Author: Richard L. Fricks

Richard L. Fricks is a novelist, former attorney and CPA, Fictionary Certified StoryCoach Editor, and creator of The Pencil-Driven Life. He lives in rural North Alabama near Boaz, where much of his fiction and reflection remain rooted. His work explores story, inherited purpose, faith and doubt, family pressure, moral contradiction, consciousness, ordinary life, and the practice of beginning again with a pencil.

Fact check: The Inquisition convicted Galileo of heresy, not science fraud

Here’s the link to this article.

Christian apologists would have you believe medieval priests were, first, men of science

Avatar photoby RICK SNEDEKER

MAY 04, 2023

The Inquisition convicted Galileo of heresy, not science fraud | Jupiter and one of its moons
One Jupiter moon, Ganymede (foreground), orbits its host planet. Galileo was first to discover these moons. | Adobe Stock, Manuel Mata

Overview

Yes, religious leaders in the Middle Ages believed they honored science. But they only did so when science first agreed with scripture.

Reading Time: 6 MINUTES

Catholics even today can’t seem to give up the conceit that legendary Italian astronomer Galileo Galilei (1564-1642) wasn’t persecuted by the Church in the 17th century for heretical religion but, instead, for bad science.

As if.

No matter that the Inquisition, the Church’s fearsome heresy-prosecuting arm in the Middle Ages, convicted the pioneering, cosmos-exploring scientist of heresy—i.e., criminally unorthodox religious views—not science fraud, for proposing that the Earth orbited the Sun, rather than vice versa (the scientific consensus at the time). He was then sentenced to life under house arrest.

Were top clergy in Galileo’s day science aficionados or deniers?

After all, Catholic pundits claim today, the 17th century Catholic Church had its own in-house priest-scientist cadre and was a thoroughly rational institution based on the era’s most internationally advanced scientific knowledge and analysis.

No matter that, with zero scientific verification, the faith’s core dogma—then as now—holds that an invisible, unlocatable deity universally orchestrates all existence and also personally attends to every infinitesimal aspect of each individual human being’s life on earth—and in the hereafter.

True believers in the permanently unknowable realm (i.e., divine religion) have a serious conflict of interest when also ostensibly professing authentic fealty to the known and unknown-but-knowable realms.

Yet a 2020 article in America: The Jesuit Review ezine—“What the story of Galileo gets wrong about the church and science”—its apologist authors wave any paradoxes aside by insisting that top-ranking Catholic clergy in the time of Galileo embraced cutting-edge scientific knowledge:

When churchmen … were against Galileo, they were not denying science. They had science on their side.

But the authors then added, “Nevertheless, as we know now, they were wrong.”

With science and religion, the twain never meet

No matter how endlessly Catholic thinkers and Galileo naysayers continue to claim faith and science are two sides of the same coin, they must necessarily fail. Indeed, faith can never be rationally conjoined with or contained within science, which requires an unbreakable connection with material reality.

Gods, angels and demons, for example, are not part of material reality as far as anyone can reasonably affirm. But planetary orbits certainly are. As are heresy convictions.

Still, just this week, I tripped over several articles—particularly this one in America: The Jesuit Review—zealously trashing as “myth” the idea that the Catholic Church targeted Galileo because it was presumably “anti-science.” The apologists claim that the Church was and is, in fact, uber-scientific in outlook, and Galileo was not persecuted for his unorthodox religious views but for scientific ideas widely viewed as rubbish in his day.

Why prosecute Galileo for heresy, not fraud?

If so, why did the Inquisition try Galileo for a religious crime and not, say, have a civil court prosecute him under scientific fraud statutes?

Sure, it was a far different time then, but still. The original charge of heresy against Galileo is a big tell of the Inquisition’s core intent. No, this was no civil trial, no principled defense of science purity. It was a power move by the Church to protect liturgical orthodoxy under the guise of protecting scientific truth.

And Catholic orthodoxy in Galileo’s time was, as Ptolemy and then Aristotle had long before (erroneously) surmised and the Bible then seconded: that the Earth is the center of the universe, and all heavenly bodies—the Sun and stars and other planets, etc.—revolve around it.

The Bible—particularly Ecclesiastes 1:5 (KJV)—embedded this speculative idea as divine law in medieval Western culture:

The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.

Even lionized American author Ernest Hemingway referenced this piece of scripture in the title of his novel The Sun Also Rises.

The Bible assumes the Sun rises. It doesn’t.

Except the “ariseth” Sun wasn’t true (the Sun, not Earth, is the celestial body around which other orbs “hasteth” in our solar system), and as medieval proto-scientists started snooping around the universe available to their eyes and primitive instruments, they began to see the lie in the Bible’s astronomical assumptions.

NASA’s Earth Observatory website observes:

For nearly 1,000 years, Aristotle’s view of a stationary Earth at the center of a revolving universe dominated natural philosophy, the name that scholars of the time used for studies of the physical world. A geocentric worldview became engrained in Christian theology, making it a doctrine of religion as much as natural philosophy. Despite that, it was a priest who brought back the idea that the Earth moves around the Sun.

The Polish Catholic priest “who brought back the idea,” Nicholas Copernicus (1473-1543), was also an astronomer. In 1515 he heretically realized that the Earth floated in a heliocentric (Sun-centered) solar system, where everything orbited the Sun.

Faith can never be rationally conjoined with or contained within science, which requires an unbreakable connection with material reality.

Copernicus, reportedly fearful of Church disapproval of his theory (although some scholars believe he was more worried about his findings being falsified), did not publish his heliocentric conclusions until shortly before he passed away in 1543.

Copernicus’ revolutionary theory unheralded for many years

From a modern vantage, it seems unfathomable, but Copernicus’ revolutionary idea did not catch fire for many years after his death, because disciples in his own and other countries also feared the Church’s wrath if they publicly supported heliocentrism.

One such scientist, Italian Giordano Bruno, was burned at the stake and his tongue pulled out with a red-hot poker in 1600 for teaching his students heliocentrism, among other ideas deemed heretical by the Church.

German astronomer Johannes Kepler (1571-1630) synthesized and expanded on Copernicus’ ideas, formulating three formal laws of planetary motion, including the actuality of heliocentrism and the discovery that planets followed elliptical rather than circular orbits.

But, unhelpfully, Kepler had a mystical bias toward his discoveries, according to Encyclopaedia Britannica:

Kepler himself did not call these discoveries “laws,” as would become customary after Isaac Newton derived them from a new and quite different set of general physical principles. He regarded them as celestial harmonies that reflected God’s design for the universe.

Galileo devised a much more powerful telescope than previously existed, with which he was able to see what no one had seen before. NASA writes:

When Galileo pointed his telescope into the night sky in 1610, he saw for the first time in human history that moons orbited Jupiter. If Aristotle were right about all things orbiting Earth, then these moons could not exist. Galileo also observed the phases of Venus, which proved that the planet orbits the Sun.

Galileo friend became an enemy once elected pope

But even Galileo’s old friend Mafeo Barberini, who when he was ostensibly a science-supporting cardinal backed Galileo after his heliocentric theory was attacked by another cardinal, ultimately—after Barberini became Pope Urban III—was unconvinced by the theory and considered it biblically heretical.

Worse, Pope Urban believed Galileo had betrayed their friendship by publishing a book slyly espousing heliocentrism in a fictional conversation between three men. In Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, one of the men, conservative Simplicio—“a composite of all of Galileo’s opponents”—promoted the geocentric system, which science was edging toward completely debunking and Galileo had spent the previous 400 pages of Dialague systematically trashing.

Opponents of Galileo convinced Pope Urban that by having Simplico endorse the threatened geocentric—earth-centered—view of the solar system, Galileo’s “intent must have been to make fun of it and, worse, of Urban himself,” noted a 1998 Washington Post article by Hal Hellman, author of Great Feuds in Science: Ten of the Liveliest Disputes Ever (1998).

READ: Religious bigotry muzzled Copernicus, Galileo, Jefferson and Darwin

Why this would matter to Christendom is plain: The centrality of mankind and Earth, which everything in the cosmos revolves around, according to scripture, are a critical precept of Christianity. This dovetails nicely with ancient Earth-centered cosmology. In addition, Hellman wrote:

The Christian idea of heaven and hell also melded beautifully with the geocentric system, which saw the heavenly bodies as perfect and immutable.

Church feared heliocentrism would ‘shred’ Christian doctrine

Hellman also suggests that Church authorities well knew even for years before Galileo published his damnable treatise that if heliocentrism were irrefutably demonstrated, “it would shred a significant portion of church doctrine.”

on the other hand
ON THE OTHER HAND | Curated contrary opinions

America/The Jesuit Review: What the story of Galileo gets wrong about the church and science

In 1616, well before Galileo published Dialogue, Cardinal Robert Bellarmine commented on a heliocentric treatise in support of Copernicus’ findings. In a letter to its author, Rev. Paolo Antonio Foscarini, he wrote:

I say that, if there were a true demonstration that the Sun was in the center of the universe… then it would be necessary to use careful consideration in explaining the Scriptures that seemed contrary… But I do not think there has been any such demonstration.

In a series of meetings between Pope Urban III and Galileo, the pontiff believed that the scientist had agreed to only write about heliocentrism as a hypothetical, not manifest fact. Urban’s view was that Dialogue sneakily did the opposite.

Inquisition ‘suspected’ Galileo of heresy

In the end, Galileo was convicted by the Roman Inquisition of having “rendered yourself suspected by this Holy Office of heresy.” After being forced to disavow heliocentrism and the integrity of his life’s work in science, and not write or talk publicly about it, he was sentenced to life under home confinement. Also, Dialogue was added to the Church’s endless list of banned books.

It wasn’t until 300 years later, in 1992, that the Church formally accepted heliocentrism, absolved Galileo, and de-banned the scientist’s earth-shaking treatise.

Even learned scientists in Galileo’s day refused to accept the idea that the Earth, rather than the Sun, moved. They offered the argument that if it were true, if you threw a ball in the air, it would land behind, in front or beside of you, depending which way the Earth was moving.

Which, of course, it wouldn’t.

But, it’s like the famous 1935 Porgy and Bess lyric by Ira Gershwin in his brother’s song, “It Ain’t Necessarily So”:

It ain’t necessarily so

It ain’t necessarily so

The things that you’re liable to read in the Bible

It ain’t necessarily so

However, as the history of religion proves, if you have enough ecclesiastic power, you can just arbitrarily command that it’s so.

The Boaz Stranger–Chapter 13

By 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning, Kyla had already fed the five Nubians, walked twice around the pond, and started a recipe of her mom’s slow-cook chili in the crock pot. Lee’s bedroom door was still closed, and she hadn’t heard a peep. The only way she knew he was home was by the silver Explorer parked halfway to the barn. Kyla wrote a note and placed it in the hallway, where he’d be sure to see it. “Helping Lillian move. Call me. Hope you rested.”

Easing through the stop sign at Johnson Builders, Kyla tried to remember the last time she’d been on Cox Gap Road. It had to be Rachel’s going-away party in the middle of tenth grade. It was the day after Christmas, a Friday night. Cold wasn’t the right word for that God-forsaken farm owned by Ronald Archer, Ray’s father. Kyla turned up the heat in her Silverado and tried to recall the name of the road. All she could say for sure was that it was a couple of miles past Happy Hill Baptist Church. She remembered the church because her grandparents had taken her and Lee to an all-day Sunday singing when they were in the third grade. Or was it the fourth? Anyway, the road was quite a way beyond the church, and it was a turn to the right. Lillian and Jane had both screamed at Kyla’s attempt to navigate the winding road.

Rounding the curve, Kyla saw a Weathers Furniture truck backed to the front door, a one-story cedar-sided cabin. Small, but cute. Lillian had asked her two days ago if she would mind helping her move. Kyla turned right on Alexander Road. She pondered where to park, beside the split-rail fence along the road or in the driveway. She opted for the latter.

It was between another split-rail fence surrounding a pond and the cabin. Kyla parked next to Lillian’s Aviator. The pond was gorgeous. Kyla especially liked the spewing fountain in the center and the gazebo at the beginning of the pier.

“Hey friend,” Lillian yelled from the back porch as Kyla removed a dozen donuts she’d purchased at Y-Mart.

“Hey, hope you’re hungry.” Walking to Lillian, Kyla considered what was happening with her best friend. The place was quaint, naturally seductive, even romantic. Any outdoorsy person would love it. But Lillian had never been that type. She had grown up in town and, after marrying Ray, had enjoyed all the finer things of life. Kyla concluded that, unlike herself, Lillian was too sophisticated for this place.

“Come on in, the Weathers guys are just finishing up. I hope you like my cabin.” Lillian held open a screen door and pointed across the porch to the kitchen door. There was another arched doorway on the opposite end, closed.

Inside, the place seemed larger. Pine-paneled walls perfectly accentuated the rusticity of the outdoors. The cabinets were the same. Kyla laid the donuts on a small but new-looking table. “Wow, I love it.”

“Let me give you a quick tour. It won’t take but a minute.” Lillian laughed and pointed toward a coffee maker about half finished with a fresh pot.

Lillian was correct. The cabin was small, with a ‘big enough’ den. There were two bedrooms on the north side separated by a ‘not-quite-big-enough’ bathroom. The bedroom toward the barn was full of boxes. No furniture. The front bedroom had a way-too-big bed. Kyla quickly calculated that Weathers had delivered a leather couch and matching chair, two end tables, an oversized coffee-table, a huge Armoire, and the small round table in the kitchen. According to Lillian, the former tenants left the gigantic bed in the front bedroom.

“When did you move all those boxes?” Kyla had understood Lillian to say two days ago they would make several trips this morning between her and Ray’s lodge and what she called ‘the Corbett place.’

“Uh, last night.” The two returned to the kitchen. “Coffee?” Lillian asked as she motioned Kyla to sit and handed her two paper plates and plastic forks.

“Half a cup, black.” She had already had two cups in her den waiting for Lee to join her. “Why not wait until morning? You asked me to help.” Kyla opened the box and removed her favorite, a lemon-filled with thick layered melted cream cheese.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why? I thought you take a sleeping pill.”

“Didn’t work, thanks to you.” Lillian delivered two cups of coffee in Styrofoam cups and sat facing the back door.

“Uh? What did I do?”

“Like you are that dense, you twerp. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

“Seems so, you got me.”

“I can’t draw, so I’ll spell it out for you: L E E.”

“Oh, my gosh.” The sophisticate surprised Kyla once again. Even though she knew Lillian had recently asked about her brother, it was only after Kyla had mentioned Lee. She recalled telling Lillian her brother was helping his in-laws with a case involving the old Hunt House. Now, she appeared star struck for want of a better term. “You’ve got to be kidding. That train left the station a century ago.”

“Half a century. Can’t you count?” Lillian paused and closed her eyes like she was searching the universe. “See if you can visualize this picture. Lee and I were both on that train. Unfortunately, we were in separate cars, rolling down the track headed in the same direction for fifty years. Now, here we are.”

Kyla broke her fork and grabbed another one from a box beside the coffeemaker. Instead of sitting, she leaned against the sink. “You’re fantasizing. The real world is brutal. Lee has scars, deep scars that feed his depression. I’m afraid he’ll never recover from Rachel’s suicide.”

Lillian stood and joined Kyla next to the sink. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”

“Of course. But you must be realistic. Even if by some miracle the two of you, what should I call it? Reconnect? I can think of at least two mountain-size problems. Three. I already mentioned the effects of Rachel’s death.” Kyla took one step and faced Lillian. Her eyes were sad. A tear was running down her left cheek. “Here’s the second problem. It’s called marriage. The way you’ve been for many decades. I doubt your loving husband will send you off with his blessings.”

“Oh please, I can do without your sarcasm. And I doubt even the repulsive Ray would appreciate the smarmy compliment.” Lillian rolled her eyes.

Kyla didn’t relent. “If those two are not large enough obstacles, there’s the third one. It likely is the worst: too tall, deep, and wide for a petted and pampered little darling like you.” The girlfriends had always preferred openness and honesty, albeit brutal.

Lillian turned away from Kyla and looked out the kitchen window toward the pond and the gushing fountain. “You’re so negative. Just like a psychiatrist I once knew.”

“Okay, I’ll hush. Don’t we need to get to work?” Kyla said with a twinge of sadness. She, like Jane Fordham, was an old maid, as in single. And, even worse, she’d never even been in love, so what the heck did she know?

“Oh girl, you don’t get to play that smart ass professor routine and then skip out to your next class. Tell me about the enormous elephant blocking my path.”

Kyla pondered Lillian’s analogy. Not bad for the girl who’d never worked in her life, assuming you didn’t count her teenage job at Fred King’s. Kyla nudged Lillian to the side. Now, each had their own sink to hold. “Okay, you asked for it. It’s called first love or teenage infatuation. No matter the label, it has long since faded into the sunset. Those feelings you shared with your first boyfriend weren’t real. Here’s reality. All you and Lee would get out of a current day soap opera would be some passionate sex. Don’t forget, because I haven’t. These are your words on more than one occasion, ‘there’s so much more to love than sex.’”

Lillian poured the remaining coffee down the drain and turned off the warmer. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I’ll always believe there is one special person out there who would get me and get to me. It would be a real intimacy that electrified every cell in our minds and bodies.”

Kyla walked to the table and closed the lid on the donuts. “I think you’re reading too many romance novels.”

Lillian said something about chemistry when Kyla’s cell rang. She removed it from last night’s jeans. It was Lee. “Perfect timing you have big brother.”

“Uh?” Lee was stirring the chili, trying to decide what he wanted to do while Kyla was away.

“I bought donuts at Y-Mart. Your favorite, lemon-filled smothered in cream cheese. I’m saving you one.”

“No way.” Lee asked questions about Lillian and why she and Ray were moving. “This chili smells great. Mother’s recipe. Right?”

“Always. Oh, if you will, add two tablespoons of sugar. Don’t forget to stir.” Kyla couldn’t imagine what Lee had gone through, was still going through. They had lost both parents in a car accident, but, as tragic as that was, Lee losing his wife to suicide seemed worse. No wonder he was so depressed.

“What time will you be back? I’m trying to plan my day.” Lee said, removing the crock pot’s lid and using the sugar bowl to pour in an undetermined amount.

“Probably by early afternoon. Lillian had her furniture delivered. We’re about to unpack and shelve her kitchen stuff.”

“What about Ray’s stuff?” Lee doubted Ray would move his own furniture. Something seemed odd.

“He’s staying at the Lodge. Lillian’s leaving. Moving in here at the old Corbett place.”

Lee didn’t pursue additional details. “I may get out a while. Do you need anything?”

“No, but thanks for the groceries. I saw them this morning. By the way, why were you so late?”

“Listen, we can talk this afternoon. You better get to work.”

Lee ended the call. He knew nothing about the Corbett place.

***

Lillian knew instantly that Kyla’s call was from Lee. “I’ll be in the bedroom.” She’d said as she exited the kitchen.

When Kyla joined her in the front bedroom, Lillian had already unpacked an assortment of burgundy sheets, pillows and cases, an ocean scene quilt, and a dual-sided black and gray coverlet. “Grab the box-spring cover.” Lillian motioned her head toward the back room.

It took the two of them several minutes and multiple tries to lift each side of the heavy mattress and manipulate the extra tight cover. “Dang, how about some fresh air?” Kyla assumed the sunshine coming through the thick wooden shutters against the outside wall hid a workable window. That statement had triggered Lillian’s story of forest scented Febreze and a woman named Faye. Their laughs became exhausting. They ultimately crashed across the bed.

Lillian finally stood, opened the shutters, and raised the window. “I bet I’ll never come to bed at night without seeing Faye and the adorable Eddie making love. Maybe I should have sold it to her.”

“Well, it’s not too late. Don’t you have a better king than this in your bedroom at the Lodge?” Kyla despised the idea of sleeping on a used mattress even if Febreze sanitized every inch.

“I do, but I don’t own it. It belongs to Ray.” Lillian said, tossing Kyla the edge of a mattress pad.

To Kyla, that seemed an odd way to operate a marriage. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. When you two tied the knot, it was the first marriage for both. Right? So, why the ‘his and mine’ routine?”

“Pull it down, tighter toward the bottom.” Lillian said, as a domestic expert. “Who said anything about my stuff?”

Kyla couldn’t believe sophisticated Lillian didn’t own a thing even though Ray (and presumably she herself) was rich. Gossip was that he was worth a billion dollars or more. Further, the two married five decades ago. “So, you don’t own a thing? Then how did you buy new furniture from Weathers?”

Lillian struggled to stuff an over-sized pillow into its case. “It’s complicated. I used Ray’s account, with his permission, mind you. And I don’t literally own anything. He’s about to pay me $100,000. Less what I’ve charged.”

Kyla asked a dozen questions, and Lillian answered them all. Yet, there was something confusing about the one and only modification to the prenup. “Then how did you get to move out and still keep your place in Ray’s will?”

“I grew a second set of balls.” Lillian’s word pictures were getting worse. “The first time was when Ray was negotiating the sale of his pharmacy chain. This time, he’s on the verge of building a Rylan’s in our hometown. There’s nothing more important to the local boy who made it big than his personal reputation, and his standing with First Baptist Church of Christ.”

“So, you threatened to disclose the three affairs?”

“Four actually, but let’s not quibble.”

“You said the prenup prevents you from divorcing Ray and from ever remarrying.” Kyla was having the same difficulty as Lillian with the undersized pillowcases.

“Or, ever cohabitating.” Lillian added.

Kyla had learned a lot about the law during her forty-plus year career in the marketing department at Coca Cola in Atlanta. “Dear, I don’t think that’s exactly legal. Are you sure you have a correct interpretation?”

“You’re not only beautiful but extremely perceptive.” Lillian smiled and motioned Kyla to follow her to the den. After sitting on her new leather couch, she continued. “It’s illegal, but my attorney has advised me to keep my mouth shut on that subject. Until I find some credible evidence, something that would transform my husband into playdough.”

“Now, I’m really confused.” Lillian patted the couch cushion beside her, showing she wanted Kyla close by.

“Listen carefully and know you’re sworn to secrecy. This is something I’ve told no one. Except my attorney. For years I’ve suspected that Ray, to put it mildly, isn’t a saint, not even considering his womanizing. I could provide a litany of examples, but the most recent might be more interesting. Did you know that Mayor King had initially suggested the old Outlet Center for Rylan’s location?”

“No. So, what changed? Why move it to a low-traffic area like Thomas Avenue?” Kyla knew little about the City’s expansion plans or its politics. But she had read one article in the Sand Mountain Reporter describing Rob Kern’s opposition to Boaz taking the title to the Hunt House. And, of course, she knew this controversy was why Lee was in town for the first time since 2002.

“This may sound crazy, but I think it has something to do with the Hunt House. Something infatuated Ray with that place.” Lillian pivoted her neck up and down, then back and forth, her neck bones making multiple cracking sounds.

Kyla was second to only her older brother in her ability to think, especially brainstorming. “That’s so weird. You know, the first thing that came to mind was Rachel Kern. Shit, if that’s true, this hits too close to home. My poor depressed brother.”

“You’re not totally wrong, but it might be for a different reason than you’re thinking. Ray is not pursuing a way to honor his high school girlfriend but to wipe away all her memories, his memories of her.”

“You’ve lost me. I know Ray and Rachel dated only during the first two years of high school, well, until Christmas of our tenth-grade year. Then, she and brother Randy, along with their missionary parents, left for China. Fast forward three years, might be four, and Lee and Rachel were engaged after meeting during their second year at the University of Virginia.”

Lillian started speaking before Kyla could finish Virginia. “And Ray and I were in Tuscaloosa and engaged about the same time.”

“So, what is it? Why would Ray have such negative feelings toward Rachel?” Kyla asked, remembering how smitten Lee had been when the mature-beyond-her-age brunette had moved to Boaz at the beginning of ninth grade. Lee literally fell in love after one look. But he didn’t have a chance against the athletic Ray Archer.

Lillian jumped up and ran away. Kyla thought she had suddenly gotten sick. But she returned as quickly as she’d left. “It’s getting cold in here. I forgot I left my bedroom window open. Now, to your question. I don’t want to say much because it’s mere speculation right now, but I’m searching. Based on what I’ve observed with Ray, when the name Rachel Kern or Rachel Harding comes up, he’s like the proverbial deer in the headlights. I can’t put my finger on it but there’s a physical reaction.”

“Let’s make a list.” The brainstorming Kyla was always eager to create a hypothesis. “I’ll start. What if something bad happened between the two?” Kyla laughed out loud. “Like, Rachel discovered Ray was gay.”

Lillian returned to the end of the couch. “Funny. Let me assure you that item doesn’t belong on your list. But I know there were rumors.”

“Rumors of what?” It was now Kyla’s turn to stand. Her mind was the one now racing.

“That Ray got Rachel pregnant.”

“No.” Kyla shook her head. “That isn’t enough. Especially given what you’ve said about Ray. And don’t forget, Rachel moved away. She took Ray’s problem to China.”

“Okay, that’s enough of the guessing game. Hopefully, I’m going to learn Ray’s financial secrets, maybe discover he’s dealing drugs or something. Anything to give me an out.”

“What does that mean?”

“The prenup. There’s a clause where he and I promise we have disclosed all our assets, and everything that would apply to the negotiations. If Ray’s been lying to me, let’s say he is a drug dealer, then I am free as a bird, and get half of his wealth.”

Kyla looked at her iPhone. It was half past noon. “I got to get going. I told Lee I’d be back by early afternoon.” Before she left, she apologized to Lillian for not being more help. The two hugged at the back door and Kyla made her way to her Silverado.

Lillian stepped off the bottom step and yelled. “I’ll keep you updated. And you take good care of Lee Harding.” Kyla shook her head and gave her best friend a wave.

When she turned left on Cox Gap Road, she regretted not asking Lillian the question that was on the tip of her tongue: “How are you going to learn this juicy stuff now that you’re no longer living with the man you despise?”

Little did Kyla know Lillian had a plan. Last night, in between moving relays, she installed two hidden video/audio cameras.

A Texas district called for 22 days of prayer to launch the new school year

Here’s the link to this article.

An atheist group called on the Burnet CISD to “cease promoting prayer and remove this post”

HEMANT MEHTA

JUL 28, 2023

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Earlier this week, the Burnet Consolidated Independent School District in Texas posted an official call for prayer leading up to the new school year.

Their image was even titled “Pray to the First Day,” with each of the next 22 days dedicated to a different school or group of adults, with the students themselves saved until the very end.

Needless to say, a public school district has no business telling people to pray, even if it doesn’t go into detail regarding which religion or what to say.

On Thursday, the Freedom From Religion Foundation sent a letter to the district urging officials to “cease promoting prayer and remove this post from its official social media.” Anne Nicol Gaylor Legal Fellow Samantha Lawrence wrote:

The District serves a diverse community that consists of not only religious students, families, and employees, but also atheists, agnostics, and those who are simply religiously unaffiliated. By promoting prayer, the District sends an official message that excludes all nonreligious District students and community members. Thirty-seven percent of the American population is non-Christian, including the almost 30 percent who are nonreligious. At least a third of Generation Z (those born after 1996) have no religion, with a recent survey revealing almost half of Gen Z qualify as “nones” (religiously unaffiliated).

This wasn’t a lawsuit. It wasn’t a threat. It was a reminder that calls for prayer shut out every member of the community who isn’t religious. And let’s be honest: The implication is that these are Christian prayers, so non-Christians are excluded too.

If a church in the area wants to waste its time praying for a better school year, that’s their business. But it sure as hell shouldn’t be something district officials call for.

The good news is that the Burnet CISD has already relented. In an email to FFRF sent less than 90 minutes after the initial letter went out, Superintendent Keith McBurnett wrote, “The Facebook post referenced has been removed, and the District will refrain from posting anything similar in the future.”

Problem solved… unless people notice and complain, in which case it’ll be interesting to see how district officials respond.

In any case, if the people in the community actually want to make a difference, then they should demand the Republican-dominated state legislature give educators raises to keep them in the profession and reverse a statewide teacher shortage, stop banning books that challenge students’ minds, end the assault on LGBTQ students, and do more to prevent gun violence instead of putting more armed guards in schools.

They won’t. Instead, they’re just praying (for nothing in particular in most cases) while voting to make schools worse. 78% of the county voted to re-elect Republican Greg Abbott as governor in 2022. Other Republicans on the ballot won by similar margins.

The end result is that students will continue to struggle because most of the adults in their lives have no clue how to fix the problems they’ve created.

07/30/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride.

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

I’m listening to The One From The Other by Philip Kerr

Amazon Abstract

In the fourth mystery in Philip Kerr’s New York Times bestselling series, Bernie Gunther—a former policeman and reluctant SS offier—attempts to start over in the aftermath of World War 2 and quickly learns that the past is never far behind you…

Berlin, 1949. Amid the chaos of defeat, Germany is a place of dirty deals, rampant greed, and fleeing Nazis. For Bernie Gunther, Berlin has become far too dangerous. After being forced to serve in the SS in the killing fields of Ukraine, Bernie has moved to Munich to reestablish himself as a private investigator. 

Business is slow and his funds are dwindling when a woman hires him to investigate her husband’s disappearance. No, she doesn’t want him back—he’s a war criminal. She merely wants confirmation that he is dead. It’s a simple job, but in postwar Germany, nothing is simple—nothing is what it appears to be. Accepting the case, Bernie takes on far more than he’d bargained for, and before long, he is on the run, facing enemies from every side.

Here’s a few photos from along my pistol route:

Is atheism unnatural?

Here’s the link to this article.

Avatar photoby PHIL ZUCKERMAN

FEB 03, 2023

Shutterstock

Reading Time: 8 MINUTES

Ten years ago, Psychology Professor Justin L. Barrett published a book called Born Believers, arguing that all humans are naturally wired to be religious—that we are literally born with an intrinsic propensity to believe in God. Religious faith for Barrett is therefore not only normal but deeply natural. And, thus, to be a nonbeliever is—you guessed it—abnormal and unnatural. According to Barrett, atheists and agnostics live in conflict with an innate predisposition that is an integral part of our humanity.

Barrett isn’t the only scholar to push this odd view. Leading sociologist of religion Christian Smith describes religion as “irrepressibly natural to being human.” Religious faith is so genuinely, naturally human, he says, that to live secularly is analogous to “crab-walk[ing] backwards.” Sure, it can be done, but it is awkward, untenable, if not downright idiotic. Smith even compares atheists and agnostics to individuals who choose to “repeatedly hit themselves in the head with sharp objects.” That is, we can choose to not believe in God if we really want to, but it is obviously inimical to natural, normal well-being.

Then there’s sociologist Peter Berger, who argued that the “religious impulse” is such a “perennial feature of humanity” that a lack of religiosity would entail a “mutation of the species.” Sociologist Paul Froese claims that “a religious sentiment is deeply ingrained in human nature” and that “a basic demand for a religious worldview is universal.” And economist Laurence Iannaccone recently insisted that religious faith is so naturally fundamental to being human that without it, people would “cease being recognizably human.”

And so forth.

The bottom line from this perspective is that religiosity is normal, irrepressible, and innate, while secularity is artificial, unnatural—almost unhuman.

Except it isn’t.

Religion is no more “natural” to humans than being nonreligious.

As I argue in my new book, Beyond Doubt: The Secularization of Society (co-authored with Isabella Kasselstrand and Ryan Cragun) evidence shows that: (1) there have always been nonreligious people throughout recorded history, (2) a large number of people today are not religious, (3) a growing number of societies are increasingly secular, and (4) when children are raised without religion, they tend to stay secular as adults. These facts debunk the claim that atheism and agnosticism are abnormal or unnatural.

Secularity in the past

First, there have always been secular people—at least as long as there have been religious people.

The earliest known documentation of irreligiosity comes from the Indian writings of the Carvaka —also referred to as the Lokayata—who lived in India during the 7th century BCE. The Carvaka expressed a naturalistic worldview and rejected the supernaturalism of primordial Hindu religion. They were atheistic materialists who saw no evidence for the existence of gods or karma or an afterlife. “Only the perceived exists,” they argued, and “there is no world other than this.” In ancient China, Xunzi, who lived in the 3rd century BCE, taught that only this natural world exists and that morality is a social construct, with no divine component. Also in ancient China, both Wang Ch’ung and Hsun Tzu were nonbelievers who argued that there is nothing supernatural or spiritual out there. Only natural phenomena.

Early forms of atheism, agnosticism, anti-religiosity, and naturalistic orientations were abundant among the sages of ancient Greece and Rome, including Protagoras, Xenophanes, Carneades, Lucretius, Epicurus, Democritus, Anaxagoras, Prodicus, Critias, Anaximander, Hippo of Samos, Clitomachus, Celsus – and so many others. In ancient Israel, Psalms 14, written sometime around the 3rd or 2nd century BCE, explicitly attests to the existence of atheists, and the ancient Jewish philosopher known as Kohelet, from the 3rd century BCE, voiced existential, skeptical doubt, claiming that all life is ultimately meaningless and that there is no life after death.

In early Islamic civilization, Muhammad Al-Warraq, of the 9th century, doubted the existence of Allah and was skeptical of religious prophets; Muhammad al-Razi, of the 10th century, was a freethinking man who criticized religion; Omar Khayyam, of the 11th century, expressed a decidedly naturalistic worldview; and Averroes, of the 12th century, was known for his secular skepticism.

In short, plenty of historical evidence exists of agnosticism, skepticism, atheism, naturalism, secularism, humanism, and irreligion throughout history, going back thousands of years. Such evidence illustrates that secularity has always been around, and as such, is just as much a normal, natural part of the human condition as religiosity.

High rates of secularity today

Granted, being openly secular was relatively rare in the ancient world. But it certainly isn’t anymore. Today, a massive proportion of humanity is openly secular. The existence of so many secular people in the world renders manifestly absurd the argument that secularity is unnatural.

If we totaled up all unaffiliated, non-practicing, and nonbelieving people in the world, the number of secular humans – according to Pew international data – would be around one billion. For some random global highlights: in China, over 500 million people are explicitly nonreligious, along with about 3.5 million Taiwanese individuals and at least 60 million people in Japan. In the Czech Republic, there are 6 million people alive today who are secular, 10 million in the Netherlands, 30 million in France, around 1.5 million in Argentina, and around 1 million in Uruguay. Given such demographic realities, it is irrational to characterize secularity as somehow unnatural.

To be sure, most humans the world over are religious, and only a minority are secular. No question about that. But just because a minority of humans are left-handed, or have perfect pitch, or are over six feet tall, or monolingual, or illiterate, or homosexual, or vegetarian, or colorblind, or have 20/20 vision, or are secular, does not make any of these traits, characteristics, or orientations unnatural.

And it is crucial to recognize that even though most people in the world are religious, there are now a handful of societies in which it is the other way around: secular people constitute the majority and religious people comprise the minority. The Czech Republic, the Netherlands, Japan, China, Estonia, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Macau, South Korea, Uruguay, France, Hungary, and Australia – all have religiously unaffiliated majorities. Scotland bears emphasis: with a population of 5.5 million, at least 58% the population currently has no religion. How can such widespread secularity be described as unnatural, at least with a straight face? Or consider Estonia, a Baltic country of 1.3 million, where widespread indifference towards religious beliefs and practices reigns: only 46% of adults believe in God; only 17% claim that religion is important in their life; nearly 90% never talk about religion with their friends or family; nearly 80% never think about religion; 75% never pray; only 4% engage in daily prayer. Is it accurate to describe the majority of this country as somehow unnatural? No. Their widespread secularity is simply a natural part of human cultural variation.

But haven’t these highly secular nations only had a nonreligious majority in recent years? Isn’t their explosive secularity a new historical phenomenon? Yes and yes. Yet even this indicates that religion is not irrepressibly natural and secularity artificially unnatural. For if religion can be widely abandoned and secularity widely emergent in such a short time period, then this speaks to the former not being so intrinsic to humanity after all, and secularity not being some unnatural beast.                                     

Socialization

But how is religion widely abandoned in society? One clear mechanism: parents stop socializing their children to be religious.

Socialization is the process whereby we passively, informally, and often unconsciously internalize the norms and values of our culture. Our experience of socialization is most profound and powerful when we are young, as we are growing up. And the people who most potently socialize us are those who raise us, keeping us fed and safe – usually our parents and other immediate family members. But any humans we come into contact with – either in-person or virtually – can socialize us, to varying degrees: neighbors, friends, teachers, coaches, nurses, or those we see in TV shows, movies, on TikTok and on Instagram.

Socialization is fundamental to religion’s maintenance and reproduction. Contrary to Justin Barrett’s claims, babies do not start out religious; they have to be taught religion. The process, in short, goes like this: small children are raised by religious people, who teach them the norms, beliefs, and rituals of their religion. Those children internalize that religious socialization and go on to be religious themselves as they grow up. They accept as true the religious beliefs that have been presented to them as such by their loved ones; they come to practice and value the religious rituals they have been socialized to perform; they come to personally identify with the religious group in which they were raised. And when these kids grow up and have kids of their own, the cycle is repeated.

In 2016, the Pew Research Center found that parents’ religiosity within the United States is a very strong predictor of people’s religiosity. Of Americans who identify as Protestant Christians, 80 percent of them were raised by two Protestant Christian parents; however, if one parent was a Protestant Christian and the other identified with no religion (“none”), then only 56 percent identify as Protestant Christian, with 34 percent being religiously unaffiliated. Among those who were raised by a Protestant parent and a Catholic parent, 38 percent now identify as Protestant, 29 percent as Catholic, and 26 percent as non-religious. We see similar correlations within Catholicism: of people who were raised by two Catholic parents, 62 percent are Catholic today, but of those who had one parent who was Catholic and one parent who was not, only 32 percent are Catholic today. As for people raised by two non-religious parents, 63 percent are non-religious themselves.

There are more permutations within this Pew study, but the primary finding is obvious: our parents strongly shape our religiosity, or lack thereof. Numerous studies spanning over a century bear these assertions out: people generally adhere to the religion in which they were raised; such is the unparalleled power of religious socialization.

But what is most relevant for our discussion, is that when children are raised secularly, without religion, they generally don’t become religious as adults. For example, Hart Nelsen found – looking at American families back in the 1980s – that if both parents were secular, then about 85 percent of children raised in such homes grew up to be secular themselves. These findings were confirmed in a British context by Steve Bruce and Tony Glendinning, who also found that children raised without religion rarely grow up to become religious themselves; only about 5 percent of people raised in secular homes by nonreligious parents ended up being religious themselves later in life.

Clearly, we have an innate, natural propensity to believe what our parents teach us, to accept the reality presented to us by those who care for us, to internalize the worldview of our immediate culture, and to enjoy, value, and despise what we have been socialized to enjoy, value, and despise. If religion is part of our socialization, we will most likely be religious. If it is not, then we will most likely be secular. And thus, if religiosity can evaporate in just one generation – as a result of secular socialization – it is quite erroneous to speak of it as irrepressibly innate. Barrett is mistaken to characterize humans as “born believers,” given the evidence showing that children’s religiosity is something that they get socialized into, and when that socialization is secular, children tend to remain secular.

Golden delicious

Secularity is just as normal, natural, and innate to humanity as is religiosity. While it is true that religious beliefs are popular, deep, and widespread, they are no more inborn to us than their absence. Religious faith is no more rooted in our nature than skepticism and rationalism. Maintaining a supernatural worldview is no more inherently human than maintaining a naturalistic worldview. In the strong words of historian Tim Whitmarsh:

“The notion that a human is an essential religious being…is no more cogent than the notion that apples are essentially red. When most of us think of an apple we imagine a rosy glow, because that is the stereotype that we have grown up with…and indeed it is true enough that many apples are tinctured with red. But it would be ludicrous to see a Golden Delicious as any less ‘appley’ just because it is pure green. Yet this is in effect what we do to atheists…we treat them as human beings who are not somehow complete in their humanity, even though they are genetically indistinct from their peers.”

Amen.

Er, I mean: Hear! Hear!

The Boaz Stranger–Chapter 12

It took several tries before I got the key to work. It was old. Probably as old as the house itself, being passed down from Mr. Whitman, the original builder, to Dr. Hunt, then to Rob’s brother Randall, whose estate turned it over to Rob. I assume Barbara as tenant had used it for the fifty-plus years she operated her bed-and-breakfast.

Once inside, I flipped on three light switches to my right. The grand foyer came alive, as brilliant as an exploding star. The chandelier contained dozens of uniquely shaped bulbs. It was like each had a specific job: to highlight a particular section of the walls and ceiling. I was glad Marshall-Dekalb Electric Coop had not yet disconnected the power. If it had, I’d be dependent solely on my iPhone’s flashlight.

Everything I saw was oak: the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and the staircase. The only difference was the stair treads were stained a darker color. As I headed to the second floor, I expected some creaking and groaning. None. I don’t know why I’d imagined the Hunt House was falling apart.

My knowledge of the house came mainly from Rosa. During mine and Rachel’s marriage, we’d see Rosa and Rob once a year, unless they were still serving as missionaries in China. During those rare visits, I’d always quizzed my mother-in-law outside Rachel’s presence. She despised the place.

On the second floor, Randy’s room was to the left, Rachel’s to the right. What interested me was the narrow stairwell landing behind her bedroom that led two ways: down sixteen steps to the first floor beside a pantry, along the east side of the giant kitchen, and up eight steps to a low-ceiling attic transformed into a reading and pondering room, as Rosa described it. This cozy room had one double window facing Julia Street Methodist Church and was Rachel’s favorite spot.

I entered Rachel’s old bedroom and immediately saw the door that led to the narrow stairs. Stepping inside, I turned, looked up, and reached above the door frame and felt the board that lay horizontally above the stairwell’s entrance. The light from Rachel’s bedroom sufficed to descend the stairs to the kitchen, but it barely reflected upwards where I needed. I removed my iPhone and clicked on its flashlight. Four nails secured the board I had felt. Two nails per side. But, higher, above the ten-to-twelve-inch first board, looked like a hollow cavity. My problem was I couldn’t reach it.

After descending the stairs to the kitchen, I exited the back door and walked to the detached garage. It was locked, but I found a half-rotten stepladder entangled along a vine-infested rear wall. Another problem. It seemed clear to me it was too long to do me any good. I probably could use the front stairwell to tote it to the second floor and inside Rachel’s bedroom, but even if I could stand it inside the closet-sized space, the ceiling of the narrow stairwell was such that I couldn’t climb the ladder. I needed something else, maybe a stepstool.

I had no choice but to return tomorrow better equipped for the task.

***

I hurried down the foyer stairs. It was a few minutes before 10:00. I wanted to be at Kyla’s before she got home.

I had already closed the door and was fiddling with the key when I looked upwards through the glass panels. The chandelier was still on. I turned the knob and reopened the door. When I reached to my right to flip the three switches, I heard a thud. Something had fallen. It was heavy. I left the lights on and returned to the porch. Two men were sitting in a swing twenty feet away. A shattered pot of red Mums lay inches from the feet of Mayor Ted King. Black soil lay across the wooden floor. At first, I didn’t recognize the other man, but then, like a computer, my brain searched for and retrieved decades-old memories and superimposed a fifty-year aging process. Voila. Ray Archer.

“I hope we didn’t startle you.” Ted had changed clothes. He was now wearing a pair of blue jeans, crimson red running shoes, and a dark brown cardigan sweater. His carefully combed dark hair looked like he’d pulled his sweater over his head and didn’t bother with his disheveled look.

Both men stood and walked towards me. I had no known reason to fear either of them, physically. Yet, I did. I now knew the fight-or-flight feeling I’d heard about my whole life. Ted was only slightly larger than me. I would describe both of us as scrawny. Ray was six or more inches taller and outweighed me by a hundred pounds. Although he had lost most of his high school physique, he could decimate me with one blow. I stayed quiet.

“You find what you’re looking for?” Ray’s attire was halfway between formal and informal. Unlike Ted who had been at the park, formal. But not as casual as Ted was now, informal. Ray’s pants were more elegant than your standard Khaki’s and his blue oxford cloth shirt looked like he’d just taken it from an ironing board. He wasn’t wearing a tie, coat, or sweater. His shoes were casual, tan-colored loafers. Ray’s gray hair made him look older than the image in my mind, a youthful Ray sporting a full mane of brown hair.

I wanted to lock the door and walk away, never saying a word to either of them. I decided that wasn’t a viable option. “Just looking, always wanted to see inside.” For a lawyer, that was an unneeded admission.

“But Rachel wouldn’t let you.” Ray said, now standing two feet away like a light-pole. His eyes were dark, like the inside of a cave. Outside of my one attempt to play junior high football, I’d never wanted to hit someone. That had changed.

“Let it go, Ray.” Ted stepped in. “Listen, Mr. Harding. We respect what you’re trying to do for your in-laws, but the law is on our side.”

“Whose side is that? The City’s or Mr. Archer’s?” I was saying too much. Ted reached his left arm out as though blocking Ray, like a traffic cop stopping someone from crossing the street.

Ted continued. “I admit this is a beautiful place, a landmark, but half-a-million dollars is a lot of money. A lot of help for Rob and Rosa. You should encourage them to take it.”

Ted could restrain Ray just so much. “Would help them forget their dead daughter.” What a complete asshole.

“Ray, go sit.” I was glad Ted had more control than his lumbering friend. “Lee, may I call you Lee?” Ray didn’t do as told but retreated to the brick and concrete porch railing. He leaned back and removed his cell phone.

“Okay, Ted.” I wouldn’t ask permission.

“I’ve read your motion and I must admit, it rings true if you look at history, what’s in the past. But let’s be practical. Barbara is gone. It’s unlikely there will be another bed-and-breakfast host to come along. And, you know Rob and Rosa will never return. The house is too big, I’d say awkward for such an old couple, and this ignores all the needed maintenance.”

I interrupted. “I haven’t seen problem issues.”

“Mold and mildew. Plus, the foundation is cracking. Again, the only reasonable way to look at this property is from a financial standpoint.”

“Rachel would vote for progress.” Ray couldn’t keep quiet.

I felt my blood pressure rising, but I bit my lip. “Ray, I’m warning you. Have some respect.” I must admit, I saw some decency in Mayor King. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Monday night, I’ll ask the council to approve another $50,000. That’s $550,000 for a property that two appraisers have said is worth, at most, $300,000.”

“How about three-quarters of a million?” I was pushing the envelope, wanting to see how high the mayor would go. I had no authority from my client to make an offer or settle on any terms.

Ray got riled. He stood straight and came at me, ignoring Ted’s arm. I didn’t back down as he stared down at me. He had been drinking. “You little shit-face. I’ll burn this fucking place to the ground.”

I’m not sure what would have happened if Ted hadn’t squeezed himself in between Ray and me. For sure, it wouldn’t have been good for me. “Okay guys let’s keep this civil. Ray, you agreed to come here to negotiate, not start a bar brawl.”

What Ray did and said next went beyond anything I could imagine, especially his words. He pointed his right finger in my face even though the mayor was trying to hold him back. The tip of his finger poked my forehead. “You’d think you wouldn’t be so damn interested in where your wife lost her virginity.”

How I kept from physically responding is beyond me. But this didn’t mean I wasn’t responding inside. It was like the proverbial fire hydrant exploded. Revenge was all I could think about. Thankfully, Mayor King persuaded Ray to retreat. The two walked down the stairs.

“Lee, I’m sorry about all this. Please know my offer stands.” I was still staring in disbelief when the two drove away in the Mayor’s Mercedes.

***

I forced myself to switch gears, away from Ray’s horrible words and toward the puzzle that presented itself. Once I focused, it didn’t take long to frame the most likely scenario.

After Kyla and I walked away from the refreshments table, Lillian had answered Ted’s question: “who was that guy?” Also, earlier, she may have seen and heard Rosa and Kyla exchanging the key. Later, Ted found Ray somewhere within the park and hatched the plot. Together, they agreed to pay me a brief visit at the Hunt House.

Without going back inside and turning off the lights, I locked the front door and semi-jogged to my Explorer. Ray’s statement, “I’ll burn the fucking house to the ground,” rang in my ears. I wondered if it had a hidden meaning.

I drove to Walmart and bought a three-foot stepstool, a claw-hammer, a screwdriver, a flashlight, and a box of vinyl gloves. During the return to the Hunt House, I mentally reviewed Rachel’s diaries. The 38 caliber should be right where she had hidden it. Unless she had lied. I truly believed I’d find the Smith & Wesson in that hollow space at the top of the narrow stairwell.

When I returned to the Hunt House, I exited my vehicle and did a full 360-degree scan of my surroundings. Once clear, I grabbed my purchases and climbed the front porch steps. Luckily, I was learning how to use the old key. The scene with Ted and Ray prompted me, after flipping on the chandelier, to lock the door from the inside.

I took it slow up the foyer stairs, not wanting to slip and fall. I didn’t know why I was now stepping so softly. Who was listening?

Inside Rachel’s bedroom, I laid aside the tools, gloves, and flashlight and expanded the stepstool. I placed one side on the stairwell landing and the other half about a foot inside the bedroom. I centered it below the door frame and provided the right amount of clearance to ease to the second step. Now, I could reach inside the hollow void above the board Rachel had said she removed.

Even though I felt something, maybe the spine of a book, I couldn’t reach down far enough to grab whatever was behind the board. This made me question why Rachel would need to remove the board. If she could access the opening, she wouldn’t need to do anything else. Just slip it over the board’s edge and let it go. She was right and often said I had the unpleasant habit of over-analyzing things.

I eased down from my perch and opened the vinyl gloves, sticking two in a front pocket. After tucking the screwdriver in a belt loop, I grabbed the hammer and flashlight, and re-climbed the steps. It didn’t take but a couple of minutes, holding the flashlight handle between my teeth, to pry the board away from the studs. It was maybe 30 to 32 inches long. Once removed, I lowered it to the floor and dropped it. Another thud, which rekindled my anger at the son-of-a-bitch Ray Archer.

By now, the flashlight was shining sideways, and I couldn’t make out what I’d uncovered. As I clutched it in my right hand and turned it toward Thomas Avenue and inside the now exposed hollow cavern, I saw the pistol. Rachel had sealed it in a zip-lock bag and laid it sideways against the boards that lined the wall inside Rachel’s bedroom. And there was more. To the right of the pistol were two books, both laying on their side with the spine reaching skyward. The one whose front faced me was another diary. I paused and put on my gloves. I removed the diary and couldn’t have been more shocked. The other book was The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the book Rosa had loaned Rachel.

07/29/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride.

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

I’m listening to The One From The Other by Philip Kerr

Amazon Abstract

In the fourth mystery in Philip Kerr’s New York Times bestselling series, Bernie Gunther—a former policeman and reluctant SS offier—attempts to start over in the aftermath of World War 2 and quickly learns that the past is never far behind you…

Berlin, 1949. Amid the chaos of defeat, Germany is a place of dirty deals, rampant greed, and fleeing Nazis. For Bernie Gunther, Berlin has become far too dangerous. After being forced to serve in the SS in the killing fields of Ukraine, Bernie has moved to Munich to reestablish himself as a private investigator. 

Business is slow and his funds are dwindling when a woman hires him to investigate her husband’s disappearance. No, she doesn’t want him back—he’s a war criminal. She merely wants confirmation that he is dead. It’s a simple job, but in postwar Germany, nothing is simple—nothing is what it appears to be. Accepting the case, Bernie takes on far more than he’d bargained for, and before long, he is on the run, facing enemies from every side.

Here’s a few photos from along my pistol route:

Drafting–Friday night at Tracey’s apartment, Part 1

It took less than ten minutes to walk to Tracey’s apartment. Although the temperature was in the upper twenties, Millie and Molly decided some exercise would do them good.

They arrived early, like they had at the Woolworth Building last Monday when visiting Bird & Foley, Millie’s new employer. The Stratford Apartments, per Molly’s earlier research, was luxurious, unlike their own place.

As mother and daughter walked the circular drive, they marveled at the bubbling fountains, plentiful trees, and carefully sculpted gardens. Molly imagined, come spring, the landscaped areas would be home to colorful flowers and shrubs, and provide irresistible temptation to prospective tenants eager for high-style living, dining, and entertaining. Needed, of course, would be a flush bank account.

The building’s lobby was equally stunning: marble floors, high ceiling, and wood-paneled walls displaying what had to be expensive paintings. The middle-aged man sitting behind the centrally located, half-circular metallic counter greeted them with a “good evening, welcome to The Stratford.”

After a brief chat about the cooler weather, and signing the register, Millie and Molly rode a gold-plated elevator to the twelfth floor.

Tracey must have been close since she opened the door after Molly’s first knock.

“Hello and welcome, so glad you guys came.” Tracey, tall and slender, was even more beautiful than mother and daughter recalled from their first meeting on the Greyhound bus.

“Thanks for inviting us.” Molly said. Tracey noted that Millie, although smiling, seemed subdued.

“You have a beautiful place.” Millie finally said, peering across a large living room, past two couples sitting on couches, and through an outer wall of windows to a semi-lite balcony. She guessed the room was at least thirty feet long and half that wide. It, alone, seemed as large as her and Molly’s entire apartment.

Molly couldn’t help but stare at Tracey as she took their coats and hung them in the foyer closet. And, Molly couldn’t help but envy her host’s penetrating green eyes and silky Auburn hair, now pulled to the back of her head and secured by an expensive looking silk scarf scrunchie.

The living room design was opposite that of the buildings lobby. It’s floor was covered in what appeared to be solid oak planks. The walls were marble with only two large framed paintings, resting at the same height opposite each other on the two longer walls.

The furnishings were simple, eclectic, minimal. In addition to two couches of different design facing each other, there were two arm chairs—also quite different–at opposite ends of the couches completing the oval space. Missing were any type of side tables. The extra spaces toward the foyer and the balcony were bare and each as large as the center section containing the furnishings.


“Come in. Let me introduce you to my other guests.” Tracey said, motioning for Millie and Molly to follow her into the living room.

As they approached, both couples stood and smiled. One man gave an awkward wave.

Tracey stood between Millie and Molly and reached her arms around their lower backs. “These are my newest friends, Millie Anderson and her daughter Molly.

They’ve just moved to New York City from Chicago.” Tracey pressed their backs moving mother and daughter two steps forward, then withdrew her arms.

“Millie, Molly, that ugly, clumsy man there,” pointing to a guy Molly concluded looked nerdish with his black-rimmed glasses and semi-crumbled shirt, “is my brother, Terrance. Next to him, is his wife, my sister-in law, Lana. He’s the pastor of Faith Haven Baptist Church a few blocks from here. Lana is a social worker for New York City’s public school system. God help her.”

Terrance and Molly exchanged fist-bumps, initiated by him, while Lana and Millie shook hands. He pointed Millie to an arm chair beside him. Lana sat and patted the couch beside her, continuing to look at Molly.

Before sitting, Millie and Molly said hello to the other couple, per Tracey, a Debbie and Vincent Jenkins. Neither offered to shake hands. Tracey added, “Vincent is my business partner. His wife Debbie is our secretary.

Tracey motioned everyone to sit. Molly, at Lana’s insistence, sat with her on the couch. Millie sat in the arm chair beside Terrance with her back toward the balcony doors. Tracey returned to the arm chair closest to the front door.


For the next fifteen minutes, as Tracey went back and forth to the kitchen to check on something that smelled terrific and as the other guests exchanged a few words, Terrance softly quizzed Millie about her and Molly’s recent move. He asked, where are you moving from? What did you do there? Why did you become a paralegal? And finally, why did you move to New York City?

As Millie, seriously disinterested in any sort of conversation, responded with short, innocuous answers, she watched the pastor’s face and body language: penetrating eyes, head cocked upwards, near-perfect diction and posture, frequent hand-movements, and attention focused wholly on her. Clearly, Pastor Terrance Dawson was refined and most likely controlled by a Type A personality. Millie chose three words to represent her newest acquaintance: confident, controlling, and arrogant.

Still disinterested but not to be outdone (or viewed as milk-toast), Millie launched her own volley of questions, including, why did you become a pastor? Terrance’s response came quickly and resolutely, “personal tragedies, sadness, helplessness, and hopelessness with no future except one consumed by depression.”

Millie listened intently to his story, one she’d partially heard from Tracey during their bus ride. The siblings had lost their mother and sister, Tracey’s twin, when Terrance was fifteen. Two separate auto accidents had taken both lives on the very same day. Then, six years later, after a move to New York City, their father had been murdered at a convenience store. It was the night of Tracey’s high school graduation.

After his father’s death, Terrance had dropped out of college and almost died of hopelessness and alcohol. However, he attributed his recovery to an encounter with God, one so vivid and personal he’d never forget. It had changed his life, and had done so without medical intervention from doctors or medicines. Soon afterwards, the ‘miracle’ had revealed his life purpose and led him to The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, and thereafter to his first pastorate.

Before Millie could request further details about Terrance’s encounter with God, Tracey returned from the kitchen and announced dinner would be served in the dining room. This had prompted him to suggest to Millie they get together over coffee in a few days and let him describe how God healed him of his alcoholism and mental collapse, and set him onto a path of promise and purpose.

Molly reached for Millie’s hand as they stood and followed Tracey into the dining room. The pair had previously decided to sit next to each other so they’d have someone to talk to.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve assigned seats. It’ll be a good way to get to know your next door neighbor.” Tracey said using air quotes when she spoke the last three words. She guided Molly to the end of the rectangular table closest to the kitchen. Millie was placed opposite her daughter, at the other end. “You two are my special guests of honor.” Tracey said alternating her gaze between Millie and Molly. The other four guests found their place cards and sat while Tracey stood in front of her chair to Molly’s left.

The food on the table & tracey & terrance’s exchange about praying

Before them were Pesto Bolognese Lasagna, a shredded brussels sprout bacon salad with warm cider vinaigrette, and two loaves of Focaccia Bread. “My sis is an excellent cook.” Terrance announced from Millie’s right, looking directly at Tracey.

She laughed and said, “and that’s my brother’s way of saying he’s ready to pray.” Molly noticed everyone either snickered or rolled their eyes, except for Lana. “But, just a short one.” Tracey added.

Terrance reached out his hands for Vincent to his right and Millie to his left. “Let’s pray.” As requested, it was short, only thanking God for a beautiful day, excellent food, and new friends. His second sentence implored ‘the Almighty’ to guide and bless them ‘along life’s way.’ Terrance ended with, “we ask these things in Jesus holy name.”

While her brother prayed, Tracey’s mind was mixed, torn between the years-long rift between the two of them, and their recent agreement to try their best, for their family’s sake, to restore their relationship. No doubt each would remain unchanged in their deeply-held beliefs, but to honor their dead mother, sister, and father, it was time to spend some quality time together. Tonight’s dinner was the first step.

After everyone passed their dinner plates to Tracey, she served everyone a generous portion of lasagna while Debbie made salads. Victor grabbed two slices of bread from the tray in front of him and handed it to Terrance.

“What’s in the lasagna?” Lana asked, thinking this might impress her husband who was always criticizing her for being too bland in the kitchen, not to mention the bedroom.

“Slow cooked Bolognese sauce with a mix of beef, peppers, sweet tomatoes, and herbs. I layered that combination with basil pesto ricotta, provolone cheese, and lasagna noodles. By the way, I didn’t boil the noodles.”

“Smells and looks great,” Terrance said, accepting his dinner plate from Tracey.

Molly’s nausea from smell of lasagna

Molly had felt her nausea coming on the minute she stepped inside the dining room. Now, with a plate of lasagna in front of her, and the smell attacking her nose, she asked, “I’m sorry, but where’s your bathroom?”

Her eyes met Tracey’s who quickly noticed her young guest’s ashen face. “Follow me. Terrance, please take over the serving.”

Millie excused herself and traipsed behind Molly and Tracey as they headed to the bathroom just off the foyer. “It’s not a stomach bug, not contagious.”

Millie’s statement confused Tracey but she chose not to respond.

Inside the bathroom, alone, Molly dampened several layers of tissue and wiped her face. Surprisingly, her nausea relented after only a few minutes. “I’m much better,” she announced to Millie and Tracey standing, waiting, in the foyer. “I’ll be along in a few minutes. You guys go enjoy a wonderful meal.”

Molly was further surprised when she returned to her seat and ate a few bites of the lasagna. It was the best she’d ever had, flavorful, especially after adding extra Parmesan cheese.

She also enjoyed the bread, focaccia bread per Debbie who’d also told her it originated in Italy and means ‘hearth bread.’ Debbie said she made it all the time, mainly because it could be sliced and used for sandwiches, plus, it didn’t get stale like traditional bread does. It was something to do with the high quantity of olive oil and other herbs.

Literary Problems with the Gospel Accounts of Jesus’ Burial

Here’s the link to this article by Bart Ehrman.

July 23, 2023

Here is a section from my book How Jesus Became God  (HarperOne, 2014) that deals with the question of whether Jesus was actually given a decent burial by Joseph of Arimathea.  At this point of my discussion I am not looking into the question of whether it is plausible that Jesus would be buried on the day of his execution given what we know from other historical sources, about Roman practices, but at general problems with the reporting in the Gospels.

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According to our earliest account, the Gospel of Mark, Jesus was buried by a previously unnamed and unknown figure, Joseph of Arimathea, “a respected member of the council” (Mark 15:43) – that is, a Jewish aristocrat who belonged to the Sanhedrin, which was the ruling body made up of “chief priests, elders, and scribes” (Mark 14:53).  According to Mark 15:43, Joseph summoned up his courage and asked Pilate for Jesus’ body.  When Pilate learned that Jesus was already dead, he granted Joseph his wish, and he took the body from cross, wrapped it in a linen shroud, “laid him in a tomb which had been hewn out of the rock,” and then rolled a stone in front of it (15:44-47).  Mary Magdalene and another woman named Mary saw where this happened (15:48).

Let me stress that all of this – or something very much like it – needs to happen within Mark’s narrative in order to make sense of what happens next, namely that on the day after the Sabbath Mary Magdalene and two other women come to the tomb and find it empty.  If there were no tomb for Jesus, or if no one knew where the tomb was, the bodily resurrection could not viably be proclaimed.   You have to have a known tomb.

But was there one?  Did Joseph of Arimathea really bury Jesus?

General Considerations

There are numerous reasons for doubting the tradition of Jesus’ burial by Joseph.  For one thing, it is hard to make historical sense of this tradition just within the context of Mark’s own narrative.  Joseph’s identification as a respected member of the Sanhedrin should immediately raise questions.   Mark himself indicated that at Jesus’ trial, which took place the previous evening, the “whole council” of the Sanhedrin (not just some or most of them – all of them) tried to find evidence “against Jesus to put him to death” (14:55).  At the end of this trial, because of Jesus’ statement that he was the Son of God (14:62), “they all condemned him as deserving death.”   In other words, according to Mark himself, this unknown person, Joseph, was one of the people who had called for Jesus’ death just the night before he was crucified.  Why now is he suddenly risking himself (as implied by the fact that he had to gather up his courage) and seeking to do an act of mercy by arranging for a decent burial for Jesus’ corpse?   Mark gives us no clue.[1]  My hunch is that the trial narrative is from a different set of traditions inherited by Mark from the burial narrative.  Or did Mark simply invent one of the two traditions himself and overlook the apparent discrepancy?

In any event, a burial by Joseph is clearly a historical problem in light of other passages just within the New Testament.   I pointed out earlier  [in my book, How Jesus Became God] that Paul shows no evidence of knowing anything about a Joseph of Arimathea or a decent burial of Jesus by a “respected member of the council.”  This datum was not included in the very early creed that Paul quotes in 1 Cor. 15:3-5, and if the author of that creed had known such a thing, he surely would have included it, since without naming the person who buried Jesus he has created an imbalance with the second portion of the creed where he does name the person to whom Jesus appeared (Cephas).  Thus this early creed knows nothing about Joseph.  And Paul himself betrays no knowledge of him.

Moreover, there is another tradition of Jesus’ burial that says nothing about Joseph of Arimathea.   As I pointed out earlier, the book of Acts was written by the same author as the Gospel of Luke.  When writing Luke, this unknown author (we obviously call him Luke, but we don’t know who he really was) utilized a number of earlier written and oral sources for his stories, as he himself indicates (Luke 1:1-4).  Scholars today are convinced that one of his sources was the Gospel of Mark, and so Luke includes the story of Joseph of Arimathea in his version of Jesus’ death and resurrection.

When Luke wrote his second volume, the book of Acts, he had yet other sources available to him.   Acts is not about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, but about the spread of the Christian church throughout the Roman empire afterward.   About one-fourth of the book of Acts consists of speeches made by its main characters, mainly Peter and Paul; speeches, for example, to convert people to believe in Jesus or to instruct those who already believe.  Scholars have long recognized that Luke himself wrote these speeches – they are not the speeches that these apostles really delivered at one time or another.   Luke is writing decades after the events he narrates, and there was no one at the time who was taking notes.  Ancient historians as a whole made up the speeches of their main characters, as such a stalwart historian as the Greek Thucydides explicitly tells us (Peloponnesian War 1.22.1-2).  They had little choice.

When Luke composed his speeches, however, it appears that he did so, in part, on the basis of earlier sources that had come down to him —  just as his accounts of Jesus’ teachings in the Gospel came from earlier sources (such as Mark).  But if different traditions (speeches, for example) come from different sources, there is no guarantee that they will stand in complete harmony with one another.  If they do not stand in harmony, it is almost always because someone is changing the stories or making something  up .

That makes Paul’s speech in Acts 13 very interesting.   Paul is speaking in a synagogue service in Antioch of Pisidia, and he uses the occasion to tell them that the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem had sinned severely against God by having Jesus killed:

Though they could charge him with nothing deserving death, yet they asked Pilate to have him killed.  And when they had fulfilled all that was written of him, they took him down from the tree and laid him in a tomb.  (Acts 13:28-29)

At first glance this appears to harmonize with what the Gospels say about Jesus’ death and burial, but not on closer examination.  For here it is not a single member of the Sanhedrin who buries Jesus, but the council as a whole.  This is a different tradition.  There is no word of Joseph here, any more than there is in Paul’s own letters.  Does this older (pre-Lukan) tradition represent an older tradition than what is found in Mark about Joseph of Arimathea?  Is the oldest surviving  burial tradition that Jesus was buried by a group of Jews?

It would make sense that this was the older tradition of the two.   Any tradition that is going to lead up to an empty tomb simply has to show that Jesus was properly buried, in a tomb.  But who could do the burial?  According to all the traditions, Jesus did not have any family in Jerusalem, and so there was no possibility of a family tomb in which to lay him or family members to do the requisite work of burial. Moreover, the accounts consistently report that his followers had all fled the scene, so they could not do the job.  The Romans were not about to do it, for reasons that will become clear in later in this chapter.   That leaves only one choice.  If the followers of Jesus knew that he “had” to be buried in a tomb – since otherwise there could be no story about the tomb being empty — and they had to invent a story that described this burial, then the only ones who could possibly do the deed were the Jewish authorities themselves.  And so that is the oldest tradition we have, as embodied in Acts 13:29.  Possibly this is the tradition that lies behind 1 Cor. 15:4 as well: “and he was buried.”

As the tradition came to be told and retold, it possibly became embellished and made more concrete.  Storytellers were apt to add details to stories that previously were vague.  There was a very long-lived tradition to put names on people otherwise left nameless in the tradition, and to add named individuals to stories that originally spoke only of nameless individuals or undifferentiated groups of people.   This is a tradition that lived on long after the New Testament period, as my own teacher Bruce Metzger showed so elegantly in a brilliant article that he called “Names for the Nameless.”[2]  Here he showed all the traditions of people who were unnamed in New Testament stories receiving names later – for example, we get names of the wise men in later traditions, and names of the priests serving on the Sanhedrin when they condemned Jesus, and names of the two robbers who were crucified with him.  In the story of Joseph of Arimathea we may have an early instance of the phenomenon: what was originally a vague statement that the unnamed Jewish leaders buried him becomes a story of one leader in particular, who is named, doing so.

In addition, we have clear evidence in the Gospel traditions that as time went on, and stories were embellished, there was a tendency to find “good guys” among the “bad guys” of the stories.   For example, in Mark’s Gospel both the criminals being crucified with Jesus malign and mock him on the cross; in Luke’s later Gospel only one of the two does so, and the other confesses faith in Jesus and asks him to remember him when he comes into his kingdom (Luke 22:39-43).  In John’s Gospel there is an additional good guy among the Sanhedrin bad guys who wants to help in Jesus’ burial, as Nicodemus accompanies Joseph to do his duties to Jesus’ corpse (John 19:38-42).  Most notable is Pontius Pilate, who condemned Jesus to death in our earliest Gospel Mark, but does so only with great reluctance in Matthew, and only after explicitly declaring Jesus innocent three times in both Luke and John; in later Gospels from outside the New Testament Pilate is portrayed as increasingly innocent, to the point that he actually converts and becomes a believer in Jesus.

In part this ongoing and increasing exoneration of Pilate is enacted in order to show where the real guilt for Jesus’ undeserved death lies.  For these authors living long after the fact, the guilt lies with the recalcitrant Jews.  But the pattern is also part of process of trying to find someone good in the barrel of rotten opponents of Jesus.   Naming Joseph of Arimathea as a kind of secret admirer or respecter or even follower of Jesus may be part of the same process.

In addition to the rather general considerations I have just given for calling into question the idea that Jesus received a decent burial by Joseph of Arimathea, there are three more specific reasons for doubting the tradition that Jesus received a decent burial at all, in a tomb that could later be recognized as emptied.

[1] For someone who wants to take the account as historical, the best solution is that Joseph was acting out of a sense of piety, wanting to provide a decent burial for someone – even an enemy – because that was the “right” thing to do.  But there is nothing in Mark’s account that leads to this suggestion, so that within the narrative itself, when the burial tradition comes on the heels of the trial tradition, it appears to create an anomaly.

[2]Metzger, Bruce, “Names for the Nameless in the New Testament: A Study in the Growth of Christian Tradition,” in Patrick Granfield & Josef A. Jungmann (eds.), Kyriakon: Festschrift Johannes Quasten, 2 vols. (Münster: Verlag Aschendorff, 1970) vol. 1: 79-99.

07/28/23 Biking & Listening

Biking is something else I both love and hate. It takes a lot of effort but does provide good exercise and most days over an hour to listen to a good book or podcast. I especially like having ridden.

Here’s my bike, a Rockhopper by Specialized. I purchased it November 2021 from Venture Out in Guntersville; Mike is top notch! So is the bike, and the ‘old’ man seat I salvaged from an old Walmart bike.

Here’s a link to today’s bike ride.

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

I’m listening to The One From The Other by Philip Kerr

Amazon Abstract

In the fourth mystery in Philip Kerr’s New York Times bestselling series, Bernie Gunther—a former policeman and reluctant SS offier—attempts to start over in the aftermath of World War 2 and quickly learns that the past is never far behind you…

Berlin, 1949. Amid the chaos of defeat, Germany is a place of dirty deals, rampant greed, and fleeing Nazis. For Bernie Gunther, Berlin has become far too dangerous. After being forced to serve in the SS in the killing fields of Ukraine, Bernie has moved to Munich to reestablish himself as a private investigator. 

Business is slow and his funds are dwindling when a woman hires him to investigate her husband’s disappearance. No, she doesn’t want him back—he’s a war criminal. She merely wants confirmation that he is dead. It’s a simple job, but in postwar Germany, nothing is simple—nothing is what it appears to be. Accepting the case, Bernie takes on far more than he’d bargained for, and before long, he is on the run, facing enemies from every side.

Here’s a few photos from along my pistol route: