Perceptions from a Pewboy

The following description of an upcoming conference caught my eye. The conference will focus on “The Primacy of the Biblical Narrative” and is sponsored by the Robert E. Webber Center for an Ancient Evangelical Future. Notice that the description of the conference is, in and of itself, a call.

We call for a return to the priority of the divinely authorized canonical story of the Triune God. This story-Creation, Incarnation, and Re-creation-was effected by Christ’s recapitulation of human history and summarized by the early Church in its Rules of Faith. The gospel-formed content of these Rules served as the key to the interpretation of Scripture and its critique of contemporary culture, and thus shaped the church’s pastoral ministry. Today, we call Evangelicals to turn away from modern theological methods that reduce the gospel to mere propositions, and from contemporary pastoral ministries so compatible with culture that they camouflage God’s story or empty it of its cosmic and redemptive meaning. In a world of competing stories, we call Evangelicals to recover the truth of God’s word as the story of the world, and to make it the centerpiece of Evangelical life.

This is interesting and compelling stuff, I think. The language of this paragraph is rich with both a tone of narrative theology (which is dear to my heart) and a sense of urgency concerning the task of preserving the church’s devotion to the story of Scripture (amidst all of the “competing stories”). I found it refreshing.

I never enjoyed going back to school when I was a kid. Or when I was a college student. Or when I was a seminarian!

Please don’t misunderstand. I loved the experience of learning. What I found challenging was the context in which that learning often took place.

As some of you probably noticed in the personality inventory that I posted a few weeks back, I am pretty strongly introverted. That doesn’t mean that I don’t love people, of course. It simply means that I receive my emotional energy either from being alone or from spending time with that one or two other people who are so much a part of my inner circle that it feels like being alone.

Needless to say, much of the American educational system is hard on the introvert. Long days in crowded classrooms and locker rooms (and hallways that were even more crowded) sapped a good bit of my emotional energy when I was growing up. Interaction and frequent verbalization is expected in academia (and, normally, a big portion of one’s grade). And don’t get me started on the frustration of a quick shower in a hot and overcrowded locker room after 3rd period gym, followed by a sprint to Trigonometry class on the third floor (weaving in and out of people all the way)!

I do not mean to give to you the wrong impression of my youth. My classmates, I think, looked upon me as a highly social and relational kind of dude. Throughout my scholastic career, I played football. I wrestled. I ran track. I sang in the choirs. (More crowds!) I dated. I learned social skills. I had a great time of it. But, given a choice, a quiet living room with a stack of comic books would have always been a more comfortable environment for me than an institutional classroom. Given my preferences, it was a good thing that I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.

Every year, when the end of August rolls around, I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s sort of an unnamed angst, one that rekindles a back-to-school unsettledness that this old introvert may never be able to jettison during this time of year. That’s OK by me. In fact, I have come to appreciate this yearly angst because of the way in which it makes me prayerfully sensitive to what this time of transition means to millions of families throughout our country.

Yesterday, as part of our church’s worship, I facilitated an extended time of prayer for those who are particularly impacted by this season of the year. Here are some of the prayers that we prayed in those moments. I am still praying them.

“Be powerfully and redemptively at work, O God, in the lives of our students. Some of those students are very young, heading off for their first day of pre-school. Some are a bit older, making ready for elementary school or middle school or high school. Others are headed of to college, or perhaps into a new season of graduate study. Open the minds of these students, that they might be available to their teachers and receptive to meaningful learning. Open the hearts of these students, that they might be compassionately attentive to the other people whose lives are intersecting with theirs in the journey of their education. Even now, O God, the faces of many different students are appearing in our prayerful reflection. Grant that, as the students learn about mathematics and science and literature and language, they might also learn a deeper reverence for the One in whom all knowledge is ultimately to be found.”

“Be powerfully and redemptively at work, O God, in the lives of our teachers. Strengthen them in their labor. Energize them in their task. Guard them against the kind of negativity and cynicism that can make a classroom into a cold and hurtful place. Deepen their love, not only for their subject matter, but for the ones they teach. Even now, O God, the faces of many different teachers are appearing in our prayerful reflection. By the power of your Holy Spirit, transform these teachers into the instruments of compassionate tutelage that you would have them to be.”

“Be powerfully and redemptively at work, O God, in the lives of School administrators and administrative staff. College presidents and deans and financial officers and registrars. Superintendents and principals and vice-principals and guidance counselors. Administrative assistants and receptionists and custodial staff and security officers. These are the souls whose sacred responsibility it is to generate a safe and nurturing environment in which holistic learning might take place. Bless them with an ever-deepening awareness of their purpose, and grant to them the strength to fulfill it.”

“Be powerfully and redemptively at work, O God, in those families that are struggling in particular ways during this season of transition. Some parents are dealing with the anxiety of seeing their child step onto a school bus for the very first time. Some parents are finding it particularly difficult to let their children go as they head off to college in this often-frightening world. And some children are burdened by a sense of insecurity as they enter into a new season of life and learning. Weave the different threads of these family circumstances into the rich and vibrant tapestry of your grace, thereby enabling the members of these families to be drawn closer to one another and closer to you.”

“Build a protective fortress, O God, around our schools and our institutions of higher learning. Guard them against violence, hatred, and unholy insularity. Make every classroom and office into a sanctuary for your presence, that, through our system of education, many will be drawn to the truth that a reverence for you is the beginning of all wisdom. We pray this in the matchless name of Jesus Christ, whose Way is our highest learning, and whose grace is the campus in which we live, move, and find our being. Amen.”

I have never been a soldier, and I have never experienced the horrors of combat. Over the years, I have watched films like “Platoon” and “Saving Private Ryan” and wondered to myself how it is that men of valor condition themselves to walk into a sniper-laden jungle or crawl into the mayhem of a firefight, all for the purpose of preserving a set of ideals for which they are willing to die.

It was with great interest, therefore, that I read Lewis H. Lapham’s essay in this month’s HARPER’S magazine. Entitled “Flies in Amber,” Lapham’s essay is an eloquently-written and scholarly reflection on the attitudinal shift that has occurred in global discourse concerning the issue of warfare.

Latham begins his essay by quoting a portion of Oliver Wendell Holmes’ 1895 address to Harvard’s graduating class:

I do not know what is true. I do not know the meaning of the universe. But in the midst of doubt, in the collapse of creeds, there is one thing I do not doubt…that the faith is true and adorable which leads a soldier to throw away his life in obedience to a blindly accepted duty, in a cause which he little understands, in a plan of campaign of which he has little notion, under tactics of which he does not see the use.

It is difficult for us to imagine such a celebration of blind militaristic obedience finding a place in the current global ethos—an ethos replete with skepticism toward anything that smacks of imperialism, demagoguery, or wanton jingoism. In 1895, however, such sentiment found a receptive audience in the faculty and graduating class of one of our nation’s finest academic institutions. Lapham suggests that Holmes’ words hearken back to an age in which the operas of Richard Wagner and the stories of Robert Louis Stevenson resonated with nationalistic tones; when Britain’s handsome officers were spreading “imperial benevolence” across the plains of India and Africa; when the leading voices in America and Europe “regarded trials by combat as glorious undertakings certain to provide proofs of selfless virtue and noble character.”

Such romantic notions of war, of course, have, for the most part, evaporated in the contemporary climate of postmodern thought. In fact, according to Lapham, the silencing of Oliver Wendell Holmes’ song of the sword “has been a matter of public record ever since the atom bombs dropped on Japan in the summer of 1945.”

What I found most compelling about Lapham’s essay was his use of Oliver Wendell Holmes as a backdrop against which to examine George W. Bush’s war on terror:

If I quote Holmes at some length, it’s because he allows me to understand George W. Bush’s war on terror not as an act of criminal stupidity but as the work of a man imprisoned in a past tense.

I do not intend for this post to be an unfair rant against our president. Nor do I intend to revisit in any detailed way the just war/pacifism conversation (a conversation that has been well-nurtured in recent days by many of my friends in blogland). But I find myself drawn to Latham’s point, insofar as his point illuminates the urgent need for all of us (not simply our political leaders) to break free of any “ideological imprisonment in a past tense” that might inspire us to practice a dangerous and blind obedience to a militaristic cause.

Latham’s essay caused me to move more deeply into my conviction that the church must be intentional about bringing a unique and christocentric voice to all conversations about war and peace. All too often, instead of daring to examine these matters though the lens of a biblical worldview, the church settles for the often soulless yet convenient rhetoric of the political left or right, thereby perpetuating political division instead of practicing the ethics inaugurated by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

Some of us see the war on terror as a just and necessary pursuit. Others of us see it as a grossly misguided effort to eradicate an ideology that cannot be defeated militaristically. I do not anticipate complete agreement on the issue any time soon. Whatever our particular viewpoint, however, my prayer is that we will dare to stand together upon the sacred ground of the ethical heritage bequeathed to us by the mothers and fathers of our faith.

Am I truly passionate about the pursuit of peace—the kind of peace that bears witness to the One who instructed his followers to love their enemies and who practiced what he preached by climbing onto a cross? Do I pray for peace daily and manifest a desire for peace in my daily interactions (so that peace become a tangible discipline and not simply a pleasant philosophical ideal)? Do I deal with conflict in a way that explores all options, or am I far too quick to resort to the woefully destructive options of emotional violence and spiritual manipulation?

And even if I were to embrace a just war theology, do I place the theological emphasis upon the song of the sword or the condition of peace with justice that just war theory treats as normative? (In just war theory, after all, it is warfare that demands justification, not the pursuit of peace.)

I must confess that I cannot always offer to these questions the holiest responses. I, too, am deeply conditioned by the rhetoric of violence. But such personal questions, I believe, must remain somewhere close to the heart of our spiritual contemplation if we are to bring a uniquely Christian voice to conversations about local and global war and peace.

I do not know what the next couple of years will bring in Iraq. I am far from a political genius and even farther from a military strategist. I have no quick and simple answers to offer. But I find myself praying that God’s people will find new and creative ways to incarnate a condition of Christ-honoring shalom. I am convinced that only when peace becomes a personal pursuit in our little corner of the world will our prayers for global peace carry significant weight. Furthermore, only when peace becomes our passion will we be able to resist the imprisonment in a past tense that Lewis Latham rightly describes.

Simply because we had to, Tara and I went to see the film INVASION on Friday night. It is the fourth cinematic incarnation of what is essentially the same story.

The incarnations began in 1956 with INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS, the best of the series because of its originality and the marvelously understated performances of Kevin McCarthy, Dana Wynter, and a pre-Addams Family Carolyn Jones.

In 1978, Philip Kaufman (director of THE RIGHT STUFF, among other fine films) remade INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS. This time around, the strong cast included Donald Sutherland, Brooke Adams, Leonard Nimoy, and Pittsburgh’s own Jeff Goldblum. It too was a good film, one that followed the original story but added enough to it to make the remake worth the time and money.

In 1993, the folks in Hollywood felt that another remake was in order. The result was a cinematic hodge-podge called BODY SNATCHERS, featuring Gabrielle Anwar, Forest Whitaker, Meg Tilly, and R. Lee Ermey (!!), all looking as though they were bored out of their skulls. I would encourage you to stay away from this one.

Which brings me to the film that we saw the other night–INVASION. It would be hard for me to recommend the film. It did nothing to justify its existence as a remake, although Nicole Kidman’s performance was certainly worth watching. Her angst-ridden performance, in fact, was easily the best part of the film.

All of the versions focus on essentially the same story: An alien life form invades earth. What makes the story quite unique, however, is that this alien life form does not invade in spaceships or flying saucers. Rather, it invades as a microorganism or, as was the case in INVASION, a virus. Here’s where INVASION’s storyline differs a bit from the original. In the original, the microorganism produced spores that replicated human beings as they slept. The old body would be destroyed and the new creature would have the mind and intelligence of the alien being. In INVASION, the virus simply takes over the mind of the already existing person (so that it’s more like INVASION OF THE MIND SNATCHERS than INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS).

At any rate, the end result is the same in all the films: zombie-like and soulless creatures who disdain all emotion, who champion the eradication of human passion, and who reject any form of individuality as a stumbling block in the way of a cold and analytical uniformity.

These films, then, represent science fiction with a message. The particular nature of the message, of course, could be debated. Back in 1956, however, I wonder how much of INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS was a cultural commentary on people’s minds and souls being “snatched” either by the identity-consuming political ethos of Communism, on the one hand, or the heart-hardening paranoia of McCarthyism on the other. Having not lived through that time period, I will leave that for other minds to decide.

Personally, I have always been drawn to the spiritual implications of the BODY SNATCHER films more than I have to their political undertones. In fact, as I reflect upon their content, the films provide for me a new vocabulary with which to speak of a condition that I find myself occupying all too frequently—a condition of being “snatched” by things that have no business whatsoever holding dominion over my soul.

I believe wholeheartedly, for example, that the joy of the Lord is my strength. Why, then, am I so prone to allowing my areas of discouragement in ministry to snatch that spirit of joy?

I believe with every fiber of my being that it is my responsibility to allow God to make me a conduit for the transformational love of Jesus Christ. Why, then, am I so vulnerable to that love being snatched by my frustrations with church folk who relentlessly miss the point of the Kingdom?

I believe in the depth of my soul that the ministry of God’s Kingdom deserves my passionate investment. Why, then, am I so willing to surrender my holier passions to the energy-snatching powers of resentment and discouragement?

I wish that I could blame an alien life form for this kind of snatching! But it isn’t that simple, is it? When I describe the circumstances above, I realize that I have moved out of the realm of science fiction and into the realm of the principalities, powers, and rulers of darkness. I am speaking, in other words, about spiritual warfare (yikes! I said it!). No scientist will put an end to this kind of spiritual snatching. Rather, the spiritual armor of God is our only defense.

Interestingly, on those days when I find myself “snatched,” I start acting like the snatched people in the films—passionless, joyless, dull, and disconnected. Perhaps that is why I have enjoyed the initial INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS so much over the years. Perhaps I have always known that the film stands as an effective metaphor for the kind of spiritual thievery to which all of us are so thoroughly vulnerable.

I’ve mentioned this quote before in one of my posts, but I’d like to mention it again. Halford Luccock, the great biblical scholar, once said that the most dangerous “ism” facing the contemporary church is not racism, sexism, or even Communism. Rather, according to Luccock, the most dangerous “ism” facing the contemporary church is somnambulism—sleepwalking! People sleepwalking from worship service to worship service, meeting to meeting, workday to workday, with no real vision, no real passion, no sense of freshness and vitality in their relationship with Jesus Christ.

INVASION reminded me of how urgent it is to guard against that kind of spiritual sleepwalking. If I am not intentional about putting on the whole armor of God, I may just find that my soul has been snatched by something unholy. And the aliens will not be to blame.

Check out this information about a church in Madrid that REALLY wants to keep its priest:

Members of a Spanish village parish have gone on hunger strike in protest at the transfer of their much-loved priest to another church, the newspaper El Pais reported Monday. Eighteen members of a parish in Albunol in the southern province of Granada have refused to eat in protest at the transfer of Gabriel Castillo, and 200 parishioners have locked themselves in the church in an attempt to keep him as their priest.

Gee. No one has ever gone on a hunger strike when I have announced that I am moving! In fact, some folks at my current church might be inclined to stage a hunger strike in order to expedite my departure: “We’re not eating again until the pewboy leaves!!!!”

Anyway, how would you like to be that priest’s successor?!

OK, here it is.

I’m just trying to fit in with the rest of yinz!

Tara and I went to see THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM on Friday night.

As huge fans of the Ludlum novels and the first two Bourne films, we went to the theater with eager anticipation. Suffice it to say that we were not at all disappointed. Quite the contrary, we found ULTIMATUM to be a cinematic tour de force, rich with breathtaking action, compelling acting, and skillful storytelling. I am practically able to say “amen” to one critic who, after seeing ULTIMATUM, suggested that Paul Greengrass (the film’s director) should direct all action films!

The chase scenes are mind-boggling in their scope. The fight scenes are choreographed with nothing less than artistic elegance. And the characters (even the secondary ones) make us want to know more about what makes them tick.

Of course, the spiritual and philosophical undertones inherent in the search for one’s identity are not to be minimized. They give to the film a depth of tension and a heightened urgency that are missing in many other action films. By this point, the audiene is every bit as invested in Jason Bourne’s identity as he is.

If you are not a movie person, you are excused. But if you are a movie person—and, more specifically, a movie person who enjoys well-made action films—then check out THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM. Don’t do it, however, before seeing the first two films in the series.

Yesterday, I purchased the new White Stripes CD entitled “Icky Thump.”

I love the title of the CD, by the way—ICKY THUMP. The title also happens to be an excellent description of the sound a human head makes when it lands with force upon a wrestling mat—an icky thump with which I am all too familiar!

At any rate, the music of The White Stripes is an eclectic blend of alternative rock, punk rock, American blues, and, (dare I say it), country. Because The White Stripes is a duo (Jack White and Meg White), the band’s sound has a minimalistic quality about it—one that I find refreshing amidst the over-stylized and over-produced music that is all too common in contemporary rock and roll.

One of the more interesting songs on “Icky Thump” is entitled “Little Cream Soda.” Penned by Jack White himself, the song includes a nostalgic remembrance of the simpler days of childhood, quickly contrasted with the complex demands of adulthood:

And there was a time when all I wanted was my ice cream colder, and a little cream soda.
Oh well, oh well.
And a wooden box and an alley full of rocks was all I had to care about.
Oh well, oh well.
Bu now my mind is filled with rubber tires and forest fires and whether I’m a liar and lots of other situations where I don’t know what to do, at which time God screams to me, ‘There’s nothing left for me to tell you.’

That last phrase really grabbed me. “God screams to me, ‘There’s nothing left for me to tell you.’”

Jack White does not describe himself as a Christian musician, although, if I am not mistaken, he does adhere to a Catholic faith. Why does God have to scream in this song? Is it because of the distance that we have created between us and God? Is screaming now the only way that God can communicate with children who have pulled themselves so far away from their Creator?

And what’s the deal with God’s communication that “there’s nothing left for me to tell you.” Is this the songwriter’s theological acknowledgement of the fact that God has already said everything that needs to be said? There is no longer a need for divine oration, in other words. Now is the time for obedience.

I wonder how frequently God has looked upon the behavior of humankind and spoken words such as these, perhaps even through divine tears: “There’s nothing left for me to tell you.” I wonder how frequently God has looked upon our warring madness, our venomous gossip, our eagerness to celebrate the failure and humiliation of others, our relentless idolatry of self, and cried out from the heavenly realm with a lament that only God is qualified to offer:

There’s nothing left for me to tell you. I have spoken my Word at creation. I have framed my Word in the law. I have illuminated and clarified my Word in the prophets. I have incarnated my Word through the life, death, and resurrection of my Son. I have proliferated my Word through the ministry of my Church. Still, you act as if I have never spoken at all. There’s nothing left for me to tell you.

This is all extra-biblical speculation, of course. Jack White, after all, is no gospel writer. But yesterday his songwriting took me into the depths of an imaginative moment in which I thought I overheard God weeping for his precious world and wooing his children with the seductive song of grace: “There’s nothing left for me to tell you—except what I have already said: I love you. Return to me.”

The recent death of the great filmmaker Ingmar Bergman has inspired me to revisit my favorite Bergman film, a cinematic journey entitled FANNY AND ALEXANDER. Made in 1982, FANNY AND ALEXANDER weaves an unparalleled thematic tapestry in which faith and doubt are treated as close relatives rather than bitter enemies and in which the nuanced complexity of family relationships finds expression in a variety of unusual circumstances. The appearance of an occasional ghost (!) gives to the film an appealing Shakespearean openness to the supernatural. The film is not for those who prefer to treat cinema as background noise. But if you are looking for a compelling and enchanting story brought to life by a master artist, it will not disappoint.

Part of what I appreciate about FANNY AND ALEXANDER is the seriousness with which it takes art. In fact, in one of my favorite speeches from the film, Oscar Ekdahl, the manager of a theater, explains eloquently why it is that he has devoted his life to the world of the theater:

My dear friends, for 22 years, in the capacity of theater manager, I’ve stood here and made a speech without really having any talent for that sort of thing. Especially if you think of my father who was brilliant at speeches. My only talent, if you can call it that in my case, is that I love this little world inside the thick walls of this playhouse, and I’m fond of the people who work in this little world. Outside is the big world, and sometimes the little world succeeds in reflecting the big one so that we understand it better. Or perhaps, we give the people who come here a chance to forget for a while, for a few short moments, the harsh world outside. Our theater is a little room of orderliness, routine, care and love. I don’t know why I feel so comically solemn this evening. I can’t explain how I feel, so I’d best be brief. My wife and I, and the rest of the Ekdahl family, my brother Carl, -I think Carl is here- We wish you all a happy and joyous Christmas. I Hope we meet again on St. Stephen’s Day, strengthened in body and soul. Merry Christmas.

Indeed. Is there any more succinct description of the purpose of art than this? True art, as Oscar suggests, is a “little world” reflecting the “big world” in order that we might understand the big world with greater clarity and depth. Or, on some occasions, true art is “a little room of orderliness and care” that enables us to escape the harsh demands and realities that the world so often places before us. In either case, art is something sacred, not to be minimized and not to be underestimated. In FANNY AND ALEXANDER, the artistic world is often the only world that makes sense.

Why do I love music so much? And movies? And comic books? And poetry? And evocative novels? And scary tales from Stephen King and Richard Laymon? I’m not certain that I can answer with a sentence or two. But I am convinced that it has something to do with the power of art to create exciting and exhilarating new worlds that help us to relate more meaningfully to the “real” world in which we find ourselves living. FANNY AND ALEXANDER accomplishes this artistic re-creation in a way that few films ever will. You may want to check it out.

Roger Ebert describes his experience with FANNY AND ALEXANDER in this way:

At the end, I was subdued and yet exhilarated. Something had happened to me that was outside language, that was spiritual, that incorporated Bergman’s mysticism. One of his characters suggests that our lives flow into each other’s, that even a pebble is an idea of God, that there is a level just out of view where everything really happens.

Ah, yes, the joys of returning to the office!

First of all, I want to thank those responsible for the running dialogue offered as a response to my last post.  Quite frankly, I’m sitting here in my bare feet, my shoes and socks having been blown completely off by the sheer profundity of the discourse!  I was disappointed, however, that Vandelay didn’t entertain the other participants with a story of one of his importing/exporting adventures.  That guy knows how to party.

Our trip to Mississippi was as meaningful a journey as I had hoped it would be.  Thanks for holding us in prayer.

I won’t inundate you with too many stories about the trip.  But, with your kind indulgence, I would like to share just one.

My 9-person work team did most of its work in a small house owned by a wonderfully gracious woman named Miss Rhonda.  We ripped out her water-damaged carpeting and replaced it with a hardwood floor.  We also painted the house’s entire interior and prepared the kitchen for the linoleum that this week’s team was to bring. 

On our final day at the house, we stood together with Miss Rhonda on her new floor as we joined hands and prayed.  One of the members of our team prayed a prayer that beautifully sanctified the moment.  Her prayer went like this:

“God, as Miss Rhonda walks on this floor, help her to remember from time to time that each piece of flooring was put here in the love of Jesus.  By your Holy Spirit, make this floor into sacred ground for Miss Rhonda and her family, so that your presence will be felt and honored in each room of this house.”

Needless to say, it was a powerfully kairotic week for our entire mission team.

But, boy, reentry into a “normal” schedule after being away never gets any easier, does it?