLs:

http://dragon.sleepdeprived.ca/songbook/songs6/S6_21.htm

Peace I ask of thee, O river, peace, peace, peace.

When I learn to live serenely, cares will cease.

From the hills I gather courage, vision of the day to be,

Strength to lead and faith to follow, all are given unto me.

Peace I ask of thee, O river, peace, peace, peace.

The Dibble and Me

Saturday morning we went to the beach road between Oak Bluffs and Edgartown. Many volunteers gathered there to plant beach grass. The beach grass was in clumps as provided from a nursery and it had to be separated and one stalk dropped into a hole punched in the sand.

Punching holes in the sand was the job for Guys like me carrying Dibbles. A dibble is a shovel-sized pole--on its end a fork consisting of two tines, 12 inches apart. I moved along, punching two holes at a time, while my wife and another lady followed and planted beach grass. 

After a couple hours we decided to leave because so many other volunteers showed up. It was a great day to be out working.

What I didn't realize until I got home was how tired I was. It continued this morning, when after church I went to help clean a park of dead sticks. I was able to work for only an hour. Pooped. 

I have to admire all the volunteers on Martha's Vineyard. Intelligent hard-working people. We're happy to be among them.