Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts

Sunday, June 24, 2018

Bigger on the Inside


One of the coolest things about the British sci fi series Dr. Who is the Doctor’s spaceship/time machine. The TARDIS (an acronym for Time and Relative Dimension in Space) is a police box (about the size of a phone booth—remember those?).


Dr. Who's TARDIS


But that’s just on the outside. On the inside, the TARDIS is palatial, with many large rooms and possibly a swimming pool in the library. As a long parade of mystified visitors and companions have exclaimed in wonder, “It’s bigger on the inside!”

The controls of the TARDIS

The concept of bigger-on-the-inside is sometimes called dimensional transcendence, and it pops up a lot in fantasy stories.

  • For example, do you remember the World Quidditch Cup at the beginning of Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament? The Weasleys and Harry stay in tents that are much larger and more luxurious inside than outside, causing Harry to exclaim, “I love magic!”

  • And in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Herminone’s little beaded handbag holds books, tents, and many changes of clothes. The boys were lucky that Hermione planned ahead and packed for their trip.

  • In Patricia McKillips’s Harpist in the Wind, when you climb a certain spiral staircase, you never get any closer to the top—unless the owner decides to let you in. 

  • In The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Zarniwoop has a complete universe in his small office.

Sometimes the trope of “bigger on the inside” is played for a humorous effect, and sometimes for something more profound.



My favorite example of dimensional transcendence comes from The Last Battle, the final book in The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis. The children enter a small stable that contains all of Aslan’s Country. They are reminded that once on Planet Earth, a stable held Heaven under a bright star—at the birth of Jesus.



But when you think about it, the adult human brain weighs about 2½ to 3 pounds, with a volume of about 1260 cubic centimeters in men and 1130 in women. Not very big. Unless you’re comparing it to the brain of a Stegosaurus, which was about the size of a lime.

And yet, our minds hold galaxies, paradoxes, stories, symphonies, the accumulated memories and knowledge of a lifetime. A sudden smell or a melody can unlock some hidden and forgotten memory we would have thought lost and inaccessible.



Where and how do we store the knowledge of how to play Chopin on the piano? Or how to write a story or a poem? Or how to compete at sports at the Olympics level? Sometimes we can even do things we don’t know how to do! We human beings are so much bigger on the inside than on the outside. 

Marianne Moore wrote a poem that says:

The mind is an enchanting thing is an enchanted thing, like the glaze on a katydid-wing subdivided by sun till the nettings are legion.





Our minds are amazing, with so many "nettings" and interconnections. And our spirits are amazing too. The Apostle Paul said,

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves. --  II Cor. 4:7 New Living Translation

We are like clay pots that don't always look very impressive on the outside. But on the inside. . .we are so much bigger.





Image Credits:
  TARDIS - Author: Chris Sampson;
  TARDIS Controls - Author: Chris Sampson;
  Nativity Scene - Author: Photo: Andreas Praefcke;
  Skull with brain - Author: Images generated by Life Science Databases(LSDB);
  Ranunculus in blue pot - © Can Stock Photo / Neirfy:
  Clay pot with flowers - © Can Stock Photo / Elenarts


Sunday, December 20, 2015

Come to Bethlehem and See

Okay, so I know that Jesus was born in a house, not a stable. 

And the wise men (of indeterminate number) arrived quite some time later. 



And, oh yeah, Jesus probably wasn't born in December.

I know that Christmas cards and Christmas pageants get a lot of stuff wrong. 

But here's the thing. I don't actually care. 

For me, all the historical minutiae pale to insignificance compared to the awesomeness of the one thing we mostly do get right:

God came down to earth in the form of a baby. 

God came down.


For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son. . . .
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman . . . .
. . . that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.


This is the way I imagine the creche scene:

Mary is sitting on the floor, holding the baby. Joseph is looking on in amazement. Shepherds have gathered around. Angels hover overhead.

There are wise men there too--kneeling, offering gifts.



Anna and Simeon have also come to gaze in wonder.

The walls melt away. And then, row upon row, stretching out in endless circles through the centuries, they come--everyone who has received the message this Child came to bring. 

We all come.




Kings come and lay their jeweled crowns before Him. Peasants come with nothing to offer but their gratitude. 

The crowd spills in from everywhere and everywhen, wearing togas, grass skirts, academic robes, prison garb. They come from tropical islands and frozen wastelands. They come--slaves and freemen, generals and foot soldiers, rich landowners and their servants. Princes, paupers. Scribes, illiterate. Victors, victims. Great saints, lowly sinners. 

They come from every kingdom and every tribe. 

They come from ages past, when they could only long for His appearing--Moses, Elijah, Ruth, King David, prophets who foretold His coming--and all the "begats" in the bloodline of Messiah. 




They come from years yet to be, in strange clothing and appearance, when the world is darker still. And yet this Child is still the Light shining in the darkness.

They come joyfully. They come in reverent awe. They come--we all come--as many but as one, to "see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us."



We come to look, awash in wonder. We come to listen, to a baby's gurgle, to the whir of wings. We come to worship, to join our weak voices with the mighty angel choir, singing "Glory to God in the highest."
O ye heights of heaven adore Him;
angel hosts, His praises sing;
Powers, dominions, bow before Him,
and extol our God and King!
Let no tongue on earth be silent,
Every voice in concert sing,
evermore and evermore!
-- "Of the Father's Love Begotten," words by Au­rel­i­us Pru­den­ti­us