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Friday, March 25, 2005

Judaism vs. Christianity

I read this article at Dean Esmay’s place this morning, and with some obvious exceptions, I think you could substitute “Catholic” for Jewish and “Protestant” for Christian, and the essay would lose little meaning.

Thoughts?

Thursday, March 24, 2005

Thank God for Frank Sinatra and Bruddah IZ

My whole day today has been kind of… uhm, poopy. It all started this morning when I decided to log on to my favorite website and my laptop decided it doesn’t like its job anymore. That led to another thing, and to another, and next thing you know 30 seconds later I’m half-way down that slippery slope into complete and total bad moodiness (I think I’m just a few feet away from the manic/depressive borderline). So, deprived of the Internet, I get ready for work and ask myself, “Well asshole, now you’re all depressed. Are you going to be this way all day?” (or words to that effect).

Decision time. Do I want to be perky, or a mood slut all day long. That’s when good old Frank Sinatra made an appearance:

I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn and a king.
I’ve been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing:
Each time I find myself, flat on my face,
I pick myself up and get back in the race.

There were a ton of little things all day long that just annoyed the hell out of me. But, looking back, all in all, it’s been a good day. Just like every day is. God knows, there were days I was flat on my face, but it’s been a long time since then. And, you know what? I wouldn’t trade those days away for a pile of money, or a day full of rainbows.

Well I see tree’s of green and red roses to
I’ll watch them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Thanks Frank. And you too, Bruddah IZ.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Is Intelligent Design more intelligent than we thought?

What he said:

My argument about evolution* is and will always be, that all you loud mouth people who accept as some sort of fact etched in stone that man evolved from some primordial ooze are just as religious as the people you bash.

The truth is --though you are loath to admit it-- that we don’t know jack about the origin of the species. If there is indeed some mechanism built into organisms to repair flawed genes, the whole theory -which is already mathematically astronomically improbable- is now a few dozen more orders of magnitude more improbable. There is something other than DNA that apparently carries some sort of genome and we don’t even have a name for it yet, much less understand it!

I agree, but am open to beng unconvinced. I do feel it is our God-given responsibility to understand as much about life and its origins as we can. I also feel that it is our our God-given responsibility to unlock the secrets of life, and if that requires trying to create it, then lets get on with it. Of course, absent a laboratory and some needed skills, I’ll just have to settle for arguing about it.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Jay’s Sunday Sermon #1

Welcome to the first issue of my Sunday Sermon, my weekly write-up here on Resurrection Song where I discuss with full-blown pedantic and didactic tone my views on issues ranging from the moral and cultural, to the scientific and intellectual. This week, quite appropriately, I've prepared to explore the concept of self-denial, abstinence, and mortification.

It is only right to introduce the origins of my ethics and moral background. I am a recovering Catholic. I decided in my late teens that I am not going to participate in an organized religion in the sense of the series of rites and services, and as my first act of defiance I chose not to engage in the Confirmation sacrament. Today, I find it no longer important to tell people why I thought that it is not right for me to participate in religion; I have made my peace with my choice and I am happy in my personal relationship with the God that I have discovered of my own faculties.

The origin of my morals can therefore best be described as an amalgamation of Vatican II catechism, RCC traditional theology, a little smidgen of ecumenical thought, and a whole lot of rational epistemology. I state the schema of my morals because when one engages—or invites others to engage in—evangelical discussions, it is important to see where others are coming from. Altogether I do not consider myself a conservative or abiding Roman Catholic Christian Moralist. I do, however, ascribe the ontology of my morals to something greater than sheer rational faculties alone. (Here's something by Joe Carter on that almost irrational preceding sentence.)

Read the Rest...

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Excuse Me While I Cry

Even the sad news that you expect, the news that barely has an effect on your life, can take the breath out of you. So, you’ll excuse me while I cry a bit.

I’ve just got news that my grandmother passed away five days ago. I don’t have any details, and I probably never will. She had separated from my grandfather when he was in the hospital a little over a year ago, and I had only seen her one time since. Her kidneys had failed her and she required regular dialysis.

Her mind had started to fail her years ago. When I did see her, she was paranoid and confused; her thoughts were a jumble of memories and movies that didn’t make sense. She believed that my grandfather wanted to leave her penniless while she and my aunt struggled to get by. Meanwhile, my grandpa paid for my aunt’s rent, her car, extra for health care, and even a helping hand to some of the grandkids when they ran into trouble.

When my parents moved grandpa out to Arkansas, the split between grandma and grandpa was complete. In the letters he’s written me, he wished that he could see her and be with her again. But the distance was too great--both the miles and the months that past without contact.

There was a time when she was a strong, beautiful woman and her mind was clear. She was lively and her laughter would fill a room with the kind of joy that I’ve never been able to bring to others. If she sometimes felt a restlessness in her life, I’m nothing but sympathetic; sometimes standing still is the hardest path to travel.

I haven’t seen her in over a year, and I’ll never see her again. In Arkansas tonight, my grandpa’s heart is breaking. Even a carefully cultivated distance can’t keep me from this tightness in my chest. She’ll be in my memory forever, along with Chick and Uncle Billy and the rest, and she’ll always be that younger, vibrant, hot-tempered woman.

Excuse me while I cry for what I’ve lost, for what my grandpa has to be feeling, and for everything that time’s passing steals from us.

Rest, grandma.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Woohoo, I made it!

I made it, I made it! I just want to thank the Academy and all the little people who made this all possible… Oops, wrong speach. Time to wing it.

Hi. I’m Remy Logan. Ever since I was a little kid, and first happened upon ResurrectionSong I dreamed of being a member of the zomby team. Ever since I was rim-high to a monster truck I wanted to be the “and others” on RS, right next to Jerry and Opinion Engine. Now I’m all growed and here I am. Yes, dreams really do come true. Of course, it took a lot of work. zombyboy had to beg and plead with me to get me to sign up. I was like dude, okay already. I did wrangle out of him an awesome steak dinner and a stay at a luxury Rocky Mountain hotel whenever I pass through Rocky Mountain Blogger territory.

The worst part was he made me prove I could actually spell ResurrectionSong. I cut-and-pasted that sucker. I’m also supposed to write a 5,000 word essay either about myself or what I did last summer. Let’s see—I’ve travelled the world and been on every major continent except for Africa, Australia, Antartica, Europe (except for the British Isles), South America and the Indian subcontinent. I’ve visited every state in the Union and every one of Her Majesty’s provinces in Canada except for the really cold ones and some of the other ones. I like long walks on the beach at sunset, laughing in the rain, and running barefoot through the park. Oops, wrong website. Well, I guess I could tell you what I did last summer— sweated a lot. If I told you anymore the CIA would be all over my butt. [Note to the CIA guys: Don’t worry. I learned my lesson after the first time with the cattle prod.]

Well… that was exciting. This will probably be my last post ever. You know how it is with childhood dreams. You achieve them, and then what? I’ll frame this post and send it off to my mother. She’ll probably put it on the wall next to my handprints-in-plaster thingy and that naked picture of me when I was 5. I thought I’d burned the durned thing, turns out she’d had copies made. Always get the negative. In case you’re wondering what I look like now, let’s just say it turns out that I wasn’t too traumatized by that photo afterall.

BTW, half of what I wrote is true. My therapist promises to let me know, one day, which half it is.

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