But this article, "Why Evolution Should be Taught in Church," is a most interesting read. If creationism can be taught in school, what would happen if evolution were to be taught in church?
Now, regardless of how you feel about the issues involved, you can't deny that that is a most interesting question!
One of my favorite passages comes from his segment arguing why one should attend church - But I would like to suggest that, ultimately, people go to church because of mystery. This is not mystery in the sense of Whodunit?, or “What makes a rainbow so pretty?”; instead, this is the very mystery of existence itself; it is the bare fact of us showing up, without even having been asked, on this loneliest of planets in this strangest of universes. All people who attend church—conservative, liberal, whatever—do so, at least in part, because of mystery. They may never use that word, but there it is nonetheless.
Another favorite section is this -
It is under this second understanding of the church that its teaching of evolution makes a lot of sense.
My earliest experiences that could be called “religious” were delivered to me by the hands of science. When I was in third or fourth grade my dad showed me a geologic timeline in a Time-Life book on natural history. My eyes followed its epochs, periods, eras, and eons down the page until they converged on the dark Hadean eon, marking Earth’s very assembly 4.5 billion years ago.
I was stupefied. With its boxes and numbers and colors and fine print the timeline seemed to me a thing of great elegance. The words—Ordovician, Silurian, Jurassic, Eocene—were themselves rare discoveries, whatever they signified. Yet standing at the edge of that precipice was, for me, secretly scary. It was profoundly disorienting. It made me feel utterly empty, like I was an absolute nothing. Like I was a ghost.
But it also made me feel giddy, joyful, and free. I could not take my eyes from it. Night after night, I took the Time-Life book to bed with me and I read it until I could read no more.
This quiet but transformative introduction to deep time started me off on a terrific three-year-long obsession with dinosaurs and evolution and geology and astronomy. Other encounters with nature had similar effects on me: They made me feel empty, terrified, and utterly happy and free; and I wound up being a physicist and astronomer. And the irony is, it was science and the natural world—and not the church—that introduced me to mystery. Or, to be more direct, it was science and the natural world—and not the church—that introduced me to God.
For his experience is a little like this one that my grandmother exposed me to. Truth be told, this little exercise that my grandmother conducted for me taught me to believe in God more than any talk with my father (though they were wonderful) or lesson in CCD or sermon in church.
“Okay,” Granny said from the other side of her cramped one bedroom apartment at Fairview Manor. “Just tape the end of the paper to my back door.”
I pressed my thumb to the green metal door at the back of her kitchen. The slice of Scotch tape held firm - two feet below the peep and just a little to the left of the imposing deadbolt lock.
“Now come to the front door,” Granny called from the living room.
I followed the roll of old white calculator tape as it snaked its way out of the kitchen, over the dining room table where it nearly snagged in the fake bowl of plastic fruit in the middle, around the green leather recliner, and finally past the TV.
Granny stood at her front door. She had spent the past few minutes drawing and writing on the roll of paper before propping the pencil behind an ear. She held the dwindling roll of paper in one hand and a single strip of tape in the other. Then - wincing just a bit from her arthritis - she gripped the paper with her swollen hands and with a sharp yank from her bulging knuckle, she tore the paper free from the roll, which she then tucked into her front pocket. Then she applied the Scotch tape, adhering the other end to the front door.
“Now this will help us view earth’s history in perspective. The piece you stuck to the back door is the beginning of the earth. The piece I stuck to the front door is present day,” she instructed.
I turned and looked at the tape as it stretched back over the TV, by the recliner, past the fake bowl of fruit, and around the corner into the kitchen where it disappeared.
“Now let’s walk back and check the marks,” she said.
Looking closer at the tape, I realized, sure enough, there were pencil marks several feet apart on the paper.
“These, my dear,” Granny said in the tone that meant she was teaching me something important, “are all the eras in earth’s history.”
She stopped at the dinning room table, where the first era in earth’s history ended. Granny pulled out a chair. She bent down to my perspective and said, “Look at the beginning of the things.”
I did.
“As you can see,” Granny said from beside me, “the longest period in earth’s history, the Precambrian period, lasts all the way from the back door to the dining table here. That was the period the earth was cooling and preparing for life. Imagine each foot of tape is - oh - a thousand million years.”
“But most of the tape is taken up by it!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. So much white tape where there was no life on earth at all! It certainly put my measly five years on it in perspective.
Granny noticed my awe. She gave it a few seconds to sink in. Then she spoke in my ear. “That is why I think God created life on earth.”
I turned to look at her.
She put her thin, but firm arm around me and said simply, “It must have been so terribly lonely.”
That made sense to me.
“Now, come with me,” she said close to my ear and moved from the table. We inched our way along the tape, leaving that stretch of 10 or 12 feet of empty time behind us.
“Things began to change,” she said as I looked at the strange words scrawled onto the tape. “More complex forms of life began to flourish. The Precambrian era ended and the Paleozoic began. At this point it is believed that all of the continents were joined into one large landmass. It was at this point that the dinosaurs – your favorites – began to arise.”
We then ventured a little farther, stopping in front of the TV. “Here is your favorite period.”
From all the hours Granny spent reading me articles from the National Geographics and buying me a small horde of plastic dinosaurs, I knew she was right. I looked on top of the TV and saw that she had placed my favorites - T-Rex and Stegosaurus - on top next to the word “Jurassic.”
“See how long this period lasted?”
I nodded as I saw the more recent eras blocked off into shorter periods that only measured a few inches. Things were getting interesting now.
“During the Cretaceous period, the dinosaurs began to die out.”
I followed the tape over the TV and the bookshelf, where several dinosaurs were tipped over. I nodded as I realized I was witnessing the downfall of the dinosaurs.
“But it seems like the dinosaurs lived so long ago,” I said, eyeing the tape as it was quickly running out, for the front door was just a few inches away. “We’re almost at the end!”
Granny cracked a broad smile.
“Okay, stand here at the front door,” she said steering me toward it. “This marks the most current era in earth’s history where the earth cooled because of the Ice Age and homo sapiens came into the picture.”
“But you don’t have anything written down for them . . . I mean us!”
“Just wait,” she said. “From our place in the present, look back at all of earth’s history.”
I followed the tape from the front door over the bookshelf and to the TV. So much for the dinosaurs.
Then I watched as it wound toward the dining room table. The Paleozoic era.
Finally, I saw how the majority of the tape belonged to the blank – and mostly lifeless -- Precambrian era. Indeed, how lonely it must have been for all those years.
“So where are we?” I asked, turning back to the front door and peering at the tape.
Granny gave me her I-am-glad-you-asked-me-that smile and snatched the pencil out from behind her ear.
“We my dear,” she said with the pencil poised, ”are right here.”
With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the thinnest of lines across the very edge of the tape. It was so slight that I had to look close to even see it.
“That’s it?”
“Yep. There’s not even enough room to write homo sapiens.”
I stared at the line.
“So whenever we like to think we humans are so high and mighty,” she said grinning and propping the pencil back behind her ear, “just remember our little lesson here.”
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