This phrase stuck with me. I find it very significant, revealing of something that seems just outside my grasp. I’m going to try and see what the net will catch.
What we have are stories, rooted in an oral tradition and written down at some point, constituting the opening of a narrative that shaped western culture and the world. That compilation of diverse writings has been the predominant inspiration for the greatest art, architecture, literature, and music. It has had a major influence on politics, economics and the organization of every city and hamlet, at least in Europe, where the church was at their core. It has naturally defined theology and transformed philosophy. The church, which has made those stories available to us, has been instrumental in the development of science. So, how have they come to be considered a mere “series of Bronze Age stories”? I’ll leave the readers to look within themselves for their own personal answer, because that’s where it lies, within ourselves.
This is going to get very religious; atheists may wish to skip the following.
The Ancient One whispers in the silence of the moment, He whose presence brings us to our knees, the infinite power from whom all this arises, and to whom we journey, destined for Holy Unity. The Old Man who created us, walks with us, cares for and guides us, and forgives our transgressions, He who sent His Son, has prepared an eternal banquet for us. But, His portrait as such has grown old and stale. It no longer evokes the sense of mystery that it once commanded. With the story’s loss of meaning, comes a realization, as it did on the day when we were turned out from the garden, that “dust (we) are and to dust (we) will return”. Without the story of who we are and why we are, our reflection is of a mere collection of molecules. But, that sense of mutual wonder that comes when creature meets its Creator, although hidden, yet remains ever present, like burning embers ready to burst into flame.