Consequences

We've often noted the phenomenon of people's faith actually getting stronger in the face of evidence that it is false.  For example, when a cult leader predicts the end of the world, and it doesn't happen, his followers seem somehow to find a way to believe that this failure proves their belief was true.

Recently this sort of thinking had deadly consequences for one Mark Wolford, a "snake-handling" pastor from West Virginia.  Pastor Wolford died of a rattlesnake bite at age 44.  That outcome, of course, was more predictable than remarkable.  The remarkable thing about this case is that Mark Wolford saw his own father die of snakebite at the age of 39.

Now, the basis of the snake-handling religion is in Mark 16: 17-18, which says, among other things, that believers "shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them...."

After witnessing the death of another snake-handling pastor, the observer might believe that the Bible verse had been proven false; but again he or she could also believe that the bitten and deceased was not a true believer after all. Perhaps Mark Wolford believed that about his father.

In any case, in an interview he gave to the Washington Post Magazine a while back, Wolford said of his decision to pursue snake-handling himself, "I know it's real; it is the power of God.  If I didn't do it, if I'd never gotten back involved, it'd be the same as denying the power and saying it was not real."

We should not be surprised if other such cases follow.

Golf and Gatlinburg

I'm going to strain an analogy to the breaking point.

Back in the '80s, I spent a little time in Smoky Mountain National Park.  I like the National Park System.  For all its faults, it tries to keep some of our country's most beautiful land as pristine as possible, while also making it accessible to people for their enjoyment.  National Parks are, at their best, quiet, unspoiled places.

Right outside of Smoky Mountain National Park, however, is a town called Gatlinburg, Tennessee.  When I was passing through there on my way to the park, I was struck by just how garishly ugly the place was.  It was as though the crassest commercial growth that was not allowed within the park boundaries had accreted on the border striving to make its way inside and infest the park.

Here I go.

As I've watched more golf tournaments in the past few years, I've noticed (as who has not?) the phenomenon of yahoos shouting, "IN THE HOLE!" immediately after golfers tee off.  Now, golf is a game that takes concentration, and golf etiquette insists that all participants, including spectators, be absolutely silent before any golf shot.  The time before the shot is as holy, if you will, as many people consider a National Park.

But somehow, the millisecond after a tee shot is now the occasion for sudden howling.  Most golf lovers don't take part in these odd outbursts, but a few idiots seem to think they're really cool when they yell.  I don't think I could go to a golf tournament without getting in a fistfight with one of these louts.

I said the analogy would be stretched, but there you have it.  The hollerers remind me of Gatlinburg.

Benefits of walking

I went for a walk today, about 2 1/2 miles.  A little before midway on the walk, there's a Starbuck's.  I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but Starbuck's has a brownie, and God, it's good.

Right away you're thinking, "That brownie just undid your entire walk!"  That would be true if the simple burning of calories was the only benefit of a walk.  But a walk also strengthens the legs, the lungs, and the heart.

And then there are the pleasures of a walk.  Now I have to admit that, when it comes to scenery, I live in a boring neighborhood.  The houses were all built at the same time, and there are only three types.  The walk consists of a ranch, a Cape Cod, a colonial, a ranch, a Cape Cod, a colonial, and so on.

But along the way, you might see a pretty girl.  And along the way, you might see a beautifully restored 1957 Chevrolet.  I am a man who loves great art, but neither a pretty girl nor a '57 Chevy has ever been matched for beauty.

Then there's the old man's reverie, in which he drives a '57 Chevy full of pretty girls.  It could happen, right?

Years ago, I was a runner, and running was a joy.  I've always given walking short shrift, as rather a dull pursuit in comparison.  A few weeks ago, I thought I might giving running another try.  But I'm 20 pounds heavier now, and almost as many years older.  I found my little jog to be unpleasantly punishing to the knees.

When you discover running will never be the pleasure it once was, a walk is sweet.