THERE WAS MORE TO BILL MOULTON THAN MET THE EYE

I knew Bill Moulton only as a cheerful greater at Walmart in Port Elgin and a guy about my age. We always passed the time of day, with me often and typically sharing a joke at his expense. I hadn't seen Bill at his usual greeter's stand for the past year, but often ran across him at Tim Hortons in Southampton, accompanied by his wife...He was increasingly frail and required the aid of a walker.

Bill Moulton passed away peacefully in the early morning hours of March 23rd, 2020. As is so often the case, there was a side to this man that did not meet the eye and was completely unknown to me until I read his obituary. 

Bill Moulton

The only child of Clement and Harriet (Morrow) Moulton, he grew up in Windsor, ON, attending Walkerville Collegiate Institute. Bill met his first wife, Joan, at McGill University and they had four sons. Bill’s early business career was quite itinerant with stops in Kitchener, London, Peterborough, and finally landing in Mississauga in 1967. It was with great joy that he shared a passion for sports with his entire family. Whether it was coaching his boys in hockey and baseball or his endeavours as a collegiate football referee, Bill always managed to be abreast of all things sport. An avid collector of Sports Illustrated, he eventually managed to corral the entire series and had to build a separate abode (The Bunkie) for his collection.

He was an intercollegiate referee and his association recommended that the Canadian Football League (CFL) bring him into their system for obvious reasons, but the CFL thought he was too old at the time. In actual fact, he was only in his early 30’s.

Signalling a touchdown at
University of Western Ontario

Following Missisaugan Ron Cabot’s (Toronto Blue Jay scout) lead, Bill was a major contributor in coaching and helping organize the original Mississauga Sabre junior baseball teams. Son, Jay, remembers helping Ron and and his Dad, and their fellow Mississauga Sabre baseball players groom a true baseball field at Huron Park in Erindale. “I believe that three or more players from those teams were drafted professionally. Dad was too modest to boast about any of that!”

Bill never spoke about his accomplishments. There were many. Raised on a steady diet of sports in Windsor, he was an accomplished athlete in hockey and football, played football for the McGill Redmen and was invited to the Hamilton Ticats’ training camp. Bill then developed into one of Canada’s best football officials. He set a record for most Canadian College Championship Football games officiated and was selected to the elite officiating crew for the 1978 Can-Am College Bowl game in Tampa, Florida.

Putting it all together now, I'm sure I saw Bill officiate a couple of inter-collegiate football games at the University of Western Ontario in London about 1964 or '65, along with referee friends from my days in St. Thomas -- Ben Murray and Sparky Luscombe. If only I had thought about it sooner.

Wearing his professional engineering ring with pride, he graduated as a civil engineer and began his career working for Canadian Blower and Forge, J.H. Ryder, and the Austin Company. He later moved into a variety of fields from cosmetics to automobiles, working mainly in sales and business development. His friendly demeanor suited these endeavours and resulted in a vast number of friendships maintained throughout his life.

On September 24, 1982, Bill married Beverly Ann Gaiser and the couple retired to Southampton where he engaged in the redevelopment of Chantry Island and spent many hours bringing the site back to life. An early member of the Propeller Club, he could always be counted on to head annual barbecue fund raisers. Finally finding the time to get back into sports, he enjoyed playing golf with family and friends and curling in both Southampton and Port Elgin. 

Consistently modest, Bill Moulton asked that there be no funeral upon his passing.

There but for the grace of God...!

I wish that I had made an effort to get to know him better. In retrospect, he was my kind of guy.

No. 2 in a Canadian Legend Series...

The changing of men and women into plants, stones and rivers at the whim of the gods is the controlling theme of many ancient classical legends as well as those originating in more recent times. The legend of "Siwash Rock" is one of the more far-fetched in the history of First Canadian folklore. Here is is for your edification.

At one point on the water's edge in Vancouver, B.C., a lofty pinnacle of rock stands like a sentinel on guard.  In the language of the Chinook Indians, it is called the Siwash Rock. The native Indians say the rock was once a young chief of their people and that two smaller rock formations below the main pinnacle were one his wife and child.

Siwash Rock as it is today.

They tell the story of how their young chief, perfect in physical form, his skin burnished gold, wedded an Indian maiden of surpassing beauty (what else?). They were very happy together and one day the young wife told her husband that come nightfall she would bear him a son.

Following tribal custom, the wife went into the woods while her husband plunged into the waters of the sea near the point where the great Siwash Rock now stands. He was glad of heart and he swam powerfully, breasting the waves and rejoicing in the strength which helped him master the waves. But there was another and deeper reason for his action for it was a belief of his tribe that when a man first looked upon his new-born son and took him into his arms, he must be perfectly clean, with his skin as nearly fresh as that of the infant as possible.

While the chief was bathing his body in the sea and listening for the cry from the woods which would call him to the shore where his wife would awaiting him, he saw a canoe approaching and manned by humans who he recognized as emissaries of the Great Spirit.

The chief was not afraid but he wondered at the reason for their appearance and where they were going. As he swam nearer the canoe, a voice bade him stop and direct his course to the land. But the young chief refused, explaining that he must stay in the water, clean and undefiled, until the voice for which he was waiting should call him ashore. He continued to swim on.

Suddenly a child's cry sounded from the woods, faint but clear. Eagerly the swimmer made for the shore and the joy which he thought awaited him. However, he never reached land for the spirits, unable to pardon his disobedience, turned him into stone as he drew near to the shoreline.

However, the spirits relented in their judgment and, so that he might not be lonely, changed the wife and child into stone and placed them at the rockened feet of the chieftain father. There all three stand together to this very day.

Further to the history of Siwash Rock...

Siwash Rock, also known by its Squamish name Skalsh or Slhx̱í7lsh, is a famous rock outcropping in Vancouver's Stanley Park. It is between 15 and 18 metres (49 and 59 ft) tall and became known to mariners as Nine Pin Rock for its vague resemblance to a bowling pin.

My interest in Siwash Rock stems back from a one-time only visit to British Columbia in 1985 while working for the Insurance Bureau of Canada.

About 32 million years ago, a volcanic dyke formed in the sedimentary rock that forms the foundation of the park (sandstone and mudstone). Magma was forced to the surface through a fissure in the Earth's crust creating the basalt stack, which is more resistant to erosion than the softer sandstone cliffs. Siwash Rock is the only such sea stack in the Vancouver area.

There is some controversy over the name of the rock. "Siwash" is a Chinook Jargon word for a person of First Nations or Native American heritage. Though the word 'siwash' in the jargon did not necessarily have a negative connotation and was used by native peoples themselves, its etymology can be traced to the French word "sauvage," which means wild or undomesticated. The word is considered by some to be derisive, but remains in use in certain place names and other contexts without derogatory associations, as with Siwash Rock and Siwash Sweater.

Up on the cliffs overlooking Siwash Rock is a lookout point off the Siwash hiking trail. While today it is an ideal spot for park users to admire the scenery, it was known as "Fort Siwash" during the wars. An artillery battery was mounted there in the First World War, as were searchlights in the next war. A runaway mountain goat, according to park board lore, lived free in this area for almost a year in the mid-1960s until he was hit by a car and died in another area in the park. Also residing in this area, until he was arrested shortly after the Second World War, was a man living in a nearby cave for a 17-year period interrupted only by his service overseas to fight in the war.

The small Douglas fir atop Siwash Rock that helped make it such a distinctive landmark for the first generations of Vancouverites did not survive the exceptionally dry summer of 1965. An article on the tree’s passing in the Vancouver Sun reads more like an obituary than news story, quoting former Vancouver MP H. H. Stevens as saying “I’ve known that tree for about 68 years now and I’m sorry the tree has died because it was one of our main attractions in Stanley Park.” A park superintendent felt sure that it was “virtually impossible to establish another fir up on the rock from a young plant.” Less than three years later, however, while park crews were still working to restore the park’s forest from the devastation of Typhoon Freda, persistent efforts were rewarded when new saplings finally began taking root.

In 2017, Vancouver Park Board commissioner Catherine Evans introduced a motion to change the rock's official name to Slhx̱í7lsh. As Siwash is derived etymologically from sauvage (the French word for savage), Evans said: "We shouldn't have a name for any part of our land that is derogatory to the Indigenous people of this land."

No. 3 in a Canadian Legend Series...

area and it has long been believed that there is treasure hidden somewhere along the rugged shore. No one knows who actually hid the bounty but supposedly it was one of the ubiquitous pirates who were reported to have buried treasure in various places along the Atlantic seaboard.

Deep bays and unfrequented islands formed ideal hiding places for the ill-gotten gains of the old bucaneers who plied their nefarious trade from Trinidad and Hispaniola to the New England states. When the rich spoils became too dangerous a cargo, causing trouble among crew members, it was the custom to seek suitable hiding places where chests of gold and jewels might be buried in secrecy and to be retrieved later when the owner(s) gave up the sea to spend last days as respectable citizens. But pirates, as was fitting, often met violent and sudden death, and with them went knowledge of the whereabouts of buried treasure.

Mysterious Oak Island

*As an aside, it is interesting to note the Oak Island mystery (featured in a Global TV series) refers to stories of buried treasure and unexplained objects found on or near Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Since the 19th century, a number of attempts have been made to locate treasure and artifacts. Theories about artifacts present on the island range from pirate treasures of Captains Kidd and Henry Avery, to Shakespearean manuscripts, to possibly the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant, with the Grail and the Ark having been buried there by the Knights Templar. Various items have surfaced over the years that were found on the island, some of which have since been carbon-dated and found to be hundreds of years old. Although these items can be considered treasure in their own right, no significant main treasure site has ever been found. The site consists of digs by numerous people and groups of people. The original shaft, in an unknown location today, was dug by early explorers and known as "the money pit". "The curse" is said to have originated more than a century ago and states that seven men will die in the search for the treasure before it is found. To date, six men have died in their efforts to find the treasure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Bay of Chaleur is also known for its phantom ship legend, which dates back more than two centuries.The story claims that a sail ship burned in the waters to the north of the city - possibly from the Battle of the Restigouche - and that the ghost of the vessel and its crew is visible on the water in certain weather and light conditions to this day. Some believe it is a ghost ship from the Battle of the Restigouche whereas others believe it is merely caused by heat waves, reflections, or hallucinations. A drawing of a ghost wielding an anchor and menacing two sailors could be seen on the the City of Bathurst's old welcome sign. but back to the buried treasure story...                                                                                            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What follows is the story first told to me by my late wife's grandfather, Wilfred Estey of Durham Bridge, N.B. back in July of 1960. Wilfred was a lifetime railroader and traveled virtually every square inch of the province. Stories?...He had a million of them!

As folklore has it, one day two men were towing a small raft of lumber along the shore of the Nepisiguit River, near the entrance to Chaleau Bay. It was a warm day and they found the work extremely fatiguing, frequently necessitating rest breaks. Sometimes the companions were together but often they were separated for short distances. Noting that his partner did not seem to be doing his share of the heavy slogging, the man in the lead stopped suddenly and looked back.

To his surprise, he saw an elderly woman, very simply dressed, with a plaid shawl over her shoulders. She was apparently engaged in conversation with his partner, very much disturbed and pleading for some kind of help. The two continued to walk together for a few minutes before the woman disappeared into the woods.

Pausing to consider what he had just seen, the man in the lead called back to his friend and asked him about the woman and what she wanted. To his amazement, the other man declared that he had not seen any woman, much less conversed with one and suggested that what his friend saw must have been the figment of an abnormal imagination.

Several years later, the same figure of a lonely woman wandering on the same shore was seen by a girl of the neighborhood who was terrified by the apparition. She described the elderly woman in terms similar to those expressed by the man who had seen her previously.

Conjectures regarding the mysterious woman were numerous, and some of them were very ingenious and startling. The general belief, however, was that she was associated in some way with buried treasure and that she may have been the ghost of the mate of a pirate, or of a woman whose husband had perished when the treasure was hidden.

The story was told and re-told so many times and came to be believed so implicitly that few people were surprised when, some years later, a report circulated that two strangers had been seen landing from a boat and digging for a time on the shore before sailing away into the night. Certainly, locals were satisfied that the strangers had carried off whatever treasure there was because a fairly hole was left behind on the shore as evidence.

Since the night when men dug the hole, the mysterious woman has never been seen again. A century has elapsed now and it seems likely that the wrath has disappeared forever.

Old Wilfred Estey who passed away 50 years ago, would be relieved to know that.

First in a series...

I am fascinated by Native Canadian folklore. This is one of my favorites, demonstrating outstanding creative mythology and expression which I  have attempted to capture.

ℛunning Fawn stood motionless on the shore of the slow-moving stream as the glories of the dying sunset reflected in the water at her feet. She watched the light fade and the shadows of the trees fall more darkly on the river.

The Seneca tribe maiden was listening, with head turned in the direction from which the wind was gently flowing, as if to catch the sound of rustling leaves which would bear the glad news of his coming, and in her eyes shone the light which love alone can kindle.

"Meet me beside the river when the sun fades," Red Cloud had said to her that morning when they met near her wigwam. "Meet me, O Running Fawn, and we shall talk of our love and of the days that we shall spend together."

So she had come and was waiting, knowing that he would be there when the moment came because love like theirs was so strong that even death could not end it.

Then, quietly, the bushes parted and Red Cloud stood before her. Never before had he seemed so perfect in his manhood, erect yet supple in every limb, with strength showing itself in perfect control of body and of feature.

Suddenly Red Cloud stiffened. In the bushes behind them a twig had snapped. The sound was slight but it was enough to warn the young chief of possible unseen danger. He thrust Running Fawn from his embrace, bidding her to crouch on the ground. A bowstring twanged and in an instant Red Cloud was laying in his blood beside her, with an Iroquois arrow between his shoulders.

True to the instincts of her race, Running Fawn uttered no cry but in silence drew out the arrow and sought to stanch the blow of blood. 

She felt, rather than saw, the rival Iroquois tribesmen who had stepped out of the bushes and she beheld the hatred and triumph in their eyes. She also knew that she could expect no mercy. But Red Cloud was gone to that great pow wow in the sky and what did life mean without him except the chance to avenge his death? What could she do, a Seneca Indian maiden in the hands of her enemies?

In an instant she was seized, her hands lashed together with thongs that cut into her tender flesh. She chose to remain silent, knowing the purpose of her captors. She realized all too well the pleasure they anticipated in torturing her with every cruelty they could devise. "Let them do their worst." She cared little now.

Then to the surprise of her captors, she suddenly broke silence.  She winced as in pain and gave out with a great cry of fear. The stolid Iroquois looked at her in puzzlement. Certainly their women would not have reacted in such a way. 

Now Running Fawn was pleading with them...Let them spare her, even take her into their tribe, and she would guide them to a village down the river where they could get many scalps.

The Iroquois listened, the older men seemed doubtful but the younger ones nodded their heads. Moving quickly, they placed Running Fawn in the foremost canoe and the small fleet pushed out into the river. Running Fawn continued talking to them of the great killing they could expect and urged them to paddle faster.

The canoes shot forward in the gathering dusk and the current of the river grew swifter. The region was unfamiliar to the Iroquois but Running Fawn knew it well. She was listening although she did not show her intentness.

Then she heard it -- the distant booming of the cataract. The Iroquois soon heard it too and looked at each other with alarm. With violent strokes of their paddles they tried to turn the canoes to the shore, but it was too late. They were now in the gorge with rocky sides. The raging current had caught them in its grip and they were hopelessly swept on to their destiny.

The dull roar had become so loud that voices could not be heard as they desperately shouted in vain to each other.

Then, above the booming of the cataract falls, the doomed men heard a cry of triumph rising up from the depths. It was the voice of Running Fawn. "I come, O Red Cloud...I come, and in my death I have avenged yours; O my beloved!"

Now, there was nothing but the roaring of the falls -- and the rising mist.

NOTE FROM DICK: It is acknowledged that the tale of the Maid of the Mist has changed with each retelling, and many scholars have unearthed various versions that paint a different picture. I just happen to favor this one because it is most believable. Researchers continue to delve into histories to determine if any portion of the myth is derived from true events; however, no matter its veracity, this bit of Niagara folklore is as fascinating and epic as Niagara Falls themselves. I hope that you have enjoyed it as much as I have in recounting it for you!

The Mist rises! Do you hear an Indian maiden's voice?

Take a ride on the Maid of the Mist https://youtu.be/BcTbW6U4I8E...I have on four occasions and wish I could again one more time.

SEASON OF BIRD WATCHING: NO CANCELLATIONS HERE!

It is somewhat comforting and invigorating to realize that, despite a world-wide pandemic, Mother Nature continues to do her thing. Just look out any window of your home to realize that Spring has arrived with all of its glorious splendor and promise of even better things to come.

No better indication of this than the sight of full-chested and spirited Robins boldly reclaiming their seasonal northern territory. Bird watching provides the perfect opportunity to celebrate this spring migration even in these weeks of self-isolating and social distancing.

Unlike Toronto's Major League baseball version of the Blue Jays, or rival St. Louis Cardinals and Baltimore Orioles, who have all been forced to cancel season openers, it is business as usual for their winged counterparts and nature namesakes. 

...And we do not have to drive distances or be exposed to the masses in order to see them perform in our very own back yards.

Cheer on your favorite(s)!!!

DEAR READER:

Writing is therapy and my greatest escape. It is a form of laxative for pent up feelings, thoughts, convictions and emotions.

A few minutes ago I had a few ideas as to what I might post on Wrights Lane today...I could write something about my health situation, or continue to wax eloquent about life in social isolation. Then again I could offer a few words of spiritual inspiration as we move closer to the observation of Easter. The thought of creating something humorous also crossed my mind as having timely relief potential.

I even went so far as to commit possible opening sentences for a couple of subjects to a computer file.

Then I hit an inspiration block. I sat pensively with my fingers locked on my chest, elbows resting on the arms of my desk chair and starring at an otherwise blank monitor screen. The creative well was dry...I could not come up with anything meaningful and the urge to force the issue mercifully  finally abandoned me.

After a good 20 minutes of nothingness, I decided to put an end to the agony.

Sorry, I have nothing to say...Know what I mean?

Maybe tomorrow the spirit will move me. I've got nothing but time on my hands these days to think about it!

Meantime, that's take "30".                                       

THERE'S NOTHING LIKE...

I am subject to some very disturbing dreams bordering on nightmares. 

As I was attempting to wipe out the lingering emotional impact of one of those horrifying scenarios while still in bed this morning, my thoughts mercifully turned to pleasant memories of special incomparable things that tend to linger in the recesses of the mind. (The mind, in retrospect, can be a wonderful and mysterious thing.)

"Hey, I'm on to something," was my immediate reaction and the "there's nothing like..." thought exercise was instantly formulated. I spent the next 10 minutes thinking about: There's nothing like the smell of fresh brewed coffee in the morning, then I remembered thoughts of my mother's pot roast in the oven as I wiggled in the church sanctuary pew on Sunday mornings when I was a kid, and of the freshness of the air after a warm rain in the summer. The flood gates then opened.


There's also nothing like (in no special order):

• a loving embrace from that someone special in your life
• the smell of a freshly-powdered baby
• a dog or cat snuggling up on your lap
• the taste of that first beer on a scorching summer day
• the giving of an unsolicited gift
• a walk on the beach
• a freshly made bed
• God answering a prayer
• biting into a slice of homemade rhubarb pie from your garden
• listening to your favorite music
• a sense of accomplishment
• going barefoot in the grass
• wearing a new shirt for the first time
• the satisfaction of a good meal
• expressing (and receiving) appreciation
• a good night's sleep
• waking up in the morning, eager to start your day
• creating something -- anything
• finding a quarter on the sidewalk
• forgiving and forgetting
• pulling weeds
• a hug
• a kiss
• being in a crowd and feeling you belong
• family
• thinking about all of the above and forgetting about a bad dream.

Now try it for yourself folks...It worked for me!

WE'RE NOT THE FIRST TO MAKE SACRIFICES TO QUELL THE SPREAD OF DISEASES

Okay, I'm not quite through with this subject yet.

During the current and unprecidented "stay at home" time that most of us have succumbed to in the hope of helping to level the Coronavirus curve, I find it interesting to take a look at the bible's Third Book of Moses called Leviticus. 

Truth be known, I can't remember the last time I actually referred to Leviticus looking for answers to present day issues. The book however focuses on, among other things, offerings and purity. Chapters 13 & 14 of Leviticus especially deal with diseases, swells, rashes, and discolorations. Scholars have noted that the writing style of these chapters is medical and “modeled on Mesopotamian diagnostic treatises.” 

While most people believe the disease spoken about in these chapters is leprosy, we know that the term in the Hebrew refers to a certain “group of diseases,” whatever they are. We see instructions as to what to do when you find physical evidence of a disease (depending on where you find it and when you find it), when you should go to the priest to examine it, and when the priest will declare it unclean or clean. I found such strange parallels between our social distancing and the order in Leviticus 13:45 that someone with a disease should have to call out “Unclean! Unclean!,” identifying themselves as contagious so that others will stay away. Those that are “unclean” are to “dwell apart,” “outside the camp.”

Additionally, I found myself impressed with the detail that the book goes into when attempting to identify and diagnose diseases inside the camp. The priests, in this Israelite culture, were the medical professionals. They examined the markings or signs and decided if it was contagious, dangerous, or if the subject was ready to return to the camp. But feelings of being impressed quickly depart when we read on into Chapter 14 of Leviticus, where the “cures” and “cleansing” explanations were given.

i.e. "Then shall the priest command for him that is to be cleansed two birds alive and clean, and cedar wood, and scarlet, and hyssop..."

When you have a moment in the next little while, I seriously recommend taking the time to read Chapter 14 of Leviticus to get a better feeling for the exhausting sacrificial cleansing ritual that followed.

It is unsettling to read how this primitive culture attempted to cleanse itself of a disease it did not understand… Bathed in theology and cultic ritual, this priestly culture knew nothing of bacteria or viruses, the causes or the cures. They stumbled blindly through makeshift solutions, sometimes accidentally hitting the mark, like separating the ill from the healthy or closing a house with a plague found inside it. But we watch from above, reading the pages, with pity and awe, wishing we could educate these ancient writers with what we know now.

It is an apt reminder, given our current situation, of the importance of distinguishing between the experts and those who think they are experts. In the book of Leviticus, the priests were, unfortunately, both. They were the only experts of the time that we are able to see. But in today’s world, we should, and can, know the difference between the trained medical professionals, and other leaders, and we should watch what kind of advice we take from the latter, especially politicians.

It is disturbing to read about pastors and religious leaders still attempting to hold services in person, telling their members to shake hands, or even stating through television appearances that they will heal people if only they would send a few dollars. Likewise, there are those in our country that have no medical training that are telling us what we should or shouldn’t do. Their advice is often countered by the medical professionals, doctors, and scientists. And yet, unfortunately, too many are listening to the wrong people. With the same pity and awe with which we read of the priests’ actions in Leviticus, today we watch as people defy social distancing mandates or take unapproved medications.

Unlike in Leviticus, however, it does not have to be this way. Recently, Politico Magazine talked to 34 big thinkers about how the Coronovirus will impact us in the future. They shared their predictions in their article, Coronavirus Will Change the World Permanently. Here’s How. One thinker, Tom Nichols, a professor at the U.S. Naval War College and author of The Death of Expertise, stated the following:

"America for several years has become a fundamentally unserious country. This is the luxury afforded us by peace, affluence and high levels of consumer technology. We didn’t have to think about the things that once focused our minds—nuclear war, oil shortages, high unemployment, skyrocketing interest rates. Terrorism has receded back to being a kind of notional threat for which we dispatch volunteers in our military to the far corners of the desert as the advance guard of the homeland."

In light of that mentality, Nichols sees the following:

First, it has already forced people back to accepting that expertise matters. It was easy to sneer at experts until a pandemic arrived, and then people wanted to hear from medical professionals. Second, it may—one might hope—return North Americans to a new seriousness, or at least move them back toward the idea that government is a matter for serious people.

It is hoped that both come true. That instead of putting trust in the priests, those who believe themselves to be experts, performing actions that are symbolic and of no real value, that instead we turn to the medical professionals, the true experts in these times, and in the future. True, the work of the Levitical priests most likely made people feel better, emotionally. They believed this would be the cure, and that they had done the right thing. But that is because they did not have access to true expertise to juxtapose the false hope and empty archaic rituals. 

In today’s world, we have what we need to stay safe, if only we would use it. We can no longer afford to be swamped by too much information, not able to distinguish what is true and what is not. We must find the real experts in our world and listen to their diagnoses, projections, and predictions. Anything else is unhelpful, as unhelpful as the slaughtering of two live birds on an altar.

WHAT NEXT? THAT'S THE BETTER QUESTION!

After writing the Wrights Lane post entitled "Our Future Is Literally Up in the Air" (see item below this one) and asking a number of questions on fallout from the world-wide coronavirus pandemic earlier today, an old expression kept coming to mind: "Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die."

In the subject post I went so far as to suggest a looming authoritarian society and that in our helplessness at such crucial times as the present, we have become dutiful followers. It was not intended to be conciliatory in nature and while I conceded to not having answers, I did allude to the future and "...what next."

Alfred Tennyson, invariably known as
Alfred Lord Tennyson on all his books

A “crisis” is any situation, expected or otherwise, which disrupts the normal flow of life and family. Whether pandemic, a death, divorce, job loss, move, or mental health emergency, everyone eventually experiences a crisis, and everyone responds differently. Unfortunately, for those providing support, someone else’s crisis can be highly uncomfortable, and there are a number of cliches which escape our lips to occupy the uncomfortable space. In my experience, saying nothing at all and just being present is almost always the best option, but in my role as a writer and commentator I am often compelled by duty to say something about catastrophic situations that impact our lives.

While the expression "Ours is not to reason why..." may be intended as a soft way of saying “we’re not going to find an answer to this,” it comes off surprisingly condescending, suggests one source I came across before putting together this post. Worse still, it suggests God is selfishly hoarding all the answers, and we just have to go along with it. When flippantly taken out of the military context as a form of situational resolve, this expression has always kind of bothered me. It actually comes from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade, which depicts a group of soldiers making a heroic but ill-advised charge at the 1854 Battle of Balaclava in the Crimean War. The full line reads:

"Theirs was not to make reply,
Theirs was not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred."

While Tennyson exalts these soldiers for their adherence to orders, the tone is still dubious, and when you apply this famous line to God, the redeemer of the universe looks more like a shortsighted commander ordering us to our deaths.

Even so, there’s a gem of a good idea here: the “why” of a situation often lies beyond our comprehension. But how can we convey this sentiment without the harsh implications of the original expression?

A better option might be to say: “I don’t know if we’ll ever know ‘why,’ but maybe I can offer some suggestions to help with ‘what next.’”

Sometimes dwelling too much on the “why” can lead to some unhealthy thought spirals, and this alternate expression offers a soft pivot away from that territory. 

There is certainly power in questions. They typically shape us more than our answers. There is beauty in wrestling with a really good question but "why" questions tend to be kind of useless. They may be cathartic and necessary to ask from time to time, but even when they have knowable answers, those answers do little to improve a situation. While simply dismissing these questions with “ours is not to reason why” can make things worse, consciously redirecting people into a “what next” mindset can be incredibly constructive— even empowering.

Though “why” will often elude us, “what next” gives us something concrete to sink our teeth into.

So there you have it...Something else to think about in our time of isolation.

OUR FUTURE IS LITERALLY UP IN THE AIR

Two things can be said about the coronavirus pandemic that we are currently enduring: 1) It certainly weeds out the world's population of its most vulnerable (139,000 deaths thus far, 23 percent over the age of 70); and 2) it makes us vividly aware of the importance of germ protection, short of turning us all into a bunch of Howie Mandel germaphobics.

I am sure that I am like a number of readers who can't help but wonder what life will be like when this period of self-isolation and hygeine consciousness is over. Will we lapse back to our previous ways of conducting our personal lives or will we have learned something from our experience and conduct ourselves accordingly? 

Let's face it, the measures we are taking to save ourselves from a global pandemic are already changing us in fundamental, possibly irreparable ways. By instituting lockdowns and deploying a variety of emergency powers across the country, we are destroying our economy, our social fabric, and our political system. We may well never be the same. Whether we change for both the better and the worse, as opposed to the solely catastrophic, will depend on how mindful we remain of the damage we are doing as we attempt to save ourselves from the pandemic.

The economy has already taken the biggest sudden hit in memory. Hundreds of thousands of people have lost their jobs, and many more will become unemployed in the coming weeks. Inequalities in wealth, opportunity, and access to health care have become even more glaring than they were just a couple of weeks ago.

The social fabric is being torn in unprecedented ways, owing to school closings, a widespread shift to working from home, social distancing and sheltering now in place. Whereas we used to share dozens of experiences a day with friends, acquaintances, and strangers -- from taking public transit to working in an office, standing in line at lunch, going to a concert, eating at a restaurant, chatting to a taxi driver, sitting beside fellow churchgoers -- many of us have been reduced to sharing only isolation and the fear of chance encounters, if either of those can be said to be shared.

In the future will we think twice about shaking hands, hugging and other close encounters of daily human existence? Will we go around continuing to sterilize everything we touch, virtually paranoid? Will avoidance in general be the order of our days?

I truly wish that I had answers to the questions I have posed...but I don't. I can only state facts of the matter. 

We are living in an uncertain time. It is as if we have lost control of our very existence and are at the mercy of authoritarianism. How dangerous can that be?

Think about it friends.

Only God can help us now!...And I'm not sure of what He has in mind.

CHARMING CHARMIN

CAN'T BELIEVE IT! Went shopping for a few grocery items this afternoon at Foodland and while at it thought that I would check out the paper products isle...just in case a miracle had happened and toilet paper was back on the shelves. And what to my wondering eyes should appear -- a lonely package of hoarder's delight tucked back in the corner -- 8=24 triple rolls of the most beautiful toilet paper I'd ever seen. Hardly believing my eyes, I hesitantly touched it and sure enough, it was real. And like a lost lover, I wrapped my sterilized, longing hands around it and tenderly placed it in my cart. The soft plushness of the firmly wrapped rolls left me with a swooning flushed feeling. There was no one in the vicinity to witness my elation and I was kind of glad...Imagine getting that excited over toilet paper...What's this world coming to?

DEAR FRIENDS:

(Transcript from above video)

I took my dog Matilda out for a walk on Sunday -- the first time in over six weeks. It was eerie...no cars, no people, no signs of life in the neighborhood -- silence. While I needed the fresh air and a chance to clear chemotherapy fog from my head, I suddenly felt very much alone and vulnerable...and it was disturbing. 

I struggled to get a grip...Isolation during a worldwide pandemic can do that to a person.

Through no choice of our own we have been forced to put our lives on hold for an indefinite period. I've even gone so far as to play Russian roulette with my health by cancelling my last treatment at the London Region Cancer Centre today...Much to the relief of a Wheels of Hope volunteer who had committed to making this one last three hour day-trip with me, before opting out of all other driving assignments for the foreseeable future.

In one way or another we all have had to make adjustments and decisions based on conscience and a sense of what is right -- right, not only for ourselves, but others too. We pretty much commit to playing the next few weeks at least by ear.

COVID-19 will pass. The world will recover. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll hold onto some valuable lessons about pride and priorities.

After all, our notion of invincibility and self-sufficiency is already shattered. Much of what we thought was invulnerable is in the throes of uncertainty, including the economy. The false gods of sports and entertainment can no longer call the faithful to worship by the thousands.

And much of what we take for granted is threatened.

Sure, the pandemic is bringing out fear, suspicion, bigotry and selfishness in some. But so many more are responding with love and concern, sharing what they have, looking out for seniors and the sick, and serving those around them, regardless of race and religion.

That includes doctors, nurses, and church workers who risk their own safety. It’s ironic, but social distancing is bringing people closer together, emotionally and spiritually.

In my view, it’s misleading theology to see COVID-19 as divine punishment. But the pandemic should make us see just how little control we actually have. And though the Bible never promises us a pass from pain and hardship, it does assure us God will be present amid it all, with strength, comfort, and serenity for all who ask for it.

For people of faith, COVID-19 is a test of what we say we believe.

Though things will likely get worse before they get better, the crisis will clear. But now is the time to be more grateful and stop taking blessings for granted; to re-order our priorities; and commit to the changes we need to make when life returns to a degree of normalcy.

Spread faith and encouragement, not fear. That’s contagious too my friends.

LONG NIGHT'S JOURNEY INTO DAY

"The Cenacle" (Upper Room) In Christian tradition the room of the Last Supper and the room in which the Holy Spirit alighted upon the 11 apostles after Easter. This is the room on Mount Zion, Jerusalem, where Jesus and his disciples held the Passover feast (Last Supper) before he was taken to be tried. ~~ Photo from the Israel Institute of Biblical Studies.

A message reflecting on the Lenten season

"I only know that I was blind and now I can see"

The early Church leader, St. Augustine, once was confronted by a man who showed him his pagan idol and asked, “Here is my god; where is yours?” Augustine replied, “I cannot show you my God because you have no eyes to see Him.”

In this timely Gospel story, the religious leaders become extremely upset when Jesus restores sight to a blind man. It triggers for them all sorts of questions. How could this possibly have happened to a lowly beggar like this blind man? How could this Jesus perform such a miracle? This man, Jesus, "cannot be from God" because he does not observe all the Sabbath Day Laws! How could such "a sinner perform signs like these?" They even cross-examine the parents of the man born blind to see if they can uncover some trick and expose Jesus as a fraud. 

On-and-on they continue with their questions, acting as though any genuinely miraculous manifestation of God's Grace necessarily must conform to their own preconceived notions. But the man born blind will not be intimidated. "I only know that I was blind and now I can see" (John 9:25). In his simplicity, this uneducated man proved infinitely wiser than they who presumed to be his teachers. The teachers spoke with the authority of textbooks; the man born blind spoke with the authority of religious experience. He sensed the futility of trying to box the event into some category. It was enough for him to know that, by the Grace of God, an amazing thing had happened to him that changed his whole life: "I only know that I was blind, and now I can see."

This is all about allowing Grace to come in on God's terms. God's Grace is not subject to man's rules of reason and precedent and convention. We must allow God's Grace to flow freely through the very depths of our being if we are to break out of the dark limitations of how things are, and into the light of how things ought to be.

The Season of Lent calls us to repentance. Like the loving father in the New Testament story of the "Prodigal Son," God our Father is eager for us to turn around and come home to Him. And all it takes is the turning.

Genuine repentance requires us to trust that God has better things in mind for us than we have in mind for ourselves. Think about it! Do we really have any reason to believe that God wanted us for His children when He created us? Was there any logical necessity for God to "so love the world that He gave His only Son" so that we might have eternal life? Does this season of Lent make any "sense" according to our normal ways of thinking? 

Is it to be expected that God should become man and walk the tortuous trail to Calvary's hill, there to hang battered and bloodied while taking on the full burden of human wickedness? Think about it, yes, but we should not wait to respond until we can make sense of it, rationalize it. Think about it, yes, but also be ready and willing to bow to the Mystery of it -- for the Truth is both simple and beyond understanding.

"I was lost, and now I am found ... I was blind, and now I can see ... I was imprisoned in and now I am free ... My life was going in the wrong direction, and now I have turned ... I have sinned, and now I have repented."

"I am the Way, the Truth and the Life," says the Lord. How well do we know the Truth which Jesus has given us? One Christian Educator has written an inspiring, poetic account of how, as a disciple of Christ, he began to answer this question for himself:

There is darkness in the world, deep and threatening; only fools pretend there isn't. Our world is out of focus and fragmented. 

However, like streaks of gold, there is light on the horizon. And little by little, life is becoming what the New Testament says it can become and sings about all the way through -- a long night's journey into day!

In those dark times of our lives, when so many unanswered questions return to haunt us, when we feel the darkness closing in, God, in His immense love for us, sends us Light. In and through the Lord Jesus, He becomes totally accessible to us. 

If you keep My commandments
you will remain in My Love.
I have told you this
so that My joy may be in you,
and your joy may be complete.

This is My commandment:
love one another
as I have loved you (Jn. 15:10-12).

There is a story from the Middle Ages about a young woman who was expelled from heaven and told that if she would bring back the gift that is most valued by God, she would be welcomed back. She brought back drops of blood from a dying patriot. She brought back some coins that a destitute widow had given to the poor. She brought back a remnant of a Bible that had been used for years by an eminent preacher. She brought back some dust from the shoes of a missionary laboring in a remote wasteland. She brought back many similar things but was turned back repeatedly. One day she saw a small boy playing by a fountain. A man rode up on horseback and dismounted to take a drink. The man saw the child and suddenly remembered his boyhood innocence. Then, looking in the fountain and seeing the reflection of his hardened face, he realized what he had done with his life. And tears of repentance welled up in his eyes and began to trickle down his cheeks. The young woman took one of these tears back to heaven and was received with joy and love.

The Season of Lent calls us to repentance. Come on home!

WHAT'S IN A NAME? GOD ONLY KNOWS!

Ever wonder why there are so many names for God of the universe? Well, it all depends on the religion you adhere to and how deep you want to delve into the history and origin of sacred religious texts. The subject helped get my mind off cancer treatments in hospital and the Coronavirus scare this past weekend as I focused my thoughts in the solace of home sweet home. 

Some names for God in the Bible include Elohim, Adonai, El Shaddai, Yahweh and El Roi. Yahweh is considered to be the most proper name for God by Jews and Christians. It is translated into English as "LORD" in all capital letters. Several other names are attached to Yahweh throughout the Bible, such as Yaheweh-M'Kaddesh, which means "The Lord Who Sanctifies, Makes Holy."

Elohim appears at the beginning of the book of Genesis and is found in other places as well. It means "Creator, Mighty and Strong." The root of Elohim is "El," which is also used as a name for God. El typically means "power" or "might." This root is also found in the name El Shaddai, which means "God Almighty" or "The Mighty One of Jacob."

Adonai means "Lord" and is rendered in name-case throughout the English Bible. This name was used in place of Yahweh or YHWH, which was considered by the Jews to be too sacred to be spoken by sinners. Adonai is thus used mostly when God is dealing with the Gentiles rather than the Jews.

Yahweh can be rendered as YHWH or Jehovah and is considered the correct name for God. The name first appears when God speaks to Moses and says "I Am who I Am."

The name Yahweh is often translated to mean "I will be who I will be." This name, according to Christians, means that God's actions shouldn't be questioned. Christians also use the name El Shaddai, which means "God the all-sufficient one," to describe how God cares for his followers.

Allah is the name for God in the Muslim religion. Muslims believe that Allah is the creator of the earth, and the prophet Muhammad is the religion's last prophet sent by Allah to mankind. In Hinduism, there are many gods and goddesses, but one of the major gods is Brahman. Hindus believe that Brahman is the creator of the universe and all its content.

It is interesting to note that The Hebrew Bible alone contains more than two dozen names for God which many of us have heard before: YHWH (“Lord”), Elohim (“God”), Sabaoth (“armies”). One of the more obscure names for God used by Jews is Ha-Makom. This literally means “the place.” What does this signify? Is God a place? How did this rather ordinary word become one of God’s holiest names?


What can we learn from Jacob’s Dream?

One of the most famous stories in the Book of Genesis, is Jacob’s dream where angels ascend and descend a ladder to heaven. It begins with these words, “He came to a certain place and stopped there for the night, for the sun had set” (Gen. 28:11). In Hebrew, “place” is makom (מקום). Where is this place? It is strange that the Torah, which is usually full of geographical details, does not specify the location.

According to an ancient Jewish interpretation of this verse, the makom which Jacob encountered is not a physical location, but God’s presence itself. The rabbis of the Talmud famously explained, “God is the place of the world, and the world is not His place.” In other words, God cannot be limited to one individual spot. Rather, God transcends space, and he is accessible to all people in all places.

To this day, it is common to hear Jews refer to God as Ha-Makom (“the place”) in prayer. This name captures God’s eternal vastness, while emphasizing his intimate imminence. 

As Christians, we like to keep it simple; praying to "God the Father." It just feels more comfortable that way.

Matter of fact, "God the Father" is a title given to God in various religions. In mainstream trinitarian Christianity, God the Father is regarded as the first person of the Trinity, followed by the second person, God the Son (Jesus Christ), and the third person, God the Holy Spirit. Since the second century, Christian creeds included affirmation of belief in "God the Father (Almighty)", primarily as his capacity as "Father and creator of the universe". However, in Christianity the concept of God as the father of Jesus Christ goes metaphysically further than the concept of God as the Creator and father of all people, as indicated in the Apostle's Creed where the expression of belief in the "Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth" is immediately, but separately followed by in "Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord", thus expressing both senses of fatherhood.

As I say, in much of modern Christianity, God is addressed as the Father, in part because of his active interest in human affairs, in the way that a father would take an interest in his children who are dependent on him and as a father, he will respond to humanity, his children, acting in their best interests.

In general, the title Father (capitalized) signifies God's role as the life-giver, the authority, and powerful protector, often viewed as immense, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent with infinite power and charity that goes beyond human understanding.

LIFE AFTER DEATH? JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!

Because I have been twice married (and twice widowed) I have spent considerable time wondering about encountering my two wives once I pass through the Pearly Gates into Heaven (provided I am granted entry). Needless to say, the prospect has left me somewhat apprehensive.

Well, the Christian Bible provides part of the answer...According to Jesus, people won’t be married in heaven. Interesting answer, right?

The way I am left to rationalize it is that the relationship between and husband and wife are to reflect the same relationship between Christ and his church. Marriages are supposed to be SO good that they show you how close God is to us, and what it is like to be in a relationship with him. Check out Ephesians 5:25-32.

In the end, people were created to have relationships -- with God and with each other. They are part of God’s plan for this world, and they will stay part of that plan for the next world too. Some things will change, like marriages that don't work out. But in its place the Bible leads us to expect a deep, satisfying relationship with everyone.

I’m afraid that the Bible doesn’t get much more specific than that. We don’t really know the details of how we will relate in heaven, or what it will be like specifically. But it behooves us to believe that it will be a good humane community that works the way communities now are meant to work but don’t.

If heaven is the place it is supposed to be, surely there is no carryover of worldliness or past life.

With that acceptance I move on to perhaps an even greater "life after death" unknown...

______________________________________________

Dualism is the concept that our mind is more than just our brain. This concept entails that our mind has a non-material, spiritual dimension that includes consciousness and possibly an eternal attribute. One way to understand this concept is to consider our self as a container including our physical body and physical brain along with a separate non-physical mind, spirit, or soul. The mind, spirit, or soul is considered the conscious part that manifests itself through the brain in a similar way that picture waves and sound waves manifest themselves through a television set. The picture and sound waves are also non-material just like the mind, spirit, or soul. The alternative concept is materialism. Materialism holds that everything in our universe is made from physical materials including the human mind or brain and that spiritual attributes do not exist in the universe. This concept holds that our mind and brain are one and the same.                                  ______________________________________________

What actually happens to the mind, or the self, after death?  If there's no basis for dualism, the answer is a no-brainer (no pun intended). The moment the brain loses its exquisitely synchronized organization, consciousness is lost. If that breakdown of physical processes is irreversible, consciousness is permanently extinguished, and the unique organization of matter that constituted that individual's person-hood, self or essence ceases to exist.

But since humans are instinctive dualists, the idea of life after death makes complete sense to our intuitions. And that’s not the only reason why the belief comes so naturally to us.

Death has never been popular. Especially when it is seen as the final and utter cessation of being. The prospect's tolerability increases only when it is re- framed as a mere passage to a heavenly paradise filled with all manner of delights -- all the more so for those who are suffering or disadvantaged in this life. Humans are profoundly egocentric, and it is natural for us to frame the world in self-referential terms. We cannot easily conceive of the world existing without us, and we struggle to imagine our absolute nonexistence. Even those who do contemplate death as a complete cessation of existence in any form tend to imagine how being dead would feel. 

It's no surprise that belief in life after death is an irresistibly appealing idea that has emerged in diverse forms throughout history. Indeed, the denial of death may be the raison d'être of religions.

Most religions share common beliefs about some sort of eternal essence surviving the decay of our body, which is viewed as a mere vessel or vehicle for the soul. From a very early stage of prehistoric development, it appears that humans have been conscious of and preoccupied with death. Anxiety about death, denial of death, and various forms of belief in an eternal afterlife and the spirits or gods that inhabit and govern such realms have defined practically every religion in human history and prehistory.

Cynics and pessimists who argue that there’s no point to life if it is finite often ask: What is the point of trying to accomplish anything if there is no larger purpose to the universe? What's the point if we simply cease to exist after we die?

Even among those with the gloomiest or most uninspired outlook on life, any otherwise mentally healthy person possessing moderate empathy and humanity and a little ability to transcend egotism and solipsism can be moved to care enough to do something, anything, to mitigate suffering and increase happiness in other people. The suffering and happiness of other people are as real as our own and will continue long after we die. We might doubt whether our own existence matters. But others will continue to exist, and others after them. We all have the opportunity to affect others while we are alive, and how we do so will continue to matter to those others long after we are gone.

As many people know, when you live your life with a commitment to others, a lot of really good things happen to you. Your own life becomes much more satisfying, enriched, and meaningful. There are few ways to feel that your own life matters more than being committed to other people (or animals, or even plants, if that's your preferred commitment and if you don't relate well to people). Caring and devotion are more often than not reciprocal.

Carpe diem! You only live once. Make it count. This is not a dress rehearsal. Life is short and time moves fast. When it's over, it's over!

Better to not spend (waste) time worrying about what is humanly inconceivable. 

Life is intended to be a mystery...We are given the option of faith to deal with it. 

"How will it actually feel to be dead? Well, remember how you felt for all those eons before you were born? Just like that." -- Dr. Ralph Lewis, Psychology Today.