Month: November 2023

Cognitive Clarity–The Magic Self-Authenticating New Testament, Robert Conner

"Cognitive Clarity" blog posts are about cultivating a culture of thoughtful and informed discourse. They encourage readers to think deeply, question boldly, and approach the world with an open yet discerning mind.

Here’s the link to this article.

By David Madison at 11/21/2023

It can be asserted with little fear of contradiction that every literate

adult the world over has a mental image of Jesus of Nazareth. After all, Christianity is the largest religion — an estimated 2.4 billion adherents — and has existed for 2000 years. For centuries, laymen and scholars alike assumed the gospel stories were history and that Jesus and his apostles were verifiably historical characters like Caesar Augustus (Luke 2:1), Herod the Great (Matthew 2:1), or Tiberius Caesar and Pontius Pilate (Luke 3:1-2). However, in the early twentieth century, when German scholars began to question the reliability of the New Testament texts, that assumption came under challenge, particularly after 1909 when the philosopher Christian Heinrich Arthur Drews published Die Christusmythe, The Christ Myth, that claimed there was no reliable independent evidence for the Jesus of the gospels — Jesus, Drews asserted, was a product of the imagination. Could Drews have been right all along?

Whatever one may think of Drew’s claims, one is certainly true: there is no independent evidence for Jesus outside the text of the New Testament. As always, scholars are divided about specifics, including about when Jesus died — assuming Jesus was a real person to begin with. The majority opinion, based on the gospels, favors a date between April, CE 30, and April, CE 33, but as Helen Bond has argued convincingly, the gospel accounts were meant to establish early Christian theology, not to record Jesus’ history.[1] There is little evidence to suggest the gospel accounts contain any eyewitness testimony: the gospel writers never name themselves within their texts, speak in the first person, suggest that they were either observers or participants in the events they relate, or cite their sources. Matthew and Luke clearly depended on the gospel of Mark — Matthew quotes or paraphrases 600 of the 661 verses in Mark and follows Mark’s timeline. Luke followed suit, using about 65% of Mark as his source.

At this point the Christian apologist will typically cite the historian Josephus, particularly the crown jewel of Historical Jesus texts, the endlessly debated Testimonium Flavianum of Antiquities, Book 18, Chapter 3, 3: 

“About this time there lived Jesus, a wise man, if indeed one ought to call him a man. For he was one who performed surprising deeds and was a teacher of such people as accept the truth gladly. He won over many of the Jews and many of the Greeks. He was the Christ. And when, upon the accusation of the principal men among us, Pilate had condemned him to the cross, those who had first come to love him did not cease. He appeared to them spending a third day restored to life, for the prophets of God had foretold these things and a thousand other marvels about him. And the tribe of the Christians, so called after him, has still to this day not disappeared.” 

Two recently published analyses of the Testimonium come to radically different conclusions. Based on a comparison of the Testimonium and the writings of the church official Eusebius, Ken Olson concluded, 

“Both the language and the content [of the Testimonium] have close parallels in the work of Eusebius of Caesarea, who is the first author to show any knowledge of the text…The most likely hypothesis is that Eusebius either composed the entire text or rewrote it so thoroughly that it is now impossible to recover a Josephan original.” 

Olson concludes that the Testimonium “has its most plausible Sitz-im-Leben in the pagan-Christian controversies of the fourth century.”[2]

On the other hand, Gary Goldberg performed a meticulous comparison of the Testimonium and Luke 24:18-24, documenting “thirty-one ordered content parallels” between the two texts. Goldberg concluded, “…by the simplest estimate (a normal distribution), the probability that the Emmaus-TF correspondences are due to chance is about one in ten thousand…The study shows Josephus closely following a Christian source…”[3]

In short, two close examinations of the text of the Testimonium have concluded that (1) it is a Eusebian forgery invented to bolster the early Christian claim of Jesus’ divine status, or (2) it is a word-for-word paraphrase of the Road to Emmaus story in the gospel of Luke. Quite clearly, the Testimonium is not an independent historical confirmation of the Jesus of the gospels. Additionally, as I have noted elsewhere, “…competent scholars arguing in good faith often reach radically different conclusions based on the available evidence…The evidence, such as it is, is textual; later historians who reported that Jesus had been crucified were repeating what they’d read or been told, not what they’d seen.”[4] The problem of flimsy evidence within the New Testament text, including outright forgery, is now so well documented as to need no further comment.[5] The evidence for Jesus is the New Testament. Full stop.

New Testament scholars are in wide agreement that Mark was the earliest gospel, written around the year 70 CE, decades after Jesus’ death. As if a lapse of 40 years between the life of Jesus and the composition of the first known gospel wasn’t problem enough, according to the church historian Eusebius, “[Mark] had not heard the Lord, nor had he followed him.”[6] On the best evidence, the gospels were not even composed in Palestine where the events they purport to relate took place. It is conjectured that Mark was written in Rome, Matthew in Syria, and John was perhaps composed in Asia Minor. 

Even worse for the study of Christian origins, in 66 CE the First Jewish-Roman War resulted in the destruction of Jewish towns in Galilee and Judea which culminated in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Second Temple in 70 CE. By the time the war ended with the fall of Masada in 73 CE, the Jewish population of Palestine, obviously including potential eyewitnesses to the career of Jesus, had been decimated, scattered, and enslaved. Even assuming Jesus of Nazareth was a historical person, time and circumstances were working overtime to eradicate any evidence of his life and career. What would his soi-disant biographers do to fill this memory hole? A close reading of the gospels suggests they invented their stories.

Unlike history, the gospels are written from the standpoint of an omniscient narrator — like a novelist, the gospel writer knows not only the actions of his characters, but their inner thoughts and emotional state, as well as the content of their private conversations. Matthew, writing an estimated 85 years after Jesus’ birth, ostensibly knows the circumstances of Jesus’ conception, including the contents of a dream. (Matthew 1:20) Not to be outdone, Luke claims that, “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19) Matthew claims to know the precise event that led the Pharisees to withdraw and begin to plot Jesus’ death, (Matthew 12:14) and John — writing 70 years after the fact — is mysteriously informed that the Pharisees “…said to one another, ‘See, this is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after him!’” (John 12:19)

So where did Mark — his true identity is unknown, but following convention we’ll call him Mark — get his information? Decades ago, when I was studying the New Testament at university, the standard answer to “where they got it” was still “oral tradition,” but given the proven unreliability both of memory and oral transmission, scholars have questioned that explanation and suggested a different source: the theology of Paul of Tarsus. 

The number of scholars who have proposed this connection is quite impressive and appears to be growing: Pérez I. Díaz,[7] Hollander,[8] Eurell,[9] Smith,[10] Nelligan,[11] and particularly Richard Carrier[12] to name but a few. However, using Paul to get to Jesus presents a problem very nicely summarized by David Madison: 

“In the earliest of the New Testament documents, penned long before the Gospels, Jesus of Nazareth isn’t there. That is, the epistles of Paul and others don’t speak at all about Jesus of Nazareth. Their focus is a divine Christ. There seems to be no awareness of Jesus’s preaching and parables, his miracles, his disputes with religious authorities, or even the Passion narratives. It’s almost as if the real Jesus hadn’t been invented yet, which would not happen until the Gospels had been created. The focus of the epistles — with Paul being the giant presence — is salvation through believing in a resurrected Jesus. Inexplicably, they skip over everything else.”[13]

The first person known to have mentioned Jesus is Paul of Tarsus. And regarding the source of his information, Paul is perfectly clear: “visions and revelations from the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 12:1) After his conversion — which he never describes — Paul did not hie himself to Jerusalem to confer with Jesus’ family or followers. His ego on full display, Paul claims, 

“…when God, who set me apart from my mother’s womb and called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son in me so that I might preach him among the Gentiles, my immediate response was not to consult any human being. I did not go up to Jerusalem to see those who were apostles before I was, but I went into Arabia. Later I returned to Damascus.” (Galatians 1:15-17) 

Paul didn’t need no stinking history: “I want you to know, brothers, that the gospel I preached is not of human origin. I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it; rather, I received it by revelation from Jesus Christ.” (Galatians 1:11-12) Unlike generations of New Testament scholars assiduously questing after the “historical Jesus,” Paul declares, “Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer.” (2 Corinthians 5:16) This is hardly the sort of attitude that would favor the loving preservation of Jesus’ every word and deed.

Paul believed that Jesus had previously existed “in the form of God…but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being made in the likeness of men.” (Philippians 2:6-7) According to Paul, God “…promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy scriptures regarding his son, who as to his earthly life was a descendant of David, and through the spirit of holiness was appointed the son of God in power by his resurrection from the dead.” (Romans 1:2-4) When he rose from the dead, Jesus “became a life-giving spirit” and returned to whence he had come: “the second [Adam] is from heaven.” (1 Corinthians 15:45, 47) The earliest Christians believed Jesus had descended from heaven: “He who descended is the very one who ascended higher than the heavens.” (Ephesians 4:10) The man known as Jesus had a previous existence in heaven: “The Son is the image of the invisible God…He is before all things…” (Colossians 1:15, 17) 

Paul is certain he and his fellow believers will soon be joined with their Lord, “for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.” (1 Corinthians 15:51-53) In short, Paul has precisely nothing to tell us about “historical Jesus.” Paul was convinced that the time remaining until Jesus’ return was so short that married Christians should live as if celibate: “the time is short. From now on those who have wives should live as if they do not…” (1 Corinthians 7:29) Given the urgency of the moment, what possible reason could there be to preserve the details of Jesus’ career, assuming that anyone clearly remembered them?

As noted by Madison, “Proving the Bible’s authenticity by quoting from the Bible is closed-loop reasoning…no matter how high the level of confidence in the Bible in a particular part of the world, no document on the planet can be self-authenticating.”[14] In all likelihood, the Judean church and its members were swept away in the maelstrom of the Roman invasion; like the epistle ascribed to James, Paul’s letters are addressed to believers “scattered among the nations.” (James 1:1) The earliest Christians for whom we have evidence lived in expectation of imminent deliverance[15] and evince no interest in “authenticating” the life and career of Jesus of Nazareth. The stories of the gospels cannot be verified by any contemporaneous sources. Insofar as anyone can confirm, they are pious confections written for the edification of credulous believers. We are left with a stark conclusion: the entire evidence for the life of Jesus is the magic self-authenticating New Testament.Robert Conner is the author of The Death of Christian Belief; The Jesus Cult: 2000 Years of the Last Days; Apparitions of Jesus: The Resurrection as Ghost Story; The Secret Gospel of Mark; and Magic in Christianity: From Jesus to the Gnostics. 

[1] Helen K. Bond, “Dating the Death of Jesus: Memory and the Religious Imagination,” New Testament Studies, 59/4 (2013), 461-475.

[2] Ken Olson, “A Eusebian Reading of the Testimonium Flavianum,” in Eusebius of Caesarea: Traditions and Innovations, Helenic Studies Series 60 (2013) 97-114.

[3] Gary J. Goldberg, “Josephus’s Paraphrase Style and the Testimonium Flavianum,” Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus, 20/1 (2021) 1-32.

[4] Robert Conner, The Death of Christian Belief (2023), 48, 56.

[5] Bart D. Ehrman, Forged: Writing in the Name of God — Why the Bible’s Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are, 2010.

[6] Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History, III, 39, 15.

[7] Mar Pérez I. Díaz, Jesus in the Light of Paul’s Theology, Mohr Siebeck, 2020.

[8] Harm W. Hollander, “The Words of Jesus: From Oral Traditions to Written Records in Paul and Q,” Novum Testamentum 42/4 (2000), 340-357.

[9] John-Christian Eurell, “Paul and the Jesus Tradition: Reconsidering the Relationship Between Paul and the Synoptics,” Journal of Early Christian History, 12/2 (2022), 1-16.

[10] David Oliver Smith, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Paul: The Influence of the Epistles on the Synoptic Gospels, Resource, 2011.

[11] Thomas Nelligan, The Quest for Mark’s Sources: An Exploration of the Case for Mark’s Use of First Corinthians, Pickwick, 2015

[12] Richard Carrier, Jesus from Outer Spance: What the Earliest Christians Really Believed about Christ, Pitchstone, 2020.

[13] David Madison, Guessing About God, 144-145, Insighting Growth Publications, 2023.

[14] Madison, op. cit., 56-57.

[15] Robert Conner, The Jesus Cult: 2000 Years of the Last Days, 7-25, (2022)

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/24/23

I sat in the Pencil Pit, staring at the blank page. The early morning light filtered in through the barn window, illuminating specks of dust floating gently in the air. It was quiet except for the scratching of chickens outside.

Writer’s block had firmly planted itself between me and the page again. I knew I needed to write my regular Morning Mental Meanderings blog post, but no words came. I reread the quote by Charles Bukowski that I had scribbled down last night – “writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.”

With a sigh, I picked up my favorite #2 pencil and began:

I gazed at the empty page, willing words to flow but finding none. Bukowski’s advice rattled around in my head…maybe writing about the block itself would help dislodge it. My mind felt stuffed with cotton, mute and tangled. I longed for the relief that came with a free flowing stretch of typing on my old typewriter, when the words tumble out almost faster than my arthritic fingers can catch them.

But for now, there was only the oppressive blankness glaring back at me. The vast whiteness seemed to mock me. You call yourself a writer? After decades as a small town lawyer, you thought retirement would make you an author overnight? What a joke. I shook my graying head and shifted in the creaky wooden chair. The morning sunlight felt harsh now instead of comforting. The chickens’ cackling sounded more smug by the minute.

With a deep breath, I lowered my eyes to the hateful blank page again. Bukowski was right – just acknowledging the block was better than ignoring it and giving up completely. The words would come again, eventually. I just had to sit with the discomfort and not lose hope.

Dipping my #2 pencil once more, I began drafting a description of the fickle muse’s abandonment. Might as well make use of the empty time by writing ABOUT not writing…

The Boaz Scorekeeper–Chapter 40

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

As often happens in life, or it seems to me, the nudge I needed to turn left or right, or jump up or down onto a different path, came totally out of the blue, and from a source I could never have imagined.

In early April 2017 Karla asked me to go with her to Williamstown, Kentucky to see Ken Ham’s Ark Encounter. It was a last-minute request.  She and twelve of her middle-school-age Sunday School students, along with thirty or so senior adults, were leaving Monday on a three-day field trip.  Karla’s co-teacher, Joan Headrick, who had planned on going and assisting, had left yesterday on an emergency trip to Orlando, Florida.  Karla had solicited help from everyone she could think of including her friend, Sandra, a cashier at Eaglemart.  I reluctantly agreed.

For Karla, teaching was her life.  If spending eight or more hours per day with a room full of 13-year-old eighth graders was not enough, she had taught The Young Seekers Sunday School class at First Baptist Church of Christ since shortly after we moved back from Atlanta.  Karla, unlike me, has remained loyal to her faith in Christ.  She is a true Christian fundamentalist.  She believes every word of the Bible.  To her, it is wholly without error.  It is Holy correct, God’s Word.

Not only did Karla supervise twelve boisterous middle-schoolers, she had promised Kaden he could come along.  After Susan died in 2015, Karla and I had just about raised Kaden.  Not long after she passed away, Lewis’ truck driving job started keeping him out of town for two to three weeks at a time and two-year-old Kaden moved in with Karla and me.  Kaden was now approaching the age of four and had an infatuation with dinosaurs.  Karla simply could not say no.  And neither could I.

Monday morning came way too soon. Karla, Kaden, and I pulled into the church parking lot at 6:00 a.m.  The church had hired a plush tour bus to haul all 55 of us.  It was already there and half-filled with people and luggage. Karla had failed to tell me that John Ericson and James Adams, and eight high school Juniors and Seniors, were also going on our little field trip.  By 7:00 a.m. we were rolling, and by the time we turned north on Highway 431, I learned that ten of Karla’s students and all eight of the high school students with John and James were part of the Upward Bound basketball program.  For nearly twenty years, the Flaming Five had grown this basketball and Bible program into a youth program that drew student-players from a five-county area.  Upward Bound had transformed First Baptist Church of Christ into a mega church in a minor town.

Ark Encounter was not only the nudge I needed to, as Christians often say, ‘put legs on my prayers,’ it was a violent push.  Just seeing the giant ark from the parking lot, before ever even taking one step inside, told me I was about to experience an ‘encounter’ unlike anything Ken Ham would have ever desired.  One could simply look at the enormity of the wooden vessel and easily and reasonably conclude that it would never survive the boisterous waves of a worldwide flood.  I wasn’t the only one who thought this.  I had spent most of the weekend reading, and a lot of that time reading what scientists and other experts said about Noah’s Ark.  This wasn’t the first time I had reviewed this material.  After the deaths of Bill and Nellie, and after my revelation of sorts, what I called ‘My Awakening,’ I had invested about as much time reading secular materials as I had in practicing law.  My whole experience with the Murrays had caused me to flee Christianity.  Not that I quit going to church with Karla but I did start learning something outside what preachers and Sunday School teachers were spouting.

In short, the Noah’s Ark story is fiction.  It is wholly imaginary.  One doesn’t have to be a scientist to reach this conclusion, but to me, a reading of the science materials makes it more interesting.  The sea-worthiness of the vessel itself is not the only problem.  The ark wasn’t big enough to hold the thousands of species alive at the time.  And, the word ‘time’ is a big problem itself.  Ken Ham, and millions of other Christians, believe the earth is around 6,000 years old.  They also believe dinosaurs and humans lived at the same time.  This belief is clearly depicted throughout the Ark Encounter exhibit.  Scientists know the earth is around 4.6 billion years old, with the universe some 13 billion years old.  Also, they know that dinosaurs lived around 65 million years ago, with modern humans existing, at most, only 200,000 years.  And, I shouldn’t fail to say that there is absolutely no evidence that there was ever a worldwide flood.  That’s because, such thing is scientifically impossible.

As we purchased our tickets, we were divided into groups and assigned a guide.  Karla, her twelve students, Kaden, and myself were in one group.  Before we started the tour, John had the idea of keeping all the Upward Bound students together in one group.  The combined group of 20 was too large for one guide but the Encounter wanted to be accommodating so we were assigned a second guide.  It was wonderful.  I had to tag along with John Ericson.

I choose to keep my mouth shut and wandered along behind our large group.  But, I did keep my ears and eyes open.  The students, and Kaden, were quickly immersed into another world.  The two guides were patient, stopping and spending extra time at most every exhibit.  They spouted out their version of ‘truth,’ extolling their scientists for clear but controversial explanations for how Noah and his eight-member family fed and watered hundreds of animals.  I noticed how the guides skipped over how the workers handled the impossible problem posed by animal waste and a sufficient supply of fresh water.  I also noted how the guides didn’t mention that the scientists who worked for Ken Ham’s organization were in the minor minority of scientists who held to these controversial stories.  In fact, the truth is, Ham’s scientists are not truly scientists at all.  But, the theory that triumphed today for these young undeveloped minds was the old catchall: when we don’t know, clearly God did it.

As the day ended and we exited the Ark, John called our group aside and gave the young people his heartfelt message.  “Before we load back on the bus and head to our hotel I wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed today with each of you.  We have had a great day and a rich experience of learning how God works, how He takes care of His children.  For me, this giant ship, the Ark, just confirms the truth of the Bible.  Please allow your experience today to strengthen your commitment to God and your belief that God’s Word is perfectly true.  Each of you students, whether you are involved in our Upward Bound program or not, are facing great temptations ahead.  The world will try to tell you that the Bible is not true, that there was no Noah’s Ark.  But, you are blessed to have seen an exact replica of that vessel that saved mankind.  I urge you to put your trust in God and His Word and build your life on the truth.  Never forget that God is faithful, He is merciful, and that He is near to each of us, just a prayer away.  You can depend on God.”

As Karla, Kaden, and I walked back to the bus I couldn’t contain myself.  “I think I am about to throw up. I think I’ve caught the plague.”  Karla looked at me with puzzled eyes but finally understood I was referring to John’s speech.  Kaden was too young to absorb my meaning but did ask, “Papa, what’s a plague?”  After explaining to Kaden, we rode in silence back to our hotel.

I gathered our luggage and told Karla and Kaden I needed to skip dinner and stay in our room.  The hotel had agreed to provide soup and sandwiches for our group in one of its banquet rooms.  I rode the elevator to our room on the third floor and laid down across one of the beds.

I couldn’t think of anything but John and his stupid little speech.  Even according to his version of the truth, why wouldn’t someone ask why God had to kill thousands or millions of people?  Were they all sinners?  Weren’t there any children living at the time?  Did they all deserve to die?   I knew that John’s truth didn’t sell as well if God’s merciless side was brought up. 

The students were just like me.  They were at the early stages of being brainwashed, just like I was when I was a child being forced to listen to these lies.  From the time I was born, my mother had made sure I was beside her on a pew at Clear Creek Baptist Church.  I grew up hearing about Noah’s Ark, the parting of the Red Sea, and of course all the miracles Jesus performed in the New Testament.  My favorite of all time was the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead after he had been dead four days and ‘stinketh.’

John surely didn’t believe what he had told these young boys and girls.  But, did he?  Maybe he did.  John is not stupid.  I had never thought any of my fellow church members were stupid, but I did grow to believe they were very ignorant.  Why wouldn’t they be?  Just like me up until 1998 when I had my awakening, they had been brought up hearing only the Bible stories.  I had never in my life heard a preacher or a Sunday School teacher say, “today, class, we are going to fully explore the truth about evolution.”  Or, Noah’s Ark for that matter.  This approach to teaching would never work in Christian churches.  One-sided explanations were mandated. 

The biggest problem I was having with John’s speech was how neatly it fit with injustice.  John believed that a person, a Christ believer, can escape punishment.  All sinners can be saved no matter what they have done.  Embedded in John’s statements was his belief that one can live like the devil and still receive God’s mercy.  John didn’t say it exactly this way but that’s what he meant.  How could he believe anything else?  John had firsthand experience of lying, deceiving, and manipulating the justice system.  He knew for a fact that one can rape and murder and avoid punishment from the criminal justice system.  And, he knew from his Christian teaching, from the mouths of Pastor Walter and all the Sunday School teachers he had listened to all his life at First Baptist Church of Christ, that God loves His children and is faithful to take care of them, always forgiving their sins, and always answering their prayers.

Am I the only one who sees John’s hypocrisy?  No doubt John had fully escaped accountability from mankind’s laws.  Yet, he was truly a rapist and a murderer.  I knew the Bible was completely man-made but even assuming it was true, John would never be held accountable for his crimes by God’s laws. I was wrong in telling Karla and Kaden that I had caught the plague.  It was John who had the plague and he was doing his best to spread his infection to every young person who joined and participated in the Upward Bound basketball and Bible program.  Plagues were historically one of the most horrendous killers of mankind.  I was just one man, wholly without skills and resources to stop the spread of the Christian plague, but I could stop this one man, John Ericson, from continuing to infect these twenty-young people, and hundreds more in the future.

Nineteen years ago, I had an awakening as I watched the construction of our home at Hickory Hollow.  It was revealed to me that if Wendi and Cindi, and their parents, were to ever get justice, it was up to me.  Yet, I had done nothing for all those years even though my mind never changed.  Now, here at the Ark Encounter, I had been vividly reminded that my slothfulness in pursuing my purpose not only continued to delay justice for the Murrays, it also was allowing the Flaming Five to continue to spread injustice.  Not one of these precious young people deserved a daily dose of this plague.

I can only do what one man can do.  But, I will do that.  I can only focus on one of the Flames at a time.  John Ericson, justice is coming your way.

11/23/23 Biking & Listening

Here’s today’s bike ride. Temperature at beginning: 51 degrees.

Why I ride

Biking is something I both love and hate. The conflicting emotions arise from the undeniable physical effort it demands. However, this exertion is precisely what makes it an excellent form of exercise. Most days, I dedicate over an hour to my cycling routine, and in doing so, I’ve discovered a unique opportunity to enjoy a good book or podcast. The rhythmic pedaling and the wind against my face create a calming backdrop that allows me to fully immerse myself in the content. In these moments, the time spent on the bike seems worthwhile, as I can’t help but appreciate the mental and physical rewards it offers.

I especially like having ridden. The post-biking feeling is one of pure satisfaction. The endorphin rush, coupled with a sense of accomplishment, makes the initial struggle and fatigue worthwhile. As I dismount and catch my breath, I relish the sensation of having conquered the challenge, both physically and mentally. It’s a reminder that the things we sometimes love to hate can often be the ones that bring us the most fulfillment. In the end, the love-hate relationship with biking only deepens my appreciation for the sport, as it continually pushes me to overcome my own limitations and embrace the rewards that follow the effort.

My bike

A Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike. The ‘old’ man seat was salvaged from an old Walmart bike (update: seat replaced, new photo to follow, someday).

Something to consider if you’re not already cycling.

I encourage you to start riding a bike, no matter your age. Check out these groups:

Cycling for those aged 70+(opens in a new tab)

Solitary Cycling(opens in a new tab)

Remember,

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Novel I’m listening to:

 Nothing today.

Podcasts I’m listening to:

Waking Up app series/courses I’m listening to:

Emptiness and Bodhicitta

Here’s a few photos from my pistol route:

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/23/23

Confined Spaces – From Gaza to Knox’s Ordeal

In the quiet sanctuary of the Pencil Pit this morning, warmed by a new heater, my mind wanders back to the contrasting experiences of confinement that I encountered yesterday. The solitude of this barn, my chosen place of reflection, starkly contrasts with the stories of enforced and tragic confinements I absorbed.

An article I read yesterday from The New York Times about the crisis in Gaza lingered in my thoughts. Children like Khaled Joudeh, trapped not only in the physical rubble of a war-torn region but also in a situation far beyond their control or understanding. The image of Khaled, grieving beside his family, encapsulates a confinement of the most harrowing kind – trapped in a cycle of violence and loss, a life dictated by forces outside one’s control.

As I drove to Lowe’s yesterday, the narrative of confinement continued, this time through the podcast recounting Amanda Knox’s ordeal. Her story – one of wrongful accusation and years spent in an Italian jail – is a different kind of confinement. It’s a mental and physical imprisonment, compounded by the weight of injustice and misunderstanding. Knox’s voice, recounting her experiences, was a stark reminder of how freedom, something we often take for granted, can be so fragile.

These stories of confinement, both physical and metaphorical, make me reflect on the nature of freedom. In my barn, the Pencil Pit, I find a liberating solitude, a space where my thoughts and words are free to roam. This freedom, however, is a privilege, one that many, like the children in Gaza or Knox in her cell, are brutally denied.

It leads me to ponder the resilience of the human spirit in the face of such trials. There’s a certain strength, an indomitable will, that both Khaled and Knox exhibit – a refusal to be completely subdued by their circumstances. Yet, the unfairness of their situations, the pain of being confined and constrained by external forces, is deeply troubling.

As I sit here, my thoughts are a mix of gratitude for my own freedom and a deep empathy for those who are unjustly confined. These reflections are not just idle musings; they are a call to awareness and action. They remind me that while some of us have the luxury to build our sanctuaries, others are fighting battles for their basic freedoms.

Today’s mental meandering is a somber journey through the extremes of human experience. It is a recognition of the spaces we occupy – some chosen, some imposed – and the profound impact they have on our lives. In the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the early morning tranquility, I’m reminded that every word I write, every thought I explore, is a testament to the freedom that I have, and a tribute to those who are unjustly deprived of theirs.

The Boaz Scorekeeper–Chapter 39

The Boaz Scorekeeper, written in 2017, is my second novel. I'll post it, a chapter a day, over the next few weeks.

Over the next several weeks, as often as I could, I continued to sit in that grove of Hickory trees and watch our new home rise from the dirt.

Just as I expected, nothing became of the Murray’s deaths.  What I mean is neither the Flaming Five, their fathers, or anyone connected to these five prominent families, were ever tied to Bill and Nellie’s deaths.  In fact, these cases remained unsolved for almost twenty years.  Other than learning that cyanide poisoning had killed them, no other evidence was ever discovered that indicated they were murdered.  Of course, I knew in my gut they were.

In looking back, that gut feeling was a major transitional point in my life.  That, and a conversation between two block layers that I had overheard where the two had argued over the existence of God with the older man chiding the younger saying, ‘faith is just belief in the absence of evidence.’  These two events or occurrences in my life caused me to start thinking about truth and how to determine what was true.

I understood court cases were not determined simply by gut feelings.  Especially criminal cases where the level of proof was much higher than in a civil case.  The legal standard was proof beyond a reasonable doubt.  This level of proof is not proof beyond all doubt.  I guess one could say that would be unreasonable to expect that.

Up until Bill and Nellie’s deaths, I had put aside my growing doubts about God.  Nellie had been an inspiration to me.  She almost convinced me that there was really something to prayer.  That changed with her and Bill’s deaths.

I was raised to doubt my doubts and to anchor my life to Christ by faith.  But, wasn’t that like having a gut feeling about something?  Most of my life I had had a gut feeling that Christ and Christianity were true. Then, a time where I had a gut feeling Christ and Christianity was the single biggest myth ever. But now I realized that my early life commitment to Christ and God was rooted in beliefs implanted in me by nearly everyone around me, certainly the preachers and Sunday School teachers I had sat before and soaked up their every word.  I felt like a child to admit that I hadn’t been a critical thinker when it came to my religious life.  Oh yes, I was extremely critical in my professional life.  I had received an excellent legal education at Emory’s law school.  I also realized I had been educated, trained so to speak, by the church.  That training was an equipping in compartmentalization.  The Bible teachers had taught me to keep my thoughts and live my life in a spiritual bubble, and not to allow my secular world to infiltrate my Christianity.

Gut feelings and faith were simply not enough.  There had to be more.  I started reading outside the faith.  I disobeyed.  I rejected compartmentalization.  I broke down the walls between my spiritual life and my secular life.  I used my critical thinking skills to probe into my Christian beliefs and the overwhelming question that I faced was why does God allow so much suffering in the world?

My mind raced back to May 25, 1972.  Why did God allow Wendi and Cindi to be repeatedly raped by the Flaming Five?  Why did God allow them to beat them with a shovel, killing Cindi?  Why did God allow David to smother Wendi to death?  Why did God allow His children to suffer untold pain?  Why did I have to suffer through six months of incarceration and the humiliation of a criminal trial?  Why did the Flaming Five escape punishment, with their reputations and dignity intact, even though they were rapists and murderers?  Why did Bill and Nellie have to die?  Why were the true perpetrators not held financially responsible for Wendi and Cindi’s deaths?  Why was there no justice for Bill and Nellie?  And on and on.

I couldn’t answer any of these questions, but I now believed that either God didn’t care about any of these things, or He was powerless to prevent them from happening.  And, it wasn’t because God hadn’t been called upon.  I particularly remembered the scripture verse on the index card Nellie gave me the Friday her and Bill came to the office before the trial was to begin on the following Monday: “And all things you ask in prayer, believing, you will receive.” (Matthew 21:22).  I had heard Nellie’s prayer and how humbly and specifically she had asked God for His intervention: “Sweet and Holy Jesus we ask you for complete victory in this legal battle against those who murdered our daughters.  …. We simply ask you for justice for Wendi and Cindi.”

Why did God not do what He promised He would do?  This Bible verse is a prayer promise.  It could not be clearer: ask, believe, and receive.  Nellie asked, there could be no doubt she believed, but she certainly didn’t receive.  But, I can hear Christian apologists.  I grew up hearing all their arguments.  The very existence of millions of Christian apologists proves the Bible often says one thing, but God does something quite the contrary.  Why did the Word not mean what the Word clearly said?  No, it couldn’t be honest.  It had to be magic.  ‘God is mysterious.  We do not know the mind of God.  God has a plan that is far more loving than we can know.’  I felt beads of sweat popping out across my forehead.  I was angry.  I was angry that I had been so damn stupid.  The Bible was a lie, at least this verse was.  I had seen and experienced it firsthand.  I knew that a lying Bible didn’t necessarily mean that there was no God, that God didn’t intervene in human affairs, but it sure as hell meant I had been wrong to believe it was the infallible Word of God.

Those damn Christian apologists kept saddling up beside my mind.  ‘Micaden, don’t forget that God gave men freewill.  All the evil comes about because men are sinners and they choose to do wrong.’  For some reason, this argument no longer made any sense.  Even if freewill is the reason for all evil in the world (what about the pain and suffering that comes about naturally?  From floods, earthquakes, tornadoes, famines?) wasn’t I taught that God is all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving, and all-beneficent?  Now, for the first time in my life I realized that God cannot be all these things.  How could God be all-loving and yet allow Wendi and Cindi to suffer as they did?  I myself tried to help these two precious girls but was stopped by the Flaming Five.  I tried to help and I’m just a weak and lowly sinner.  God didn’t step in and help because He is not who the Bible says He is.  There, I finally said it. 

My stomach started rolling when I thought of the two prayer meetings that had taken place the Friday night before the wrongful death trial was to begin on Monday morning.  Nelle had invited me and Matt to her church, Calvary Baptist in Douglas.  Matt had attended.  Her church had a prayer meeting to implore God to favor justice, to give her and Bill victory over those who had caused the death of their dear daughters.  But, while that meeting was taking place, First Baptist Church of Christ in Boaz was holding its own prayer meeting for the Flaming Five and their fathers.  These fine folks were imploring God to hold back the hand of greed that was attacking their favored sons.  So, I’m to conclude that when God gets in a direct conflict like this, He protects those with the higher social standing, those who have more financial resources, all while ignoring the side that has the facts on its side?  This doesn’t square with the Bible, or at least, the version that I had been taught.

There was no turning back.  My mind was now on a course of truth-seeking.  Playing the mental games, I had been brainwashed into playing all my life; were no longer appealing.  No, they were absolutely appalling.  If Wendi and Cindi, and Bill and Nellie, were ever to receive any justice it wouldn’t come from a non-existent God.  But, it might could come from me.  And, yet again, I had had a revolutionary thought, one never snapping out in my mind.  Could I step in and mete out some justice?  I loved these four-beautiful people and they had been treated as the scum of the earth by five prominent families, by both a criminal and civil justice system, and by the Christian God who didn’t exist.  There, that day in late November 1998, standing in the middle of the road leading up to our partially framed but roofless dwelling, I determined I would create some form of justice for the four dead, buried, and seemingly forgotten, Murrays.

But, my determination was slow in evolving.  My idea to create justice was like so many ideas.  It got caught in a revolving door.  I became a hamster on a wheel, working to keep justice far, far away from my clients.  For the next seventeen years I traveled all over North Alabama defending those accused of every evil under the sun: murder, arson, theft, burglary, and unimaginable sex crimes. 

Nevertheless, I never forgot the Murrays and the horrible series of events that began on graduation night 1972.  Even though I didn’t pursue actual justice, I did continue to keep score, recording every game played by the Flaming Five, whether private or public, whether coaching and teaching at the Family Life Center, or selling God, money, cars, nails and lumber, and land and houses.  One thing never happened.  Not one of the Flaming Five ever fouled out of the game.  They were masters at running, passing, shooting. I had long concluded they were actors with far better skills than the very best of Hollywood.  To every eye but mine, they were in all ways happy and successful.  They were bulletproofed, or so it seemed.  Justice had never been interested in playing against the Flaming Five.  They were simply too quick, too fast, too smart, for justice to survive on the same court.  

However, as often happens in life, things changed once again.  In 2015, I almost forgot about my loss and my determination to seek justice for the Murrays.  It was Monday, February 9th.  Lewis lost the love of his life.  Susan died in an innocuous car accident, not much more than a fender-bender, at the intersection of Bethsaida Road and Highway 431.  Lewis and Susan had married in 2012.  Kaden Lewis Tanner, mine and Karla’s only grandchild, was born July 18, 2013.  Now, Susan’s near-perfect life had been taken away.  By God or fate.  An autopsy revealed that she was dying from an inoperable brain tumor.  It was in the early stages, revealing itself so far with only an occasional headache.  Susan’s death rocked our family and our life.  If there was remotely anything positive from the timing of Susan’s death, it was Kaden was less than two years old.  Lewis surprised us all.  He became the rock we all needed.  I still feel ashamed that I almost fell apart while he steeled himself for Kaden.  Within two years of Susan’s death, both Lewis and Kaden were living forward.  Michael Lewis Tanner was and is a better man than I am.

As bad as these past two years were, they were not bad enough to prevent my mind from returning to the events of May 25, 1972.  By early 2017, I once again started having nightmares.  When conscious, all I could think about was various levels of injustice in the world.  How could a loving God take sweet Susan from Kaden and Lewis?  What had she done to deserve that?  What had they done to deserve losing their wonderful and kind, wife and mother?  And, on a wholly different level, the same questions returned to my mind that I had asked nearly nineteen years earlier.  I had to do something.

No doubt it was long past time for new rules.  It was time the game changed.  It was time justice had a chance.  But, I needed a nudge to push me off the hamster wheel.

11/22/23 Biking & Listening

Here’s today’s bike ride. Temperature at beginning: 46 degrees.

Why I ride

Biking is something I both love and hate. The conflicting emotions arise from the undeniable physical effort it demands. However, this exertion is precisely what makes it an excellent form of exercise. Most days, I dedicate over an hour to my cycling routine, and in doing so, I’ve discovered a unique opportunity to enjoy a good book or podcast. The rhythmic pedaling and the wind against my face create a calming backdrop that allows me to fully immerse myself in the content. In these moments, the time spent on the bike seems worthwhile, as I can’t help but appreciate the mental and physical rewards it offers.

I especially like having ridden. The post-biking feeling is one of pure satisfaction. The endorphin rush, coupled with a sense of accomplishment, makes the initial struggle and fatigue worthwhile. As I dismount and catch my breath, I relish the sensation of having conquered the challenge, both physically and mentally. It’s a reminder that the things we sometimes love to hate can often be the ones that bring us the most fulfillment. In the end, the love-hate relationship with biking only deepens my appreciation for the sport, as it continually pushes me to overcome my own limitations and embrace the rewards that follow the effort.

My bike

A Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike. The ‘old’ man seat was salvaged from an old Walmart bike (update: seat replaced, new photo to follow, someday).

Something to consider if you’re not already cycling.

I encourage you to start riding a bike, no matter your age. Check out these groups:

Cycling for those aged 70+(opens in a new tab)

Solitary Cycling(opens in a new tab)

Remember,

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Novel I’m listening to:

 Nothing today.

Podcasts I’m listening to:

Waking Up app series/courses I’m listening to:

Nothing today.

Here’s a few photos from my pistol route:

Morning Mental Meanderings–11/22/23

The Insurrection of Curiosity

In the early hours of dawn, as I sit in the Pencil Pit, my barn transformed into a haven of thought and reflection, I ponder a quote by Nabokov that I stumbled upon: “Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.” These words, piquant and profound, resonate within the walls of this rustic retreat, where curiosity is not just welcomed but revered.

Yesterday’s experiences seemed to dance around this very theme. My 16-mile bike ride, a ritualistic embrace of nature and endurance, was unusually challenged by rain. Clad in a cheap rainsuit, ostensibly a shield against the elements, I found myself battling not just the external downpour but an internal one too. Drenched in sweat, every pedal stroke became a rebellion against discomfort, against the urge to seek shelter. It was as if the very act of pushing through the rain was an insubordination against the body’s natural inclination for comfort and dryness.

This physical challenge oddly mirrored my mental explorations later in the day, lounging in my bedroom chair, diving deep into Sam Harris’ Waking Up app. The episode titled ‘Beginning Again’ offered a contemplative journey into mindfulness and the power of resetting one’s thoughts. It struck me then how curiosity – the kind that propels us to question, explore, and even defy our comfort zones – is a form of beginning again. Each time we allow our minds to wander into uncharted territories, question ingrained beliefs, or challenge the status quo, we are, in essence, starting anew. We are shedding the old skin of complacency and conformity.

Curiosity, in its relentless pursuit of ‘what if’ and ‘why not,’ is indeed an act of insubordination against the mundane, the accepted, and the unchallenged. It’s a rebellion against the intellectual lethargy that often seeps into our lives unnoticed. Whether it’s questioning the mechanics of a rainsuit during a deluge or contemplating philosophical insights about mindfulness, curiosity propels us into a state of perpetual growth and learning.

In the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the tools of my trade – books, notes, and, of course, pencils – I realize that this space is a physical manifestation of curiosity. It’s where thoughts are not just born but also nurtured and challenged. It’s where the insubordination of curiosity isn’t just an act of defiance but a celebration of the human spirit’s unquenchable thirst for understanding.

As I embark on today’s journey, both in the Pencil Pit and beyond, I carry with me Nabokov’s words as a reminder of the transformative power of curiosity. It is, after all, in the questioning, the exploring, and the rebelling that we truly begin again, continuously redefining ourselves and our understanding of the world around us.