Think magic is impossible? Maybe we've just been taught to believe that.

Happy whichever spring holiday you celebrate! The redbud tree is not as showy as I'd hoped it would be -- just a few blossoms are adorning its trunk. But it had a tough maiden year in my garden, and I'm hoping for more blooms next year. At least it's leafing out. 

Lynne Cantwell 2026

Other flowers are doing better, including these volunteer violets (the little johnny-jump-up kind, not the African kind). Volunteers are my favorite flowers.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

My daffodils are done for the year, and so are my grape hyacinths. I'm debating whether to put real money into plants this spring; I still don't know whether my deck will be dismantled this year to fix the bad framing job the roofers did in rebuilding it, and if that happens, I'll basically lose whatever's planted in the beds. Might just stick with volunteers this year.

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Anyway, for most Christians, today is Easter, a sacred day on their liturgical calendar. One of my Christian friends shared a post on Facebook about how Jesus would be treated if he showed up in America today. The original poster basically said that it wouldn't end well, because so many purported Christians would object to the things he actually is said to have believed and done. I think that's true. Regular Americans today who try to embody Jesus's teachings -- healing the sick, ordering the moneychangers out of the temple, exchanging swords for plowshares, and so on -- are often not treated well, to put it mildly. And Christian nationalists have zero use for the idea of welcoming strangers and treating them as actual human beings.

I'm not Christian, as I've said, and while I see where the original poster is coming from -- and even agree with him -- I see an even more basic problem: We, as a society, have lost our belief in magic.

If any holy person or prophet of any religion arrived in today's world, I'd bet you dollars to doughnuts that we wouldn't believe them. Wouldn't believe they were who they said they were. Would call them a crackpot. Would call the cops on them. Would have them committed as mentally ill.

But what if they proved who they said they were by performing miracles? It might get them committed faster. Or we'd dismiss it as a trick, or Photoshop, or A.I. Because by and large, we've had our belief in miracles -- in magic -- beaten out of us. Magic and/or miracles might have happened in olden times, but not any more. Certainly not today.

The Church has only itself to blame. It bought adherents at a cost, and one of the things it did to win believers was to decapitate magic. It did that by declaring anything not officially sanctioned by the Church the work of the devil.

People are moving away from the Church these days, but that doesn't matter for the purposes of this discussion. Because the Church trained us to mistrust our own senses, and that mistrust has become ingrained in Western culture. Oh, we don't say magic is of the devil anymore, or rather most of us don't, but we still feel uneasy when we see it working. Now we're more likely to say that a thing is impossible. Or it's a trick. Or there has to be an explanation; we just haven't figured it out yet.

Think of all the movies that have turned on this plot point. Here's one: God returns, right? Maybe as George Burns. And nobody believes him except a grocery store manager played by John Denver, and the guy's life gets a whole lot more complicated as a result.

You laugh. I mean, I sure did when I saw the movie. But I laughed partly because God's reception was so plausible. 

I'm not saying we should all give every scammer and con artist we run across the benefit of the doubt. I'm saying maybe materialism doesn't have the answer to everything. 

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To be clear, I do believe in science. But I also think there are some things that are real, but science dismisses them out of hand.

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These moments of bloggy magic have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Happy spring!

Of humanity and a memory.

elaelo | Deposit Photos

Here we are, the Sunday after Trump's second inauguration, and so of course all the preachers in all the churches in America are talking about it, in one way or another. A lot of them are talking about the homily delivered to Trump and his vice president, J.D. Vance, on Inauguration Day at the National Cathedral by the Right Rev. Marian Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, DC. (For those who aren't clued into ecclesiastical stuff, the National Cathedral is an Episcopal church. That's a Protestant denomination. It's more or less the American version of the Anglican Church, which King Henry VIII created when the pope wouldn't grant him a divorce from his first wife.) The Rev. Budde had the temerity to call on Trump -- to his face, even! -- to "have mercy upon the people in this country who are scared now." How dare she, right? A priest calling on a parishoner to do the right, moral thing! The very idea!

The reactions fell into the usual camps, with Trump and his MAGAts attacking her. One Republican member of the House of Representatives suggested that she be added to the deportation list. Where does he think she should be deported to? She was born in New Jersey!

Pope Francis is siding with the Rev. Budde, at least on the issue of mass deportations. He's calling the plan "a disgrace". So of course the MAGAts are mad at him, too.

None of this stopped ICE from rounding up migrants -- some of them legal -- working at a fish market in Newark, NJ, on Friday. According to Newark Mayor Ras Baraka, one of those rounded up was a veteran who had his military service questioned -- an "indignity", the mayor said. And how.

We knew this was going to happen, and worse. Trump and his minions are not interested in showing anybody mercy, least of all nonwhite, noncisgendered people. But make no mistake: They are all still people, no matter what. As an animist, I think it's a no-brainer: all humans are people (my definition of "people" is a lot broader than just humans, as alert hearth/myth readers know - here's just one of my several posts on the subject), and all people deserve dignity and respect.

Pace yourselves, guys. It's gonna be a long four years.

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Let's talk about something more cheerful. This memory bubbled up in my brain when an author friend made a Facebook post in which he asked people to tell about the first single they ever bought. (In this context, "single" refers to a 45-rpm vinyl record, smaller than an LP, that had just one song on each side.)

I couldn't tell you which single I owned first. I mean, it was probably a Monkees record; I just don't remember which one. But I can tell you that virtually my entire hoard of singles came from one of two stores in my hometown: either Shoppers Fair or 212 Bargain Center. 

The name "212 Bargain Center" was not exactly creative: The store was located on Indiana Highway 212, a spur that connects US 12 and US 20. If you've ever read any of Andrew M. Greeley's early novels, you may have run across a mention of the highway; he would sometimes send his priests up to Grand Beach, MI, for a summer outing, and at least once, they stopped at Roxanne's Drive-In on Highway 212 for a bite.

Anyway. When I was a kid, Mom, Dad, and I had a tradition on Saturday nights: after we ate supper at home, we'd get in the car and do some shopping (either at one of those two stores or the mall), then maybe stop for milkshakes at McDonald's (which we consumed in the car -- no indoor seating, folks, this was the '60s), and then head to the South Shore train station on 11th Street downtown so Dad could buy the Sunday editions of the Chicago newspapers as soon as they came off the train Saturday night. 

Shoppers Fair often ran a coupon in their weekly advertising circular for singles -- 25 cents each, or four for a dollar. At 212 Bargain Center, you didn't need a coupon; they had a big bin of cut-out singles. Each of these 45s had a hole drilled through the label. They played fine, though, and most importantly, they were cheap. I could usually talk my mother into buying me one or two.

On this particular night, as I browsed the cut-out bin, I ran across a song I liked and asked Mom if we could get it. "Which song is that?" she asked. The house was small and I had my radio on a lot; she'd heard them all. Suddenly, the background music in the store played the record I was asking for. "That one," I said, and she said okay. Then I ran across another song I liked -- and the same thing happened. And then it happened again!

I don't remember how many records I ended up with. I only remember how surprised and delighted I was that the songs I wanted kept playing when Mom wanted to know what they sounded like.

Coincidence? Maybe. Somebody in the office at the store having fun with us? Doubtful. The office was pretty far from the record bin; they would have needed binoculars to see the record labels. A miracle? It's an odd sort of thing to put down as miraculous, don't you think? Serendipity, maybe. Or maybe ... magic.

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These moments of magical blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Hang in there, guys.