That word signifies a law of the universe — the tendency of all things to decompose, to fall apart, to decay. Eventually, of course, it means the end of the universe itself. We get a glimpse of it in the fall (this is not just physics, it’s biology as well) amid the splendor of the dying maple leaves. It poses a question.
That question was articulated by Leonard Mlodinow, the physicist and screenwriter: “…if the natural tendency of the universe is disorder, then where does the order of life come from?” Einstein loved simple answers to complicated questions, and this one comes from a seven-year-old — “Isn’t God the author of life?” He designed life’s questions to be understandable to the simple. Why not everybody?
Sometimes when we consider the complexities of life, we wonder, what can the uneducated make of it? That may be why Einstein looked for the simplest answer.
Biden is bidin’ his time. The verb biding comes from the Old High German, bitan, to wait. Like the lapsed Catholic that he is, Biden is waiting to reap his earthly goods from China. While Latino immigrants were his hope of salvation — they were the one thing Trump didn’t do better– now there are accusations that pedophiles have infiltrated the Border staff, and Biden’s attempt to win the public’s approval is on shaky ground.
He is a politician, used to mounting the high ground in what the Left likes: Planned Parenthood, overly generous government spending, friendship with nations who don’t have America’s standing in mind. Not much has been said about his son Hunter’s deals with China and the Ukraine. But he wants to be one of those politicians who leave office wealthier than when they entered.
Sure, we are all corrupted by this world, the media no less than those they report on. So this brief article is really nothing new; it is merely a reality fix.
Every day, in saying the Our Father, I repeat, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Today, I had to stop at the Pasta-eria in Plainview. I saw some Calzones in the showcase, and being told it was chicken inside, I bought one and they put it in the oven. It appeared to be a combination of Southern fried chicken, tomato sauce, and moozzarella cheese folded into a tasty pizza dough, so since it was lunch time I enjoyed a new variation of daily bread.
Intrigued when I got back to the car, my wife asked for a taste, so I shared it with her. Yes, she liked it. She had bought us some soda (Coca Cola and Sprite) and our daily bread was far from boring.
An omnipresent heavenly father is much more fun than some European philosopher’s chaos, like the one who thinks creation is an absurdity. Admittedly, sometimes I’m stymied too, but I don’t think satisfying my tastes was a primary goal of creation – bringing me into existence was challenge enough. I can develop my tastes whatever way I like, and hope it makes sense.
It’s called Divine Mercy Sunday, the Sunday after Easter, and it was promulgated by a nun who washed dishes. She was a simple but dedicated religious, and in a vision she saw how the modern world was in need of forgiveness. Ross Douthat, the New York Times columnist, reports that as a nation we have fallen from 70% to 43% professing a recognized religion in about seven years’ time.
While that does not sound good, although we have less professed Christians, Jews and Moslems, people still hold to the values of Western Civilization. The only trouble is, who will teach the upcoming generations? Christianity was spread. I, myself, have ancestors who were converted by Irish monks.
I have an innate confidence that the Creator of this beautiful world will raise up people to bring us back. What, after all, is the pandemic accomplishing? Don’t tell me you see nothing but chaos.
We were out in Suffolk county (no overpopulation) and my wife asked me for some money at a large farm stand. Having had a more carefree youth than she, I was on a jag to make it all up to her. “What hanging basket would you like?” she generously asked. I pointed to a white pot of maroon and white-faced pansies. There was yellow in there too. She went in and came out with a sales clerk to indicate the desired pot.
It was spring, and our whole universe was breaking out in the joyful wonder of rebirth. I couldn’t help but believe I’d see this woman again where she was the richest woman in half a galaxy. She drove all the way home, and I was able to save her from rear-ending a truck in a moment of inattention.
We receive and we give. It is the story of spring and resurrection. It is the story of life.
This compliment, offered for my brother, Rudy, at his death, mystified me at first. After all, his was a six-foot, eight-inch frame, and he was eighty-two years old. But I could see it might refer to a youthful genuineness, a forthrightness that is sometimes lost with age. It might also refer to a respect for moral principle that is sometimes gone with maturity.
We like to hear it about those who have passed, especially the feminine version, where it would refer to that innocent charm that is so becoming in women. There are many charms of youth that we should not lose.
It is believed that after the bodily resurrection we will have not only our best physical attributes, but all the enchanting virtues we acquired in such a hard-won way during life. So here’s to a life immortal for all of us.