Brain Plasticity and Resurrection

I'm rereading Nicholas Carr's book The Shallows. I relied on this author's wide ranging research while writing my dissertation. His work helped as I examined the Internet's effects on the human brain. Returning to the book I was struck by what he writes about the brain's ability to transform itself in order to restore function to injured parts of the body. He writes, "tests on people who have lost arms or legs in accidents also reveal how extensively the brain can reorganize itself" (29). On the next page, Carr describes the recovery of a man named Michael Bernstein who, "suffered a severe stroke when he was fifty-four, damaging an area in the right half of his brain that regulated movement in the left side of his body." Under an experimental therapy program offered by neuroplasticity researcher, Edward Traub, "Bernstein used his left hand and his left leg to perform routine tasks over and over again, " for up to eight hours a day, six days a week, stimulating the "neurons and synapses to form new circuits". Carr describes the miraculous turnaround, "within a matter of weeks, he regained nearly all of the movement in his hand and his leg" (30).

Reading about the brain' plasticity reminded me of the resurrection of the body. Is not the rewiring that happens in the brain, restoring certain functions of the body that were lost, something of a resurrection? Both for the brain and the body parts? Something that ceases to function (i.e., dies) miraculously receives new life through finding new pathways that bring restoration? I know very little about medicine and biology but it strikes me as something to what Christians believe happens to the body as a whole at the Parousia of Jesus Christ.

Man's Search for Meaning

I picked up Viktor Frankl's, Man's Search for Meaning, a moving account of his time as a prisoner in Auschwitz. He provides remarkable and vivid accounts of the brutalities as well as some glimpses of the beauty of humanity he encountered.

Two of his ideas have embedded themselves in my thoughts: humans have the freedom to choose their responses to every situation; and love provides the ultimate hope in the midst of suffering. 

The first idea surfaced in the book's foreword, where Harold Kushner writes, "Frankl's most enduring insight, one that I have called on often in my own life and in countless counseling situations: Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation" (x). The freedom to choose one's response to life's is a powerful resource.

Frankl articulated the second idea that I've been thinking about as he described struggling under the agony of constant work and not enough food. Then, Frankl imagined his wife. Picturing her he writes:

Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way--an honorable way--in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment (37-38). 

What a rich and beautiful example of the power of faith: seeing the unseen reality and living as though it is true. This is really the heart of the Gospel. Seeing and believing the resurrected Christ thereby finding hope and meaning in the midst of life.

I am only halfway through the book but I am sure there will be many more insights to come. 

"There are no more words"

Near the middle of his classic book, To Know As We Are Known, Parker Palmer points to the fourth century desert fathers and mothers as exemplar teachers. This narrative of Abba (Father) Felix provides one such educational model:

Some brothers ... went to see Abba Felix and they begged him to say a word to them. But the old man kept silence. After they had asked for a long time he said to them, "You wish to hear a word?" They said, "Yes, abba." Then the old man said to them, "There are no more words nowadays. When the brothers used to consult the old men and when they did what was said to them, God showed them how to speak. But now, since they ask without doing that which they hear, God has withdrawn the grace of the word from the old men and they do not find anything to say, since there are no longer any who carry their words out." Hearing this, the brothers groaned, saying, "Pray for us, abba." (Taken from Ward, The Desert Christian, p. 242).

Abba Felix describes the consequences of learning without doing, a practice that seems commonplace in today's educational systems. I wonder what might happen if educators relied less on words to teach and more on modelling through action.

Four long and hard years

If you've been following my blog for a while you will likely know that I started my PhD in Theological Studies at the U of St. Michael's back in the fall of 2017. At that time COVID-19 did not exist, my Dad was alive (and well), I had just started co-pastoral ministry with my wife, and I had no idea whether I would be able to survive doctoral studies after being away from the academy for over ten years.

Now, after almost four years, my PhD journey is (hopefully!) soon to be over. After submitting my dissertation to the Graduate Centre for Theological Studies (GCTS) at the end of April I've been waiting. Last week I received an email (and phone call) informing me that a date has been set for my oral defence, September 8, 2021. If all goes well I will be able to graduate this fall.

I do not feel like the same person I was four years ago. I feel more confident as a researcher and writer but far less sure about most other things. I carry scars, mainly from my Dad's death, that may take a long time to heal. Writing the dissertation and the events that swirled around has been one of the most difficult seasons of my life so far. I did not expect the brutal toll it took on me. 

Thankfully, I have been loved through it all. Loved by my wife and our two children. Loved by my Dad. Loved by my Mom. Loved by those who supervised me and many that served alongside me. I've been loved by my friends, both old and new, and loved by God. 

In times of trouble scriptures were helpful, mainly ones I had memorized in my younger days of pastoral distress. "I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened..." (Eph. 1:18). How good to hear the eternal voice of God speaking in moments of need.