Monthly Archives: February 2010

Our Northern (Western) culture is built on a lie. The lie is this: that technological, scientific and economic progress will lead to our happiness. Unhindered progress = unhindered happiness. And so in the name of progress we destroy one another and we destroy the earth. According to our idolatrous notion of progress any sort of restraint is a bad thing. Restraints are a hindrance to progress and therefore a hindrance to our happiness.

Humans then become consumers. What does it mean to be human? It means to consume as much as you can because this will lead to your happiness.

The scriptures tell us that we were created by God in his image. To be human is to be an image bearer. The question then becomes, whose image do we bear? If we give into the idolatrous notion of unimpeded/unlimited progress and growth then we will inevitably bear an image other than God’s image.

How then are we to live? If our cultural narrative is that unimpeded progress will lead to our happiness then what is the scriptural narrative? It is that our happiness is bound up in Shalom. The point isn’t to consume and progress without boundaries. The point, rather, is to live in Shalom with creation and with each other. In order for this to happen we must talk about restraint.

Restraint is not a popular notion in our Northern societies. We’re so used to doing more and wanting more and getting more that we rarely stop to ask ourselves if this is good. Let us consider for a moment that the earth has limited resources. If this is the case, then we cannot continue to live in a way that allows us to consume more than our fair share of the earths resources. We must also realize that the earth is not here to be plundered but rather to fall under the care of our stewardship.

Consider also the current global economic situation. Economies all over the world are crumbling. Something is wrong here and it is not a surface issue. It is not a matter of changing a few things here and there so that all may be well. Rather, the issue is deep and at the core of what we believe about ourselves and the world. Rather than an economy that knows no bounds and is continually growing we ought to seek an economy that flourishes. An abundant, life-giving economy. The other night I attended a talk given by the Dutch Christian political-economist Bob Goudzwaard. He gave an example of a tree. Tree’s are beautiful and organic. Yet even the wisest oak tree knows that the point of the tree is not to grow up to heaven! There is something within the tree (creational) that tells it it’s purpose is not unlimited growth. Rather, the purpose of a tree is to flourish and bear fruit. The same can be said for our economies. The purpose is not unlimited growth to the heavens, but rather, the purpose is for the flourishing of human life.

It is obvious, however, that our current culture knows nothing of this for we are only concerned with unlimited growth and progress. We know nothing of limitations or stewardship. We know not what it means to be content. Always wanting more.

During the talk last evening a woman brought up the point that during another important time period in Europe St. Benedict proposed three vows: a vow of poverty, a vow of chastity and a vow of obedience. Then she asked the following question: “What might be our vows today?”

As Christians we are people seeking to be shaped by God as we strive to live faithfully in the way of Christ. It is clear that our culture knows nothing of this. To be faithful to Christ in the midst of an idolatrous culture, then, means to embody an alternative way. The idolatrous way of living prescribed by our society is not reflective of the way of Christ. The challenge for the Church then is to actually live in a different way. This is difficult of course because our imaginations are so often shaped more by Bay St. than by the cross. And the way of Bay St. is far different from the way of the cross. However, often the task of living a different sort of way is overwhelming. We are generally the sort of people that like plans. We would be much happier if we could map out the way. This, however, is not necessary. What is necessary is that we begin with a step in that direction. This sort of drastic change will not likely happen over night, but, small step after small step (in obedience with the Spirit) will lead to transformed lives.

So then, what are three vows that Christians could take today, in a consumer-capitalist culture, in order to proclaim our faithfulness to Christ as opposed to our faithfulness to the idolatrous way of Bay St.? I would propose at least the following three vows:

1. A vow of generosity.
In the midst of a culture that seeks to attain more and more we acknowledge that it is good and healthy, even human, to show restraint.

Lord Jesus, save us.

In the midst of a culture that tells us we need __________ in order to be fulfilled we acknowledge that our fulfillment comes only in God’s plan of Shalom.

Lord Jesus, shape us.

In a culture that says “it is better to receive than to give” we follow Jesus who proclaims “it is more blessed to give than to receive,” (Acts 20:35).

We denounce the idolatrous ways of Bay St., Lord Jesus, lead us.

2. A vow of community.
In the midst of a culture that lives closed lives we strive to live a life that is open to our neighbour. We are caught up in and find our place in the organic community that is the Body of Christ.

Lord Jesus, save us.

In the midst of a culture that tells us the most important person is “me” we strive daily to love others more than ourselves.

Lord Jesus, shape us.

In the midst of a culture where communion is reduced to text messages and status updates we recognize the truth and beauty in simply living life together in order that our hope may be made incarnate in our lives.

Lord Jesus, lead us.

3. A vow of responsibility (stewardship).
In the midst of a culture of over-development and over-consumption we proclaim that enough is enough and we repent for the ways in which we daily wrong one another and the earth.

Lord Jesus, save us.

In the midst of culture that lives as if the earth is full of unlimited resources we recognize the sinfulness of our over-consumptive lifestyles.

Lord Jesus, shape us.

In the midst of a culture that views people and the earth as dis-utilities to be overcome on the road of progress we proclaim the inherent goodness and beauty of creation.

Lord Jesus, lead us.

Perhaps if we can find a way to, together, embody these sorts of vows we can begin to journey together towards an alternative way of life. One that is shaped more by the cross and the resurrection than by Bay St.

Our Father who are in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us,
and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
and the power, and the glory,
for ever and ever.

*In a class the other day my prof. brought up this interpretation of Matthew 15 and I thought it was wonderful so I wanted to share it with you.

“When the LORD your God brings you into the land you are entering to possess and drives out before you many nations – the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites and Jebusites, seven nations larger and stronger than you – and when the LORD your God has delivered them over to you and you have defeated them, then you must destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy,” (Deut. 7:1-2).

If you’re like me, you probably have read passages like this in the Old Testament and asked yourself something like, “What the hell?!” I mean, we’re so used to hearing about Jesus as this peaceful, subversive person who lays down his life for others…as the lamb before the shearers is silent, right? Then, we read in the OT of genocide and mass murder. How can this be? How can the God we see revealed in Jesus be the same God that we see revealed in the Hebrew scriptures?

The violence in the OT is problematic for many folks, myself included. I used to try and think about it in terms of the fact that the people saying God told them to kill (Israel) were also, conveniently, the authors of the text (and how often have we heard people saying that God is on their side in battle? Dub-ya). So perhaps God didn’t really tell Israel these things. Perhaps this was just their perspective on the issue. However, I’m not sure this really does justice to the Judeo-Christian narrative.

So, what are we to make of this violence then in light of Jesus? Well, I think it’s clear to say that in the light of Christ this sort of thing will never happen again. Christians will never hear the call to violence like we see in the OT because this just doesn’t make sense in light of the Messiah who laid down his life.

Matthew tells the story of a Canaanite woman (15:21-28). Read it and then come back.

Ok, so there are a few things that are interesting here. Jesus says to the woman, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.” Really? This doesn’t sound like Jesus. He came only for Israel? Also, Jesus calls the woman a dog. Bitch. Jesus? One of the things that is most striking about this passage though is that Jesus refers to the woman as a Canaanite. Mark tells the same story and yet he refers to her as a “Syrophoenician woman” (Mk. 7). Why does Matthew call her a Canaanite?

One of the problems here is that there is no such thing as a Canaanite in the 1st century. It would be like someone today referring to someone of Norwegian descent as a viking. We all know that vikings no longer exist. The same was true for Canaanites in the 1st century. There were none. Yet Matthew calls her a Canaanite. Why?

Let’s return to Deut. 7. Israel has just come out of the wilderness and are entering the promised land. They cross the Jordan and enter the land that is unclean which is filled with gentiles. Canaanites. Notice, there are seven people groups named.

Now in Matthew, just before the story of the Canaanite woman, we see the feeding of the five thousand. After this feeding how many baskets are left over? Twelve. How many tribes are their in Israel? Twelve. Jesus is a new Moses and this scene ought to remind us of the manna in the desert. After the feeding of the five thousand Jesus and his companions cross a body of water. Again, here we should be reminded of the Israelites crossing the Jordan prior to entering the promised land, the unclean land of the Canaanites. After crossing the body of water Jesus arrives in Gennesaret, the unclean land of…the Canaanites?

This is where we encounter the Canaanite woman (who isn’t really a Canaanite).

“Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
“I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
“Lord, help me!”
“It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.”
“Yes Lord, but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the masters table,” (“come on, I know you just had a feast with lots of left overs, can we get some scraps?”).

How does Jesus respond to her? With mercy.

Directly following this encounter Matthew recalls the feeding of the four-thousand (in unclean, “Canaanite”, territory by the way). How many baskets of food are collected at the end? Seven. How many people groups were in the promised land when Israel first entered? Seven.

Do you see what’s happening here?

Jesus changes the story of Israel.

Israel crossed over into the promised land, the land of the Canaanites, and were told “destroy them totally. Make no treaty with them, and show them no mercy.”

Jesus crosses into unclean land where he is confronted with a “Canaanite” woman and what does he do? Well if he is to be true to Israels story he ought to kill her. “Totally destroy” her. But what does Jesus do instead?

He shows her mercy.


Jesus changes the story of Israel.

What then can we say about the violence we see in the OT? One thing we can say for certain is that after Jesus such a thing can never occur again. Jesus changed the story of Israel.

It had been a long night.

We had set out the previous evening in the boat to go fishing and as the sun rose over the hills our nets were empty. Not long after daybreak someone showed up on the beach and shouted out to us, “have you no fish?”

“Have we no fish?” What kind of question is that? It’s bad enough that we haven’t caught anything (after all, this is our profession), who is this that wants to rub our noses in it? “No,” I replied, “it’s been a slow night,” (now piss-off!).

“Why not try the right of the boat?” he shouted back.


Everywhere. So many we couldn’t handle it.

That’s when it clicked. It was like my eyes were opened and I could see who it was on the beach. It was our Lord. It was Jesus.

What follows is interesting. The disciples come ashore (Peter swam to shore after he threw some clothes on, ‘cuz you know, it’s easier to fish in the nude) with their massive catch. Only, to their surprise, Jesus already had some fish. In fact, he had the fire going already. The disciples could probably have smelled the fish. Not only that, Jesus had bread. Bread! Jesus had breakfast waiting for them. So, what does Jesus say? “Bring some of the fish you guys caught!”

Their catch wasn’t necessary. I mean, breakfast was already made. The fish. The bread. The meal wasn’t dependent on their catch for Jesus already had the stove on, so to speak. They brought the dessert.

Often times I find myself getting discouraged at the state of our world. At the state of myself. “Make all things new already!” Don’t get me wrong, God’s redemptive plan is a source of great hope for me. I just get discouraged when confronted with our seeming inability to bring it about. Now I’m not saying we can’t do anything helpful. Sure, we can work for justice and beauty and those are wonderful things but, I mean, everything is just so fucked isn’t it? I don’t mean that crudely, but have you looked around lately? Things aren’t as they’re meant to be. Have you examined your own heart lately? We’re a bunch of bumbling fools. Thank-God his plans aren’t dependent on us. He’s already prepared and made the meal, then, he invites us to join him. “Bring some of the fish you caught!” The meal isn’t dependent on our catch. No. He has that covered. So, what do we do? We bring some dessert.

*This is a paper I submitted for a class. I’ve been thinking a lot about interpretation lately and had a few discussions on here.

Jacques Derrida’s claim that there is “nothing outside the text” rocked the modern notion of objectivism. With the modern era (beginning from anywhere as early as the Italian Renaissance to as late as the Enlightenment) came an incredible trust (read: faith) in humanity and our ability to create for ourselves Shalom through technological and economic progress. This faith was largely based upon the understanding that man need not be enslaved by archaic tradition or authority. Rather, man was autonomous and could make his own way in the world through the use of reason. There was no need for any sort of oppressive religion and if God did exist he certainly was not interested in what was going on here (thank-you very much!). What resulted was an inherently individualistic understanding of man and a new religion built on the idol of objectivism. The world was ours to discover and we could figure this out on our own and make a good life for ourselves if only we cleared the way for reason to take over. For the modern mind true knowledge was objective, meaning that truth was self-evident, demonstrable and reasonable. However, as the world began to change a shift took place which postmodern philosophers noted. Objectivism was a farce and reason really was not all that reasonable. Derrida was at the fore of much of this criticism. If we take his claims seriously, that everything is text and, therefore, interpreted then the door is opened for the Church to reclaim a more robust, less modern, faith.

Il n’y a pas de hors-texte: Challenging the modernist assumption of objectivism.

Imagine a scene with me if you will. It is a hot summers day and you’re walking along the road when you notice two men. The men greet each other with a warm embrace, chat for a moment, and then one of the men takes the other by the hand and they begin to walk. As they walk hand-in-hand they stop to chat with people and laugh, all the time holding hands. This may seem like some sort of objective action but whether the action is objective or not has no bearing on the viewer being able to view objectively. What if I told you that this scene took place on Church Street in Toronto’s homosexual community? This would undoubtedly effect your understanding of the scene. However, what if instead of Toronto this scene unfolded in a small Masai community in the Kenyan wilderness? Perhaps this would change ones understanding. In fact, this very thing happened to me when I visited a small village in Kenya. Upon arriving I was greeted by the “chief” of the village who took my by the hand and led me around his community introducing me to people as we walked together. In this context, two men holding hands was a cultural norm. It was a sign of friendship and respect. However, it initially took me by surprise because in the city of Toronto where I live two men holding hands as they go for a walk has a whole other meaning. Depending on where you are standing (be it Kenya or Canada) this action may be experienced (interpreted) differently.

The point is that this action is not objective. It requires interpretation and that interpretation is dependent on any number of variants. This is what Derrida supposes when he argues that “Il n’y a pas de hors-texte,” (“there is nothing outside the text”). Everyone uses language to communicate and it is on this basis that all of us interpret the world as we see it. Interpretation should not be understood as some sort of gymnastic’s that we must engaged in in order to reach an unmediated realm that no longer requires our interpretation. Interpretation is not something we do to reach a place where we can sit back and experience the world “as it is.” Rather, “interpretation is an inescapable part of being human and experiencing the world,” (Smith 38).
Smith points out that Derrida is here concerned with the modern notion of objectivity that we discussed above. For Derrida, there can be no objective truth because all truth is experienced and, therefore, interpreted. When Derrida makes a claim like “there is nothing outside the text,” he means “there is no reality that is not always already interpreted through the mediating lens of language…to claim that there is nothing outside the text is to say that everything is a text…everything must be interpreted in order to be experienced…all our experience is always already an interpretation,” (39). Here then, interpretation is closely linked with experience. In other words, we interpret truth by experiencing truth. Derrida rejects the notion of objectivity because there are no free-standing, objective people. Rather, all people everywhere were born into a particular place and time, were raised a certain way in a family in a certain culture, were educated at a particular school and so on. All of these factors come into play as we experience and, therefore, interpret the world around us. In order to experience truth objectively one would have to be able to transcend the ground on which they are standing leaving all of their experiences and culture behind, in order to view truth from a neutral ground. However, this is impossible given that experience and culture are all part of the human experience. In other words, in order to view something objectively one would have to be able to view that thing uninfluenced, apart from any context. “There is nothing outside the text” can then also be understood to mean “there is nothing outside context.” “Everything is a text” is then the same as saying that “there are only contexts” and in this sense context comes to “determine the meaning of a text, the construal of a thing, or the ‘reading’ of an event,” (52). No one can be divorced from the context in which they find themselves. Therefore, no one can be truly objective and there can be no objective truth, only subjective. This, however, is no threat to Christianity.

An opportunity to return to a more faithful faith (or, thank-you pomo!).

Christians need not fear a statement like “there is nothing outside the text.” In fact, we ought to embrace this and recognize that objectivism merits criticism, especially from within a Christian worldview. The notion of objectivism is rooted in the modern ideal of the autonomous rational individual. However, according to the Judeo-Christian narrative humans were not created to be “individuals.” Rather, the Judeo-Christian narrative is the story of God and his people. A Body. In fact, from the beginning we are taught that it is not good for humans to live as individuals (Gen. 2:18). After all we are created in the image of a God that is mysteriously three-and-yet-one. The Godhead after whom we are imaged is a relationship of three persons and so this God proclaims, “Let us make man in our image,” (Gen. 1:26). To be human is to bear the image of a God who is a relationship. Paul echoes this same thought in his first letter to the Corinthians, “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it,” (12:27). The scriptures are clear, humanity is not autonomous, rather, we are dependent on our Creator whose image we are called to bear. “There are only contexts,” and we find ourselves deeply rooted in a very particular context that being the Judeo-Christian narrative. We are one Body that is rooted in a story, a context. Therefore, we join with the voices of postmodernity that criticize a modern emphasis on objectivism, pure reason, progress and individualism. In fact, we take it a step farther recognizing that both “modernity and postmodernity are characterized by an idolatrous notion of self-sufficiency and a deep naturalism,” (52).

This provides the Church with a unique (historically speaking) opportunity to reclaim a more robust, a more faithful, Christian faith in the aftermath of modernity. In the words of a certain professor at the University of Toronto, “we are in desperate need of a postmodernism and postmodernity has failed to provide that. But, I think the Gospel has a shot.”1 Smith suggests that this insight ought to push the Church to recover two important emphases: the centrality of Scripture for mediating our understanding of the world as a whole, and, the role of community in the interpretation of Scripture (23).

Centrality of Scripture.

If all the world is a text as Derrida suggests then, as a text, the world is subject to interpretation. We have already touched on some of the interpretive factors that come into play here and this leads to the conclusion that Smith points out for us, namely that “there is no uninterpreted reality, no brute facts passively sitting there to be simply and purely seen. Rather, we see the world always already through the lens of an interpretive framework governed by ultimate beliefs,” (54). This may seem obvious to some but it stands in conflict with the modern notion of objectivism, that we can see the world purely apart from any “lens of an interpretive framework governed by ultimate beliefs.” This proclamation of subjectivity is no threat to the Christian faith. If we are always interpreting the world then, for the Church, the Judeo-Christian scripture is the narrative that informs our very understanding and view of the world. As Smith puts it, “we should see the world through the Word,” (55). However, this forces us to reflect on our own life and the lives of our local churches. Are we, in fact, being shaped by the Biblical narrative and bearing God’s image, or, are we being shaped by an alternative narrative and thereby bearing an idolatrous image? These are not easy questions to ask but if we allow this discussion to take place, both with ourself and with others, then perhaps we can be drawn back to a more faithful relationship with God. Often we are guilty of neutering the scriptures and reducing them to some sort of pietistic, private moral compass. However, if we are really to recover the scriptures to mediate and shape our understanding of the world we must acknowledge that there is not one inch of our experience that is not governed by the revelation of God we are confronted with in the scriptures. In other words, “there is no aspect of creation to which God’s revelation does not speak,” (55). We must abandon the idolatrous narrative of our consumer culture and return once more the scriptures to be shaped by God’s Word.

A community endeavor.

We have already seen that modernity can be characterized by a deep sense of individualism and autonomy. The Church in more recent centuries has often been influenced by this idolatrous modern notion. One of the ways that this has occurred is through the idea of private interpretation which would suggest that the meaning of the scriptures is plainly observable and objectively so. This was not always the case of course. After all, it is really only since the invention of the printing press that Christians were able to possess their own individual copies of the Bible. I find it helpful to consider first-century Judaism. In this context a town was fortunate if they had a single copy of the Hebrew Scriptures. If a town did have a copy it was kept in the local synagogue. Therefore, in order to hear the scriptures the community had to come together. Reading and subsequently interpreting the scriptures was a community endeavor. The same can be said about the early church. Nowadays though, Christians are able to sit privately in their own homes and interpret. Derrida wants to reject this sort of move and suggests (like first-century Jews and the early Christians) that community has a role to play in interpretation. In fact, communities are interpreting bodies.

The Apostles’ Creed proclaims that we believe in “the holy, catholic church” and also “the communion of the saints.” We are one church, a communion. There can be no isolated Christian. Smith notes that Derrida’s critique of modernity and emphasis on community “helps us appreciate the way in which postmodernity pushes us to recapture the central role of community not only for biblical interpretation but also for teaching us how to make our way in the world,” (56). For Derrida, language is inherently communal and, therefore, interpretation requires the guidance of an interpretive community. To interpret the scriptures privately is then to miss out. In order to interpret the scriptures well “I cannot shut myself off from the community that is the church; rather, I need to be formed and informed by the breadth of this community,” (56). Yes, the Church is governed by the scriptures, yet the scriptures are only properly understood and make sense in the context of a believing community. “The same Spirit is both author of the text and illuminator of the reading community,” (57). The Church then is the interpretive community in which the scriptures come to life. However, this interpretation should lead towards an embodied participation in the story of scripture. There must be a link between the words that we read and the Word that was involved in creation who continues to speak today whom we are called to follow. The emphasis here then is on application rather than explanation which only comes as we wrestle communally with the Bible in order to gain a better understanding of the nature of the scriptures and to uncover how the text might shape and transform our lives and also our communities and all of creation.

As we have seen Derrida’s challenge to modernity was well deserved. The modern understanding of the autonomous, objective individual betrays the reality that we are all located within a particular context and use language to communicate. In other words, it is impossible to speak from ‘no where’. We are all rooted and grounded in a particular story. This presents an opportunity for the Church to abandon a faith influenced by modernity and to acknowledge the subjectiveness of their story which is rooted in the Judeo-Christian narrative and requires the revelation of the Spirit. The Church then is free to reclaim the scriptural narrative as the lens through which we view and understand the world. However, we must recognize along with Derrida that this requires an interpretive community, the Church, who together wrestle with the scriptures and how the Word might speak to us and shape us today.

The following is a mash-up of quotes from a chapter entitled “Socioeconomic life: a way of confession,” from Bob Goudzwaard’s work An Aid for the Overdeveloped West.

Socioeconomic life is always a kind of confession in the sense of making known, or even unconsciously betraying, what a person’s life is all about, what he really lives for, and where the meaning of his life lies. No one can live without a lord, and no one can refrain from making confession. People make confessions not only for themselves individually but also communally. For us in the western world the crucial question is: what do we confess within and concerning socioeconomic life?

The Judeo-Christian way of socioeconomic life is distinctly different from the predominant cultural views. Whereas our culture is economically and social closed we (in fact, to be truly human) are called to be a people that are economically and social open. This difference can be seen in three contrasts. First, “in Israel there was an openness to the rest that God alone can give. Shalom is the basis for human labour.” Shalom thus precedes work and gives it its framework. In our society, however, everything is first of all concentrated on our restless pursuit of what we can produce through our own efforts. Here our economic confession is that in the last instance our labour must produce our well-being. Second, unlike the grace of a new beginning when the slave in Israel returned to the ranks of free men, our society bears the curse of ceaseless conflicts between men, conflicts which are intensified for our own interests. Third, our socioeconomic life does not recognize God’s first right to the land and to nature. Rather, for the sake of expanding our own prosperity, we have almost completely depleted and plundered nature.

Because socioeconomic life is a way of confession, we Christians may (in fact, we are) be expected to establish a socioeconomic lifestyle that differs from what we see all around us.

Jacob’s Nemesis

So, ‘The Incident’ was a significant episode for many reasons not least of which we gained some insight into what was really happening on the island and discovered this intriguing relationship between Jacob and some other dude, his nemesis (the nemesis is also the smoke monster as made apparent in season 6 ep. 1). At any rate, there is a discussion between Jacob and his nemesis on the beach in ‘The Incident’ where the nemesis says that he will “find a loop-hole” and declares how badly he wants to kill Jacob. Now, fast forward to last nights episode and we’re given possibly more insight into this relationship. The nemesis (appearing as John Locke), when questioned by Ben, declares that he wants to get off the island and go home. Interesting. This raises some questions for me. Is the nemesis being held on the island by Jacob against his will? Is the nemesis actually Jacob’s captive? Does this make the nemesis “good” and Jacob “bad”? Where is “home” for a smoke monster (or is this a role he fills only on the island)? I had assumed the “loop-hole” the nemesis was talking about referred to him killing Jacob but is it possible that the “loop-hole” refers to him finding a way off the island and out from under Jacob’s possession?

Alternate universes (2 “presents”? Future-present and past-present)

It seems we’re working with two different realities here. One, with the characters on a plane that arrives safely in LAX in 2004 (or was it 2003?) and the other realty being on the island in 2007. Cool, however, this raises a few questions. 1) The underwater island. What’s up with this? 2) Desmond on the plane? But I thought he was in the hatch? 3) Charlie says, “this isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to die,” (paraphrase). Interesting. 4) On the island, where the heck did the temple and all those other folks come from? Were they there all along? 1 & 2 lead me to believe that perhaps in the pilot when the plane crashed they actually went back in time, like way back (even though they thought they were present).


All I’m going to say is this. Death. Baptism. Eternal life?

Jack Shephard

Two important things here I think. 1) “Nothing’s irreversible.” I think this is an important quote that Jack says to John in LAX. 2) On the plane (that didn’t actually crash) Jack seemed to have memory of the folks from the island. You could see it in his eyes, in fact, he even mentioned to Des that he looked familiar. Strange.

Anyways, there’s more that I can say but since I’m a student I have work to do. This means I can only afford to be a part-time LOST nerd. Oh well, any other thoughts out there LOST fans?


Ok so another interesting point that I didn’t mention is Desmond’s character. Now, here’s what’s interesting. In season 5 Desmond refused to go back to the island because him and Penny had a child and he promised her he would not return. Eloise, Faraday’s mother, then told Des that the island was “not done” with him. So, here’s where it gets interesting. For the most part, the characters are on the island in the “future-present” and on the plane in the “past-present”. This doesn’t apply to Des though. First of all, he was on the plane in the “past-present” which was very strange, BUT, he’s also on the main land in the “future-present” in his life with Penny and their son. Crazy. It would seem then that Desmond will play an important role in season 6.