Osler's Razor

[Photo: A mill in Minnesota. I waited until dusk, so the light would be right. Click on the photo to enlarge it.]

This morning in Sunday School, we began our study of the Book of Joshua. Dr. Lynn Tatum gave us some context, explaining that the narrative is structured around Moses' last sermon in Deuteronomy, in which he firmly established that God's covenant with the Israelites was that the land was theirs so long as they obeyed God's laws. The first chapter of Joshua, in fact, defines precisely the extent of this land. The idea inherent in this, that land will be possessed by communities over time, as a definition of that community, was intriguing to me.

For one thing, we Americans don't generally share that history or instinct. We move-- a lot. Manifest Destiny was seen as a command from God not to stay in the land where we were, but to spread out and move to other places. Entire towns in the East emptied out as the inhabitants sought better land to the West. To the Israelites, the promised land was where they were already; to we Americans it is often somewhere else, somewhere we want to go. For those of us from a place like Detroit, this sense of hope being associated with a different place (rather than the place we were) is almost second nature.

Even Americans, even Americans from Detroit, though, also have the opposite instinct in the sense of nostalgia that defines us, too. We remember, if only through ancestors, the way things were in those places we came from, and pass on the stories of a different place and time.

In the end, though, it is change that defines us. The water flows on. Tomorrow I will teach a new group of students-- I won't look out and see Kendall Cockrell or Sid Earnheart or Kaye Johnson or Wes Spencer or so many others it will seem should be there, but a new bunch that will bring a different mix of personalities and emotions.

There is beauty in that flow, but sadness and loss as well.