I woke up one morning in the middle of May with a weird headache. Whenever I bent down or stood up, coughed or sneezed, I'd be seized with a sudden pain between the eyes. A couple of sneezes and it would hang on as a dull ache for the rest of the day. I quickly began dreading that familiar tickle that means a sneeze is coming on.

Google led me to the Mayo Clinic, which told me that what I have is known as a cough headache. Seriously. Not something exotic like Mannheim-Schlossen-Frankeweiz Syndrome, but cough headache. Big duh.

Since you've probably never heard of cough headaches, I can tell you that medical science recognizes two varieties. The first is caused by something truly terrifying growing inside of your brain (10%); the second is caused by... well, no one actually knows, but it won't kill you (90%). The only way to rule out the fatal brain-rot type is with an MRI.

So I had an MRI at my local MRIs R Us and they confirmed two things: 1) I do have a brain; and 2) it is a very nice and healthy brain that shows no signs of alien infestation.

Good news. And, more good news, I have noticed that after 10 weeks of this thing, my headaches are gradually going away.

All told, I spent about $800 to find out that my headaches were idiopathic in nature, a fancy word that doctors use instead of shrugging their shoulders.

Eight hundred dollars can buy a lot of Milky Way bars. But to make you feel better about it, the MRI people give you this cool CD full of amazing images of your brain!

I've started carrying mine with me to parties and church potlucks. All I have to do is shout, "Hey, who wants to see my MRI?" and I'm suddenly the center of attention. Girls go ga-ga over medical imagery. If only I had known this in high school.

An MRI can unveil the hidden structures of the human body. It creates a sort of engineering blueprint, if you will. But it doesn't show the whole picture. It fails to show the fine cellular structures that are the engines of life. It doesn't reveal anything about the biochemical processes that energize our organs, the enzymes and proteins and hormones.

It doesn't offer insights into the mind: memories, desires, beliefs, hopes and fears are all invisible to an MRI scan. And most importantly, it fails to tell us anything about that non-cellular core of human life, the soul.

In Christian theology, the soul existed before our bodies, and will continue to exist when our bodies die. Its true home is not this physical body but a timeless place where our Creator God lives.

Naturally, the existence of the soul is controversial, just like the existence of God is. Our entire life is lived in a concrete, material, time-and-space-bound box. We have no way of exploring or understanding some kind of non-material world, or non-material entities like the soul, with the tools at hand.

But we know that there is more to our every day experience in life than can be properly understood or described by purely mechanistic means.

A bobcat stopped to rest in my back yard the other morning, giving me a rare opportunity to take some photos. Bobcats hunt at dusk and dawn, spending the night and day hiding and resting. They are solitary animals. Whenever I've seen one, it has been on the move, walking or trotting stealthily, eyes scanning the desert for a quick meal. They rarely hold still long enough for a portrait.

Their diet consists primarily of rabbits and rodents, of which there are many in the Sonoran desert. This particular bobcat stalked a rabbit for several minutes, carefully creeping up on it in the hope of catching it by surprise. But the rabbit spotted his hunter and escaped. Unperturbed, the bobcat stretched out in the morning sun and took a quick nap. There is plenty of food available this time of year, enough to make a hard chase after a wary rabbit unnecessary.

Some friends from another country were visiting recently and commented on the remarkable abundance of wildlife in southern Arizona. The desert is alive with birds, rabbits, rodents, lizards, snakes, and some larger mammals like coyotes, javelina and deer. Even the occasional hungry mountain lion has wandered through the neighborhood looking for dinner.

During the hottest hours of the day, many of these animals find shade beneath dense tangles of brush, in shallow burrows, or in the branches of the trees. As the sun drops, they come out seeking sustenance.

Owls and hawks watch silently for scurrying movements on the ground. Coyotes sniff the air for the slightest interesting scent on the afternoon breeze. Herds of javelina, the fearless urban gangs of the desert, have learned how to dump over garbage cans for a quick snack.

The desert is like a huge, fast-food restaurant. Everyone arrives hungry and scans the menu for the special of the day. With the exception of the cougars, pretty much every hungry guest is also an entree on somebody else's combination plate.

As more people have encroached on the desert, predatory animals like bobcats, coyotes, snakes and gila monsters have been killed or scared away, causing the mouse, rat and rabbit populations to explode. Limited food supply probably keeps the rabbits under control, but keeping the pack rat numbers down requires trapping and a constant lookout for new middens.

I could use the help of a few more bobcats. Here's hoping this one decides to move into the neighborhood.

The Lesser Goldfinch is a year-round resident here in southern Arizona, and on these warm summer days my palo verde tree is alive with flashes of gold as the finches compete for a place at my thistle feeders. These are very small birds with a very particular appetite for Niger thistle seed, which I buy at my local feed store in 50 pound bags. They're little, but they're ravenous.

My thistle feeders are designed with the seed ports beneath the perches, which means that the birds have to hang upside down to feed. The Lesser Goldfinch has well-developed grasping feet and is as comfortable hanging upside down as right side up.

There is something joyous in the sight of these little birds hanging upside down, their bellies glowing.

I've written about goldfinches once before in a post I called Feeding the birds.

If anyone wants to follow in my footsteps, he must give up all right to himself, carry his cross every day and keep close behind me. — Luke 9:23, JB Phillips

To endure the cross is not a tragedy; it is the suffering which is the fruit of an exclusive allegiance to Jesus Christ. When it comes, it is not an accident, but a necessity. It is not the sort of suffering which is inseparable from this mortal life, but the suffering which is an essential part of the specifically Christian life. It is not suffering per se but suffering-and-rejection, and not rejection for any cause or conviction of our own, but rejection for the sake of Christ. If our Christianity has ceased to be serious about discipleship, if we have watered down the gospel into emotional uplift which makes no costly demands and which fails to distinguish between natural and Christian existence, then we cannot help regarding the cross as an ordinary everyday calamity, as one of the trials and tribulations of life. We have then forgotten that the cross means rejection and shame as well as suffering. — Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, p. 98

There is no harder teaching of Jesus than this one: To follow him, we must lose ourselves in him and carry our cross.

Jesus carried his cross through the streets of Jerusalem where he was mocked and jeered by the crowds. We carry our cross in public, too — it is our commitment to live a life of faithful obedience to the Gospel of Jesus — and that public faith may well bring us shame.

The cross Jesus carried was a sign that he had been declared a social outcast. We may lose our standing among friends and colleagues, perhaps lose opportunities to advance in our chosen field because of our commitment to Christ.

The cross Jesus carried was heavy, and at times he staggered and fell under its weight. We, too, may stagger under the weight of a faith that society calls irrational and unenlightened.

This is what Jesus calls us to. This is not happy-talk Christianity. This is not self-empowering Christianity. This is not the gospel of health and wealth. This is death-row Christianity, and we are the dead men walking.

Of course, the death we are walking towards may not be a literal death, though some Christians have been murdered for their faith. The death most of us will face is this business of denying ourselves, of letting go of our rights, of setting aside our personal dreams and desires. It is the death of our self-driven self-will and the birth of a life directed from above. We no longer live for ourselves, but for Jesus. As Paul put it:

My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. — Galatians 2:20, NLT

I claim to be a Christian. What does that label really mean?

Does it imply something about my politics? Does it tell you what sort of a car I drive? Is it a label sewn into my clothes, like the once-celebrated label of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union from this 1981 ad campaign? Yes, I confess I used dress like that. In fact, I used to know all the words to that hokey song. Does that confession tell you anything about my Christianity?

The famous author of vampire novels turned "Christian author" Anne Rice has apparently grown tired of being labeled a Christian. Here's the statement she released via Facebook:

I quit being a Christian. I'm out. In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life. In the name of Christ, I quit Christianity and being Christian. Amen.

In a discussion about her statement on First Things, Rice added this comment:

It is possible for a well informed, well educated and well intentioned Catholic, after considerable reflection, to walk away from the church. It does happen. ... Whatever my faults, and I have countless faults, I am committed to Christ and I do have good intentions. I have endeavored to be honest with myself and others about my lifelong spiritual quest.

I believe Rice has had a sincere encounter with Jesus Christ, and I take her at her word that she does not intend to reject Christ so much as all that she has come to associate with that word Christianity. Rice is an articulate and talented writer who understands the meaning of the words she is using. She may not fully understand the problems with her new intention to "walk away from the church," but she is certainly expressing sentiments that are shared by many who have grown frustrated with the church and how Christianity has been hijacked by political operatives of both the left and the right.

(If you are interested, I favorably reviewed Anne Rice's first novel on the life of Jesus here.)

Jeff Dunn, who writes for The Internet Monk, had some good things to say about this whole issue of what it means to be called a Christian. I'm going to quote from him extensively because he says it better than I could:

The first time we find the word "Christian" in the scriptures is in Acts 11:26 where we read that "in Antioch the Lord's followers were first called Christians." I'm not sure that it was a compliment then. The "Lord's followers" were being called "little Christs" as the way they lived caused them to resemble Jesus the Christ. And that, in those days, was not a good thing. It branded one as a rebel, an outcast in the Jewish religious system. It was not, apparently, a name these followers adopted for themselves, but one that was put upon them by observers of their way of life. In a short time, to be known as a Christian meant your life and the life of your family was in danger. Saul — before he became Paul the Apostle — went from house to house, dragging men and women off to jail just for being known as Christians. ...

Over the centuries, the name Christian has gotten farther and farther away from its original meaning: "little Christ." Today in our Western culture, we use it as an adjective to describe the forms of entertainment we are comfortable with (Christian music, Christian movies, Christian fiction), the style of clothing we wear (Christian t-shirts), the kinds of businesses we deal with (Christian doctor, Christian hair dresser, etc.). We hear it used as a verb to describe one's actions ("That wasn't a very Christian thing to say"). And we use it as a noun to label what we believe. "I'm a Christian."

It is this label that is in question today. Just what allows one to be called a Christian? Is it by subscribing to a set of beliefs? By the act of baptism in infancy? Does one earn the right to the name for repeating a certain vow or confessing a specific creed? The answer to each of these questions is both "yes" and "no." ...

The name Christian has accumulated so much baggage over the years it is now very weighty to carry. When I say I am a Christian, people may automatically assume I am against gay marriage, against national health care, against President Obama, against taxes, against the Democratic party agenda. The first thing that comes to their minds is not how I reflect Jesus in my life, but the cultural and political things I am against. — What's in a name, Jeff Dunn

That last sentence is, I think, what has driven Anne Rice to say what she has said. Let me repeat what Dunn observes: "[When someone learns that I am a Christian,] the first thing that comes to their minds is not how I reflect Jesus in my life, but the cultural and political things I am against."

Is that what Jesus intended?