We used to be told that Jesus was the great singularity in history, that his
death was the point at which the great sweep of human history stalled and
changed direction forever. We were told that there were only Two Ways – the
Light and the Dark, the Wide and the Narrow, the Right and the Wrong – and
that the change of ways was an instantaeous event, which would dawn only
once, and shine brighter and brighter without cloud or rain.
Quantum physics (and it’s sister, chaos theory) have got me thinking that
the singularity is a quantum singularity, and that the two roads hold whole
universes between them. I have felt that every instant, every experience,
every decision and movement, holds the whole of God’s creation. All the
beauty of creation lives in the birth of a single tree, and all the ugliness
of original sin in cutting it down.
Jesus is not a discreet point, but a strange attractor. Jesus is the one
who dances between destiny and possibility. Jesus plays with your
perception, he refuses to be seen except by those who aren’t looking, he
does what seemed impossible. And when he flaps his wings in africa, you
better look out for rain.
Jesus is like a cat in a box – you never know whether he’s alive or dead
until you open it up to have a look. But when you do, be warned: if that
cat ain’t dead, he’s going to jump out, and then everything will be
different. It’s only a little box, but there’s a whole universe scrunched