The OOC

I know…the title of the below article caught my attention too…

link

Joel’s post made me think about the Hippocartic oath. Here, for your reference, are links to the classical and modern versions of the oath. Sidenote, here are are two links (here and here) that discuss the meaning of the symbols used to represent the medical community.
UPDATE: Here is a third link with some very interesting spin from, of all places, the First Church of Satan.

Yahoo! News – Fate of Terri Schiavo Rests With Judge

What does everyone think of this? Who’s right, and who’s wrong? How do we sort out issues like this?

I don’t know if anyone else was there, or if those who were there thought this, but I have never been so humbled at church than I was at Bette’s memorial service.

Bette kept all her prayers, you see, in journals. Ron read several of them, and each one started something like:

Dear Heavenly father,

Good morning Lord! I love you so much. I want to be with you so badly. . /

And on from there.

Here’s Bette, afflicted her entire life, expressing her unfailing confidence in the unfailing love that God had for her. This rock solid childlike faith just overwhelmed all the cares and frustrations of my day. I felt that something holy was before me. I felt God’s pleasure at these prayers. And I can tell you that it has and will continue to make a difference in how I approach God in prayer.

Any thoughts?

The latest genetic research regarding the “origins” of homosexuality has produced the most bizarre pro-life bill. First, we have research on a fictional concept, now we have legislation on the possible future discoveries of said research. Amazing!

Erin Layton is an OOC-expatriate living in New York. She recently sent an email with her observations on The Gates Project there. She writes (posted with permission):

I saw the Gates on Sunday afternoon, the last day of the exhibition. Makoto Fujimara, a painter and writer at Village Church, spoke briefly about the impact of such an exhibit for Christians, especially Christians in the arts. He encouraged us to experience the Gates on our own because he likened the exhibit to kingdom glory. He showed slides of the orange fabric that spread like a sleeping serpent through Central Park. The infinite nature of the Gates, he said, should encourage us involved in the arts to bring glory to God through our gifts. Look at how much glory this has brought to the city, he said, why shouldn’t we strive for the same purpose in our individual pursuits?

This word glory meant little to me, in terms of art, until I witnessed the Gates on my own. I think I have lost some understanding of what it means to truly glorify God through art. I don’t know the spiritual beliefs of the artists who put this piece together and I honestly had not read much on their vision/purpose of such work. When I walked up the stairs from 59th Street and Colombus Circle Subway station I gazed upward to a sea of orange enveloping New York City. Since this was the last day for the exhibit it had attracted the largest crowd I had seen in New York. The strange thing was the entire park fell silent under the spell of the color. People touched the fabric as they walked by with a certain respect as if they were touching the cloak of a great king or prophet. Even though it as a bitter cold afternoon the Gates lent a warmth that comforted our souls. We weren’t trying to get somewhere fast. We all walked with the same slow pace. I noticed people standing in the middle of the park with tears streaming down their faces as they gazed upon the expanse of orange. I can’t tell you why the gates were so moving. I felt as though the people who attended were embracing their dead, each gate representing the souls of those who perished. Maybe it was a memorial for the Tsunami disaster, again each of the gates a tribute to the orphaned children, the families who perished together, the mothers, the fathers. Or maybe it was the safety that we felt as a brotherhood, sisterhood walking into a sublime protection from the outside world. For whatever reason we felt moved by these pillars of hanging orange fabric whether it be personal or universal, it united the city. This city so full of glory and sadness was represented by a single motif repeated over and over all across metropolitan New York. Truly glorious.