Editorials

One of my very early memories of Christmas is of an evening when I was probably about twelve. My parents had gone out briefly for some shopping, and it was a new feeling for me, being entirely alone in a silent house but with all the familiar decorations—the fresh green boughs on the mantel, the lighted candles in the windows.

As friendships go , this one was a while in the making. Unlike many who love the Scriptures, I needed help to cherish the Bible.

“Your job is to find what the world is trying to be. ” It’s a line from a poem entitled “Vocation” by the American poet William Stafford.

If you had walked into the newly opened Christian Science Publishing House in 1935, you would have encountered an astonishing piece of art—a three-story, stained-glass rendition of the world. Known as the Mapparium, this remarkable globe continues to delight tens of thousands of visitors each year.

When I began to explore Christian Science, my interest was simply to gain an understanding of God that made sense to me. I found it in the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, the Discoverer of Christian Science.

In Pontius Pilate’s efforts to find his own moral compass, he came to the question “What is Truth?”—a profound question echoed in the cry of humanity today. Pilate, a Roman governor from the first century, is infamously known as the judge who sentenced Jesus to be crucified, ignoring all the facts affirming that Jesus was innocent.

Those committed to a just cause typically face stubborn obstacles. Ideas that challenge the status quo often take centuries to become generally accepted—witness the long and continuing struggle for equal opportunity regardless of gender, race, or class.

It seems to trip people up. I’ve seen it often in my practice of Christian Science.

Many years ago , as a new student of Christian Science, I learned about the intrinsically mental nature of existence. As I became more alert to this, I found my sensitivity to the general drift of thought increasing.

Charles Dickens’s classic novel A Tale of Two Cities opens with the words, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times … it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us …. ” I’ve always loved church, but there was a time when that depiction of extremes fairly well defined my experience of church—in my case, it would have been called “A Tale of Two Churches.