It’s a song written by Paul McCartney in the early 1970’s. Even if though it’s an old song, it’s one of my favorites. My kids like it too and the oldest among them is only eight.

Why is it so appealing? Well it’s catchy for one, but most of all, for me, it serves as a reminder of several things beyond what was likely intended by its writer.

At face value, the song is a love song about Paul McCartney’s wife, Linda. He’s amazed at how much he needs her, how she rights him when he’s wrong, but most of all, he’s amazed on how much he loves her and she loves him. And, that love is a barely discovered country that, “he doesn’t really understand.” I feel exactly the same way about my lovely wife.

At a different level, I’ve taken the liberty to personalize the song, expand its meaning, and thus, its reach. This love song by Mr. McCartney reminds me very much about the love of God for man in the context of the spectacular cathedral that is creation . . . all good reasons to very much be amazed.

Here, take a look at some of the lyrics and perhaps you’ll see what I mean:

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you love me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you
Maybe I’m amazed at the way you pulled me out of time
And hung me on a line

Maybe I’m amazed at the way I really need you
Baby I’m a man maybe I’m a lonely man
Who’s in the middle of something
That he doesn’t really understand . . .

Maybe I’m amazed at the way you’re with me all the time
Maybe I’m afraid of the way I leave you

To me, it’s like a rock n’ roll cry from the desert: there is man in God’s marvelously complex creation, but he is not just an animal in a zoo or a specimen in some divine experiment. He is instead, a beloved of God. That alone is reason to be amazed.

Furthermore, the man is lonely and will always be so without his ultimate source of joy, God. He truly is in the middle of something he barely understands. The analogy of God as Father and we as children is apt in the face of a mind-boggling reality created by an omniscient and all powerful God. We really don’t understand and must approach God with the faith of a child. We need Him, and that realization is the virtue of humility.

The man, however, is also a sinner. Knowing one is a sinner enables the man to truly fear the “way I leave you.” For every time we sin, we in effect, turn our backs on the one who loves us. Sin is the gravest form of infidelity, for it is infidelity to God as lover of mankind. Hence, the greatest fear in the world really should be the fear of how we leave God and how easy that’s become.

All in all, the song is, at face value, about McCartney’s wife, but it fits nicely as a synopsis of God’s relationship with man (at least as much of a synopsis as a rock song can provide).

The other reminder that the song affords me is to never stop being amazed. A cessation of amazement is endemic in western civilization in the 21st century. Granted, our fancies may still be tickled by ever more portable and powerful electronic devices or by the special effects of a Hollywood blockbuster or by some medical advancement, but these excitements are limited to what is materially before us. It is the equivalent of reveling in the thin stew of a horse-blinder view of reality. It’s easy. It’s what’s at hand. And, it’s entertaining. But, like a bowl of sugar, although it tastes good at first, it will ultimately fail to satisfy. The cessation of amazement that I’m speaking of was well summarized by Mother Teresa’s assessment of the west. She concisely and accurately diagnosed us as suffering from a poverty of spirit. To put it another way, we are no longer amazed.

Times of trouble and mourning are truly times of great suffering, but ironically, they are also times to rip off the horse blinders of radical materialism (i.e. only what we can perceive is all there is to reality), to step back, and be amazed. The reality you live in is barely understood and you perceive so little of what’s really there. Whenever I hear McCartney’s song, I’m reminded of that too.

I’m currently reading Life After Death: The Evidence by Dinesh D’Souza. I’m not done with it yet, but thus far I’d say it’s a terrific book that makes a reason based case for the immortality of the human soul. It may even be a salve for those who have just lost loved ones and perhaps even for communities who have lost dear colleagues. I find that whenever I put the book aside after reading it for a bit, I find myself quietly singing, in the privacy of my own mind, McCartney’s Maybe I’m Amazed.

For example, in Chapter Five (The Physics of Immortality), D’Souza explains the breathtaking revolution currently underway in the world of physics. With aplomb, he shatters the horse blinders of a merely material existence by explaining the implications of dark matter, dark energy, and string theory. To D’Souza, I say thank you for being the willing messenger, and to God I say both thank you and “maybe I’m amazed.” When the horse blinders are removed and you realize that reality ain’t just a trip to Walmart to buy diapers, you lurch from despair and spiritual poverty to hope and to faith, even in the midst of mourning.

For instance, to know that we perceive only about 5% of matter and energy and to realize that 95% of the universe is beyond the powers of our perception and instrumentation is to be humbled and amazed. Further, to learn that there are perhaps 7 additional dimensions of space that are hidden from our sight is right reason to be amazed and daunted at who and what may be standing right next to us unbeknownst. Modern physics rather than serving as a comfort to atheists is instead serving to confirm what people of faith knew all along . . . that reality is more amazing than any fiction created by man and that life does not end in death.

So, no matter where you find yourself in this life, whether it is in the midst of joy or in the deepest sorrows of loss, take comfort. If you are blessed to be in the embrace of your spouse, then do take Mr. McCartney’s advice . . . be amazed. But, if you are where we all arrive at time and again, in the grips of a sorrow, then still take heart in knowing that there is much more to the world than meets the eye. There is God and His fabulous, tremendous, mind boggling creation. In mourning, we miss our loved ones, but also in mourning, we are like the blind who are granted sight. We are jostled from the comforts of a purely material view of reality and reminded that God has much in store for us both in this life and the next (for death truly is “the undiscovered country,” as William Shakespeare put it in Hamlet).