Alabama declares a frozen embryo a human child. On one hand, it makes sense—the result of the union of human sperm and human egg can’t be anything other than a human embryo, which, if left to normal natural develpment, will result in nothing other than a fully formed human being.

So, what’s the issue? I’m not sure what’s on the other hand. There must be other considerations in play. Like custody, apparently. And liability, of course.

Wow.

The passage of time. How apparent it was as we gathered for a 100^th anniversary celebration at my home congregation.

Chartered by mostly Swedish immigrants, incorporated in 1924, still going, with a history marked by growth and decline, capable pastors and those who were less so. What mostly got my attention was the grey hair, no hair, stooped frames, fuller frames, hunched shoulders, slower gaits, weathered faces.

Recognizable but… older. No surprise, yet somehow still a revelation—that it’s happening to us.

Watched Oppenheimer last night. Stunning and intense. Only complaint is that the musical score sometimes got in the way of the dialogue. It was difficult to get the gist of some conversations.

Complicated guy, to put it simply. Otherworldly brain power, intense situation. It might make one realize that most of us skate through life having done little of significance, or at least nothing that rises to the level of what Oppenheimer and his team accomplished, as they developed a world-altering technology before the Germans did.

I wasn’t aware of much of the detail, including the back-biting by Lewis Strauss- don’t know what kind of license they took with that whole dynamic. The project gave birth to great moral dilemmas, compromises, and it might have one wondering if Oppenheimer ever found peace.

We as citizens of Earth have lived with an uneasy peace ever since, but I don’t blame Oppenheimer for that. He was given a job to do in a highly charged, perilous moment, and he did it. He was a complicated, fallible, thoughtful, heroic figure. But his efforts—and those of his team—have left us walking on egg shells, constantly playing with fire, dependent every day on competent people doing the right things, which includes monitoring our aging nukes, and keeping the bad players from blowing us all to smithereens.

Colbert was quite animated on Thursday night. He offered a summary of the country’s political landscape by turning to the camera and saying, “This is fucked up,” or something to that effect.

He zeroed in on exactly the frustration many feel: many can plainly see that Trump is taking up way too much of the country’s time and energy with the multiple lawsuits and criminal entanglements—and to one degree or another is guilty of charges—but we are fearful that the wheels of justice won’t turn fast enough to keep him from doing more damage than he’s already wrought.

We’re being put through the wringer because a 77-year-old narcissistic windbag can’t behave himself. The frustration over this is liable to boil over every now and then, and reactions are inevitable. It was Colbert’s turn a couple nights ago.

R. I. P., Alexei Navalny. Another silenced voice of courage and reason. Hopefully his words and actions resonate.

Russia, what’s your problem?

Such a dark, unhappy place. At least, that’s the face we often see. Well, other than when Tucker Carlson takes a tour and reports that groceries are cheap and the subways are ornate.

My visits to the doctor, lately more frequent than I’d like, are nonetheless enlightening for various reasons. He spends time with his patients, doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, which is a gift in itself—even if it means you sit and wait your turn.

On occasion, we’re liable to end up chatting about other things, often tangentially related to the reason for the visit. This morning, he talked about the state of medicine in America, and the gist of it is that it’s a rather sorry state. Disconcerting, even. No money, mismanagement, unwieldy mergers and acquistions, disinterested and disconnected ownership, incompetence, greed, a dwindling pool of dedicated people who want to wear the mantle of caregiver in all its varied manifestations, from front desk greeters to scheduling to PCAs to RNs to surgeons and mental health experts, and all the other jobs and specialties that keep a healthcare establishment running and providing its much-needed services.

The doctor mentioned that there used to be a time, a while back, when the endoscopic ultrasound that I have scheduled for the middle of April would have been scheduled for much closer in—maybe even next week. But not anymore. I asked him about solutions, about what needs to happen to turn things around, and he was not at all optimistic that a turnaround—a reimagining, a reboot—is even possible. He made it sound like that train is too far down the track to do anything about.

I suppose I could talk to a different doctor and get a rosier outlook, but I read and listen and look around and know that healthcare in the U.S. is an out-of-control beast.

And it’s not just healthcare that’s teetering on the edge. There seems to be a general “brain drain,” a nagging futility and fatigue leading to a not-so-gradual ebbing of talented, qualified people. Education—teachers—comes to mind. The critical personnel, the critical infrastructure, the glue that we assume holds society together, seems to be letting go.

Blame it on Covid, blame it on burnout, blame it on the state of the world that appears to be ticking closer to midnight. Blame it on a certain softness that comes from indulging ourselves in the distraction du jour, spending time doing whatever the hell one feels like doing in search of some good life that we feel we deserve. If everyone is on that mission, then it’s no surprise we appear to be heading for a cliff.

Finding Your Roots is a really interesting show. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and his team are bulldogs, scouring records, finding connections the guests may have only dreamed of finding. The revelations, the discoveries, the wrestling with slavery often times, the emotions and appreciation the guests often express for what their forebears went through, the surprise connections with other guests through DNA—it all adds up to an engaging hour of television.

I think Dr. Gates could lend an air of intrigue and excitement to just about any person’s story. The research in and of itself travels in so many directions and opens more doors than it closes, with the exception of the Black experience and the sometimes early encounter with what Gates calls the Brick Wall, where the sleuthing hits a dead end.

Slaves were often tallied with a hash mark, no name, maybe an age and gender, which is a recurring theme in the research. Gates and the team find ways to fill in some of the blanks, though, find other threads to pull.

Their efforts are a blessing to these guests, who often express thanks and deep appreciation for having their stories filled out. They’ve been given a whole new way of thinking about their families and themselves. It’s a remarkable journey every week.

Tyrants operating in plain sight. We’ve always had to deal with one or five throughout human history. The current batch includes Vladimir Putin, who the world can see with its own eyes but can’t seem to do anything about.

Recent comments have various constituencies talking in alarmed, fearful tones, stunned by Putin’s “history” lesson regarding Poland, regurgitated for Tucker Carlson and an American audience. This in parallel with Donald Trump’s wildly irresponsible retelling of an apparently fabricated encounter with some president or head of state in which he threatens to encourage Russia to invade if this NATO member doesn’t pay its dues.

Always transactional, that Donald. Not to mention dangerously, ignorantly tone deaf. Or perhaps not as clueless as we often think. In any case, Trump’s most recent foray into playing to the crowd and just saying shit sent shivers down many a spine.

One thing’s for sure: there is no ceiling—or basement—when it comes to the heights or depths to which Trump can rise or sink regarding the messages he’s capable of conveying, whether unwittingly or intentionally. The old excuse– it’s just Donald being Donald– can’t fly anymore.

He is actually a dangerous, loose cannon, whether or not that’s the look he’s going for.  He sees the reaction he gets when he says something outlandish, he likes it, so he keeps doing it. Regardless of effect or consequence.

He’s a damaged child, folks, a punch-drunk actor on autopilot. Don’t encourage him. Don’t vote for him. He’s not gonna do anything for you. He’s incapable of such effort. His only motivation is self-preservation.

As for Putin? Time will tell, I guess. Maybe, somehow, the Russian people, the people he treats as materiel, will somehow gain the upper hand and send him packing. People like him– and Trump– are nothing more than scourges on humanity. They’re not here to save anything or anybody other than tired, oppressive, even contrived principles. And their own hides.

Phew. The weekend provided courtesy of junk food and alcohol and hype and American excess is over, encapsulated in the different reactions to Post Malone’s rending of America the Beautiful, and Reba’s spirited version of the national anthem.

Everything about the Super Bowl is high octane, manufactured drama, over-the-top patriotism and pornographic commercialism. I’m glad we’re done with it for another year. For me, it’s basically an excuse to gather with friends and family and strap on the feedbag. I barely made it to the end of the first half.

Anyway, the pundits and sportscasters and opinionated loudmouths can now feast, eviscerate the carcass, evaluate and critique and get loud and unduly emotional over who sucked and who played out of their minds– on the field or in the broadcast booth, during the halftime show, or in the $7 million-per-half-minute advertisements.

It’s nice to have the Phoenix Open and this master class in Sports As Religion over and done in the same weekend.

Super Bowl 58 recap… I’m glad SF gave KC a game, but Mahomes and company are the team right now. Ho hum.

Maybe Travis will retire and sail off into the sunset with Tay-Tay, and the Chiefs will come back to earth. Then folks can start looking ahead to next year and a battle between the Lions and Dolphins. Or maybe the Chiefs and Niners.

Who knows? Maybe we’ll have more pressing things to think about.