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Jim McCrory

Echoes in the Playground: Groupthink from Childhood to Global Stages

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday, 19 Feb 2025, 10:33


 “The surest way to work up a crusade in favour of some good cause 

is to promise people they will have a chance of maltreating someone.”

Aldous Huxley - Brave New World 



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot



"Echoes in the Playground: Tracing Groupthink from Childhood to Global Stages"

It all begins in the playground. I remember when I was six years old, standing on the outskirts of laughter and whispers. A girl in my class handed out party invitations, flanked by her giggling friends. Eager for inclusion, I approached and asked for one. With a rhyme that stung sharper than any slap, she replied, “Bum, bum, bubble-gum, my mammy said you canny come.” The laughter that followed was a barrier, an early lesson in exclusion based on whims I couldn't understand.

This spirit of exclusion isn’t confined to the whimsical cruelty of children; it seeps into our communities with far greater consequences. Growing up in Govan, Glasgow, I witnessed the fierce rivalry between Celtic and Rangers fans. Football matches were more than games; they were battlegrounds for identity and belonging, often resulting in violence that tore the community apart.

Nationally and beyond, this division expands. The historical tension between Scotland and England echoes these childhood games on a grander scale, with each side rallying to their banners, often irrationally so. Internationally, we see countries and groups cleave along lines drawn by similar us-versus-them mentalities, whether in politics, sports, or cultural pride.

Even sacred spaces like the family are not immune to this divisive groupthink. Disagreements over worldviews can escalate, transforming into a collective shunning that alienates family members who dare to think differently. This painful exclusion is mirrored in religious contexts, which should ideally promote kindness and acceptance. During a bitter cold evening in Glasgow, I observed Christians distributing food to the homeless, a stark contrast to the religious group I once belonged to, which prioritized doctrinal purity over compassion, often criticizing other faiths over trivial theological differences. Here, I was reminded of Mark 9:40, "Anyone who isn’t against us is for us," a call for inclusivity that was often ignored.

Political events further illustrated this pervasive issue. At every level, groupthink can lead to destructive decisions that favour cohesion over critical thinking. Defined as a psychological phenomenon, groupthink occurs when the desire for harmony within a group results in irrational or dysfunctional decision-making. Members may suppress dissent, shun external opinions, and avoid realistic critiques to maintain unity, sacrificing individual creativity and leading to suboptimal outcomes.

As we navigate these turbulent interactions, it’s crucial to pause and reflect. We must ask ourselves "Why?" and consider the extent to which we contribute to groupthink. Are we causing pain to others, dismissing those who are, after all, made in the image of God? Recognizing our part in these dynamics is the first step toward fostering a world where understanding and respect transcend the invisible yet formidable lines we often draw around and against each other.


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Jim McCrory

Am I in a Cult, How Can I Tell?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday, 17 Feb 2025, 11:27


“The mind enslaved by fear or blind faith is a prisoner that builds its own cage.”

— Unknown


Image generated by Microsoft Copilot


 "I am the way and the truth and the life. 

No one comes to the Father except through me."

John 14: 6


People don't join cults for their darkness, they join for their apparent warmth. And those who express that warmth, don't realise they are in need of light. You see, many cults indulge in good works and this is why It can be surprisingly hard to recognize when you’re caught in the web of a cult. 

The term itself conjures images of secretive rituals, fanatical devotion, and bizarre beliefs, but most cults are far subtler. They operate under the guise of legitimate organizations, offering hope, community, or answers to life’s deepest questions. If you’re wondering whether you’re in a cult, you may already sense that something isn’t right. Recognizing the signs often begins with asking hard questions about the group’s practices and your own feelings of freedom and individuality.

At the heart of many cults lies absolute authority. Cult leaders claim to hold exclusive truths—truths that no one else can access. Their teachings and decisions are not to be questioned. If you find yourself unable to voice doubts or challenge leadership without fear of backlash, that’s a significant red flag. Healthy organizations welcome accountability and foster critical thinking, while cults demand unquestioning loyalty.

Another hallmark is isolation. Cults often create an “us versus them” mentality, painting outsiders as threats or enemies. You may be encouraged to limit contact with friends and family who don’t share the group’s beliefs. Over time, this isolation can erode your support network, leaving you increasingly dependent on the group for emotional, social, and even financial needs.

Speaking of finances, cults frequently make extreme demands on members’ time and resources. Whether it’s through monetary contributions, volunteer labour, or total control over your daily life, the group’s needs are prioritized above your own. If you’re constantly sacrificing your well-being or struggling to meet the group’s demands, it’s worth considering whether those sacrifices are reasonable.

Control often extends into the realm of emotions, too. Fear, guilt, and shame are powerful tools in a cult’s arsenal. You might be made to feel unworthy or sinful if you fail to live up to their standards. Fear of leaving—whether due to threats of divine punishment, public shaming, or the loss of community—is another common tactic. Such emotional manipulation can leave you questioning your own judgment, making it harder to see the group’s actions for what they are.

Cults also insist on exclusivity of truth. They claim to have the sole path to salvation, enlightenment, or fulfilment. Other perspectives are dismissed as dangerous, and critical thinking is discouraged. This creates a closed system where the group’s beliefs become self-reinforcing, shutting out alternative viewpoints that could challenge their authority.

Manipulation often begins subtly, with an initial period of love bombing. This is when you’re showered with attention, praise, and affection to draw you in. Over time, however, this warm embrace can turn cold. Public criticism, humiliation, or even shunning may be used to enforce compliance. Members who leave are often ostracized, painted as traitors or failures.

Secrecy is another key feature of cults. You may notice that certain practices or teachings are only revealed once you’re deeply involved. Financial dealings, leadership decisions, or the true extent of the group’s demands might be hidden. Transparency is a hallmark of trustworthy organizations; secrecy is not.

So, how can you know for sure? Ask yourself some honest questions. Do you feel free to leave the group without fear of punishment or loss? Are you encouraged to think critically and ask questions? Does the group’s leadership live consistently with the values they preach, or do they seem to benefit disproportionately from your contributions? Most importantly, do you feel more empowered or diminished by your involvement?

Recognizing these patterns isn’t easy, especially if you’ve invested a lot of time, energy, or emotion into the group. But stepping back to evaluate your situation objectively is crucial. Reach out to trusted friends or family members outside the group for their perspective. Professional counsellors and organizations like the International Cultic Studies Association can also provide guidance and support.

https://www.icsahome.com/

Being part of a community can be a beautiful thing, but true community is built on mutual respect, freedom, and trust. If those elements are missing, it’s worth exploring why—and whether you’re in a place that truly has your best interests at heart.


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Jim McCrory

Where do we go? My thoughts

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 16 Feb 2025, 10:27


You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing.

Psalm 145: 16. (BSB).



Image kindly provided by https://unsplash.com/@murilog8


I’m driving to the supermarket this morning. “Don’t forget the corn chips,” my wife said. I can’t believe these snacks are £2.50 a packet. “Oh, and dips to go with them,” she requests. That's another £1.75. Goodness! Once upon a time, I recall buying crisps with a wee blue packet of salt inside for a thruppenny bit—that’s 2.5 pence in today's money in the U.K. You do the maths.

Anyway, I’m in a bit of a nostalgic mood by musing on the past. It’s this song I’m listening to in the car. It’s Runrig’s "The Ocean Road." My wife listens to their music, but I do both: I listen to the words and the music. I am a writer, and I studied English Literature when I was at university. It’s all about words for me and how they are arranged into beautiful formats.

"The Ocean Road" is a beautiful, emotive track that epitomizes the band's ability to blend folk rock with themes deeply rooted in Scottish culture and landscapes. The song appears on their 1999 album "In Search of Angels." It's a poignant reflection on the passage of time and the journey of life, highlighting themes of return, memory, and the powerful draw of home. But there’s something else; it’s about the desire to capture youth once again, to live a life once more.

I find it evokes a sense of spirituality. When I arrived home, I read Psalm 37; something I always do when feeling nostalgic due to aging. This is the Psalm that Jesus quoted when he said the "meek" or "righteous" would inherit the earth. Verse 29 reads,

 “Those leading God-pleasing lives will inherit His land and settle there forever.”

I’ve often spoken to God and requested that if I am found worthy of everlasting life, and the paradise is planet Earth, “may I be on one of the Western Isles?”


Psalm 37: 29:  Scripture taken from The Voice™. Copyright © 2012 by Ecclesia Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

The Ocean Road: Runrig - The Ocean Road - Live

 

 

 


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Jim McCrory

Mortality is a reminder that time is both fleeting and precious

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 16 Feb 2025, 18:36

Mortality is a reminder that time is both fleeting and precious, 

urging us to cherish the connections we choose to keep."



Image generated with the assistance of  Microsoft Copilot



The Value of Time: Navigating Relationships in the Face of Terminal Illness

When you are faced with the reality of a terminal illness, time suddenly becomes an entirely different, unfamiliar  currency—a fleeting, invaluable resource to be spent with care. I have found myself weighing each connection, each interaction, with a new kind of gravity. This recalibration of priorities has led me to limit my relationships, not out of selfishness but from a deep awareness of what little time I have left and how best to use it. Yet, this choice, though deeply personal, has not gone unnoticed or uncontested or the subject of hyper criticism. That disappoints me. 

What strikes me most is how the news of a terminal diagnosis can pull people out of the woodwork, individuals who had faded into the periphery of my life, now reappearing with sudden urgency. It’s easy to cast judgment on this phenomenon, to view it cynically as a reaction borne of guilt, fear, or social expectation. But beneath these surface motivations, I’ve found a tangle of emotions and intentions that reveal something profoundly human.

Guilt, undoubtedly, is a significant factor. I see it in the faces of those who reconnect after years of silence. It’s as though the knowledge of my illness has held a mirror to their lives, reflecting the gaps and absences in our relationship. Perhaps they remember a kindness I offered, a shared moment now tinged with the regret of neglect. These pangs of remorse compel them to reach out, to atone for the distance they allowed to grow. And while I understand this instinct, I’ve also come to realize that guilt-driven connections often serve more as balm for their conscience than solace for mine.

Fear, too, plays its role. There’s a certain urgency that illness imposes, an unspoken countdown that presses on both the diagnosed and their circle. For those who have drifted, my situation becomes a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the opportunities they’ve let slip by. They come, not wanting to carry the burden of unresolved words or unspoken feelings. They want closure, or perhaps a chance to leave on better terms than the ones we’d resigned ourselves to. It’s a fear I understand, but one that can feel oddly transactional when viewed from this side of the table.

Then there is the weight of societal expectations, the unspoken rules that dictate how we should behave when illness strikes. People feel a duty to express their concern, to offer support, even if their presence has been sporadic or absent in the past. These gestures, though often well-meaning, can carry an air of obligation. There’s a script to follow: the phone call, the flowers, the promise to visit soon. While I’ve appreciated these overtures, they sometimes feel less like genuine connection and more like a box being checked, a societal norm being fulfilled.

As I’ve reflected on these reappearances, I’ve come to see that their motivations—guilt, fear, obligation—are not inherently negative. They are simply human. We are flawed creatures, stumbling through relationships with a mix of selfishness and sincerity. What matters most, I’ve found, is not why someone reconnects but what they bring to the table when they do. Are they present, willing to engage honestly, or merely passing through to ease their own discomfort?

For my part, I’ve chosen to focus on the relationships that feel reciprocal, where time spent together is a shared gift rather than a one-sided act of absolution. This doesn’t mean I’ve shut the door on others; I’ve simply chosen to prioritize the connections that align with the values I hold closest: authenticity, mutual respect, and the ability to be fully present in the moment.

The Gift of Time

If there is one lesson I’d share from this experience, it is the profound importance of treasuring time and being intentional with it. For those who find themselves on the receiving end of these sudden reconnections, it is okay to set boundaries, to choose where and with whom to spend your precious hours. And for those reaching out, I would urge sincerity—not out of guilt, not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to be part of a moment that truly matters rather than causing added frustration by firing surface judgements. 

In the end, relationships, like life itself, are finite. They are imperfect, complicated, and sometimes messy. But within their imperfection lies their beauty: the chance to connect, to forgive, and to find meaning even in the shadow of mortality.


"


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Jim McCrory

Music and Memory: A Journey Through Time

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday, 12 Feb 2025, 19:27



"Music evokes emotion, and emotion can bring its memory. 

It brings back the feeling of life when nothing else can."

Oliver Sacks 



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot



Music and Memory: A Journey Through Time 

Music has the profound ability to transport us to different times and places, a phenomenon that has always fascinated me. Whenever I hear the Four Tops' "Don't Walk Away, Renee," I am instantly taken back to my teenage years, walking past a Glasgow café at the age of thirteen. The melancholic tones of the song wafted through the door from the jukebox, marking a poignant moment in my youth.

In 1981, I found myself in Magaluf, Majorca. During a sleepless night, I ventured out for a walk around 1 a.m. The eerie quiet of the evening was suddenly pierced by "The Lunatics Have Taken Over the Asylum" by Fun Boy Three, blaring from a café's jukebox—a surreal soundtrack to my solitary stroll.

My fascination with Norway began in a classroom, listening to Edvard Grieg’s "Morning." This piece inspired a dream that came true in 1999 when I lived in Randaberg, Stavanger. Our home was a spacious three-bedroom cabin with a view of the lake. One memorable journey from Oslo through breathtaking mountain landscapes ended with me so exhausted that I slept on the grass, waking to the early morning light. The tender, folk-like melody of the second movement (Adagio) of Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 16, vividly brings back that morning. Known for its heartfelt lyricism, this movement, influenced by Norwegian folk music, weaves a delicate interplay between the piano and orchestra, encapsulating the beauty of the Norwegian landscapes.

My yearning to explore Sweden was fulfilled in 1995 when I visited a family in Målsryd, near Borås. After touring Stockholm and other locales, I left Sweden with a heavy heart. Upon returning home, a letter from Sweden awaited me, containing a CD with a track from the musical Kristina från Duvemåla. The song "Guldet blev till sand" recounts the poignant tale of Swedish migration to America during the 19th century. Each listen takes me back to that transformative holiday, stirring deep emotions connected to those days.

Music, a wondrous gift from the Creator, not only captures every nuance of our emotions and experiences but also packages them into a vivid cinematic reel in our minds, continuing to live within us, evoking the essence of moments long passed yet vividly remembered.

The pieces discussed

The Four Tops - Walk Away Renee (Live)

Fun Boy Three - The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum (Official Music Video)

Peter Jöback - Guldet Blev Till Sand (Live Grammisgalan 1997)

Grieg's Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 16: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXPDXzVNujg


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Jim McCrory

Is My Religion Making me a Sociopath?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday, 12 Feb 2025, 11:13


"A golden halo hides the tarnish of deception."



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot


One man there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and realized that he had spent a long time in this condition, He asked him, “Do you want to get well?”

     “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am on my way, someone else goes in before me.”

Then Jesus told him, “Get up, pick up your mat, and walk.”

Immediately the man was made well, and he picked up his mat and began to walk.

Now this happened on the Sabbath day, so the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “This is the Sabbath! It is unlawful for you to carry your mat.”

John 5:5-10 5:5-10 (BSB).



Is My Religion Making me a Sociopath?


Listen up — In the intricate dance of faith and control, high-control religious groups pose a unique challenge to the very essence of Christian transformation. These environments, often marked by an authoritarian grip on beliefs and behaviours, can inadvertently foster the growth of sociopathic traits among their adherents. Here's a closer look at how these dynamics unfold and the profound impact they can have on individuals and communities.

High-control religious settings often emphasize obedience and uniformity, creating a perfect storm where empathy and personal accountability are drowned out by the thunderous demands of conformity. These groups may teach that outsiders or dissenters are misguided or even malevolent, which can severely warp members' capacity for empathy. This vilification of the "other" justifies a range of actions from shunning to outright hostility, making it easier for individuals with manipulative tendencies to thrive.

Manipulation within these groups is not just common; it's often a taught condition . Members might be encouraged to use guilt or fear to ensure conformity among their ranks, including tactics like social ostracization or public shaming. In such settings, those who can manipulate effectively rise in esteem and often in rank, with their traits seen as justifiable means to a spiritual end.

Moreover, these groups frequently instil a sense of chosenness or superiority, feeding into the grandiose self-image that is characteristic of sociopathic behaviour. This "us versus them" mentality can enhance the division between group members and the outside world, fostering a dangerous insularity.

One of the most insidious aspects of high-control environments is the lack of accountability, especially for those in leadership. Leaders may be viewed as beyond reproach, their actions justified as divinely inspired or mandated. This can create a perilous situation where leaders feel untouchable, further entrenching manipulative or abusive behaviour

Critical thinking is the bedrock of growth and change, but in high-control groups, it's often the first casualty. Questioning doctrines or decisions is seen as rebellious or even heretical, creating an environment where sociopathic individuals can operate without challenge. This suppression of dissent ensures that the status quo is maintained, and that those who are skilled in manipulation can continue without interference.

The Christian faith is fundamentally about transformation—about moving from old ways of being towards something gloriously new. Paul the Apostle speaks to this in 2 Corinthians 5:17, noting that anyone in Christ is a new creation, old things have passed away, and all things have become new. This message of renewal is antithetical to the stagnation and control found in high-control groups.

If you find yourself recognizing sociopathic traits within your own behavior, or if you're part of a group that fosters such traits, hope is not lost. Christianity calls for a heart that seeks to emulate Christ—one of love, service, and humility. Self-examination, accountability, prayer, and professional help are all steps towards genuine change.

For those entangled in high-control religions, the journey towards freedom can be daunting but is profoundly necessary. It begins with the courage to question and to seek a faith that is rooted in love rather than fear, in openness rather than control.

The question of whether a Christian can be a sociopath highlights a deeper inquiry into what it means to truly live out one's faith. Authentic Christianity—the kind that reflects the character of Christ—is incompatible with the manipulative and controlling traits of sociopathy. For those who strive towards this authentic expression of faith, the path always leads back to the core Christian values of humility, honesty, and transformative love.


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Jim McCrory

Astrophysics and the Search for Water

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Rain whispers on leaves,

a slow dance of drips and dreams—

thirsty earth sighs, full.



Image provided by https://unsplash.com/@nasa



The Existential Quest in Astrophysics: Beyond the Search for Water

As part of the National Astronomy Week in United Kingdom, the subject of water on other planets came to the fore. Astrophysicists' pursuit of water on distant planets often signals a quest for life beyond Earth. At its core, this search raises profound existential questions: Why are we searching for life elsewhere? Is it merely for potential colonization? Man is reminiscent of two baboons squabbling over a banana while destroying the garden around them? Humanity has already left indelible marks of ruin on Earth; if we were to inhabit another planet, how long before we replicated the same fate there?

Alternatively, if our motive is to uncover the origins of life, why then do we overlook the narrative of creation presented in Genesis 1:1, "In the beginning..."? Detractors may argue that incorporating God into scientific discourse is unscientific. Yet, history tells us that many of the greatest scientific minds believed in a divine architect. The intricate laws of physics, the fine-tuning of cosmic constants, and the complexity of life often suggest to some the hand of a deliberate designer—a higher intelligence they may identify as God.

Science, while a potent tool for decoding the natural world, inherently possesses limitations. It does not venture into metaphysical realms or tackle the existence of the supernatural. For believers, science enhances the understanding of what they perceive as God's creation, supplementing rather than negating their faith.

Moreover, the inner richness of personal  experiences and the elusive nature of human consciousness are not wholly accounted for by scientific means, hinting at a spiritual or divine dimension to our existence. Such experiences frequently bolster the belief in a higher power, enriching the spiritual tapestry of an individual's life.

Importantly, science alone does not lay the foundations for morality and ethics. The presence of objective moral values, which many argue necessitates a moral lawgiver, is another point where discussions about God frequently emerge.

While the scientific community remains divided—with many contending that scientific findings are neutral or even oppose theistic views—the conversation between science and religion continues to thrive. For those who discern a connection, the integration of science and faith offers a more comprehensive understanding of reality than either could alone.

Lastly, we must ponder: if life exists outside our solar system and if it were superior both in power and morality, what would it think of humanity? Our history of adultery, deceit, aggression, environmental destruction, corporate greed, and profound inequalities paints a troubling portrait. What would these beings think of the race called mankind?

In our relentless stride toward cosmic exploration, these reflections remind us of the profound moral and philosophical implications of our scientific endeavours, urging us to look inward even as we reach for the stars.


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Jim McCrory

Breisleach: Gazing into the Universe's Edge

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 "When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

Ralph Waldo Emerson:


Image kindly provided by Jeremy Thomas (@jeremythomasphoto) | Unsplash Photo Community



Breisleach: Gazing into the Universe's Edge

I have always been a stargazer since I spent the lonely nights as a child in our cabin on the Island of Bute on Scotland’s west coast. Whether under the sprawling, dark skies of the countryside or amidst the faint glimmer seen from the city, the stars have been my constant companions. Yet, it was only yesterday, during a visit to the Glasgow Science Centre at the culmination of National Astronomy Week, that I experienced a moment of profound awe that left me searching for words to encapsulate the depth of my emotion.

The Gaelic word, breisleach, refers to a moment of deep, awe-filled reflection. This was the sensation that overcame me as my wife and I sat under the Planetarium's dome, prepared for a journey across the cosmos. The universe, I've always known, is incomprehensibly vast. Words like "big" or "vast" fall short of capturing its boundless expanse. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the moment the lights dimmed, the ceiling opened, and we were drawn into the celestial dance of the solar system.

As Martin, the lecturer, guided our gaze to the image of Earth—a tiny speck suspended in the shimmering ribbon of the Milky Way—I felt an overwhelming rush of breisleach. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pondered our planet's fragile beauty, poised on the edge of eternity. In that moment, I felt a connection to something greater, a tapestry of creation so intricate and vast that it stirred something transcendent within me.

This sensation isn't new to humanity. David, the shepherd who became king, must have felt a similar sense of breisleach as he watched over his flock under the ancient skies, free from the light pollution, the incessant buzzing of mobile phones, and the myriad distractions of modern life. It was under such a sky that he penned the words of Psalm 8, a humbling meditation on our place within the universe:

When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have set in place—what is man that You are mindful of him, or the son of man that You care for him?

These words resonate with me more deeply now than ever before. They remind us that despite our advanced technologies and the hustle and bustle of contemporary life, we remain deeply connected to the cosmos, just a small part of a grand, divine canvas.

This experience has led me to reflect on the concept of infinity—not just in terms of space, but as a measure of life, time, and the hope that springs eternal in the human spirit. In the vastness of the universe, our lives are mere instants, yet each moment holds the potential for profound joy, deep reflection, and a connection to a future beyond our understanding.

As we walked out of the Planetarium, the world felt both immeasurably vast and comfortingly small. I am grateful for moments of breisleach, for they remind us of our place in this universe—not as masters, but as humble witnesses to its majesty and mystery.

In these reflections, we find a bridge between the celestial and the spiritual, a reminder that our existence, while seemingly minuscule, is deeply intertwined with the cosmos itself. In every starlit night, there is a call to remember our origins and to look forward with hope to the destiny that awaits us among the stars.

And this is the promise that He Himself made to us: eternal life.” I John 2:25 (BSB).


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Jim McCrory

Why Did the Stork not Drop Me In the Hebrides ?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 9 Feb 2025, 10:46


Rùn-mòr (Scottish Gaelic) A secret longing or 

 passion that quietly defines a person’s path in life.



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot



Echoes of Heritage: A Journey Through Music and Memory

In 1974, when I was in my late teens, I found myself at a crossroads. I shook off the friendships from my youth in search of something different. With no qualifications from school, I attended Cardonald College in Glasgow, aiming to gain the credentials needed to enter university.

During this transformative time, a chance encounter led to a significant pivot in my journey. One day, a man noticed I was watching a Scottish Gaelic programme on TV. The following week, he handed me a cassette of a Gaelic group called Na h-Òganaich (The Young Ones). I played it repeatedly, immersing myself until I could sing some of the Gaelic. This newfound interest soon led me to Runrig’s Play Gaelic album. Pardon the pun, but it felt like I was on a rocket to the moon. Those early experiences remind us that youth is a time of serendipity—someone hands you a cassette, and suddenly, something deep takes root in your soul, living with you eternally.

This nostalgic wave washed over me again last night when I attended a Runrig tribute concert performed by Beat the Drum at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall. The audience, a gathering from the length and breadth of the UK, Ireland, and Europe, likely shared their own stories of how the Hebridean culture had influenced their lives.

Throughout the years, I've always felt a twinge of frustration about why destiny chose to drop me in Govan, Glasgow rather than the Hebrides. Now, in my later years, I've come to terms with being an outsider looking in. Yet, there's something profound and inexplicable that tugs at the edges of our consciousness, urging us to explore the realms of our heritage and the profound impact of music on our lives.

I mused on all this  as I watched Donnie Munroe, the former Runrig vocalist, traverse the rugged landscapes of Skye on a programme called Wilderness Walks. Skye was the place where he was raised. In an interview set against Skye's sweeping Cullins, Munroe spoke about the deep connection between music and the human soul. He recounted a poignant episode from Runrig's history—a concert in Ireland during the turbulent years of the Troubles.

The morning after the concert, a Catholic woman approached the band and blessing them. She shared a moving anecdote: her family had attended the concert, and upon returning home, the strife that often pervaded their lives was momentarily forgotten.

This story resonated deeply with my own journey with Runrig’s music from my early years. Despite being raised in Glasgow, far from the Hebridean islands where the language thrived. Over the years, my fascination only grew, leading me to visit Skye, Islay, and Jura. Each visit felt like a homecoming, a sensation that puzzled me until I delved deeper into my lineage.

Recently, curious about any ancestral connections, I submitted my DNA for analysis. The results were startling: 90% of my genetic makeup rooted in Celtic origins, including Brittany in France. Even more astonishing, my paternal line originated from Islay, adding another layer of personal history to lands that had always felt inexplicably like home.

These revelations have led me to ponder the mysterious ways in which our roots, and the cultural legacies of music and language, call to us. It may be easy to dismiss these connections as mere coincidences, yet I cannot shake the feeling that something deeper is at play. Perhaps it is the same force that inspired Munroe to speak so passionately about the soul-stirring power of music, or the same pull that guides a wandering soul back to ancestral lands.

As I reflect on these experiences, I am increasingly convinced that threads of destiny are woven into our lives, subtly guiding us back to our origins and resonating through the music that moves us. In these moments of connection, whether through melodies that touch our hearts or the lands that call to our spirits, we find a profound truth about our existence—there is indeed something deeper going on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CxhOoGE130


.

 

The Donnie Monroe discussion

YouTube. (2025) Wilderness Walks. [Online video]. Accessed on 8 February 2025. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcPsINH-Ptc

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Embracing Imperfection through the Lens of Kintsugi

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday, 7 Feb 2025, 10:37


"I too am flawed, yet the moon still reflects my shadow."



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Word



Golden Joinery: Embracing Imperfection through the Lens of Kintsugi


It was a beautiful day on Scotland's west coast yesterday and my wife and I visited one of the nearby islands  for a walk and to embrace nature. As often the case, I meet people and chat with them. Mostly tourists like us. One thing I noticed when out enjoying the natural environment is that I see the best in people. When in the hub of society, it tends to bring out the negative. I began musing over this as I walked embracing my own thoughts on the matter. This morning I decided to pen what I concluded.

In a world quick to criticize and slower to commend, there lies a potent metaphor in the ancient Japanese art of kintsugi, which teaches us to see beauty in the broken. The haiku, "I too am flawed, yet the moon still reflects my shadow," captures the essence of this philosophy, reminding us that our imperfections do not diminish our value or worth.

Kintsugi, or "golden joinery," transforms broken pottery into striking works of art by mending the cracks with lacquer mixed with precious metals. Originating in the late 15th century during Japan's Muromachi period, kintsugi was born from a dissatisfaction with the mundane repair methods of the time. When Ashikaga Yoshimasa, a prominent shogun, received his cherished tea bowl repaired with unsightly metal staples from China, it prompted Japanese craftsmen to find a more aesthetically pleasing solution. Thus, kintsugi was created, turning flaws into features that tell stories of survival and resilience.

This art form parallels a profound spiritual insight: in recognizing our flaws, we can also see the potential for transformation and redemption. It encourages us to adopt a perspective of shoshin, a concept meaning "beginner's mind," which involves seeing the familiar with fresh eyes and an open heart.

Consider the encounter between Jesus and the rich young ruler, as recounted in the Gospels. Here was a man outwardly flawless, observant of all commandments from his youth. The writer, Mark, acknowledges that Jesus loved him. yet Jesus, seeing deeper, recognized a hidden imperfection—a heart overly attached to wealth. With love and sincerity, Jesus offered the young man a path towards true fulfilment: to sell his possessions, give to the poor, and follow Him. The young ruler, however, turned away sorrowfully, unable to accept the transformative journey Jesus offered.

Jesus's response to the young man exemplifies the essence of kintsugi. He did not dismiss the ruler's efforts or sincerity but pointed out the area in his life that needed 'golden joinery.' This story challenges us to view our own imperfections and those of others not as irreparable breaches but as opportunities for divine enrichment.

Living with this mindset requires a blend of grace and truth. We must acknowledge our brokenness—our spiritual cracks—and invite the golden repair that can only come from a power greater than ourselves. It is a daily practice of renewal, where we learn to appreciate not only the intact parts of our lives but also the beauty of our scars.

In a culture that often emphasizes perfection and hides vulnerability, kintsugi offers a counter-narrative. It celebrates each crack in the human vessel as a part of the unique tapestry of our lives, each line filled with golden resin a testament to our resilience and capacity to heal. It teaches us that our broken places can become the most valuable parts of our story, beautifully restored through patience and care.

Thus, as we navigate our own landscapes of imperfection, let us embrace the wisdom of kintsugi. May we see in ourselves and in each other not just the flaws but the potential for something richer and more beautiful. Like the moon that does not cease to shine its light on even the most flawed among us, let us reflect a vision that highlights beauty in the breaks, dignity in the damage, and treasure in the trials. Through this lens of compassionate restoration, we truly see that what is broken can indeed be made whole again, and perhaps, even more beautiful than before.

 

Mark 10:17-31 (BSB).

As Jesus started on His way, a man ran up and knelt before Him. “Good Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

 “Why do you call Me good?” Jesus replied. “No one is good except God alone.  You know the commandments: ‘Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not cheat others, honor your father and mother.’”

 “Teacher,” he replied, “all these I have kept from my youth.”

Jesus looked at him, loved him, and said to him, “There is one thing you lack: Go, sell everything you own and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.”

But the man was saddened by these words and went away in sorrow, because he had great wealth.


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Jim McCrory

What I Fear Most

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Wednesday, 5 Feb 2025, 11:26


"Men have forgotten God; that's why all this has happened." Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

"Aim at Heaven and you will get Earth 'thrown in': aim at Earth and you will get neither." C.S. Lewis

 "When men choose not to believe in God, they do not thereafter believe in nothing, they then become capable of believing in anything." G.K. Chesterton

 "If God does not exist, then everything is permissible." Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov:

"He has shown you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you

but to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God? Micah 6:8 (BSB).



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What I Fear Most

Reflect on the quotes presented above. They serve as a solemn warning, crafted by sages through the ages, including the divine insights from Micah. A profound fear of mine is that many will be drawn into, and pledge their allegiance to, this post-Christian era. Entrapped by a materialistic and atheistic spirit of the times, this path does not promise a yellow brick road to a new age—and indeed, the cracks on that road are there for all to see.

I see the signs all around me—religious buildings closing, faith dismissed as outdated, and society drifting further into a post-Christian age. We live in a world that still runs on the aroma of Christian morality, yet fewer people recognize or acknowledge the source. What happens when those aromas run out? What will replace the faith that shaped our laws, our ethics, and our understanding of what it means to be human? I fear the answer, because nothing else works.

I was born into a world where Christianity was still the foundation of society. It wasn’t just a private belief system but the bedrock of Western civilization. The idea that every human being has worth—that justice, mercy, and compassion matter—comes not from secular reason, but from the belief that we are made in the image of God. Even those who reject Christianity still live within the moral framework it built. But what happens when that scaffolding is removed?

The moral and legal systems that govern much of the West have their roots in the Bible. Take human rights, for example. They are not self-evident in nature. Ancient empires didn’t operate on the assumption that all men were created equal. That idea comes from Genesis. Justice, as we know it today, was shaped by biblical principles—the Ten Commandments, Jesus’ call to love our neighbour, and the belief that truth is objective rather than relative.

Compassion, too, is a distinctly Christian contribution. The modern concept of charity was not a natural development of human civilization but the result of Jesus’ teachings. Hospitals, schools, and social services largely grew out of the church’s mission. Christianity introduced the revolutionary idea that the weak, the poor, and the outcast mattered. It gave us a moral compass beyond self-interest, a vision of a society where the first shall be last and the last shall be first.

Yet, I fear we are severing ourselves from our roots. Society wants Christian values—justice, dignity, kindness—without Christ. But values detached from their source wither over time.

If Christianity declines, something will take its place. That is inevitable. G.K. Chesterton put it well: “When men stop believing in God, they don’t believe in nothing; they believe in anything.” And history has shown that the substitutes for Christianity are rarely better.

Secular humanism tries to provide a moral framework without God, but its foundation is unstable. Morality becomes subjective, shifting with cultural trends rather than standing firm on eternal truth. The dignity of human life is no longer a given; it must be constantly justified. The moment it becomes inconvenient, it is discarded.

Scientific materialism, another replacement, reduces people to mere biological accidents. There is no soul, no inherent purpose—just neurons firing in a meaningless cosmos. Under this worldview, justice and morality become illusions, useful only for social cohesion but not rooted in any ultimate truth.

Then there are the political ideologies that rise to replace faith. The 20th century provided grim examples of this. When societies abandon belief in a higher power, they often turn to human messiahs—whether political leaders or radical movements. Communism, fascism, and extreme nationalism all sought to create utopias without God, and all led to disaster. The state became the new deity, demanding ultimate loyalty and punishing heretics who refused to conform.

Some turn instead to paganism or vague spirituality, but these, too, fail to provide the structure and hope that Christianity offers. They give temporary comfort but no lasting foundation.

Already, we see the cracks forming. Anxiety and depression are rising, particularly among the young. Without faith, many drift into nihilism, struggling to find meaning in a world that tells them they are just highly evolved animals with no destiny beyond death. There is a growing polarization in society because we have lost a shared moral language. We see the erosion of self-sacrifice, replaced by self-interest. Even forgiveness is fading—cancel culture is what happens when a society forgets grace.

These are not just random cultural shifts; they are the symptoms of a deeper spiritual emptiness. Christianity, for all its flaws in practice, gave us a reason to strive for goodness beyond ourselves. It gave us meaning beyond our immediate desires. Without it, we are left with a world where morality is fluid, where justice is whatever, the majority decides.

But even in my fear, I have hope. History is not a straight line; it moves in cycles. Christianity has faced decline before—during the Enlightenment, for example—yet it revived. God is not bound by cultural trends. Faith often flourishes in adversity. Some of the strongest Christian movements have emerged when belief became countercultural.

Perhaps the future of Christianity is not in grand institutions but in small, faithful communities. Perhaps the faith will be purified by the fire of opposition, leaving behind the nominal belief and rediscovering the radical love and truth of the gospel.

I fear that many will abandon Christianity. I fear what will take its place. But I also believe that truth endures. The world may wander, but Christ remains. And those who seek Him will find Him, even in the darkest times.

This fear may linger in me, but I refuse to despair. Because at the heart of Christianity is a promise—one that no cultural shift can erase: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Amen.” Matthew 28:20 (WEB).


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Jim McCrory

Episodic Memory

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By the waters of Babylon,

there we sat down and wept,

when we remembered Zion.

Psalm 137: 1 (ESV).



"If I were to ask you the name of the capital of Tibet, you would answer instantly, right? But what if I ask you about the last time, you were on holiday with friends? What would happen? A film would roll in your head. If you want to attach a name to it, it's called episodic memory. We all have it. It's the part of our brain that makes us smile or laugh when we are sitting on the train, and people look at us as if we have lost our marbles. Let me share one of mine that is funny, nostalgic, and relates to my mother's lack of self-awareness—something we all fail to see at times."



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I was six years old and Sundays were marked by your arrival late morning behind our tenement on Langland's Road. Clad in a bowtie and Donkey Jacket, you stood on a soapbox, an incongruous music hall artist in our quiet neighbourhood. 

With a swig of fortified wine, you launched into Mario Lanza’s "Be My Love," my grandfather’s favourite. Each performance sent our dog scurrying under the table in fear. 

As you concluded, coins clinked from my mother’s purse onto the ground from two stories up. 

And every week my mother would say, “Why doesn’t that damn man sing something new?” Whilst dabbing her eyes with the handkerchief she took from her apron.


P.S. The capital of Tibet is Lhasa; don't tell me you didn't know.



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Terminal Cancer's Unseen Grace

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday, 3 Feb 2025, 16:30


"It is an irony of human existence that when you find you're the piper at  the gates of mortality, the world looks somewhat hopeful, illuminating the presence of kindness."


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Cancer's Unseen Grace

One thing I’ve observed about the human family is that a fatal cancer diagnosis alters the architecture of perception regarding how they treat you. Those who are often indifferent or preoccupied reveal a hidden tenderness.

Tolerance kicks in from those around. Some side effects of hormone therapy, which is targeted at building a wall around cancer, include grumpiness, failing memory, intrusive thoughts, and an insatiable appetite for laziness, triggered by the body fighting with itself, and a "can’t be bothered" attitude.

But the machinery of life—doctor's surgeries, hospitals, consultants, even passing acquaintances—shifts into a mode of quiet grace, as if some unseen conductor has signalled a change in the score. It is an irony of human existence that when you find you're the piper at the gates of mortality, the world looks somewhat hopeful, illuminating the presence of kindness.

Strangers extend themselves in unexpected ways; friends, once casual, become unwavering; professionals, who might otherwise be hurried, now pause, listen, and offer more than duty requires. The same world, unchanged in its mechanics, pulses with a gentler rhythm.

Of course, not everyone is transformed. There are always those who move through life as if unseeing, concerned only with their own trajectory. But is that new? Their indifference and selfishness are constants against which kindness becomes more visible. It is not that the world changes—it is that awareness sharpens, revealing the threads of compassion that were always there, woven into the fabric of existence.

A terminal illness, then, does not merely bring fear or sorrow; it grants a rare vantage point. From this place, one sees the world not as it should be, but as it is—both flawed and profoundly beautiful, both self-absorbed and astonishingly kind.

"What a person desires is unfailing love" Proverbs 19:22 (Niv).


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Contemplating God, the Universe, the Macro and the Micro

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For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

so My ways are higher than your ways

and My thoughts than your thoughts.

Isaiah 55:9 (BSB).




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The immensity of the universe is a concept that often stretches the bounds of human imagination. Our observable universe, which spans about 93 billion light-years in diameter, offers a glimpse into the cosmic scale of space and time. The light from the most distant objects in this universe has journeyed approximately 46.5 billion years to reach us, illuminating cosmos that were significantly closer at the time of their emission. This mind-bending phenomenon is a result of the universe expanding over time, a concept that challenges our understanding and perceptions of space itself.

But what lies beyond this observable limit? The universe beyond what we can see may be vastly larger, perhaps even infinite. However, our vision is constrained by the finite speed of light combined with the age of the universe, placing a boundary on our cosmic observations. This unseeable region teems with scientific speculation and investigative curiosity, probing the very fabric of reality and the possibilities of what might lie beyond.

Switching our gaze from the cosmic expanse to the minutiae, we encounter the smallest known elements of the universe: elementary particles. These fundamental constituents, which include quarks, leptons, gauge bosons, and the celebrated Higgs boson, form the building blocks of matter and mediate the forces of nature. Quarks come together to form protons and neutrons, which in turn construct the nuclei of atoms. Leptons, such as electrons, populate the shells of atoms and play crucial roles in chemical reactions and physical processes.

Moreover, gauge bosons act as carriers of the fundamental forces—such as the electromagnetic force mediated by photons, the weak force by W and Z bosons, and the strong force by gluons. The theoretical graviton, still elusive, is thought to mediate gravity. The Higgs boson, discovered in 2012, interacts with other particles to provide them with mass, an interaction that takes place within the Higgs field.

The complexity and intricacy of these particles underline a universe that operates on principles beyond ordinary human comprehension, often leading us into philosophical and existential inquiries about infinity, the nature of time, and the very essence of being. Such explorations inevitably confront us with paradoxes that challenge the limits of our understanding and highlight the abstract nature of concepts like infinity.

Within this context of cosmic and atomic scales, one might question the adequacy of our human constructs when applied to the divine. It seems limiting, perhaps even audacious, to fit the creator of such an unfathomable universe into neat, precise categories—as if placing God into a "human bento box." The very act of creation, which encompasses the vast universe and its fundamental particles, suggests that the divine must operate beyond the confines of space and time.

Religious discourse over the ages has often sought to define God within human-comprehensible limits, leading to profound divisions, particularly within Christianity where debates over the nature of God—be it the concept of the Trinity, the singularity of God, or the nature of Jesus—prevail. These doctrinal disputes are further complicated by the diversity of biblical interpretations and translations that reflect the biases of different denominations.

For instance, interpretations of scriptural passages such as John 1:1 vary significantly, with some translations suggesting Jesus is divine, while others offer interpretations of him being "a god" or divine in nature without being God Himself. Such discrepancies often reflect underlying theological and cognitive biases shaped by cultural and familial backgrounds, influencing how one perceives these religious concepts.

Navigating this complex landscape requires a humble approach: engaging in prayer, seeking personal understanding through scripture, and embracing a love for God while honouring Christ Jesus, who exemplified and illuminated God’s character. This path encourages a personal connection with the divine, transcending denominational confines and fostering a deeper comprehension of the spiritual essence that pervades the vast, intricate universe we continue to explore and marvel at.


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Jim McCrory

Were You Bullied at School?

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"Navigating life after bullying is about dismantling the fortresses we built as children 

and learning to live without constant defence."


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"...there is a time when one man lords it over another to his own detriment."

Ecclesiastes 8:9 b (BSB).


In the quiet corridors of memory, sometimes the echoes of old school bells and whispered threats still linger, subtly shaping the adults we become. Though I wasn't bullied myself, the presence of gang members and weapons at school meant that my school days were spent in a state of high alert. This constant vigilance, while not bullying per se, instilled in me an acute awareness of my surroundings that has, in some ways, persisted into adulthood.

This heightened state of alert can be seen as a form of armour, developed young and worn through the years, ostensibly to protect but also sometimes to isolate. After delving into some research on the lasting impacts of bullying, I've come to understand more deeply how these early experiences can cast long shadows over our lives. Adults who were bullied as children may find that their schoolyard coping mechanisms have matured into more complex emotional responses. Sensitivity to criticism, difficulty in trusting others, and a propensity to sidestep conflict can all stem from those formative experiences of fear and humiliation.

For those who were bullied, the school environment becomes a battlefield of survival, where every interaction may be a potential threat. Such conditions can foster defensive behaviours that endure long past graduation. The defensive stance, while a necessary shield in youth, can lead to withdrawal or overreaction in completely benign adult situations, where the stakes are different, and the old enemies no longer present.

Understanding these patterns is crucial. Therapy, particularly cognitive-behavioural therapy, offers powerful tools for rewriting the internal narratives that tell us we are still trapped in those old roles of victim and antagonist. It teaches us to challenge our habitual responses and to replace them with thoughts that are more aligned with our current reality. This realignment can significantly alleviate the burden of the past.

Support groups also play a vital role. They are the collective where shared stories resonate with the power of common experience. In these spaces, validation and empathy flow freely, helping to salve old wounds. To speak and to be heard in such a setting is both empowering and healing, as it breaks the isolation that often accompanies the scars of bullying.

Moreover, engaging in activities that bolster well-being—such as exercise, meditation, and hobbies—enhances resilience. The simple act of walking through a forest or focusing on a creative endeavour can be profoundly therapeutic. These activities ground us in the present and remind us of the joys that life has to offer beyond our past adversities.

Cultivating strong, empathetic relationships is another cornerstone of healing. Friends, family members, and community connections can provide not only solace but also perspectives that challenge our ingrained patterns of thinking and reacting. They help us to see that not every critical word is a dagger, nor every disagreement a battle to be won.

Finally, education about bullying itself can transform pain into understanding. Knowing more about why bullying happens and recognizing its impacts can liberate a person from the chains of self-blame and isolation. It contextualizes personal pain within a broader social problem, which not only helps in healing but can also ignite a desire to advocate for changes that might save others from similar suffering.

Navigating life after bullying is about dismantling the fortresses we built as children and learning to live without constant defence. It's a journey of turning painful memories into stepping stones towards a more aware and compassionate self. By addressing the scars of our past with care, understanding, and support, we can reclaim our lives, proving that even the deepest wounds can be gateways to profound healing and transformation.


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Jim McCrory

The Folly of Hasty Judgments

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"The first to state his case seems right until another comes and cross-examines him."

Proverbs 18:17 (BSB).



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The ancient parable of the blind men and the elephant is a timeless tale that illustrates the limitations of human perception and the dangers of forming conclusions based on incomplete information. In the story, several blind men encounter an elephant for the first time. Each man touches a different part of the animal—the side, the tusk, the trunk, the leg, the ear, and the tail—and, based on their limited experience, they arrive at vastly different conclusions about what an elephant is. One believes it is like a wall, another a spear, another a snake, and so on. The parable serves as a metaphor for the human tendency to judge situations, ideas, or people based on narrow perspectives, often leading to misunderstandings and conflict.

This parable resonates deeply with the wisdom found in Proverbs 18:17, which states, "The one who states his case first seems right, until the other comes and examines him." This biblical proverb underscores the importance of seeking a fuller understanding before passing judgment. Just as the blind men in the parable were quick to assert their interpretations of the elephant, we too often rush to conclusions about others based on superficial observations or limited information. Such hasty judgments can lead to division, prejudice, and missed opportunities for deeper connection and understanding.

In today’s world, where information is abundant but often fragmented, the lesson of the blind men and the elephant is more relevant than ever. Social media, for instance, encourages snap judgments based on headlines, soundbites, or isolated incidents. We see a single post, a brief comment, or a moment captured out of context, and we feel equipped to label someone as good or bad, right or wrong. Yet, like the blind men, we are often grasping only a small part of a much larger picture. Our judgments, while they may seem justified in the moment, are frequently incomplete or misguided.

The folly of judging others based on little information is not just a modern problem; it is a universal human tendency. History is replete with examples of individuals and groups who were misjudged and misunderstood because others failed to seek a fuller understanding of their circumstances, beliefs, or actions. The parable and the proverb remind us that truth is often more complex than it appears, and that humility is essential in our interactions with others. We must recognize the limits of our own perspectives and be willing to listen, learn, and reconsider our assumptions.

Moreover, the parable of the blind men and the elephant invites us to consider the value of diverse perspectives. While each blind man’s understanding of the elephant was incomplete, their collective insights could have painted a more accurate picture. Similarly, when we engage with others who have different experiences and viewpoints, we enrich our own understanding of the world. Instead of dismissing those who see things differently, we should approach them with curiosity and openness, recognizing that their "piece of the elephant" may hold truths we have yet to discover.

In conclusion, the parable of the blind men and the elephant, coupled with the wisdom of Proverbs 18:17, offers a powerful lesson in humility and the dangers of hasty judgments. It challenges us to resist the urge to form conclusions based on limited information and to instead seek a fuller understanding of the people and situations we encounter. By doing so, we not only avoid the silliness of misguided judgments but also open ourselves to the richness of diverse perspectives and the possibility of deeper, more meaningful connections. In a world that often encourages quick takes and snap decisions, may we strive to be people who listen, learn, and approach others with the humility and grace they deserve. Then, others will dignify us.


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Jim McCrory

Squinting out of Plato's Cave

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday, 1 Feb 2025, 10:43


"And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened: 

Behold! human beings living in an underground den..."

Plato


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Plato's Allegory of the Cave, described in his seminal work, The Republic, serves as a profound commentary on the nature of perception, enlightenment, and the pursuit of truth. This allegory, though ancient, provides a compelling framework for understanding our contemporary world, particularly in how we perceive and interact with the reality around us.

In the allegory, prisoners are confined to a dark cave, only able to see shadows cast on a wall from objects passing in front of a fire behind them. These shadows constitute the entirety of their reality. The cave, in modern contexts, can be likened to the limited perspective that each of us holds based on our upbringing, culture, and media exposure. Much like the prisoners, our understanding of the world is often a reflection—shaped by the second-hand information that media, internet algorithms, and societal norms project onto the walls of our personal experiences.

The moment a prisoner escapes the cave and sees the world for what it truly is—an array of colours, objects, and lights—he undergoes a painful but enlightening transformation. This escape is akin to the personal awakenings that occur when individuals challenge their long-held beliefs or when they are exposed to different cultures, ideologies, or scientific truths. Such awakenings can be disorienting and challenging, questioning the very foundation of what we consider to be real and true.

Consider, for instance, the impact of the internet and global connectivity. Information that once took months to disseminate is now accessible instantaneously. People are regularly exposed to viewpoints from all corners of the globe, which can challenge parochial mindsets and encourage a more comprehensive understanding of the world. However, just as the freed prisoner squints in the sunlight, so too can this flood of information be overwhelming and difficult to process, requiring time and effort to discern truth from falsehood.

Plato's allegory does not end with the escape to enlightenment but includes a return to the cave to help free the remaining prisoners. This phase is crucial and perhaps the most relevant to our modern society. Those who have seen the "real world" are compelled to return and share their knowledge; despite the resistance and ridicule they might face. In today's terms, this can be seen in the efforts of educators, activists, and thought leaders who strive to illuminate truths about climate change, social justice, religious control, and political integrity.

The hostility that the enlightened individual faces upon returning mimics the backlash often seen in social media echo chambers or partisan news cycles where new ideas or inconvenient truths are met with scepticism or outright hostility. The allegory teaches us about the responsibility those with knowledge must educate and enlighten others, even when it is met with resistance.

On a personal level, the allegory encourages self-reflection and a pursuit of deeper truths. It asks us to consider what shadows we may be watching and mistaking for reality. Are we confined by the biases of our upbringing, the limitations of our education, or the echo chambers of our social networks?

Professionally, the allegory serves as a reminder of the importance of critical thinking and openness to new ideas. In a rapidly changing world, the ability to adapt and reevaluate our understanding of the world is crucial. Just as the freed prisoner must adjust his eyes to the sunlight, so too must professionals learn to navigate an ever-evolving landscape of technological advancements and cultural shifts.

Plato's Allegory of the Cave remains a powerful tool for understanding the complexities of human perception and the difficult journey towards truth. By applying the lessons of this allegory to our daily lives, we are reminded of the importance of questioning, learning, and teaching. The shadows on the wall are many, and the light of truth is bright and sometimes harsh, but the journey out of the cave is essential for both personal growth and societal advancement. In embracing this journey, we not only transform our own lives but contribute to a broader cultural enlightenment that can lead to meaningful change.

 


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Jim McCrory

Bienveillance: A Compass for Life

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday, 31 Jan 2025, 10:57

You may know the story. Perhaps somewhat hackneyed,

One day, a young girl was walking along a beach, picking up starfish that had been washed ashore and throwing them back into the sea. An older man saw her and said, “There are miles and miles of beach, and hundreds of starfish. You can’t make any difference.”

The girl picked up another starfish, threw it back into the ocean, and replied, “It made a difference to that one.”



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Bienveillance: A Compass for Life

Several years ago, while embarking on my journey through an MA in Creative Writing, I made a heartfelt vow: my writings would always strive to illuminate the brighter aspects of humanity. This promise wasn't about viewing the world through a glass darkly—life, after all, is a complex tapestry of light and shadow. But I was determined that positivity would serve as my guiding principle.

Recently, during a moment of morning reflection, a particular word resonated with me: bienveillance. This elegant French term defies a neat English translation, capturing nuances beyond mere kindness or goodwill—it embodies an initiative-taking, almost vigilant commitment to the welfare of others. Observing the discord often rampant around us, I realized just how scarce this trait has become.

If granted a single wish, it would be for a world infused with this quality. Imagine a society, friends, family, and workmates that prioritizes understanding over judgment, where compassion comes naturally, and actions are taken not solely for personal gain but for the collective good. Longing for such a world isn't naivety; it is, in fact, a vital necessity.

The path to such a society doesn't begin with a desire for others to change but with a personal introspection. How do I embody bienveillance in my daily life? It's straightforward to romanticize the concept, yet quite another to live it out. Am I patient with those who test my patience? Do I offer generosity even when it's inconvenient? Can I see the best in people, even when scepticism seems a safer bet?

Through my writing, I strive to practice such qualities. Writing, I believe, have a unique power to expand our empathy, allowing us to experience lives vastly different from our own. They highlight our common humanity and the unspoken struggles we all face. Even when my narratives delve into darker themes, my aim is to uncover the resilience, love, and hope that persist.

However, writing about kindness is not sufficient—I must also enact it. Recently, I found myself hurrying past someone in obvious need of help. Caught up in my own urgency, I almost ignored the moment. Yet, a nagging thought halted me: "What kind of world do you want, and what are you actively doing to create it?" I paused, turned back, and assisted. The task was minor helping someone buy a meal for the evening.

bienveillance is not an unreachable ideal; it's realized through countless small actions. Each act of kindness, no matter how minor, contributes to a broader transformation. If we all embraced such moments, allowing kindness to interrupt our routines, imagine how transformative that could be.

I often reflect on the Biblical directive to "love your neighbour as yourself." This simple yet profound command requires deep self-reflection, presupposing that we understand and appreciate our own worth enough to know what love truly feels like. It challenges us to extend that same level of compassion outward.

Like the art of writing, this quality of goodwill to others is a skill honed over time—a lifelong pursuit rather than a destination. While I may not witness a utopia within my lifetime, I passionately believe that each gesture of kindness sends ripples through the fabric of society, often in unseen ways.

So, I commit to this: today, I will treat the next person I encounter with the care I hope for in the world. Tomorrow, I will take another step. While human kindness might seem elusive on a grand scale, it's a quality I can nurture within my own life. In doing so, I can inspire others to follow suit, one small step at a time.


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The Spoiled Child : A Prophetic Pattern

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Thursday, 30 Jan 2025, 12:15


L'enfant gâté


"But his father had never once infuriated him by asking, 

“Why did you do that?'”

– 1 Kings 1:6 (CSB).



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The following thoughts were prompted after seeing a child sitting on the supermarket floor screaming and refusing to move until her mum bought her a toy. The mother gave in. I wondered how this would unpack as the child grew up. Let’s ponder on this.

A spoiled child is one who has been overindulged, excessively coddled, or shielded from life’s natural struggles. Such a child often grows up with an expectation that the world will bend to their desires, finding it difficult to adjust to a reality that is far less accommodating. The consequences of this upbringing can be profound, affecting relationships, career prospects, and personal development well into adulthood.

Spoiling a child often begins with well-intentioned parents or parent who wish to provide comfort, protection, or privilege. They may struggle to say no, overcompensate due to guilt, or mistakenly equate love with indulgence. The child grows up in an environment where their needs and wants are met instantly, without effort or consequence. In the absence of boundaries and discipline, the child learns entitlement rather than responsibility, preference over patience, and demand over gratitude.

Though the effects of spoiling can vary, common traits emerge: an inability to manage disappointment, poor resilience, a lack of gratitude, and a distorted view of one’s own importance. These characteristics, while tolerated in childhood, become glaring liabilities in adulthood.

One of the most immediate challenges a spoiled child-turned-adult faces is in personal relationships. Friendships and romantic connections require compromise, patience, and understanding. The entitlement cultivated in childhood often manifests in unrealistic expectations of others. They may struggle with rejection, feel slighted by perceived slights, or demand attention without reciprocation. As a result, they may experience frequent conflicts, failed relationships, and an inability to form deep, meaningful connections.

Adulthood is filled with setbacks—financial difficulties, career disappointments, personal failures—but resilience is built through experiencing and overcoming hardship. A spoiled child, having been shielded from struggle, often lacks the emotional strength to cope with life’s inevitable difficulties. They may react with frustration, blame external circumstances, or retreat into avoidance. Their emotional fragility may also make them prone to anxiety or depression when life does not meet their expectations.

The workforce does not cater to entitlement. Promotions must be earned, conflicts must be resolved, and hard work is often required before recognition is given. A spoiled adult who expects immediate success or special treatment may find themselves frustrated when reality does not align with their expectations. They may struggle with authority, take criticism personally, or lack the work ethic necessary to thrive. As a result, career stagnation, frequent job changes, or professional isolation can occur.
A child who is handed everything without effort is unlikely to develop financial discipline. As an adult, they may struggle with budgeting, impulse control, or saving for the future. Instant gratification—reinforced through childhood indulgence—can lead to reckless spending, debt accumulation, or an inability to manage financial independence. Some may continue to rely on their parents well into adulthood, further delaying their personal growth.

Ironically, a spoiled child often grows into an unfulfilled adult. Having been given everything, they may find themselves disillusioned when life does not continue to deliver rewards effortlessly. Without the struggle that gives meaning to achievement, they may feel a sense of emptiness, always searching for external sources of happiness like social media rather than developing inner contentment.

Fortunately, a spoiled childhood does not have to define adulthood. Growth and change are possible, but they require self-awareness, humility, and effort. Many adults who recognize their entitlement can begin to reshape their habits—learning patience, gratitude, and perseverance. Life itself often becomes the greatest teacher, providing hard lessons that gradually reshape unrealistic expectations.

Parents, or parent, can play a role in preventing these difficulties by setting boundaries, teaching the value of effort, and allowing children to experience and navigate small struggles early on. Discipline, not indulgence, is the greater act of love, for it prepares a child to face the world with strength and wisdom.

A spoiled childhood may seem like a gift in the moment, but it can become a burden in adulthood. Without the necessary skills to navigate hardship, build relationships, and contribute meaningfully to society, a spoiled child often faces a life of disappointment and frustration. However, awareness and intentional change can reverse these effects, allowing an individual to develop the resilience, discipline, and humility needed to thrive in the real world. True growth comes not from constant comfort, but from learning to endure, adapt, and persevere.


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Jim McCrory

No One Rises for the Old Ladies Anymore

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 "We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. 

We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst."

C.S. Lewis:


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No One Rises for the Old Lady Anymore

This morning, I came across something that triggered a cascade of thoughts and connections. I’ll share more about that reading later.

In many respects, we seem to have forgotten what it means to be human. How did we arrive at this point? The explanation is both complex and straightforward. First came the Enlightenment, followed by the Industrial Revolution. Meanwhile, materialism and a naturalistic worldview took hold, glorifying the notion of the autonomous "I."

When I was young, it was unthinkable for an elderly person to stand on a train while younger people sat. That inherent sense of decency has eroded over time.

It doesn't take long for people in such an environment to dismiss the idea of a creator, which, though irrational, paves the way for a life free from divine accountability—at least in this life.

Yet, even as we dismantle every barrier to freedom, we behave as though we inhabit a planet designed with wisdom. Consider objective morality. If someone cuts in line at the supermarket, our instinct is to react vehemently. We might even recount the incident later, expressing outrage over the perceived injustice.

Or consider another scenario: you take an exam, confident in your performance, yet the teacher awards you only 5%. Outraged, you challenge the grade, only to hear, "I don't like you, so I marked you down." Anywhere in the world, this would be seen as an injustice—not because we decree it, but because we possess an innate sense of right and wrong.

Thus, through life, like trains on parallel tracks, runs a dual awareness: a sense of justice and a superficial belief in the absence of God.

Now, let us consider the consequences of this dichotomy. The Bible documents several eras similar to our own. This morning, as I read Isaiah 9, verses 17 and 18 struck a chord:

“Even now the Lord takes no joy in a single one, not even the young.

Mercy has run out for even those without powerthe widows and orphans.

For every single person is at fault and behaves badly.

No one thinks or acts as God would have them do.

Every mouth utters foolishness like a wildfire, out of control.”

 (The Voice Bible).

These sobering words, penned eight centuries before the birth of Christ, remind us that throughout history, humanity has often descended to debased levels—and God has responded.

 

Scripture taken from The Voice™. Copyright © 2012 by Ecclesia Bible Society. Used by permission. All rights reserved.


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Jim McCrory

"In the Good Old Summertime"

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"There's a time each year that we always hold dear, good old summer time; 

with the birds and the tree's and sweet scented breezes, 

good old summer time, When your day's work is over then you are in clover, 

and life is one beautiful rhyme, No trouble annoying, each one is enjoying,

 the good old summer time."


"In the Good Old Summertime" by  by Ren Shields



Image generated by Microsoft Copilot


When I was in my early teens, I would spend summer on a nearby Scottish Island where I was always happy to help the farmer bring in the harvest whether it be wheat, barley or hay. It was hard work but always brought a sense of joy.

Now when I see images of a harvest or paintings like Bruegel's The Harvesters, they resonate with a deep, almost archetypal connection to the land and the cycles of nature.

Pieter Bruegel the Elder | The Harvesters | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Harvest time historically signifies abundance, completion, and the culmination of months of labour and care. It's a moment of satisfaction and celebration, where the fruits of hard work are finally realized, and communities come together in gratitude and festivity.

In artistic representations like Bruegel's, there’s also a rich narrative element that speaks to these themes. Paintings of harvest scenes often depict not just the act of harvesting but also the communal aspect—people working together, sharing meals, and resting amidst the fields. This can evoke feelings of connection to others and to the rhythms of nature, reminding us of the fundamental human experiences of work, rest, and nourishment.

Additionally, harvest imagery can symbolize broader themes of reap what you sow, reflecting on personal growth and the results of one's efforts over time. This can make such art deeply personal and reflective, stirring feelings tied to one’s own experiences of effort, reward, and the passage of seasons in life. Does this connection to the harvest resonate with your own experiences or feelings?

 


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Jim McCrory

"If you see a tortoise on a fence post..."

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Tuesday, 28 Jan 2025, 08:16

 "The remarkable improbability of such precision suggests that, 

like a tortoise perched atop a fence post, 

the universe’s configuration did not arise by chance."



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"If you see a tortoise on a fence post, you know it didn't get there by itself"

In the vast expanse of the cosmos, amidst the chaotic dance of stars, galaxies, and nebulae, lies a quiet testament to order and precision—the fine-tuning of the universe. This phenomenon, evident through precise measurements and calculations, suggests that the constants and quantities defining our universe are set with an astonishing exactitude that allows for the existence of life. This essay explores the implications of this fine-tuning, arguing that it points toward purposeful design.

The Precision of Universal Constants

The universe is governed by a set of fundamental constants—numbers that dictate the strength of forces and the properties of particles. Among these are the gravitational constant, the electromagnetic force constant, and the cosmological constant. Each plays a crucial role in shaping the universe.

For instance, the gravitational constant (G) determines the strength of the force of gravity. If this constant were slightly stronger or weaker, stars (including our Sun) could not have formed or would not burn long enough to support life on orbiting planets. Similarly, the cosmological constant, which influences the rate of the universe's expansion, is fine-tuned to an astonishing degree. If it were significantly larger, the universe would expand too rapidly for galaxies and stars to form; if too small, the universe would collapse back on itself.

The Rarity of Habitable Conditions

Our planet's suitability for life hinges on a range of fine-tuned conditions. Earth's distance from the Sun places it squarely in the "habitable zone," where temperatures allow for liquid water—a necessary ingredient for life as we know it. The size and composition of Earth, its atmosphere, and even the presence of a relatively large moon contribute to a stable climate and suitable conditions for life to flourish.

Statistical Improbability

The probability of all these factors occurring by chance is exceedingly low. For example, physicist Roger Penrose estimated that the odds of the initial conditions of the universe being suitable for life by chance were on the order of one part in 10^10^123—a number so vast it defies comprehension. This statistical improbability suggests that the universe’s configuration is not merely a lucky roll of the cosmic dice.

Anthropic Principle and Counterarguments

One might argue that the fine-tuning is simply a result of the anthropic principle: we observe the universe to be finely tuned because only a finely tuned universe could develop beings capable of observing it. However, this does not address why this universe, among countless possible universes, would possess such life-permitting conditions. It shifts the question without providing a substantive answer.

Theological Implications

From a theological perspective, the fine-tuning can be seen as suggestive of a purposeful Creator. Just as the presence of a tortoise on a fence post implies it did not get there by itself, the specific and complex order of the universe suggests it too did not arise by chance. This aligns with views held across various religious and philosophical systems, which see nature as a testament to the intentional craftsmanship of a higher power.

Conclusion

The fine-tuning of the universe presents one of the most compelling arguments for the existence of a deliberate design, transcending mere chance or necessity. The precise nature of cosmic constants and the Earth’s perfect conditions for life point to a universe that is not only exquisitely ordered but fundamentally hospitable to life. The remarkable improbability of such precision suggests that, like a tortoise perched atop a fence post, the universe’s configuration did not arise by chance—it hints at the guiding hand of a Creator.


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A letter To the Young and Lonely

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"People want to be loved; failing that, admired...They want to evoke some sort of sentiment. 

The soul shudders before oblivion and seeks connection at any price."

— Hjalmar Söderberg, Doctor Glas




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I was hospitalized a while ago and there was a younger man in the bed opposite mine who often spoke on the phone, visibly distressed. At the heart of his issues was his frustration at not getting his own way. He desired more love and affection from those around him, despite being abusive towards them.

Considering this, I offered him a piece of wise verse. His immediate response was, “I’m going to share this.”


       “Whoa,” I said, “Why not reflect on it first?”

       “Sure, after,” he replied. But, he never did.


This got me thinking. He was putting himself in a self-contained loneliness because of the way he was treating others and now he was shifting to this instant sharing to find some human connection albeit artificial.

In this digital age, where social media reigns supreme, it’s all too easy to fall into the habit of sharing content rapidly for quick likes and fleeting interactions. This instant gratification, while exhilarating, often comes at the cost of deeper, more meaningful connections. I urge you, especially the younger generation, to consider a more enriching path—one that prioritizes genuine human contact over digital immediacy.

Social media platforms promise connectivity; indeed, they offer a kind of interaction that can feel immensely rewarding. Receiving likes, comments, and shares can seem like valid social exchanges, but these are often shallow substitutes for real conversation and connection. They provide a dopamine rush, a quick hit of pleasure, but they lack the staying power and emotional depth of face-to-face interactions. These digital interactions, though numerous, are fleeting and can leave us feeling empty and craving more substantive exchanges.

Contrast the quick interactions of social media with the profound satisfaction that comes from in-person conversations. Engaging with someone face-to-face allows for the expression of empathy, the reading of emotional cues, and the building of trust and understanding elements that are often lost in translation online. Real-world interactions also offer opportunities for deeper discussions that can challenge our thinking and stimulate personal growth.

Just think about the last time you were out with friends. Perhaps walking, stopping for lunch and enjoying an enriching day. Every time you think of that occasion, a film unpacks in your head giving you a warm glow; a hygge feeling. You don’t get that on social media.

To shift away from the ephemeral nature of digital interactions, consider immersing yourself in activities that require your physical presence. Joining a night class or a workshop not only broadens your knowledge but also puts you in a room with like-minded individuals who share your interests. Whether it’s learning a new language, taking up pottery, or studying photography, these classes offer a dual benefit: acquiring a new skill and connecting with others on a meaningful level.

Similarly, participating in local clubs or community groups can foster a sense of belonging and provide a network of support that social media cannot replicate. From book clubs to hiking groups, the options are endless. These groups do more than just share hobbies; they share life experiences, support each other in times of need, and celebrate together in moments of joy.

Volunteering for a cause you are passionate about can be especially rewarding. It connects you with people across diverse backgrounds and generations, offering perspectives that might never crop up on your social media feed. These interactions not only help build a better community but also imbue your life with a sense of purpose and fulfilment that fleeting online interactions often fail to deliver.

Embracing more face-to-face interactions doesn’t mean you must abandon digital spaces entirely. Social media can be a powerful tool for staying connected with distant friends and family. However, balancing these digital interactions with substantial real-world engagements can lead to a more fulfilling life. This balance allows you to enjoy the benefits of technology without becoming dependent on it for social fulfilment.

As we navigate this digital world, let’s not forget the power and depth of real human connections. I encourage you to step beyond your digital comfort zone and explore the enriching experiences that real-world interactions can offer. In doing so, you may find that the deepest joys and most enduring satisfactions come from the people you meet and the relationships you nurture away from the glow of a screen.

However, there is something else you can do: ask God for help. The scripture reads "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” Matthew 21:22 (BSB). After praying, work in harmony with the prayer. Get out there where God can open up some door for you.



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Jim McCrory

A Compassionate Judge

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"Go and do likewise."

Luke 10:37



I woke early this morning to catch a train to London, but with the 100 km/h winds from the day before, all trains and public transport were cancelled due to trees collapsing everywhere. By 2 pm, I was brain-dead from tiredness. So, I decided to sloth it in front of the YouTube rabbit hole and let the algorithms decide for me which clips I would embrace. First up was a Guinea pig lying on a blanket above a piano, sleepy-eyed, and absorbing Debussy. Next, I was moved by a high school graduation, resisting the urge to clap out of respect for a sound-sensitive student with autism. 


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Then I was transported into the courtroom of Rhode Island Judge, Frank Caprio. In the heart of Providence, Rhode Island, amidst the Italian American enclave of Federal Hill, Judge Frank Caprio's story begins with the humblest of origins. His father, Antonio, a steadfast fruit peddler and milkman, embodied the ethic of challenging work, and his mother, Filomena, a nurturing presence as a stay-at-home mother. This backdrop of familial dedication and modesty profoundly influenced Frank in his early years, where he earned pocket money as a shoe-shine boy.

Frank's educational journey took him to the halls of Suffolk University School of Law in Boston, where, amid the rigors of legal studies, he also taught and juggled various jobs, a testament to his indefatigable spirit. Since 1985, he has served in the municipal court where his approach—marked by empathy and an unwavering respect for the human spirit—has captured the hearts of people around the world.

It was his unique, empathetic approach to adjudication that propelled him into the national spotlight, with his proceedings on the show "Caught in Providence" becoming a conduit for viral internet fame. Here, viewers found a judge who prioritized understanding over judgment, compassion over censure—principles not often spotlighted in the judicial world.

For those drawn to the life and work of Judge Caprio, his story can be further explored through his official website or through episodes of "Caught in Providence," where his judicial philosophy plays out in real-time, offering a window into a career punctuated by genuine care and integrity—a beacon of how law, when wielded with humanity, can be a profound force for good.

I was deeply moved by his mercy and compassion. Having spent many years in a religious organization that failed to be embedded in mercy and compassion, I watched all this with regret. Regret because compassion and mercy are hallmarks of Christianity.

But there is a bigger picture to be absorbed in the example of Judge Frank Caprio. What makes three million subscribers subscribe to the channel "Caught in Providence"? The love of mercy and compassion.

We humans are all made in God’s image; some move away from that light, and some bend towards the arc of compassion. Jesus reflected that Godly quality in life and his teaching. Consider the woman at the well, the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal son, and the centurion’s servant’s child.

We don’t have the God-given powers that Jesus had, but we do have the power of compassion and mercy.

One day, a lawyer came to test Jesus by asking what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus turned the question back to the lawyer, who answered correctly with the command to "love God" and "love your neighbor as yourself." Wanting to justify himself, the lawyer asked, "And who is my neighbor?" In response, Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan:

A man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho was attacked by robbers who stripped him, beat him, and left him half dead. A priest and then a Levite passed by, but both avoided the man by crossing to the other side of the road. Then a Samaritan came along. Despite Samaritans and Jews despising each other, the Samaritan was moved with compassion. He bandaged the man’s wounds, using his own oil and wine as antiseptics, and placed the man on his own donkey. He took him to an inn and cared for him overnight. The next day, he paid the innkeeper two denarii and promised to cover any additional costs on his return journey.

After telling the story, Jesus asked the lawyer, "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?" The lawyer replied, "The one who had mercy on him." Jesus then said, "Go and do likewise."

This parable emphasizes that compassion should transcend social boundaries and prejudices, and that to "love your neighbor" means to act with mercy and kindness to anyone in need.

I find those words of Jesus moving. First because we are called to act likewise. And second, finally of life, we will find ourselves before a compassionate judge.

Luke 10:25-37 (BSB).


Caught In Providence - YouTube








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Jim McCrory

Gökotta — The Simple Riches of Dawn

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday, 25 Jan 2025, 10:49

"Give me neither poverty nor riches" 

Proverbs 30:8 (KJV).


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"I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, 

a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else."

Kazantzakis



Scotland has been hit by a devastating storm and my train to London was cancelled. We had to cancel time with friends and other arrangements. It's at times like this I am nostalgic for spring. 

 In the cool, quiet hours of spring dawn, the world reveals itself not through grand gestures but through humble offerings. On the shores of Loch Lomond, where the gentle lap of the water caresses the pebbles, happiness unfolds in its purest form. It isn’t clad in opulence nor dressed in the finery of wealth, but in the simple, earnest garb of nature’s own making.

Proverbs remind us, "Give me neither poverty nor riches," a plea for the middle ground where life’s true essence is found—not in the excess of things but in their meaningfulness. The philosophy that happiness is a "frugal thing" is timeless, and on a quiet morning by Loch Lomond, it resonates with profound clarity. A cup of coffee, a humble meal of smoked bacon nestled in Greek flatbread—these are not mere sustenance, but the ingredients of a joyful simplicity.

The Swedish notion of gökotta—rising early to embrace the dawn—complements this meditative joy. It isn’t just the act of waking but the purpose behind it: to savour the stillness, to absorb the unfolding day, to celebrate the quiet majesty of life’s simple pleasures. Here, amidst the symphony of bird song, the world slumbers on, unaware of the spectacle of the sunrise, the aroma of fresh coffee, and the warmth of a small fire.

In this setting, we find a truth as old as time itself—that happiness does not demand conditions. It thrives under the open sky, grows in the cool breeze of the morning, and exists wherever we choose to notice it. The rich may travel the high roads, seeking happiness in noise and speed, but on the low road, by the soothing tides of Loch Lomond, happiness finds us, unbidden and genuine.

As we face each day, let us seek not the grandeur of the extraordinary, but the beauty of the ordinary. For in these moments, as Kazantzakis reminds us, lies the profound, frugal nature of happiness. Let us cherish the simple and the serene, for these are the true riches that life affords, free from the burdens of stress, anxiety, or pain.


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