Our journey together in the Lenten Book Club is about to take a very different turn as we shift our focus to Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey Into the Afterlife by Dr. Eben Alexander.
The title itself is quite provocative. "Proof" that heaven exists? Some might wonder whether that is possible, welcome, or necessary. How are we to square our own personal notions of heaven with what Dr. Alexander claims to have experienced? How are we to square what Dr. Alexander has to say with the Gospels?
Alternately, some might suggest these questions are the wrong ones. What feelings and emotions arise as we read about Dr. Alexander's journey? Do his words resonate on a level deeper than logic or knowledge? How might the juxtaposition of Dr. Alexander's scientific training and this deeply spiritual experience open doors to those wary of faith?
We welcome your comments below as we prepare to explore these and other questions at length.
3 comments:
I was so turned off by the title that I was not going to read the book but will do so for the sake of this Lenten program. To require "proof" is to me to almost deny faith as with Anselm's dictum of "faith seeking understanding". We experience faith and then seek to understand it. Some of his language describing his experiences as "up there or down here" also seem very off setting and dualistic to me. But, I wil press on.
Bob, your reluctance is understandable and is a reaction many have had to the book, as is excitement and a sense of affirmation. I look forward to seeing how the discussion builds as we move forward; there are many factors to consider, not the least of which is how the notion of faith squares with "proof."
I found the book really helpful. On the one hand, I consider myself a person of faith, that is, one whom God holds onto despite the worst, despite my running away, despite my doubt, my wrongs, my fear. But there it is, my fear. I never felt it as acutely as when my father died, a self-proclaimed agnostic, a never-miss-a-Sunday attender, yet someone who never claimed faith, though his acts seemed faithful to me. But when he died, I feared, "Is he loved now, secure now, despite his doubt? Did he come to have assurance and faith in his final moments? Did he have that gift of faith at the end?" He was a thoracic surgeon.
So the fear of what comes after life is a real one to me now. Somehow this surgeon's story gave me a sense of well-being so that I can put down my fear, at least for today.
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