Perceptions from a Pewboy

N.T. Wright has written a new book entitled “Surprised By Hope.” In the book, Wright addresses what he perceives to be some of the thoroughly unbiblical portraits of heaven that the church has often painted.

I have not read the book yet. However, I was very much intrigued by this interview in which Wright discusses his new book and his theology of “life after life after death.”

I find myself having to think about this issue a bit more. How about you?

On Presidents’ Day, Tara and I treated ourselves to a double feature of “There Will Be Blood” and “No Country for Old Men.” We are still recovering from the experience!

“There Will Be Blood” (based upon Upton Sinclair’s 1927 novel “Oil”) is a story about the oil industry and its place in America during the early twentieth century. Director Paul Thomas Anderson, who revealed his flair for creating and maintaining a sense of cinematic foreboding in “Boogie Nights” and “Magnolia,” puts that flair to exceptional use in “There Will Be Blood.” The film is relentless in its intensity, seductive in its measured pace, and daring in the emotional demands that it places upon its audience. Illuminating both capitalistic greed and Pentecostal fervor (and the surprising similarities between them), the film raises significant and, at times, disturbing questions concerning the impulses that motivate us and the narratives by which we define our lives.

“There Will Be Blood” never loses it focus upon the journey of its main character, a cunning oil man by the name of Daniel Plainview (brought to life with brilliance by Daniel Day Lewis). His name, as one might imagine in a film of this caliber, is not at all random. In Hebrew, “Daniel” can mean either “God is my judge” or “he will judge.” The double meaning is worth noting. Daniel Plainview lives his life without accountability to any other human soul, as though his governing conviction were that God, if such a deity even exists, is the only judge that he will recognize. Such a conviction, however, does not prevent Daniel from claiming the role of judge over the people who impede his advancement. Daniel (or “he will judge”) is his own deity in that regard. His wrath is swift and often violent.

“Plainview” is an appropriate surname for Daniel. The name itself is a linguistic reminder of the clearness and unequivocalness of its owner’s vision. Daniel himself puts it this way: “I see the worst in people. I don’t need to look past seeing them to get all I need. I’ve built my hatreds up over the years.” To be in plain view of Daniel Plainview, in other words, is to have already earned his hatred. His frightening sense of vision is just that unwavering and just that plain.

The only competition for Daniel’s sovereignty is the Pentecostal avidity of the Church of the Third Revelation and the manipulative ministry of its pastor, Eli Sunday. Eli and Daniel are locked in a bitter power struggle for the ownership of souls. Daniel’s weapon of choice is his own insatiable greed and its ability to enkindle the greed of common folk. Eli’s weapon, by contrast, is the blood of Jesus, held over the heads of his flock and dispensed only with his permission. Therein is the film’s most compelling achievement: It places the oil industry and the church side by side and allows the comparisons to speak for themselves. According to “There Will Be Blood,” both oil and the blood of Jesus can be siphoned in ways that exploit the weak and the marginalized.

The film’s title, not surprisingly, has multiple meanings. “There Will Be Blood,” in one sense, is an obvious threat of violence from the lips of Daniel Plainview. It is also a metaphorical reference to oil itself, which became the “lifeblood” of many in that portion of America’s history. As a christological expression, however, “There Will Be Blood” points to the inescapable human need for atonement—a need shared by oil men and preachers alike.

As if “There Will Be Blood” did not provide enough cinematic intensity for us, we wandered into “No Country for Old Men” with some fresh popcorn and a large diet Coke (a eucharistic meal in the sanctuary of the cinema).

I will acknowledge my bias at the outset. I am a huge fan of the Coen brothers. “The Big Lebowski” is one of my favorite comedies. I can’t bypass “Fargo” in my channel surfing without spending some time with that wonderfully creative piece of work. “Barton Fink,” “The Hudsucker Proxy,” and “Raising Arizona” should be required viewing for anyone who wants to understand how artistic balance can be achieved between comedic absurdity and social commentary.

All of these films (along with “O Brother, Where Art Thou,” “The Man Who Wasn’t There,” and “Blood Simple”) are important bricks in the road that leads to “No Country for Old Men.” The Coen brothers’ adaptation of the Cormac McCarthy novel of the same name is an enormously mature triumph. For my money, it is the best film of the year.

Tommy Lee Jones offers a performance that is brilliant in its minimalism. His character, Ed Tom Bell, is an aging Texas lawman on the brink of retirement. He has a passion for the law but has become weary in a culture that he can no longer navigate—a culture in which crimes no longer require motives, in which the line between good guys and bad guys is sometimes indistinguishable, and in which an old school pursuit of justice is looked upon as an antiquated ideal from a bygone age.

Bell (Jones) finds himself pulled into the messy aftermath of a drug deal gone horribly wrong. Part of that aftermath is a case full of money (a couple of million dollars) taken from the scene of the crime by a hapless local by the name of Llewelyn Moss (played with noteworthy earnestness by Josh Brolin). Llewelyn makes the mistake of believing that the money is his quick way out of mediocrity and that he can take it without consequence. He could not have been more wrong.

Chasing after the money is a professional killer named Anton Chigurh (played by Javier Bardem) whose specialty is retrieving lost goods and eliminating all loose ends in violent fashion. All three men, Bell, Llewelyn, and Anton, attempt to make sense of this country in different ways: Bell through an adherence to a system of justice that is no longer valued; Llewelyn through a system of self-advancement that is morally ambiguous at best; and Anton through a system of violence in which he can never afford to leave anyone alive. They are linked by a relentless sense of mission and by the intersection of their differing paths.

I would be remiss if I did not highlight the dark beauty of Bardem’s performance. His Anton is nothing short of horrifying in his cold-heartedness. He has the bloodlust of a Hannibal Lecter, the coin-flipping flippancy of a Harvey Dent (from the Batman narrative), and the unwavering commitment of “Seven’s” John Doe. What makes us care about him, however, is his strange sense of honor. For Anton, killing is not simply about committing murder. As he sees it, it is about being true to his distorted sense of calling and fulfilling his dark obligations. He has become so devoted to killing that it is impossible for him to envision a life without it.

“No Country for Old Men” creates an experience in which all of our artistic presuppositions concerning how movies are supposed to work can be checked at the door. In the world of this film, good guys don’t always win the day, protagonists are often unceremoniously and violently eliminated, and sometimes a story simply ends without a moral. What kind of country is that for old men who have been raised to believe in the Enlightenment idea that humankind is getting progressively better?

“But no one can tame the tongue—a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God.” (James 3:8-9)

I probably don’t have to do very much to convince you of the validity of what Scripture teaches about the power of the human tongue. In fact, I would imagine that every single one of us holds vivid memories concerning the ways in which we have been both utterly blessed and utterly crushed by other peoples’ words. Perhaps we also carry with us some vivid memories concerning the ways in which we have blessed and crushed others with the words that we have chosen to speak.

Do you remember a specific time in which you heard those three life-altering words, “I love you,” from someone who meant the world to you? Or have you ever had to deal with the pain of hearing the words, “I don’t love you anymore,” or even worse, “I hate you”? When was the last time that you were blessed by a heartfelt compliment or affirmation? When was the last time that your spirit was deflated by an unexpected insult, or by a criticism that was more mean-spirited than it was constructive?

Words are so powerful that it doesn’t take many of them to impact a soul, or at least to alter a mood or the direction of one’s day.

In the bleak totalitarian environment of George Orwell’s classic novel, “1984″, when the State wants to gain control of the people, one of the first things that it does is to create a new language called “newspeak.” The purpose of newspeak is to dictate the kind of conversation that the public has, thereby creating a controlled environment in which people’s words, and therefore people’s ideas, can be monitored and even governed by the State. In that novel, the State understands very clearly the power of words. What’s more, the State understands that, if it is to control the people, it must first control the people’s most potent resource: language.

Think about how our language is tampered with and modified in our current cultural environment. What is the difference, for example, between a “fetus” and an “unborn child?” (It has been suggested that we call it an “unborn child” when we intend to keep it and we call it a “fetus” when we don’t.) Or what about our nomenclature for death? We don’t tend to say that a loved one died. That’s far too clinical. We poeticize it. “He passed away.”

Individually and as a culture, we are tampering with words all the time, because, consciously or unconsciously, we are aware of the power that our words contain.

I suppose that the power of our words should come as no surprise to us. It is true, after all, that the entire narrative of Scripture bears witness to the power of language. How was it that God created in the Genesis account, for example? God created, not simply by waving a hand, but by SPEAKING: “Let there be light!” How was it that God communicated with the people of Israel? By SPEAKING through the prophets. In the fullness of time, how was it that God became incarnate? Scripture tells us that he became incarnate in and through Jesus Christ, whom the prologue to John’s gospel describes as “the Word made flesh.” Notice that it is not simply “God made flesh,” but the WORD of God made flesh. And two thousand years after that incarnational moment, we are quick to describe Scripture as the WORD of God for the people of God.

The entire biblical narrative, then, bears witness to the fact that our words are not merely communicational sounds and utterances. Rather, our words are powerful vessels of expression that have the capacity to build and to break, to bless and to curse, to create and to destroy, depending upon their content.

As someone who often speaks very quickly and sometimes very competitively, I find myself wondering if the discipline of allowing the Holy Spirit to tame our tongue demands of us that we speak more patiently than we would normally be inclined to speak. Think about that for a moment. Think about what it might mean to speak patiently.

So much of contemporary communication, it seems to me, is far more focused on the rapid and relentless expression of one’s own thoughts and ideas than it is on a heartfelt and patient listening to the thoughts and ideas of other people. Have you ever been in a conversation in which the other person wasn’t really listening to you? Have you ever sensed in a conversation that, when you weren’t speaking, the other person, instead of listening, was simply reloading for what he or she wanted to say next? It’s exhausting, isn’t it?

I frequently hear people congratulating themselves with this kind of proclamation: “I always speak my mind.” Who in the world wants to be around someone who speaks his mind all the time—especially if it’s not always a good mind?! Is it really all that noble an endeavor to speak one’s mind if the mind being spoken is not in a condition that produces well-constructed ideas?

I had a football coach who used to say that one of the most dangerous combinations in life is constipation of the brain and diarrhea of the mouth! That, I suppose, is a rather poetic expression of both the urgency of speaking patiently and the benefit of NOT always speaking our mind (if our mind is not in a particularly good condition).

Years ago, I received an e-mail from a disgruntled church member. In the e-mail, he criticized my ministry, he insulted the leadership of the church, he made accusations that were unfounded, and he outlined all of the things that were wrong with the church’s ministry. My first reaction was to e-mail a quick response. I sat down at the computer and created a pointed, detailed, exhaustive response to his e-mail, addressing all of his points, articulating all of my counterpoints, thereby successfully defending the church and its ministry. “I’ll show him.”

But before I sent the e-mail, something inside of me (let’s give the Holy Spirit credit) told me that it would be a good idea for me to seek out the counsel of another believer whose wisdom I trusted. When he read my response to the e-mail, which I had not yet sent, he said to me, “Eric, I’m not sure that it would be a good thing to send this.”

“What? Are you insane?! Re-read it. Pay attention to how good and clearly-worded my arguments are!”

“It has nothing to do with that,” he said. “It has to do with your motive.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he said, “this e-mail sounds like it was written by somebody who is more interested in winning an argument than witnessing for Christ.”

I didn’t send the e-mail. I didn’t send it because a wise Christ-follower helped me to understand that my words in the e-mail were not helpful words. Rather, they were words designed to bury an opponent in what had become a meaningless and hurtful debate. That wise Christ-follower, in other words, alerted me to the urgency of speaking patiently.

How many of our relational conflicts would be different if we allowed the Holy Spirit to cultivate within us the capacity to speak patiently?

Dr. John Westerhoff, who was my professor of spiritual formation during my seminary years, once shared with the class that he is always very intentional about speaking slowly when he communicates with people who are difficult for him to like. Someone asked him why. “Two reasons,” was his response. “First, slower speech helps me to make sure that my words don’t get ahead of my thoughts. And second, slower speech enables me to fill the pauses between my sentences with split-second prayers.”

Someone interrupted. “Prayers? You mean you actually pray during conversations?”

“Are you kidding,” Dr. Westerhoff said. “If I weren’t offering those split-second prayers during some of my conversations, asking God to bless my words, who knows what nasty things I would say? Because those prayers are normally what remind me that God values the person to whom I am speaking differently than I do.”

These days, I find myself wanting to be the kind of disciple who pays more attention to his words and the prayer with which he saturates them.

I stumbled upon the following item which appeared recently in a Belgrade newspaper:

A ban on grumpiness, gossiping, mini-skirts and rudeness is what the doctor orders to improve patient care in Serbia’s hospitals, according to new rules issued by the country’s Health Ministry.

The rules, posted on the ministry’s Web site, say staff are not allowed to disparage or insult their hospital or their superiors in their private conversations.

‘There needs to be ground rules for decency,’ a ministry spokesman said.

I’m thinking of introducing a similar policy at my church’s next Council meeting!

So I thought to myself, who better to usher in the romance of Valentine’s Day than…

…Captain Merrill Stubing?!!!

Can I get an “amen” from the congregation?!

As simplistic as it might sound, allow me to say it: I am genuinely heartbroken over highly publicized implosion of Britney Spears.

My heartbreak is not a result of my love for her music. Her musicianship has never been her most compelling attribute (although, to be sure, she is clearly gifted and magnetic).

Neither is my heartbreak a result of a patriarchal “poor Britney” impulse. Her current circumstances, after all, are, in many ways, the result of a series of horrendous and self-destructive decisions that Britney has made in recent years. Britney, like all of us, must embrace the responsibility of facing up to the consequences of bad personal decisions.

Rather, my heartbreak is over the condition of an American culture that has easily and thoughtlessly manufactured an environment in which a saga like Britney’s can find a comfortable home.

I have long lamented our culture’s rampant and vociferous sexualization of our young. I am convinced, in fact, that part of the reason why Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita” was met with such controversy in this country is that, even in 1955, it hit too close to home for many Americans. It bore witness to a reality that Hollywood was already placing before us—specifically, the reality that children and youth can be sexualized and therefore manipulated into an artificial adulthood for which they are not at all prepared. Britney’s circumstances are yet another illustration of our often-unnamed penchant for creating a virginal archetype and then sexualizing her for the purpose of feeding our already-distorted voyeuristic inclinations.

It began as a carefully and strategically choreographed journey for Britney. Certainly Britney herself must bear a good portion of the blame for the nature and content of this journey. But let’s not be too eager to let her promoters, her industry, and her fan base completely off the hook.

On Britney’s debut album, “…Baby One More Time” (1999), we were introduced to a winsome and attractive teenager whose coquettish charms, while obvious, were subordinated to her sweet and childlike sense of innocence (evident in songs like “From the Bottom of My Broken Heart,” which chronicles the pain of a broken love as only a teenager can experience it.) Then came “Oops!…I Did It Again” (2000) in which Britney’s sexuality, while certainly occupying a more central role (even on the album cover), is nevertheless carefully tempered by the girlish naïveté of the title song and songs like “Dear Diary.

In her third album, “Britney” (2001), Britney appears on the album cover looking much more like an aggressor than a coquette. On this album, Britney proclaims her willingness to subordinate herself sexually (”I’m a Slave 4 U”) while at the same time preserving her link to the innocence of youth (”I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman”). All of this paved the way for Britney’s fourth album, “In the Zone” (2003), which, as one might imagine, is her most sexually expressive and obvious album. With songs like, “(I Got That) Boom Boom,” “Breathe on Me” (which is NOT a prayer to the Holy Spirit!), “Toxic,” “The Hook Up,” and “Brave New Girl,” Britney successfully made clear to the world (to the tune of 3 million copies sold) that she was America’s Lolita no longer. She was now ready to occupy the role of a sexual—or, more appropriately, highly sexually charged—woman.

Do you sense the pathos of this carefully choreographed journey? We have imbued a young woman (or encouraged a young woman to imbue herself) with an aggressive sexual identity, thereby allowing her to incarnate the dual idea that a young woman’s primary value is as a sexual being, and that her primary function is the fulfillment of a male sexual fantasy. I don’t think that I have to spend much time convincing you of all the different ways in which this idea is reinforced in our culture. (A quick trip to Abercrombie and Fitch should accomplish that for anyone who is questioning my assessment of the situation.) Britney’s journey, in other words, compels me to reflect upon what our young people (and, in particular, our young girls) are learning about their identity from the films and magazines that we produce and from the celebrities that we manufacture (and then cynically cast aside when they can no longer meet our demands).

Stanley Hauerwas, my ethics professor in seminary, used to say in his lectures that rape, at its essence, is a violent attack on a sexuality that has not been voluntarily offered. He would often follow that definition with a question: “How voluntary is sex in a culture that communicates so blatantly to its young people that their value and purpose reside in their sexuality?”

Hauerwas’ point is a troubling one. He is suggesting that, as a culture, we have, in a sense, raped our children and youth by sexualizing them to such an extent that they are forced to occupy the preconceived sexual roles demanded by a (rapist) culture.

All of this, of course, illuminates with considerable brightness the urgency of sexual ethics in the ministry of the church. I am still mystified and frustrated that the church has almost completely surrendered sexual education to the public schools. Is the church so squeamish about the biology of it all that it has lost sight of its unique capacity to teach its young people a Christocentric sexual ethic in which even our genitalia are subordinated to the Lordship of Jesus? Has the church become so weary in fighting off the sexual avalanche coming down the media mountain that it no longer has the strength to offer to our young people a counter-cultural sexual narrative?

I find myself praying hard for Britney Spears these days. She seems to have problems on top of problems (not the least of which may be a serious mental illness compounded by drug addiction). I fear, however, that even these problems pale in their scope to a more pervasive and crippling problem: A culture that seems to be addicted to exploiting its young people and manipulating their innocence.

Perhaps our confession can go something like this: Oops! We did it again. We created an environment that is ripe for the tragic fall of a young person who was pushed, or, at the very least, encouraged into an adulthood for which she was not prepared.