Showing posts with label Virginia Festival of the Book. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Virginia Festival of the Book. Show all posts

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Visions of Heaven: Are they so rare?


Dr. Eben Alexander
There has been a fair amount of buzz around my parish about Dr. Eben Alexander’s book, Proof of Heaven. So when he was featured this week at the Virginia Festival of the Book, I went to check him out and hear what he had to say.

His audience packed an old downtown church that is now used for our community homeless shelter, The Haven. I rather liked that as the venue for a talk about Heaven. Quite a number of members from my parish were in the audience, as were a handful of pastors from Charlottesville.

You could have heard a pin drop for the next 90 minutes as Dr. Alexander spoke. The audience was that enthralled.

For those unfamiliar with Dr. Alexander and his book, he is a neurosurgeon who has taught medicine at Harvard and worked here at the University of Virginia. He lives in Lynchburg, south of here.

In 2008, Dr. Alexander contracted a rare form of bacterial meningitis and fell into a coma for seven days. For all intents and purposes, he was brain dead. Then he came to. He has spent the last several years trying to explain what happened to him while he was in a coma. Medicine has no explanation, as he painstakingly described for us.

During his time of being “out” he experienced what he calls “ultra-reality.” He saw golden orbs in the sky, and a beautiful young girl who guided him through a lush fertile valley filled with life and joy. I won’t spoil the book, but when he came to, he was a transformed to his core and he knew he had experienced an all-knowing and all loving God.

“You are loved and cherished forever,” he said he heard. “You have nothing to fear.”

Ezekiel's vision,
painting by Raphael (1483-1520)
As I listened to Dr. Alexander, I kept thinking of the prophet Ezekiel, whose vision sounds much the same. Ezekiel sees an orb in the sky, and then a lush valley springing to life all around him. “I saw a wheel on the earth beside the living creatures… (Ezekiel 1:15)…wherever the river goes, every living creature that swarms will live…” (Ezekiel 47:9).

Someone in the audience asked Dr. Alexander if his experience could best be explained by Buddhism. That made me quite sad that our culture has so lost touch with the Christian mystics through the ages.

I was especially struck with how Dr. Alexander’s descriptions sounded so similar to the mystics I’ve studied over the years, for example Julian of Norwich (1342-1416) and Teresa of Avila (1515-1582), who described their own near-death experiences with the same imagery and the same sense of love and wellbeing.

Julian, who hung near death and had visions of being with “Our savior who is our true mother,” spent the next 30 years writing about her vision. She wrote of how God and love are inseparable and “between God and the soul there is no between.” When she came back from near-death, she said she knew to the depth of her soul that despite appearances to the contrary, “all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”

And then, as I listened to Dr. Alexander, also thought of this: the tomb of Lazarus, which so happens to be the reading assigned for Morning Prayer today (John 11:1-44).

As I read the familiar story, I hear it with new ears. Although our scientific materialistic minds might hear the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead as merely a metaphor, might it really be a true story of a man who, like Dr. Alexander, really did come back from the dead?

We don’t hear from Lazarus, though, and that is unfortunate. We don’t hear what he experienced. But we do hear that his family and friends threw a dinner party for him (John 12:1-10). The story continues with Jesus walking to his own death and his reappearance among those who loved him – Easter.

I am struck by how many of the biblical stories might be descriptions of near death experiences, and how those experiences transformed those who had them. It may be that these experiences aren’t rare at all, but have happened to thousands – millions – of people over for the millennia back beyond the time of recorded history. They’ve told about their experiences in language that people of their own time and place could understand.

Perhaps Dr. Alexander is among them precisely because he is a scientist – a brain scientist – and could explain this experience to us in our own scientific way of thinking.

I am struck with one common thread: these experiences are filled with love and hope. I close with a quote from the end of Dr. Alexander’s book:
“Not only was my journey about love, but it was also about who we are and how connected we all are – the very meaning of all existence. I learned who I was up there, and when I came back, I realized that the last broken strands of who I am down here were sewn up. You are loved.” (p. 170)

 By James Richardson, Fiat Lux

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The chewing gum of God

I am still catching up from Easter, and I haven't reported to you about our terrific experience a few weeks ago at the Virginia Festival of the Book, a Charlottesville annual event that brings in authors from everywhere to talk about their work.

I was particularly entranced by a talk and reading by Kevin Young, an African American poet who splits his time between Boston and Atlanta. His poems range over many themes, some woeful others quite joyful, some a mix of both. He read to us from a series of poems he wrote on food, and I loved them all.

This one, titled "Ode to Boudin," is the final poem in Young's book Dear Darkness. I like this almost as much as I like boudin, which we eat whenever visiting Lori's Louisiana relatives, which is not often enough. For those unacquainted with boudin, it is a Cajun delicacy of rice and meat inside a pork casing, kind of like sausage but not really. Usually you steam them until they burst. A priest friend of mine from Louisiana, Don White, swears boudin is Jesus' favorite dish.
Ode to Boudin
By Kevin Young
You are the chewing gum
of God. You are the reason
I know that skin
is only that, holds
more than it meets.
The heart of you is something
I don't quite get
but don't want to. Even
a fool like me can see
your broken
beauty, the way
out in this world where most
things disappear, driven
into ground, you are ground
already, & like rice
you rise. Drunken deacon,
sausage's half-brother,
jambalaya's baby mama,
you bring me back
to the beginning, to where things live
again. Homemade saviour,
you fed me the day
my father sat under the flowers
white as the gloves of pallbearers
tossed on his brier.
Soon, hands will lower him
into ground richer
than even you.
For now, root of all
remembrance, your thick chain
sets me spinning, thinking
of how, like the small,
perfect, possible, silent soul
you spill out
like music, my daddy
dead, or grief,
or both--afterward his sisters
my aunts dancing
in the yard to a car radio
tuned to zydeco
beneath the pecan trees

From Dear Darkness, by Kevin Young, 2008, Alfred A. Knopf, New York

Friday, March 20, 2009

Fruits of the Spirit

It has been a most serious week, and rather rainy in these parts so it is definitely time to lighten up a little. Coming up tomorrow (Saturday) we have a "quiet day" led by author Bonnie Thurston from 9 am to noon (come join us). 

The Virginia Festival of the Book in Charlottesville is well underway. We went to panel yesterday by authors of books on the civil rights era, including our friend Mildred Robinson

We plan to go to a few more events including a panel on the beat poets today. So, to mark the promise of Spring, and to bring you into the world of letters, here is a gift of poetry from the collection of our friend Karen in Tennessee:

Tangerine 
By Ruth L. Schwartz

It was a flower once, it was one of a billion flowers
whose perfume broke through closed car windows,
forced a blessing on their drivers.
Then what stayed behind grew swollen, as we do;
grew juice instead of tears, and small hard sour seeds,
each one bitter, as we are, and filled with possibility.
Now a hole opens up in its skin, where it was torn from the
branch; ripeness can’t stop itself, breathes out;
we can’t stop it either. We breathe in.

~

The Orange
By Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.