Does Stephen Hawking Sacrifice God on the Altar of Science?
. . . I do not count Stephen Hawking among them. Contrary to what the news media is lifting out of his latest book - and out of context - Stephen Hawking does not denounce God, nor does he claim to have proven that God does not exist. The exact quote that so many in the media now read into from his WSJ article cited above, and from his book is this: "The discovery recently of extreme fine tuning of so many laws of nature could lead some back to the idea that the grand design is the work of some grand Designer. Yet the latest advances in cosmology explain why the laws of the universe seem tailor-made for humans, without the need for a benevolent creator." . . .
Mirror of Justice, Mother of God, Mystical Rose: Our Lady of Sorrows
. . . I have never written of any of this before now. Those months awaiting trial became so stressful and depressing that I began to give up. I stopped accepting treatment for epilepsy, and ended up hospitalized at Albuquerque Presbyterian Hospital for a week. After a traumatic night, my good friend and co-worker Father Clyde Landry, came to see me. He brought from my room at the center a portable short wave radio to listen to. Later that night, I plugged in my earpiece and turned on the radio. It was close to midnight, and I was not even aware it was the Feast of the Visitation, May 31. I also didn't know my radio was on the short-wave band. Father Clyde must have moved the band by accident. I raised the antennae and played with the tuner, then stopped. I had stumbled upon EWTN's short wave broadcast from Birmingham, Alabama. As I lay there in the dark in that hospital room, I heard the Salve Regina intoned and chanted in my ear. . . .
Come, Sail Away! Pornchai Moontri and the Art of Model Shipbuilding
. . . The art of woodcarving and model shipbuilding were honed in Pornchai during his years in a Maine prison. Pornchai was 18 years old when sent to prison with a sentence of 45 years. The first five were a blur of despair, violence, and trouble for Pornchai. Then he met Mike Tribou, a fellow prisoner and carpenter who offered to teach Pornchai his skills with woodworking. Mike is out of prison now, with a new family and a new life, but he and Pornchai remain friends. I am proud to say that Mike is also a TSW reader. . . .
The Year Behind These Stone Walls
. . . Then I walked through three locked gates outside, passed a guarded check-point, then across the long, walled prison yard, up three flights of metal grate stairs, through three more locked doors, then another guarded check-point, then finally down the long infirmary corridor to the staff member's office. In the dream, I felt my heart beating faster, unsure whether it was anticipation of finally seeing TSW or the long trek getting there. When I walked into the office, the computer was on. "Sit down right here,” the woman said. I sat down and watched her carefully type http://thesestonewalls.com. I was smiling as the screen blinked into action. Then I saw in large print across the screen: "Page Cannot Be Displayed." I woke up just then feeling terribly disappointed. . . .
Roman Polanski, Father Marcial Maciel, and the Eye of the Beholder
. . . Since his 1977 conviction for child sexual assault, Roman Polanski has won three Academy Award nominations and a 2002 Oscar for Best Director. Meanwhile in our own backyard, Catholics are now pitted against Catholics. Bishops are bullied into shunning their priests. Cardinals are sniping at each other in public, and the mere taint of association may cost one of the highest ranking Catholic Church officials his reputation and career. There is something wrong with this picture. And there is one ominous figure who is taking it all in from his place in the shadows, having the laugh of his long, dark life. . .
Hot Town: Summer in the Slammer
. . . The summer of 1969 had other worries and trials as well. Because of a tragedy in my family - which I will write about one of these days - I had to find a full time job at sixteen. I had one that I thought was secure. It was in a machine shop, but I was laid off just as that summer began. I took the only job that I could find, and it turned out to be the worst job of my life. . . .
These Stone Walls: Spring Cleaning and Loose Ends
. . . Are men in general like that? I sure hope not, though lots of prisoners are. Add to the mix a bit of prison paranoia and they make for a challenging population. A twenty-six year old came to my cell door last week with a worried look on his face. He had been to sick call that morning with a sore throat, nagging cough, runny nose, and headache. He seemed perplexed that he wasn't hospitalized immediately. Instead, he said, they gave him some Tylenol and cough syrup and told him to wash his hands a lot. . . I told him it sounds like he has a common cold, and washing his hands helps keep it from spreading to everyone else. He looked at me as though I was delusional, and walked away alarmed that I would share the medical staff's utter ignorance of the severity of his condition. He's still alive, but I've never seen him wash his hands. I washed mine twice while typing this post! . . .
In the Year of the Priest, the Tale of a Prisoner
. . . It's hard to describe the brokenness of the person sitting a few feet away staring intently, lost in a mindless TV show. Most of you do not have a category in which to understand the aftermath of such a shattered life. Skooter, his head shaved, his right arm covered in prison tattoos, looks as menacing as a wounded person possibly can. Skooter said I am the first person he has ever told of his past. I believe him. He wasn't able to tell most of it even to me. Instead, he spent all night writing, and gave his story to me in the morning. He titled it, "The Life of Skooter." It's not an easy story to tell. . . .