Perceptions from a Pewboy

I am sure that it has been done before here in blogland. But, since it is Halloween (and since I have a particular fondness for truly frightening and unsettling films), I am compelled to give expression to this inquiry:

What have been the films that have frightened you the most over the years?

Here’s my list (today, anyway).

Films (in no particular order):

“The Exorcist” (1973–This film is replete with some of the most horrifying cinematic moments that I have ever experienced. Though certainly a bona fide horror film, the film’s pacing, dialogue, and acting are far more reflective of a well-crafted drama. The coldly manipulative and dreadfully eloquent phrases offered by “the devil” create a sense of palpable spiritual tension, especially since they are starkly juxtaposed with the vulnerability and brokenness of the people to whom the phrases are offered. Lastly, Linda Blair’s treatment of a crucifix makes Ned Beatty’s famous scene in “Deliverance” look romantically tender!)

“The Changeling” (1980–A very well done haunted house film starring George C. Scott. I haven’t felt the same about wheelchairs or rubber balls since I saw it.)

“Halloween” (1978–A small but effective film that wisely resists the temptation to say too much about its villain or his motives. The film simply puts him in front of us, throws an old Captain Kirk mask on him, and forces us to be terrified.)

“Psycho” (1960–I still have to keep an eye on the door when I shower!)

“Seven” (1995–Although more of a frightening crime drama than a horror film, “Seven” nevertheless provides several occasions of true cinematic horror. Personally, I find it to be a better film than “Silence of the Lambs,” to which it is often compared.)

“Alien” and “Aliens” (1979 and 1986–I place these two films together because they work in much they same way. By creating a powerful sense of claustrophobia, a dreadful network of circumstances, a number of interesting characters, and a way cool monster, the films stand as a couple of the finest “monster movies” ever made. Along with…)

“Jaws” (1975–Years ago, when we first purchased a DVD player, my wife Tara asked me if I wanted her to buy our very first DVD on her way home from work. I said yes. She asked me which one to buy. I told her to buy a gripping classic that would be both fun and compelling to watch. She came home with “Jaws,” thereby proving once again that she’s the coolest woman on the planet. Put simply, “Jaws” rocks. Speaking of which, did you about the woman from “Jaws” who had a dandruff problem?…………. They found her head and shoulders on the beach!!!!)

“The Ring” (2002–I know, I know. “It’s not as good as the original Japanese film, ‘Ringu.’” But, having seen both, I just don’t buy that. Subtitles can work in a drama, but they become a distraction in a horror film. I’ll take “The Ring” over “Ringu” any day. When Samara actually crawled out of the television set, I screamed like a little girl and whispered to Tara, “That’s one of the scariest things that I have ever seen!”)

“The Shining” (1980–This, by the way, is also one of my favorite frightening novels. As a film–and, more specifically, as a film brought to life by a visionary director like Stanley Kubrick–it grabbed my attention and never let it go. I find it to be a brilliant story about ghosts, family dynamics, and one man’s rapid descent into madness. Plus, it is some of Scatman Crothers’ best work since Hong Kong Phooey.)

“Rosemary’s Baby” (1968–Ostensibly a story about the spawn of Satan, this film also creates a portrait of social alienation among Manhattan’s elite. Quite frankly, I’m not sure which storyline is more terrifying!)

“Fright Night” and “The Lost Boys” (1985 and 1987–To be honest, these are not stellar films. But it didn’t feel right to create a list like this without putting a couple of vampire films on it. These two films contain a wonderful combination of campy fun and genuine jolts. That’s the tooth, and nothing but the tooth.)

“American Werewolf in London” (1981–Humor and horror, in my opinion, are never far away from one another. Do you need proof? Look no further than “American Werewolf in London.” Throughout the film, I found myself simultaneously giggling and covering my eyes. Plus, this film offers the best “transformation into a werewolf” scene that you will ever see.)

“Exorcist III” (1990–Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. This clever film is a well-crafted piece of work that captures some of the depth and dread of “The Exorcist” while at the same time exploring some new territory. At times, it is genuinely terrifying.)

“Poltergeist” (1982–I walked into this film with low expectations as a junior in high school. I walked out with the sense that I had just seen a wonderfully modern suburban ghost story. And the clown doll? Well…uh….let’s just say…YIKES!”

“The Sixth Sense” (1999–Is this film really a frightening drama or a dramatic horror film? Who cares?! All I know is that, when I saw it a second time, the scary scenes still gave me goosebumps, even though I knew they were coming. That’s the mark of a truly haunting film.)

“When a Stranger Calls” (1979–When the babysitter hears that ominous question from the mysterious caller–”Have you checked the children?”–I am always pulled into the depths of her fear and helpless vulnerability. Later, when she discovers that the calls are coming from inside the house, I normally lose control of my bodily functions.)

Thanks for taking the time to read through my list. I hope that it was a fun trip for you.

Enjoy your Halloween–and have a couple of good scares while you’re at it.

I am currently reading an interesting book by Harvard professor Joseph L. Badaracco, Jr., entitled “Questions of Character: Illuminating the Heart of Leadership Through Literature.” Personally, I find many books on leadership to be far too punctilious and pedantic to be very helpful. This book, however, is different. Instead of preaching a particular style of leadership, the book simply invites the reader to explore various issues of leadership as they manifest themselves in portions of compelling literature. Badaracco, for example, uses Allen Gurganus’ “Blessed Assurance,” F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Love of the Last Tycoon,” and Robert Bolt’s “A Man for All Seasons” as a literary backdrop against which to examine topics such as the development of healthy role models, the sustenance of a governing passion, and the balance of principles and pragmatism.

My favorite chapter thus far is the chapter entitled “Can I Resist the Flow of Success?” In this chapter, Badaracco uses Louis Auchincloss’ novel “I Come as a Thief” as a lens through which to explore several faulty definitions of success that is all too often embraced in contemporary leadership. In case you haven’t read “I Come as a Thief,” the novel tells the disturbing story of Tony Lowder, a forty-something New York lawyer with a promising political career who self-destructs by committing a “brilliantly undetectable” crime and then confessing to it. His self-destruction puts his family in great danger, both physically and emotionally.

According to Badaracco, Tony Lowder is a literary everyman who falls prey to the seductive and destructive “flow of success,” which, in Badaracco’s estimation, is little more than a consuming illusion, perpetuated by aimless busyness, chronic role-playing, and a debilitating commitment to facades. For Badaracco, in other words, the “flow of success,” illuminated by the character of Tony Lowder, is little more than a downward spiral into sociopathy. As Badaracco puts it,

Tony is living the life of a wind-up toy, going through the motions of being a good father, a loving son, a good husband, a charming politician, and a resolute friend. He can say just the right things in just the right way, but he often doesn’t grasp what he is saying…Tony is chronically busy…his life resembles the vaudeville act in which a juggler has a large number of sticks standing upright on a stage and tries to keep a plate spinning on top of each…His calendar is filled with meetings, and there are usually urgent phone calls to return. Tony is also accomplishing a lot, and success brings its own elation…By staying in perpetual motion, he is able to substitute a stream of successes and satisfactions for the hard work of grappling with bigger questions about his life. (pages 125 and 126 of “Questions of Character”)

Does any of that sound familiar to those of you who are involved in ministry leadership?

As I read the chapter, I was personally convicted of just how enamored I am of the “flow of success” that Badaracco describes. How often am I content with “going through the motions” of ministry (a particularly pertinent question as I make ready to “cram” for tonight’s sermon), instead of making myself available to the deeper meaning of the ministry that I am both offering and receiving? How frequently do I devote more energy to appearing busy (like a juggler with many plates) than I devote to discerning the spiritual value of the things with which I am busying myself? How many times have I been more interested in keeping my calendar well-padded than I have been in my own spiritual growth and the spiritual growth of the people I serve? On how many occasions have I said the right things without really meaning them?

I am not beating myself up here. I am simply repenting of my tendency to view ministry and leadership as an egocentric “flow of success” instead of recognizing the urgency of humility, servanthood, and Christ-centeredness in all areas of my vocation. I don’t think that I am in danger of committing any “brilliantly undetectable” crime. But, too often, I fall into the trap of losing my focus on the things that matter most.

I am finding “Questions of Character” to be a helpful read. Badaracco, though not writing from a specifically Christian perspective, helps me, as a leader, to refocus on the presence of the One who calls and sustains me. That, for me, is the heart of leadership.

This story inspired a strange chuckle:

Japanese Justice Minister Kunio Hatoyama said on Wednesday he wanted to consider more ‘tranquil’ methods of execution.

Japan generally executes several convicts a year, always by hanging.

‘I am fully aware that death by hanging is written in the criminal code,’ Hatoyama said after a parliamentary committee meeting, Kyodo news agency said.

‘A square part of the floor opens up and they fall with a thud,’ he said. ‘I honestly wonder if there isn’t a more tranquil way of doing this,’ Kyodo quoted him as adding.

In a related story, American grenades will now be surrounded with foam padding, so that they won’t be as likely to cause any nasty bruises should they accidentally land on a person’s head!

It never ceases to amaze me how far we will go to sanitize or expurgate the processes by which we bring about death. I suppose that such a proclivity bears witness to our desperate need for liberation from what theologian Douglas John Hall describes as “the kingdom of death.”

Thanks be to God for the Lord of Life!

Thanks to an older brother who took it upon himself to introduce me to portions of rock and roll to which I would not have otherwise been exposed, I have been a Bruce Springsteen fan since I was ten years old. Armed with a Jersey-bred realism and the sensibilities of a streetwise poet, Springsteen creates music that illuminates the intersection between the mystical and the mundane, the evocative and the everyday. In his concerts, Springsteen has the energy and stage presence of Elvis Presley (one of his earliest influences). In his lyrics, he displays the social attentiveness and poetic perceptiveness of Bob Dylan. In his passionately raspy voice, he brings to mind the vocal efforts of Van Morrison. And in the thickly textured instrumentation of his E Street Band, he channels the instrumental energy of ensembles like The Band and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Put simply, in the realm of American culture, Springsteen’s music offers an unparalleled mixture of stark imagery, blue-collar realism, and guitar/keyboard/organ-driven rock and roll.

I have enjoyed all of Springsteen’s albums. If I had to pick a favorite, it would be 1975’s “Born to Run.” It is a nostalgic choice for me, as it was the first Springsteen album to which I ever listened.

Moving up the list of my favorite Springsteen offerings, however, is “Magic,” his most recent CD, released just a month ago. Stylistically, it may very well be Springsteen’s most eclectic piece of work to date, reflecting a curious yet pleasing stylistic amalgam. “Girls In Their Summer Clothes” is a nostalgic return to a mid-sixties beach party. (Think Beach Boys, only tougher). “Your Own Worst Enemy” sounds like a favorite house band song that might be played by a group of wannabes at The Stone Pony (the music club in Asbury Park, New Jersey where Springsteen used to play). “Livin’ in the Future” is an homage to southern fried storytelling. And “Radio Nowhere” is, ironically, the most radio-friendly piece of catchy and guitar-driven rock on the entire CD.

The lyrics to the song “Last to Die” have been garnering a great deal of attention. Although the song never mentions George Bush or the war, the political nature of the song is undeniable:

We’re just counting the miles, you and me
We don’t measure the blood we’ve drawn anymore
We just stack the bodies outside the door…

A downtown window flushed with light
‘Faces of the dead at five’
Our martyrs’ silent eyes
Petition the drivers as we pass by

Who’ll be the last to die for a mistake
Whose blood will spill
Whose heart will break

Irrespective of my political leanings, if I jettison my preconceived conclusions and approach “The Last to Die” as an illumination of humankind’s longstanding penchant for resorting quickly to blood-spilling as a means to an end (in everything from global conflicts to domestic disputes), the song might just have something to speak to my soul. In fact, “The Last to Die,” along with many of the other songs on “Magic,” represent what remains the most important (and prophetic) function of rock and roll: Unsettling the listener and thereby shaking up the status quo.

In the final song on the CD (the haunting “Terry’s Song”), Springsteen sings, “When they built you, brother, they broke the mold.” My sense is that the same could be said of The Boss. Jersey poets and prophets, after all, ain’t that easy to find.

Did any of you read about this matter?

A life-size chocolate sculpture of a naked Jesus will finally be displayed in New York starting in late October, seven months after an outcry by Roman Catholics forced a different gallery to cancel its exhibition.

The chocolate Jesus will be joined by sculptures of several fully clothed saints, but the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights said it will not protest because, unlike before, there are no plans to put the “anatomically correct” Jesus in public view during Holy Week.

The Proposition gallery in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood will present ‘Chocolate Saints … Sweet Jesus,’ an exhibition timed to coincide with All Saints’ Day on November 1. The show will run October 27 to November 24.

Back in March, the chocolate Jesus by artist Cosimo Cavallaro was to be exhibited in a street-level window of the Roger Smith Lab Gallery in Midtown Manhattan, giving casual passers-by a view of Jesus’ private parts.

Protests, including a call to boycott the affiliated Roger Smith Hotel, forced the gallery to scrap the showing.

‘We still don’t approve but the conditions have changed,’ said Kiera McCaffrey, spokeswoman for the Catholic organization.

The new exhibition will take place indoors in a neighborhood full of art galleries, she said.

It is always tempting, of course, for Christ-followers to overreact to such artistic ham-handedness. I hardly consider it to be good stewardship over our emotional resources when we invest a great deal of anger and vitriol in protests over the insensitivity of artistic experimentalists.

When I get over my initial wave of “how dare they,” I am struck by the metaphorical implications of this “sweet Jesus.” More specifically, in the chocolate absurdity of it all, I am painfully reminded of how frequently I attempt to reduce Jesus to something sweeter and more palatable than he really is. When I ignore, for example, or disregard, or “conveniently re-interpret” the harder and more counter-cultural teachings that Jesus places before me in the Sermon on the Mount, is it not an effort to use Jesus as a means by which to satisfy my spiritual sweet tooth? When I see discipleship as being less about a transformed life in Christ and more about my personal contentment with a comfortable creed, am I not using Jesus as a handy source of Christ-related carbohydrates? When I turn a blind eye to very real issues involving the disenfranchisement and marginalization of human souls, am I not turning away from the Christ of the cross in favor of a saccharine messiah, rich with chocolaty goodness?

If I were the Catholic League (which, of course, I am not), I would devote less energy to the protest and more energy to the interpretation of what may very well be a prophetic sign for the contemporary church—a church that, all too often, prefers its savior to be sweet to the taste.

What’s next—a hard candy rosary? Or perhaps Eucharistic bread with cream filling?!

I learned how to read with a Bible in one hand and a comic book in the other.

I stopped reading comic books at around age 14, feeling as though I had grown out of them. Thirteen years later, in 1993, the “Death of Superman” storyline compelled me to pick up a couple of comic books for the purpose of revisiting an old hobby (and for the purpose of investigating how they would treat the death and eventual resurrection of the Man of Steel). One comic book led to another. Then another. Before long, I was a comic book collector once again. In fact, to this day, one of my favorite things to do is to visit my “comic book guy” at his store in Bridgeville, PA. We chat about everything from Spider-Man trivia to Transubstantiation. (He’s a non-practicing Roman Catholic who believes in Jesus but finds himself frustrated with the behavior of the church’s people.)

I currently collect at least 13 monthly titles including Detective Comics (Batman), Ultimate Spiderman, Ultimate Fantastic Four, Ultimate X-Men, Astonishing X-Men, Wonder Woman, Y the Last Man, The Ultimates (formerly the Avengers), The Walking Dead, The Justice League of America, and Iron Fist. Still my favorite superhero, however, is the guy who started it all. The icon. The legend. The Man of Steel. I am making reference, of course, to Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, better known as Superman.

One of the things that always intrigued me about the Superman comic books was their complete avoidance of any kind of specific spiritual framework. Superman has always been advertised as one devoted to “truth, justice, and the American way.” But in this land of deep spiritual conviction, the Superman comic book narrative has always steered clear of any particular association with the Jewish or Christian faith.

Until recently, that is.

In a recent issue of Action Comics (#849), Superman battles a villain whose power depends upon the faith of his followers. If his followers believe in his goodness and nobility, the villain’s powers rival Superman’s. But if his followers waver in their faith, their doubt would diminish his powers.

Doing battle with such a faith-dependent villain causes Superman to reflect upon his own spiritual upbringing under the parenthood of Martha and Jonathan Kent. According to issue #849, the Kent’s were churchgoers (the denomination is never specified) who took young Clark to church every Sunday and who also taught him the Bible at home. When he was fourteen years old, however, Clark made the decision to stop going to church with his parents.

In issue #849, inspired by his battle with the “faith-dependent villain,” Superman flies to Smallville in order to have a conversation with his mother. The conversation goes like this:

SUPERMAN: Mom, did it bother you when I stopped going to services with you.
MARTHA KENT: Clark, you were fourteen. Old enough to make your own decisions in that regard.
SUPERMAN: I know. But did I disappoint you or offend you?
MARTHA KENT: No. Not one bit. Clark, you could never disappoint me. My faith was my own. I brought it into your life so that you could have a foundation for making your own choices. I certainly think you’ve made good ones.

Later on in the issue, Lois Lane (who is now married to Superman) initiates a similar conversation with her husband:

LOIS: Why did you stop going to church services with your mother when you were a boy?
SUPERMAN: When all my different powers started kicking in for the first time—x-ray vision, super hearing…I knew too much about their lives. Their problems. Their lives. I was afraid that I was going to lose my faith in people. So I did some soul searching. Eventually, I decided to put my faith in the best that humanity has to offer.

So, for just a moment, Superman is placed before us as a spiritual man, a man of faith. Unfortunately (speaking as a Christ-follower), his faith is not in the story of Scripture, the story with which he had been raised, the story of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and the ministry of his church. Rather, Superman’s faith, according to the Action Comics narrative, is a humanistic investment. It is a faith that rejects an ostensibly hypocritical church while elevating and celebrating “the best that humanity has to offer.”

In this era of postmodern spirituality in which there is a great deal of skepticism about institutions (even about our churches and our superheroes), I suppose that it is no great surprise that Superman would be linked to a nondescript humanism instead of a claim-specific theism. Such is the inevitable result of a culture that wants its superheroes to reflect the kind of generic and non-threatening spirituality that the culture holds so dear.

Quite frankly, I’m glad that a comic book would dare even to explore Superman’s spiritual character. But I won’t lie to you. I’m disappointed in what that exploration revealed. I find myself wondering how interesting it would be if Superman made the decision to be a Christ-follower and were forced to ponder what it would mean to subordinate even his incredible powers to the Lordship of Jesus. What might it be like if Superman were devoted to truth, justice, and way of Jesus (instead of simply the American way)? What if he found himself in a deeply spiritual conversation with Bruce Wayne or Diana Prince back at the Justice League headquarters?!!

I suppose that would be a different kind of comic book. But a guy can dream, can’t he?

A quick movie review:

Tara and I went to see the film “Eastern Promises” last night. Directed by David Cronenberg (the man who brought to us powerfully unnerving films like “Dead Ringers,” “The Fly,” “History of Violence,” “Naked Lunch,” “Scanners,” and “The Dead Zone”), “Eastern Promises” stars Viggo Mortensen and Naomi Watts, both of whom turn in powerful and richly textured performances.  The film tells the story of clashing portions of the Russian mafia in London.  What I have just offered, of course, is an inadequate one-sentence synopsis of a rather elaborate narrative.  But what make the film so interesting and compelling are the relationships, choices, and circumstances that the narrative deftly places before the audience.

Cronenberg’s strength as a director, I think, is his ability to create a balance between subtlety and spectacle, between minimalism and excess.  That particular strength is on full display in this film (much as it was in last year’s “History of Violence.”).  There are scenes in the film that are wonderfully understated and tender.  There are also scenes that are so stark and brutal in their content that I was forced to look away from the screen.  In the hands of a director like Cronenberg, such cinematic juxtaposition is quite a strange and welcome treat.

The film is not for the squeamish, to be sure.  But I found it to be an engaging exploration of the life-altering moral impulses that occasionally emerge in those contexts in which moral impulses would be least expected—like the Russian mafia, for example, or an enormously dysfunctional family (both of which are focal points in the film). 

At one point in the film, this dialogue occurs at a family dinner table:

Stepan: Where is your boyfriend, why isn’t he carving the meat?
Anna: I don’t live with Oliver anymore; I’m staying with Mom for a little while.
Helen: And you can stay as long as you want.
Stepan: It’s because he is black. They run off; bad blood.
Helen: [Helen and Anna are both taken back] He was a doctor.
Anna: What does that have to do with anything?
Stepan: You shouldn’t mix blood, it isn’t right. That’s why your baby died inside of you.

The film places this non-mafia family before the audience and dares to ask the question:  Which is more profoundly immoral—the mafia with its obvious acts of violence and brutality, or the average family with its subtle forms of dehumanization?

It certainly inspired some good conversation on the ride home.

In the summer of 1985, I participated in a celebration of the Lord’s Supper at Arbutus Park Retirement Community in Johnstown. (I spent that summer working as a member of Arbutus Park’s program staff). Sitting beside me in that worship service was Ruth Physaglia, a 75-year-old woman who was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s Disease.

Ruth didn’t talk much. But she sang—a lot. The problem with her singing was that there was only one song in her repertoire. That song was this:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Ruth sang that song over and over again, sometimes a hundred-and-one times a day. It was her love song to life, I suppose, the last vestige of a once vibrant personality. I never heard Ruth sing any other song—except once. During the Communion service, the chaplain came to Ruth with the bread and cup (as she quietly sang “You are my sunshine.”) Ruth stared at the elements for a little while. Then, in a split-second, she changed her tune. The change sounded something like this:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are…………….Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belong. They are weak but he is strong.”

Tears began to form in the eyes of Ruth Physaglia as she came to the chorus. “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.”

It was the first and last time that I heard Ruth sing those words. In fact, it was the first and last time that I heard her sing anything other than “You Are My Sunshine.”

Why had she changed her tune so suddenly? Who knows? But my personal conviction is that it had something to do with the living presence of Jesus Christ, making its way into Ruth’s soul through the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper, in such a way that not even Alzheimer’s Disease could distort the profundity of the moment.

Such is the mystical power of Eucharist, I suppose. When believers partake of the bread and cup, Jesus finds his way into human souls, transforming lives and inspiring people to change their tune in all kinds of significant ways.

On this World Communion Sunday, I thank God for my memory of Ruth Physaglia. She speaks to me from my past and, in spirit, joins me at the Lord’s table.

What have been the moments in your life in which it has become powerfully and transformationally clear to you that life is all about Jesus? What have been those occasions for you that have brought to your consciousness a life-altering discernment of the reality of who Jesus is and what Jesus brings to the human pilgrimage?

As a seminarian, I was deeply impacted by the christology of Karl Barth. In Barth, I found a remarkable nexus of scholarship and piety, of intellectual pursuit and heartfelt devotion. During my first year-and-a-half of seminary, as I adjusted to the rigorous challenges of theological study and the intimidating demands of a student appointment in rural North Carolina, the writings of Karl Barth became a source of affirmation and encouragement for me, a regular reminder that Jesus is Lord and that his Lordship holds perfect authority, even over the realm of speculative theology.

This last week, I re-read some of Barth’s “Church Dogmatics.” I encountered “Dogmatics” for the first time in 1989, and I have kept it close by ever since. Yesterday, I found a passage in “Dogmatics” that I had highlighted back in 1989. In the margin beside the highlighted paragraph, I had written these words: “Read this once a month, and remember why you do what you do.”

The highlighted paragraph was this:

The subject-matter, origin, and content of the message received and proclaimed by the Christian community is, at its heart, the free act of the faithfulness of God in which He takes the lost cause of humankind, who has denied Him as Creator and in so doing ruined himself as creature, and makes it His own in Jesus Christ, carrying it through to its goal and in that way…Between God and humankind there stands the person of Jesus Christ…In Jesus Christ, God’s plan for humankind is disclosed, God’s judgment on humankind fulfilled, God’s redemption of humankind accomplished, God’s gift to humankind present in fullness, God’s claim and promise to humankind declared. It is by Him, Jesus Christ, and for Him, and to Him, that the universe is created as a theatre for God’s dealings with humankind and humankind’s dealings with God…He is the Word of God in whose truth everything is disclosed and whose truth cannot be over-reached or conditioned by any other word. He is the decree of God behind and above which there can be no earlier or higher decree and beside which there can be no other, since all others serve only the fulfillment of this decree. He is the election of God before which and without which God cannot make any other choices…He, Jesus Christ, has become the inconceivable Yet, Nevertheless…and Therefore. (Karl Barth, “Church Dogmatics: A Selection,” copyright T. & T. Clark, 1961, p. 111-112)

It was on my heart to share that paragraph with you today because of the way in which it illuminates the character and nature of the One who redeems us, calls us, equips us, sends us, and sustains us. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. His name is Jesus. And he’s the Savior of the world.

It’s good to be home.

Our trip abroad was replete with experiences of wonder, laughter, and discovery. It was beyond anything that we could have anticipated. God is abundantly good.

Thanks for praying for us in our travels.

One of the highlights of our journey was an excursion to the catacombs in Rome—the expansive underground network of tunnels and tombs in which the early Christians buried their dead and called boldly upon the name of the Lord. The profundity of seeing the ancient Christian symbols painted on the walls of the catacombs left me breathless. Seeing a fish on the back of an automobile is encouraging. Seeing a fish painted by Christ-followers during an age of brutal persecution, however, is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

During a momentary lapse of concentration in the catacombs, I allowed myself to become separated from Tara and the rest of our excursion group. I had stayed behind to take an extra long look at some of the images and symbols on the walls. When I caught up with people, I soon realized that I had rejoined the wrong excursion group. (There were four or five different groups in the catacombs at the time.) Realizing my mistake, I quickly left that group in order to search for Tara and the others. The result, of course, was that, for about 3 minutes, I was lost in the catacombs.

Come to think of it, that would make an interesting song, wouldn’t it?
“Let me be lost and found in catacombs of grace,
Listening to echoes of martyrs whose witness we trace…”

During my…uh…lostness, I stumbled upon a mass being held in one of the tombs—a common occurrence in the catacombs. Given the catacombs’ holy history, priests are permitted and encouraged to help their people to worship in the various chambers of that hallowed ground. That day, I stood at the door of that particular chamber and watched as the priest broke the bread and lifted the cup, speaking those familiar words of institution: “Jesus said, ‘This bread is my body broken for you…This is cup is my blood shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.’” I quietly moved just beyond the door, out of sight, but not out of earshot. I leaned against the cold wall of the tunnel and listened as fifteen Christ-followers feasted on the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pondered the significance of what was transpiring. Nineteen hundred years ago, our spiritual ancestors spoke words of faith and hope in those dark chambers, believing in their hearts that, in Jesus Christ, death is never given the final word to speak. Nineteen hundred years later, disciples are still gathering in those same chambers, calling upon the name of that same Christ, honoring the witness of the martyrs, and feasting upon the life-altering banquet of God’s grace.

I eventually caught up with Tara and the others. Naturally, Tara asked where I had been. I explained that I had been simultaneously lost and found.

As I prepare myself spiritually for World Communion Sunday, I find myself focusing upon the image of those spiritual pilgrims in the catacombs, celebrating Eucharist. As the people of Central Highlands Church taste of the bread and the cup this weekend (three times!), my prayer is that we will sense the presence of the saints and martyrs who have gone on before us; who have bequeathed to us a rich legacy of faithful discipleship; and who are now feasting at the heavenly table—an eschatological banquet that we foreshadow every time we commune.

Blessings upon all of you as you make ready for the Lord’s Supper. May it be a genuine Eucharist for you and your people.