remain beyond even the most brilliant scientific minds."
What Was That Cell That Just Died?
Imagine
you're in the lab, working with living cells. You're focused, careful,
alert—then, suddenly... one dies. What have you lost? Can it be revived? After
all, it’s just a microscopic cell and there's all this equipment around. Cant you resuscitate it? No, you cannot, no one can.
Its quiet collapse points to a deeper
mystery. For all our scientific advancement, we still don’t know what life is.
That
was the unsettling conclusion of biochemist Dr James Tour in his interview on Socrates
in the City:
Tour,
a man who lives and breathes molecules, humbly admits that the origin and
nature of life remain beyond even the most brilliant scientific minds.
This
uncertainty echoes something far older. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says:
“Are
not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground
apart from the will of your Father.”
—Matthew 10:29 (BSB)
Imagine
walking through a park and seeing a sparrow fall from a branch. It lies still.
It looks just as it did a moment before, but something essential is gone. The
shape remains, but the life is missing. This is not just a biological
moment, it’s a spiritual one.
Just
a verse earlier, Jesus says:
“Do
not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” —Matthew
10:28 (BSB)
This
suggests there is something inviolable in us—something that outlives the cells,
the body, even death itself. We are more than our physical makeup. We are soul,
body, and life force—a unity that begins in dust and breath.
I
thought about this last recently while walking through a graveyard on holiday.
The dates on the stones stretched back to 1760. Each one marked a life—a person
who had inner joys, laughter, sorrow, regret. Were their lives futile? That
depends on how they lived, and in whose hands they placed their hope. Because
the final word belongs not to death, but to God and Christ.
I’m
reminded of a small, touching story:
A
child was talking about her grandmother. A friend asked, “Where is your
grandmother?”
“She
is in the tomb,” she replied.
“What’s
a tomb?”
“It’s
like the drawer where my mum keeps all her valuables—but the tomb is a drawer
only God can open.”
I
believe that too. I’m what you might call a dualist. I accept that
consciousness is tied to the brain—but I also believe it is something more.
Something separable. When the day of renewal comes, I believe God will give me
a new body—whether spiritual or physical—and with it, restore every memory,
every thread of my identity. I won’t be a stranger to myself. I will be me—revived,
remembered, and remade.
What Was That Cell That Just Died?
"A man who lives and breathes molecules,
humbly admits that the origin and nature of life
remain beyond even the most brilliant scientific minds."
What Was That Cell That Just Died?
Imagine you're in the lab, working with living cells. You're focused, careful, alert—then, suddenly... one dies. What have you lost? Can it be revived? After all, it’s just a microscopic cell and there's all this equipment around. Cant you resuscitate it? No, you cannot, no one can.
Its quiet collapse points to a deeper mystery. For all our scientific advancement, we still don’t know what life is.
That was the unsettling conclusion of biochemist Dr James Tour in his interview on Socrates in the City:
James Tour: How Did Life Come Into Being?
https://socratesinthecity.com/watch/dr-james-tour-how-did-life-come-into-being/
Tour, a man who lives and breathes molecules, humbly admits that the origin and nature of life remain beyond even the most brilliant scientific minds.
This uncertainty echoes something far older. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says:
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.”
—Matthew 10:29 (BSB)
Imagine walking through a park and seeing a sparrow fall from a branch. It lies still. It looks just as it did a moment before, but something essential is gone. The shape remains, but the life is missing. This is not just a biological moment, it’s a spiritual one.
Just a verse earlier, Jesus says:
“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” —Matthew 10:28 (BSB)
This suggests there is something inviolable in us—something that outlives the cells, the body, even death itself. We are more than our physical makeup. We are soul, body, and life force—a unity that begins in dust and breath.
I thought about this last recently while walking through a graveyard on holiday. The dates on the stones stretched back to 1760. Each one marked a life—a person who had inner joys, laughter, sorrow, regret. Were their lives futile? That depends on how they lived, and in whose hands they placed their hope. Because the final word belongs not to death, but to God and Christ.
I’m reminded of a small, touching story:
A child was talking about her grandmother. A friend asked, “Where is your grandmother?”
“She is in the tomb,” she replied.
“What’s a tomb?”
“It’s like the drawer where my mum keeps all her valuables—but the tomb is a drawer only God can open.”
I believe that too. I’m what you might call a dualist. I accept that consciousness is tied to the brain—but I also believe it is something more. Something separable. When the day of renewal comes, I believe God will give me a new body—whether spiritual or physical—and with it, restore every memory, every thread of my identity. I won’t be a stranger to myself. I will be me—revived, remembered, and remade.
And so I echo the words of Job:
“When a man dies, will he live again?
All the days of my hard service I will wait,
until my renewal comes.”
—Job 14:14 (BSB)
Ah! Renewal, what a lovely concept.