Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

Hellbound?

To Hell or Not to Hell - Ron Dart (with Kevin Miller and Archbishop Lazar Puhalo)

Thomas Talbott. Universal Salvation? The Current Debate. Ed. by Robin Parry & Christopher Partridge. Foreword by Gabriel Fackre. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003

In this work evangelicals are talking to one another about the controverted question of universalism. It’s a conversation worth overhearing by the wider theological world. Indeed, the authors are much in dialogue with those reaches already, for careful attention is given to the history of the issues in the church universal, and to the contemporary debate in circles beyond, as well as within, evangelicalism. -- Gabriel Fackre

The reason that mature thinkers root and ground themselves in the fullness of the Great Tradition of Christian thought is simple yet often ignored. There is an animated and thoughtful dialogue that has taken place within the history of the ‘one, holy, catholic and apostolic church’ about a variety of perennial issues, and the means used to reach conclusions and conclusions reached are not always one and the same.

The Great Tradition has many traditions, and each tradition can, sadly so, slip into a sort of mindless traditionalism. Many are either born into a tradition or come to the faith journey within a tradition that is merely part of the Great Tradition. The danger, of course, and it is a perennial one, is that many often shrink their understanding of the Great Christian Tradition to the tradition that they assume is the fullness of faith. This is like taking a leaf on a branch on a trunk on a tree in a forest and calling the leaf, branch and tree one sits under the forest. Or, to change the metaphor, many assume the watery stream they sit beside is the only river that flows from the great ocean of faith.

New Documentary Brings Hell Debate to the Big Screen

Kevin Miller, best known for co-writing the controversial Ben Stein vehicle "Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed," takes on hell in an upcoming documentary that goes into production this summer.

PRLog (Press Release) – Mar 18, 2011 – Are any of us truly hellbound, or are we merely bound to the idea of hell? These are the questions Kevin Miller, best known as co-writer of the controversial film "Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed," is asking in his new feature-length documentary "Hellbound?" 

“While recent challenges to the traditional view of hell are grabbing headlines, most people recognize this controversy is nothing new,” says Miller. “For centuries, people have wondered, if God is our pure, all-loving Creator, how can he allow billions of sinners to suffer for eternity in hell? Is it possible we’ve got hell wrong? Or are recent attempts to find a way around traditional teachings on hell a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable? These are the questions I want to explore.” 

Don't worry, Canadian music fans--Big Brother has you covered! by Kevin Miller

Not sure if you Americans are aware, but the Canadian Broadcast Standards Council (CBSC) just banned Dire Straits' song Money for Nothing from Canadian airwaves due to its use of the term faggot.

Never mind that the word is actually spoken by a blue collar character in the song and that its usage was meant tocriticize people who would use such inflammatory terminology in reference to homosexuals. Apparently, the CBSC feels the majority of Canadians are incapable of making this distinction. So they're going by the old adage, "If in doubt, throw it out."

I have no doubt that equally worrisome to the powers that be is the song's chorus, which contains the words "Money for nothing" and "chicks for free." Clearly if Canadian citizens actually started to believe such things, there would be blood in the streets.

Viewed from another angle, it could be that the CBSC feels that Dire Straits' song unfairly characterizes blue collar workers as rampant homophobes. So perhaps in time this will be revealed as nothing more than a publicity stunt orchestrated by the Teamsters.

Next up on the CBSC's hit list: U2's Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own. Apparently, the CBSC has determined that sometimes you CAN make it on your own, and they don't want Canadians to get the wrong idea...

 

 

With God on our Side -- Movie Premiere

Event: Canadian Premiere - With God On Our Side
Start Time: 11 February at 7:00 pm.
Where: Trinity Western University - Langley, BC (Northwest Auditorium)
* panel discussion with the filmmakers and invited guests to follow the screening
Place: Trinity Western University, Northwest Auditorium
For more details: www.withgodonourside.org

ADMISSION: FREE

With God on Our Side (with Kevin Miller and Ron Dart)

Hakani -- Buried Alive: A Survivor's Story

David Cunningham and Kevin Miller have released their documentary about the infanticide of indigenous children  in Brazil and the hope of a girl who overcame it. You can now watch or download the entire film at www.hakani.org. The movie serves to promote initiatives that protect the children but is facing opposition from elements of the Brazilian government who would like to shut it down.

Girl survived tribe's custom of live baby burial

By Jemimah Wright in Brasilia
From Telegraph.Co.Uk

Babies born into some Indian tribes in the Amazon are being buried alive, a practice that is being covered up by the Brazilian authorities out of respect for tribal culture. The tradition is based on beliefs that babies with any sort of physical defect have no souls and that others, such as twins or triplets, are also "cursed". Hakani, who lived in the forest for three years after being abandoned, aged two, by her tribe. She was finally adopted by Marcia and Edson Suzuki and is now attending an ordinary school

The Secret Message of Jesus by Brian McLaren

The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth the Could Change Everything
by Brian McLaren (Nelson, 2006)

Review by Kevin Miller

Just in time for the cinematic adaptation of The Da Vinci Code—Dan Brown’s scandalous, bestselling novel about the “secret history of Christ”—comes a new book by emerging church guru Brian D. McLaren that helps clarify why millions are intrigued by such unorthodox interpretations of Christ.   

Rather than attempt to refute The Da Vinci Code, however, McLaren argues that the popularity of Brown’s book and the “shared frustration with the status-quo, male-dominated, power-oriented,cover-up-prone organized Christian religion” it expresses should prompt some serious self-examination among believers.

Karanja's Supper by Kevin Miller

John Karanja was looking forward to supper. It had been a long day in the fields, hot and humid under unrelenting western Kenyan skies, with no one but his cows for company. Karanja had set out early in the morning with his tiny herd of skin-raggled beasts and roamed the hillsides all day searching out the few stray clumps of good grass that the neighbour’s cattle had left behind. His stomach rumbled like thunder now as he walked his animals down the winding trail home.

Breakfast had been a cold affair—a stiff lump of last night’s ugali, a potato-like substance made from ground corn, and some leftover greens. Karanja’s family was low on salt, and the food, which had been just bearable the night before, became a struggle to swallow this morning, even for John Karanja. He was used to hard times, to doing without. His thin, tatter-clad body came from a long line of similarly bony bodies that had tilled the fields in this lush, remote region of the country. Sometimes it seemed as if his whole life had been one big, cold leftover breakfast—someone else’s leftover breakfast. He had gone without lunch.

Life was not easy for anyone in the Western Province of Kenya where Karanja lived. The hilly region consisted of loosely spaced farms where the people tilled corn and raised a few skinny cattle for food. But the red earth never seemed to yield enough, and when the rains came every spring, rampant malnutrition gave way to malaria, and raucous funeral parties lit up the inky night.

At long last, Karanja sighted his thatched hut in the distance. Curiously, he saw no smoke rising from it, as there should have been at this supper hour. He tried to hide his displeasure as he waved a greeting to his closest neighbour, Ben Omundi. Karanja’s insides clenched tighter the closer he got to home and saw that there would be no supper waiting for him tonight. Worse, as he entered his compound he saw there was no fresh wood piled alongside the hut, no wash on the line, and only a few litres of water left in the barrel.

“Martha!” He called for his wife. No answer. “Maina!” He called for his eldest son. No answer. Karanja removed his water bottle from around his neck and took a long drink to calm his rumbling stomach. He wiped his lips and looked around his overgrown compound, clicking his tongue in disgust. “Stupid Mizungus,” he said.

The Mizungus were the white men. They had come to the village three weeks ago from America and immediately started into a flurry of activity. All at once they began constructing a chicken barn, a medical clinic, and a deep well to provide clean water for the village. All of these projects were good, even Karanja had to agree to that. But still, he did not trust these men.

Karanja’s mind flicked back to the last time a white man came to his village when Karanja was still a child. Wilson was his name, and he was also from America. He started a massive construction project, a school, and he told the people about all the great things the school would do for their village. He was right. The half-finished building now provided an excellent shelter for Karanja’s cattle during the rain, and the village children enjoyed playing in its ruins. Meanwhile, Wilson was nowhere to be seen. He had left over 20 years ago after he ran out of money. Before he left he took a collection from the villagers and promised to return soon with more supplies. He was never heard from again.

It seemed Karanja was the only person who remembered that betrayal. The other villagers welcomed the new Mizungus with open arms. Karanja’s own wife had taken a job hauling water and washing clothes for them. When Karanja protested, Martha just told him that if he didn’t like it, maybe he should work harder on the farm so she wouldn’t have to find outside work to support him and their children. “Humph,” was all Karanja said in reply. Now nothing else was getting done. Karanja’s clothes were dirty, but there was no one to wash them, and no water to wash them in, and—worst of all, no supper. That was the final straw. Karanja set out to find his wife.

As Karanja walked down the narrow lanes of his village, he noticed things were quiet everywhere. No fires burned in the huts, as they should at this hour, and no children played in the road. When Karanja drew closer to the village square, he noticed a line of women coming up the trail from the river with water jugs on their heads. His eyes soon caught sight of the familiar round shape of his wife amongst the other women. Karanja waited by the path for Martha to pass by. She talked and laughed with the other women as she trudged up the hill. But when she saw Karanja she fell silent, though the light of laughter still danced in her eyes.

“Well, my wife, it is good to see you finally tending to your husband and family,” Karanja said.

Martha laughed. “My husband, this water goes to the Mizungus, not you. You will have to fend for yourself today.” The other women laughed. Karanja grit his teeth.

“What about my supper?” he asked. Martha didn’t answer. She just kept walking while the women laughed again. Karanja did not want to risk embarrassment by chasing after her, so he fell in line behind the last woman and followed them to the square.

Stupid Mizungus, he thought.

When they arrived at the square, Karanja saw the whole village had turned out to watch the Mizungus work. Fathers, mothers, children, even the old folks, wearing ill-fitting glasses and leaning on sticks, were taking in the action.

“Hey look everyone,” shouted Karanja’s second closest neighbour, Thomas Waruta. “Karanja herds women just like he herds cattle—they lead and he follows!”

Everyone laughed, except Karanja. He tried to hide himself in the crowd and pretended to be interested in what the Mizungus were doing. Just then Karanja spotted his youngest son, David, age nine, laughing and pointing at the Mizungus with his friends. Karanja walked over and grabbed his arm.

“David, why are you here? Go home now with your sisters and cook your father some supper. The day was long, and I am hungry.” 

David twisted away from his father and bounded away, laughing with the other children.

“Sorry, Papa. I’ll come later.” Then he called out "Mizungu! Mizungu!" in unison with his friends. One of the white men turned and smiled at the children and at Karanja. Karanja grit his teeth and ducked back into the crowd.

As Karanja watched the Mizungus he saw that a group of them were gathered around a long silver pipe that was held up in the air by a makeshift crane. The pipe appeared to be sunk deep into the ground. The Mizungus were trying to get in close so they could each take hold of the pipe. Once they all had their hands on it, a man called out a signal and the crane was released so now all that held up the pipe was the Mizungus. Another signal and they began lowering the pipe into the hole, bit by bit. The strain of its tremendous weight showed on the Mizungus’ white faces as they turned red and veined from exertion.

The crowd behind Karanja clucked their tongues anxiously as they watched the Mizungus lower the pipe. If they dropped the pipe, people said, it would sink down hundreds of feet into the hole and all their work would be in vain. If it falls, it’s just as well, Karanja thought. Then we’ll be rid of these Mizungus. He turned and started walking home when a cry of alarm rippled through the crowd.

“Help!” one of the Mizungus called out. Karanja turned back. As the pipe was being lowered, the Mizungus had let go of it one-by-one and backed away, there being no room left to hold on. But the few people left holding it were not able to finish the job on their own. The pipe was too heavy, and it was starting to slip.

“Help!” the Mizungu called again. This time he caught Karanja’s eye. Karanja looked behind him. The villagers all murmured and clucked their tongues, but no one made a move to help. He looked back to the Mizungus. Some were quickly wrapping a chain around the pipe so more people could take hold of it, but they needed help if it was going to work.

“Aaagh!” One of the Mizungus cried out, and fell away from the pipe. One of his hands had been mashed between the chain and the well’s cement pad when the pipe slipped. Karanja knew he must act, Mizungus or not.

He rushed forward and took the fallen Mizungu’s place, wrapping his hands around the cold silver pipe. He saw right away that they would need more help if they were to save it.

“Get over here and help, you cowards!” he shouted to his fellow villagers. Karanja’s words seemed to trip a switch, and they sprang forward as a group, some of them taking up the chain and others taking the Mizungus’ places around the pipe. They all grunted under the strain of the pipe’s incredible weight. Once they had it secure, a Mizungu rushed up with a metal collar to be fitted around the pipe to prevent it from sinking into the ground. He slid it over the top and down past each set of hands until he had it where he wanted it, then bolted it in place.

“Okay, you can let it down all the way!” the Mizungu said. “Slowly! Slowly!” The people eased it down until the collar came to rest on the cement, where it was bolted again. “Good, we’ve done it!” he said. Everyone cheered.

“Asante-sana!” The Mizungu said to Karanja. “Thank you!” He grabbed Karanja’s hand and shook it. “You helped us save the well. Now you can have fresh water to drink and your wife won’t have to haul it so far.” Karanja smiled shyly and nodded at the white man.

Karanja’s friends also came and clapped him on the back.

“Good job, Karanja. Friend of Mizungus now, hey?” They said, and laughed.

Karanja just smiled and walked away.            

“Hey, don’t you want to see the well work?” The white man asked.

“Maybe later,” Karanja replied. “First, I must eat my supper.”

Martha was waiting for Karanja when he came home.

“You didn’t want to see the well work either?” He asked.

“I’ll see it soon enough,” she said. “I thought you wanted supper, my hero.” She gave him a hug.

Karanja smiled. 

Two weeks after the Mizungus left, Karanja was returning from the fields once again, hot and tired from a long day in the sun, when he met his wife coming up the river path with the village women. They had jugs of water on their heads.

“What are you doing?” Karanja asked, and pointed to the water jug on Martha’s head.  “Why aren’t you using the Mizungu’s well?”

Martha looked at the other women and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Karanja asked.

“The children were playing with the well this morning and they broke the handle. Now no water comes out, and no one knows how to fix it.” The women chuckled as they filed past Karanja.

When they were gone, Karanja sat down on a smooth, flat boulder. He picked a piece of grass and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment. Then a huge smile crept across his face as he shook his head.

“Stupid Mizungus,” he said.

A Blanket Solution

Sometimes God calls us to do big things for him. But most times, it’s the little things that matter most.

      Take Elma Voth of Abbotsford, BC and her friend Diane Pohl from Chilliwack, BC, for example. Here are two women—grandmothers even—who didn’t really know how to sew. (If you can imagine that!) But when their children started having babies, they decided it was time they learned.

      It all started with their desire to find some nice, soft, double-sided flannelette blankets for their new grandbabies. But although they searched high and low, they could find nothing like the warm, cuddly blankets they remembered from when they were young mothers.

      “The best we could find was some thin, flannel thing that looked like a dish rag the first time it was washed,” says Diane with a laugh.

      Realizing there was no way they were going to be able to buy such a blanket in a store, the women took matters into their own hands—literally—and decided it was time they learned how to sew their own.

      “My husband doesn’t surprise me very often,” says Diane. “But when he heard what I wanted to do, he went out and got me a whiz-bang sewing machine with all the bells and whistles. You know, real idiot-proof.”

      The two women started experimenting with different fabrics and designs, and before long, they had started their own little cottage industry.

      “Some women get excited shopping for antiques,” says Diane. “We get excited shopping for fabrics!”

      Soon the women had made more than enough blankets for their own grandchildren. But they continued sewing, giving blankets away to friends and family and even selling them to a few interested individuals. Diane has even become known as the “blanket fairy” in her church, because every time a baby is born, it is sure to receive one of her blankets. Diane’s handiwork has also traveled as far away as Africa, Ireland, and Germany.

      “I love making these things, it’s like an obsession,” she says. “At any given time, I have about fifty of them on hand.”

      Not long after Diane and Elma had perfected their product, Elma heard through her sister-in-law that there was a dire need at Evergreen, a ministry of Yonge Street Mission in Toronto, for some baby blankets to be given to new mothers who came in off the street. It turns out many of the mothers were so destitute that they were stealing towels from the hospital where their babies were born, because they had nothing else in which to wrap their babies. Delighted to find such a meaningful outlet for their creative handiwork, the two women immediately set to work sewing even more blankets.

      “It gave us something positive to do with the one thing we knew how to sew,” says Diane.

      But Elma and Diane didn’t stop there. In addition to each blanket, they also included a sleeper, an undershirt, a toque, and a face cloth—everything a new baby needs to get started in the world. To cap things off, Elma and Diane also prayed over each package, or layette, and inserted a personal note of encouragement for the girls. By the time they were all finished last year, Elma and Diane had sent 75 layettes to Toronto.

      This past summer, Elma had the opportunity to visit Evergreen. “It was quite an emotional moment to see the other end of our work there,” Elma says. “They told me that word has now spread on the street that if you’re pregnant and you go to Evergreen, there will be a package there for you.”

      While at Evergreen, Elma also noticed that blanket stocks were getting low, so when she got back home, her and Diane were at it again. They now have a new batch ready to send out this fall.

      “It’s our little way of making sure these babies are taken care of when they come home from the hospital,” says Elma.

      Diane agrees. “We didn’t think what we were doing was a big deal. We love making blankets, and to think that someone can use something we love to make is a thrill to me. I also enjoy the mystery: You send the blankets out there, and you have no idea who will be wrapped up in them.”

      Anyone interested in purchasing or sponsoring a blanket or complete layette may contact Diane at 604-824-8669. All proceeds go to the making of new layettes for the Evergreen centre.

Making a Difference in Vietnam by Kevin Miller

When retired dairy farmer Tony Vanderwal of Abbotsford, BC boards a plane for Vietnam this fall—yet again—no doubt many of his friends will tell him the same thing they’ve said many times before: “You’re crazy. Why don’t you just go to the beach or buy an RV?”

      But to Tony, his work in Vietnam is worth much more than a vacation in some tropical paradise or a gas-guzzling retirement home on wheels. After working hard to establish his family and business, Tony is determined to invest whatever time he has left helping those less fortunate than himself.

      “When I was a kid, I was awful poor. I only got a grade six education,” he says, and laughs. When Tony first arrived in Canada in 1951, all he and his new bride Nicki had was thirty-eight dollars. But the Lord blessed them richly over the years. “Today, to be honest, I’m well off. But who gave it to me? I always prayed like Solomon for God to give me wisdom, and God blessed me as such. So I think it’s more than responsible to use what he has given me to do his work.”

      For Tony and Nicki, that work has involved everything from helping Vietnamese farmers learn better agricultural practices to, more recently, providing help for handicapped and orphaned children, who receive little or no help from the Vietnamese government. Right now, they are working in conjunction with Global Aid Network (GAiN) and the Abbotsford Rotary Club to provide school supplies for a school that will be built in Vietnam by the Lever Company.

      The Vanderwals feel a particular call to help the handicapped, because, in Vietnam, they are often treated as second-class citizens. Says Tony: “When you’re handicapped, your wages are handicapped, too.”

      But Tony has more in mind than simply helping to provide for people’s physical needs. He also sees his work with handicapped children as an ideal way to reach out with the gospel to their families, who are the children’s primary caregivers. As he helps minister to the children, their families are often drawn in, giving them a chance to hear the gospel as well. This is particularly important in a country like Vietnam, where 80% of the population are Buddhist. Trying to convert the older people is nigh impossible, says Tony. They’re too set in their ways. But with children, there’s still hope.

      Working in a communist country that is antagonistic to Christians also presents some challenges. For one thing, Tony is constantly faced with crooked government officials looking for bribes. And when he doesn’t comply, things can get a little difficult, like when an official “lost” Tony’s visa at the airport recently, forcing Tony to pay a large sum of money to get it back. Tony also runs a risk whenever he hands out Christian literature, which he says he does “right, left, and centre.” But he’s not too worried about potential retributions.

      “When they see an old guy like me, they don’t worry too much about him.”

      But for the most part, Tony finds people in Vietnam are very friendly and thankful for the help, and he has no problem finding volunteers for the projects he is involved in. Some women will teach all day at their regular jobs and then teach for free in the evenings at a special school for handicapped children and orphans.

      Prior to his first trip to Vietnam in 1994 (which was made at the invitation of a Vietnamese-Canadian friend) Tony was very active in his local church. He even served on the church board, where he took part in decisions to send money overseas, but he never got personally involved in missions. Since going to Vietnam, however, Tony has found tremendous fulfillment working hand-in-hand with the people he is helping. Over the past seven years, he’s been over to Vietnam twice a year, on average, and he’s not finished yet.

            “You can only do so much in your life,” Tony says. Realizing this, he and Nicki have decided to focus his remaining years on Vietnam, where he knows plenty of work still needs to be done.

"Wind of the Spirit" Brings Volunteers to SOOP

Verena Hoffman of Rose Bay, Nova Scotia keeps a lot of "stuff" in her car, because she doesn't always know where the Holy Spirit will lead. And for the past fifteen years, the Spirit had kept her pretty busy.

      Since her immigration to Canada from Switzerland in 1985 and retirement from teaching in 1992, Hoffman has been the caretaker of a ranch in northern British Columbia, a caregiver to the mother-in-law of a pastor in California, and the manager of a restaurant in Ireland.

      This past winter, she spent two months working at New Hope House in the state of Georgia under the auspices of Service Opportunities for Older People (SOOP), a joint program of Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) Canada, Mennonite Mission Network, and the Mennonite Association of Retired Persons.

      "To people who don't know, it sounds strange to talk about how the Holy Spirit moves people to action," Hoffman says. But it’s become a fairly normal occurrence for her.

      Hoffman heard about SOOP in 1999 through friends and wrote MCC for more information. The envelope she received sat in her car for nearly three years before she felt compelled to reply.

      "I didn't feel the slightest doubt when I dropped the application form into the mailbox," she says. "I was filled with a deep joy, and that's when you know it's the right thing."

      Within a few weeks, the application process was complete and Hoffman, in her 1995 Ford Escort, was on her way to Georgia for a two-month SOOP assignment at New Hope House. Located near the city of Griffin, approximately 90 kilometres south of Atlanta, New Hope House is a not-for-profit organization that provides lodging, along with social and spiritual support, for families of inmates on death row. Volunteers, many of whom come to New Hope House through the SOOP program, spend their time maintaining the organization's facilities or attending trials with the families.

      Hoffman chose to spend her time in the courtroom, where she witnessed the trials of two young men. The first man was convicted and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The second was convicted and sentenced to death. "I think it is terrible thing to cage and confine any of God's creatures, especially people," says Hoffman. "How is it possible that we can kill each other?"

      This experience led Hoffman to question the ways in which people in North America define freedom. "Freedom is not about doing whatever we please. Real freedom has all the ingredients of caring, respect and responsibility—for others as well as ourselves. Real freedom liberates us into a joyful sense of belonging and unity."

      Hoffman says she felt the dark nature of what was taking place when she first entered the courtroom. She compares her emotion to a ton of bricks suffocating her spirit. That’s why, initially, she fled the courtroom. "I had to go out. There in the sun, in the fresh air, I asked God what he wanted me to do. The answer was clear. LIGHT. So I went back and settled myself behind the defendant for the rest of the trial, calling on Christ and His Word. I was willing to be his channel."

      When the verdicts were read, Hoffman says her world stood still. But in the following days, she says it slowly dawned on her that God's ways are not our ways. "God's values, and God's working cannot be comprehended and measured by any human mind," she says.

      When Hoffman's SOOP assignment ended, she was back in her car and on the way back to her winter home in Rose Bay. She knows her presence in the courtroom didn't change the verdict of the jury, but that doesn't mean her efforts were in vain. On the contrary, she believes her contribution may have done something greater. "I don't think we should always expect direct results. I think there's a bigger impact and that there is more taking place than we see or realize. I don't know what goes on in the hearts of other people, but there's not the slightest doubt in my mind that God's presence was in that courtroom."

            If you would like to know more about how you might become involved with SOOP, please visit http://www.mcc.org/getinv/soop/index.html.

Feeding the Hungry: One Soup Bowl at a Time by Kevin Miller

Looking for a meaningful volunteer opportunity that will allow you to make new friends while earning a great return on your time? Then check out the Fraser Valley Gleaners Society (FVG), an Abbotsford-based, non-profit organization dedicated to sharing God’s compassion for the poor by addressing their need for food.

      God has blessed Canadians with an abundant food supply. However, much of this food is either thrown away or left unharvested because it is unfit for today’s discriminating consumers. Rather than allow the excess food to go to waste, FVG takes the produce off the growers’ hands, dries it, and packages it as a soup mix. This soup mix is then packed into barrels and made available to various international aid organizations, such as the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), that distribute it to the needy overseas. Through this process, FVG helps to alleviate both waste and need, making them one of the most financially responsible and environmentally sensitive organizations around.

      Since FVG opened their new, 7,600 square foot facility in September 2001, the organization has produced over one million servings of soup. Their goal is to produce over three million servings of soup in 2002.

      FVG survives solely on donations and volunteer help. Their facility contains a commercial food dehydrator that can dry up to 1,200 kilograms of produce a day. However, everything else in the process is done by hand—volunteer hands. This includes harvesting the produce, washing and preparing it for drying, and packaging it into bags and barrels. The work is not difficult, and it does not require specialized skills: only able hands and willing hearts. That’s where people like you come in.

      According to FVG Treasurer Jack Friesen, 95 percent of FVG’s volunteers are seniors. Seniors make ideal volunteers, he says, because they have time on their hands, and they’re looking for opportunities to socialize while doing something meaningful to help the poor.       Friesen, who is a retired BC Hydro employee, was drawn to the organization for precisely these reasons.

      “If you’re retired and you don’t have a hobby, what do you do?” He says.

      Apart from the fun working environment, Friesen says the best part about helping out at FVG is the sense of satisfaction you get that what you’re doing is really making a difference. FVG calculates that one hour of volunteer time generates the equivalent of 120 servings of food. Not a bad return on the time you invest!

      As Friesen says, “We know we can’t feed everyone, but we can feed one person at a time—or one hundred and twenty an hour!”

            If you’re interested in learning more about how you can get involved with the Fraser Valley Gleaners Society, visit their web site at www.fvgleaners.org or call them at 1-866-772-7070. You may also want to contact their sister organization, Okanagan Gleaners Society at 250-498-8859 or john_martens@telus.net.

Becoming Part of a Network of Hope by Kevin Miller

Just Imagine…

You are sleeping in bed when suddenly an ear-splitting blast rocks your home. You look out your window and see airplanes bombing your neighbourhood. Bombs are pounding everywhere, and every time you hear another airplane coming, your stomach turns, and you fear the sound of the next bomb may be the last thing you and your family ever hear on this earth.

      After somehow making it through to the next day, you take your three children—the oldest of whom is seven and the youngest two—and head for the safety of the border. None of your children have shoes to protect their feet from the rocky desert roads. Mile after mile, you carry the youngest one in your arms, close to your heart. But the feet of the other two are cracked and bleeding, and their faces are caked with dust and tears.

      When you arrive at the Pakistani border, your heart sinks: It’s closed. You look around and see dozens of other families languishing on the side of the road without food or water. You have come so far, only to share their fate.

After a few days, a refugee camp forms, and all you can do is wait.

      Eventually, winter comes and freezing temperatures move like a ghost from tent to tent, snatching 20 children every night. As you sleep, you hold your two-year-old son close, praying that he will not die from exposure like so many others. The cold bites like daggers into your feet, but your only concern is for your children.

      Three months pass, and finally someone says it’s safe to return to your village. Everyone starts the hard journey home with the hope of peace in his or her heart. Along the way, these hopes are challenged by the sight of burned-out cars and buildings everywhere, which bear testimony to the danger that has only recently passed.

      Finally, you arrive at your village. You turn a corner and suddenly all hope turns to despair as you see the burned-out walls that are all that remains of your home. All of your clothes, your dishes, your tools and your memories are gone. How are you going to survive? Where will you find clean water? Where will you get your next meal?

      This is the reality faced by 2-3 million Afghan families who left everything they had, fleeing war and drought when the US launched its attack last year against Al-Qaeda fighters based in Afghanistan. But they are not the only people group to suffer such a fate. Far from it. 

A Grim Picture

      Every day, millions of refugees and displaced persons around the world seek shelter, food and refuge. Poverty in developing nations continues at unimaginable levels. Epidemics of AIDS, tuberculosis, sexually transmitted diseases, cholera and influenza challenge the already overburdened global health care system. Child mortality rates are increasing in many regions of the world. The United Nations estimates that ten million children will die from starvation in the next ten years. AIDS alone will create 40 million orphans by the year 2020!

      While these statistics paint a grim picture of the future, the opportunity for action has never been greater. Prosperity in the West has brought abundant resources. Unity among various elements of the society has created working relationships unthinkable a couple years ago. Modern technology, transportation systems, communication networks and available resources enable us to reach new levels of effectiveness in bringing hope to the world's needy.

A Ray of Hope

      Global Hope Network (GHN), a subsidiary of Campus Crusade for Christ, International, is one relief agency that is taking advantage of these new efficiencies to improve the way aid is delivered to needy people around the world. GHN is a compassionate humanitarian organization that provides resources, personnel and services to relief efforts, development projects, agencies and communities worldwide. By partnering with other organizations and plugging into an already established network of over 600,000 volunteers around the world, they efficiently provide resources and manpower to help alleviate the world's needs. Their main areas of focus at the moment include Africa and the Middle East.

“We’re dealing with desperate people,” says International Director Hal Jones. “They’re literally worried about where they’re going to get their next meal, not where they’re going to go to school next year.”

            GHN’s efforts are divided among the following areas:

• Emergency Rapid Response Relief
• Natural Disaster Relief
• Disease and Poverty mediation, without      creating ongoing dependency
• Recruiting short-term volunteer teams for      existing agencies
• Networking community leaders and      organizations for effective application of resources to existing problems

You Can Get Involved

Each one of these areas requires the efforts of dozens short and long-term volunteers to make them happen. Jones says people with medical, agricultural and ESL skills are in particular demand right now. But GHN is able to use anyone who is willing to help.

“People who are retired or who have taken early retirement from their work are ideal candidates to help out with GHN,” says Jones. “They have the skills, and they also have the time to put them to work in a third-world setting.”

But you don’t have to go overseas to get involved. GHN needs plenty of people at home raising funds, supporting volunteers and getting their churches involved in relief efforts. One way to do this is through GHN’s Friendship Box program, which offers “hope from home to home” by having people in North America provide people in Afghanistan with a box of essential items, such as clothing and school supplies. These can be packed and sent overseas by individuals or churches. Jones says GHN is also looking for churches that can help raise money to ship millions of dollars of food, medicine and other gifts in kind overseas.

Anyone interested in finding out more about how they can get involved with GHN should visit their web site at www.globalhopenetwork.org or e-mail Hal Jones at rephjones@aol.com

Are We Really Stingy? Are You? by Kevin Miller

As if the horrifying images from the tsunami that hit Southeast Asia, India, and Africa on Boxing Day weren’t enough, viewers in so-called “wealthy” nations also had to contend with a little-known UN official accusing them of being “stingy” in the face of such disasters. It was enough to make you choke on that leftover turkey and cranberry sauce...

Predictably, US Secretary of State Colin Powell and other spokespeople for the American government bristled at the accusation, made by the UN’s Under-Secretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs and Emergency Relief Coordinator Jan Egeland. Standing on their record, Powell, and more recently, President Bush, argued that the United States has given more foreign aid in the last four years than any other nation or combination of nations in the world. As for this current crisis, Powell stated that America’s contribution to disaster relief and rebuilding would likely run into the billions of dollars.

So what was Egeland talking about then? Clearly, the US is the star player when it comes to foreign aid. According to 2003 figures released by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), the United States government budgeted nearly $16 billion to foreign aid. That is nearly double what the next largest contributor—Japan—earmarked for such causes ($8.9 billion), and four times what Canada budgeted ($2.2 billion). So, taken on a raw dollar level, Powell and Bush’s claims cannot be disputed. When it comes to disaster relief and economic development, the United States is the undeniable leader. And remember, these figures do not even include the billions of dollars given by individual citizens through private charities and foundations.

But the dollar figures begin to lose some of their dazzle when you examine foreign aid spending as a percentage of Gross Domestic Product (GDP). This brings us closer to what Egeland was trying to get at. When rated according to this criterion, the United States plunges to number 22 on the list, contributing just 0.14 percent of its GDP to foreign aid. Japan doesn’t do much better at 0.2 percent (placing it at number 19), and even Canada’s 0.26 percent contribution fails to place it in the top ten (they’re ranked at number 13). Leading the pack is Norway (Egeland’s home country), which contributes 0.92 percent of its GDP to foreign aid. Still shy of a single percentage point, but, proportionally speaking, well over six times what the United States gives. If the American government decided to match the Norwegians next year, their foreign aid giving would leap to over $100 billion—about half of what it is costing them to fight the war in Iraq. And if all of the 22 richest nations in the world gave just one percent—never mind the 10 percent Egeland suggested they give when he appeared recently on CNN’s Anderson Cooper 360°—the globe would literally be awash in foreign aid dollars. In fact, there may even be a surplus!

While Egeland’s comments have probably inspired more feelings of bitterness than generosity among Americans (further souring the already tepid relationship between the US and the UN), no one can dispute the validity of his criticism. When the world’s governments met at the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, they agreed to a program, known as Agenda 21, which called on the world’s 22 richest nations to meet a foreign aid target of 0.7 percent of their GDP. As of 2003, only six nations had met or exceeded this target, including Norway, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Sweden. With countries like the United States and Canada giving only one-fifth of this amount twelve years after the agreement was signed, it only makes sense that someone would point out our failure to meet such an important obligation. Such comments may make us angry, and they could have been delivered in a more diplomatic fashion, but that does not mean they are without truth. I do not believe that Americans, Canadians, Japanese, Norwegians or citizens of the other 22 richest countries in the world are stingy people. A little self-involved maybe, but not the type to turn a blind eye to a brother or sister in need. That said, I think we could all get by on a little less and give away a little more. That includes both governments and individual citizens.

So, rather than become angry and defensive when confronted with this fact, why not take up Egeland’s challenge and prove him wrong? I am sure nothing would make him happier. After all, we are facing one of the largest humanitarian disasters in modern history. The priority right now should be on helping those in need, not pointing fingers or defending ourselves. As nations and as individuals, we would all do well to search our hearts and ask if we are truly doing all that we could be doing in the face of such pressing needs.

I do not believe there is not some magic number or percentage of our personal income or GDP that, if reached, will alleviate us of all further responsibility. How much or how little you give is a matter between you and God. So while you are busy searching your own heart, take some time to search God’s heart as well. Don’t worry: I highly doubt that He will accuse you of being stingy, as Egeland did. God is much more likely to inspire you with a vision of what the world can become if we contribute even a little bit more than we do currently. I would like to inspire you with that same vision as well.

You may already contribute regularly to one or more global relief organizations. If so, we encourage you to channel your extra relief funds through them. If not, you may want to consider contributing to the Global Aid Network (GAiN), a relief organization that demonstrates the love of God to hurting and needy people around the world through relief and development projects.

In addition to increasing your own personal giving, I also encourage you to contact your local, state, provincial, and national government officials, urging them to increase the amount of money your nation contributes to foreign aid and development. If we all work together like this, even the little bit that we do will add up to a whole lot.

Story: Recapture the Mystery

(Steven James. Grand Rapids: Fleming H. Revell: 2005, 208 pages.)

Review by Kevin Miller

In a recent article[1], I criticized overzealous evangelicals for tripping over themselves to make the gospel relevant. Underlying this evangelistic fervor, I conjectured, is not so much a love of Christ as a fear that the gospel can’t stand its own. If we don’t do something to jazz it up or dumb it down, non-Christians won’t get it. Steven James’ new book Story: Recapturing the Mystery is a prime example of my hypothesis. Billed as “a postmodern retelling of the Christian story,” it is essentially a collection of brief personal essays, poetry, and black and white photographs that attempts to jazz up the gospel while at the same time dumbing it down. It’s the worst of both worlds.

It’s difficult to put my finger on exactly what rings false here. The best I can say is that James—like many other Christian authors commonly labeled as “postmodern” or “emergent”—sounds like the smart kid in class who knows the right answers but pretends he doesn’t so he’ll fit in. I’m all for making the Bible accessible to the masses. But if we’re going to do it, let’s do it honestly, and let’s do it well. Unfortunately, I think James blows his opportunity here on both counts. A good example is his opening essay on creation. Here’s a wonderful chance to hook readers with some probing questions about life’s origin and purpose, to give them a glimpse into the glory and wonder of God. Instead, James opts for passages like the following:

“God finally got tired of the cloak of darkness, so he told his first story. He spoke and light appeared.

'Let there be,' he said. And there was.

I’m not exactly sure why he did it. I don’t think anyone knows his precise motivation. Personally, I think he got sick of the darkness. I think since God is love, he couldn’t stand the thought of spending eternity alone in the dark without someone to love. He needed companionship, because love gives, shares, sacrifices, woos. It has to. Or else it isn’t love.”

Pay attention to the last paragraph. James begins by coming alongside the seeker and pretending like he has no idea why God created the universe. Then he rushes in with a trite, Sunday school level theory that burns like acid on the face of intellect. For starters, it’s obvious James has no idea what the term “eternity” (time without beginning or end) means. Otherwise he would never say that God couldn’t stand the thought of spending eternity alone in the dark, because if God truly is without beginning or end, he had just spent eternity doing just that! Furthermore, if you look at the Scriptural account of Creation, it wasn’t God who was in darkness; it was the earth (Genesis 1:2). And surely God was not in need of companionship, seeing as he exists in three persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—who are the epitome of community and selfless adoration. I’m sorry, but if I were a non-Christian, I would have put the book down right there, assuming James was nothing more than a poorly educated wolf in sheep’s clothing—an old school propositional apologist who figured the way to be postmodern was to phrase every statement as a question.

Theological quibbles aside, however, what is sorely lacking in this book is the one thing that would endear it to modern and postmodern readers alike: authenticity. Please don’t confuse this term with “sincerity.” I believe James is quite sincere, but his musings in this book are far too safe and trite to be authentic. What James and others seem unable to understand is that people of a postmodern bent don’t just respond to any narrative. They respond to narratives that ring with the genuine cry of human experience that logical, propositional arguments for God do not, narratives that recognize that life is often dirty, painful, messy, disappointing, and unpredictable, that we don’t have all of the answers and that it is unlikely we ever will. But amidst the muck and grime and grief, there is always a glimmer of hope, a reason for taking that next, boot-sucking step. That light is nothing less than Christ, the Light of the world (John 8:12).

James’s impulse is correct here: In our story-based culture, Christians need to develop fresh ways of telling and re-telling their stories. But such innovations should never be motivated by fear of the gospel’s irrelevance. The gospel is relevant today, tomorrow, and forever. We can rest in that fact. We don’t need to jazz it up, and we certainly don’t need to dumb it down. All that is required is an honest, authentic expression of our experience with Christ. Offer that up to the world, and trust God to take care of the rest.

---

[1]“The Misguided Quest for Relevance,” Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice, Easter 2005.

Holy Superheroes!

Review by Kevin Miller.

One of the great joys of searching for truth in unlikely places is that every once in a while you turn up a gem. Having already read and reviewed two “okay” books—Who Needs a Superhero? and Comic Book Character—that sought to extract spiritual insights from the world of comic books, I had pretty much given up on finding anything substantial on the topic. Then someone handed me a copy of Holy Superheroes! by Greg Garrett, co-author of The Gospel Reloaded.

The book sat on my desk for about a month before I finally picked it up, certain it was going to be “more of the same.” But twenty-six pages in, I began to suspect I had finally hit the jackpot. As it turns out, the world of books is not much different than the world of superheroes: Things are not always as they seem. Just as Lois Lane had no idea that behind Clark Kent’s mild-mannered visage lurked the greatest superhero of all time, I had no idea that Holy Superheroes! would turn out to be not just a great book about the spirituality of comic books. Strange as it may sound, Holy Superheroes! also turned out to be one of the most insightful books I have read on any topic in a long time.

Perhaps part of the appeal for me was that Holy Superheroes! also turned out to be the right book at the right time. The day before I read it, I had written a lengthy reflection on the film Kingdom of Heaven, wherein I discussed the futility of responding to violence with more violence. Seeing as taking such a stance has left me bruised and battered at the hands of my fellow believers in the past, I was feeling somewhat apprehensive, like a disobedient child waiting anxiously for his father to return home from work, not sure if he was going to be swatted or not. However, rather than upbraid me for my audacity, Holy Superheroes! actually affirmed and expanded upon what I had written—pretty surprising considering superhero comics are some of the most violent forms of entertainment around. Lest you think I only liked this book because it agrees with me though, let me share a few other things Holy Superheroes! has going for it.

What Garrett attempts in this book is a “philosophical reading” of comic books, a study of comics to see if they can offer wisdom on how to live our lives. Why comic books? Because they and the superheroes that populate them have become the primary mythology of our society, Garrett says. Even though not all of us read comics, we all know the stories and characters. Our society has chosen reason and empirical data as its primary source of truth, but the power of myth cannot be ignored. And if we do ignore it, it is to our peril. As Garrett says in the foreword, “We’ve gotten in the bad habit of thinking of myth as something false, or at best, untrue—like those old Greek gods and snake-headed monsters—rather than something that is supremely true; we’ve made the mistake of thinking that myth is untrue because it can’t be proven, rather than something that is supremely true because it’s a story that has to be accepted.”

Even though we have turned our back on myth, a part of us keeps reaching out for something to fill the gap that reason has left behind. Where this need used to be satisfied by reading the lives of saints, apostles, and other heroes of the faith, we now read about men and women who have secret identities and run around in skin-tight costumes doing battle with the forces of evil. These are the stories that move us, Garrett says, “the ones we most need to hear to be whole.” How and why these stories lead us closer to the sacred and inspire us in our own quest to do good is the main subject of this book.

Garrett starts by looking at the connection between comics and religion. In this chapter, he shows how comics are really the latest manifestation of the “American monomyth,” which goes something like this: “A community in a harmonious paradise is threatened by evil; normal institutions fail to contend with this thread; a selfless hero emerges to renounce temptations and carry out the redemptive task; aided by fate, his decisive victory restores the community to its paradisiacal condition; the superhero then recedes into obscurity.” He goes on to show how the American monomyth is actually a retelling of the Judeo-Christian story of redemption, a.k.a “the gospel.” Thus, Garrett argues, superhero comics are to be taken seriously, “as seriously as we ought to take every kind of storytelling,” because they can teach us about what it means to be human. Comic books can actually change our lives, for good or ill. Remember that the next time you’re tempted to poke fun at the comic store owner on The Simpsons. Perhaps those seemingly trivial distinctions between Captain Kirk and Captain Picard are more important than you think.

Garrett moves on to discuss our need for heroes and the archetypal shape of the hero’s journey, as it is replicated across time, culture, and religion. The ongoing appeal of superhero stories, Garrett says, is that they are merely the most recent manifestation of this archetype, which seems to be hardwired into our systems. At the same time, he warns that even though these stories may tap into archetypal figures—such as Christ—we should not mistake metaphor for reality. Thus, while we can notice correspondences between Christ and Superman, for example, we should not seek to equate the two. Instead, we should merely ask how these correspondences can instruct and inspire us.

After these introductory chapters, Garrett turns his attention to a number of topics that are front and center in the world of superheroes. First up is the relationship between power and responsibility, a link made clear through the life of Spiderman in particular. Garrett concludes his study by pointing out how even though we aren’t superheroes; we all have power—especially those of us wealthy enough to afford such luxury items as comic books. The question is, are we using our power responsibly?

Truth is the next topic of discussion. Why Garrett failed to bring in Wonder Woman’s magic lasso I’m not sure (her lasso forced whoever was caught in it to tell the truth), but his discussion still bears much fruit. Most notably, he talks about the danger of certainty. “Oftentimes surety can be more dangerous than any enemy you face,” says Garrett. Shocking words, no doubt, for those who still believe in such things as "evidence that demands a verdict." By way of example, he talks about the Nazis and the Japanese militarists of World War II. Both groups were certain that what they believed was right—and the entire world is still trying to recover from the outcome of those beliefs. He shows how certainty inevitably leads to fundamentalism, which, if not checked, leads to holy war in defense of one’s doctrine or beliefs. Truth is far more complex than fundamentalists of any stripe would have us believe, argues Garrett, and our world would be a much safer place if more of us woke up to that fact.

From truth, Garrett turns to justice. In this section, he seeks to expand our definition of justice beyond retribution. While retribution may bring a temporary halt to crime or some other social problem, it fails to deal with the root causes of evil, and it offers no vision of the just society. Using Batman as a model of retributive justice, Garrett describes the price of going down such a path: “Batman’s success as a crime-fighter has come at the expense of his success as a well-rounded human being.” Instead of conceptualizing justice as punishment, a response to a negative action, far better, says Garrett, to adopt the view of the ancient Hebrews, who saw justice as, “an ongoing movement toward equal opportunities for all people, and support for the less privileged, aged, or infirm.”

Garrett’s take on patriotism is perhaps the most subversive section of this book. He describes the concept of “benevolent fascism,” which dominates superhero stories, saying, “The traditional superhero myth suggests that power in one set of capable hands is the surest way to achieve justice, that democratic systems can’t be trusted to perform their tasks alone, that anyway, the hero would never take advantage of those he serves, and that that the world requires American superheroism.” Sounds like something you might see scrawled on the bathroom wall at CIA headquarters—or on the doorplate to the Oval Office. Garrett goes on to offer a critique of American foreign policy, chastising the government and the American people in general for being so narrow-minded as to believe that Americans have a monopoly on truth and justice, that America is not only the last of the superpowers, it is also the most heroic. “Unquestioning acceptance of a truth—any truth—is dangerous,” says Garrett. He urges people not to swallow everything they’re told by the government, even it if means they are branded as unpatriotic or disloyal.

From here, Garrett moves on to only slightly less controversial ground by confronting the problem of evil. He considers what role evil plays in God’s redemptive story, where evil comes from, and how all of us share responsibility for the “evil that men do.” But Garrett doesn’t abandon us to the Dark Side. He also offers a way out, showing that all religious faiths agree that the only way to overcome evil is through unselfishness, compassion, and love.

As an addendum to his discussion of benevolent or “pop fascism,” Garrett also weighs in on vigilantism. After all, virtually every superhero is a vigilante on some level, because they take the law into their own hands. In this sense, heroes are often seen as outlaws as well, as the Batman knows all too well. One of the main reasons for this blurring of lines, Garrett points out, is that vigilantism involves a blend of “extralegal violence and personal vengeance.” Thus, vigilante justice is rarely selfless and, hence, open to suspicion. After all, if the heroes are using the same methods as the villains and are motivated by the same feelings of anger and retribution, are they really all that different? As Garrett says in relation to an incident from Alan Moore's quintessential 1980s classic, The Watchmen, “If you have to stop being a hero to accomplish your ends, then maybe they’re not worth accomplishing.” Or, to put it in terms of Kingdom of Heaven, if you feel tempted to commit a little bit of evil for the sake of the greater good, perhaps you should reconsider whether that “good” really is all that great.

Delving deeper into the root cause of evil, Garrett turns to superheroes like the Incredible Hulk, Wolverine, and Batman to show how the war against evil may often be a symbolic war against the self. He also wonders about our tendency to fear those who are not like us. “Is it part of our nature to try to destroy people who are different from us?” Garrett wonders. “How can we be aware of these feelings and stop genocide from happening again on such a grand scale?” He believes the answers to these questions can be found in, you guessed it, comic books!

Next, Garrett looks at what comics have to say about the apocalypse and how we should live our lives in light of this reality. Despair is always a temptation, but Garrett argues in favor of hope, which is much more than a vague desire for things to turn out right. True hope gives birth to action. “How the world ends up is not up to us,” says Garrett. “But what we do while we’re in it? That part most certainly is.”

Garrett concludes the book with a lengthy discussion on how to bring an end to violence. Garrett argues that, “we love violence as much as we love hatred.” However, even though retribution feels good at the time, it only leads to more suffering. “Violence can shock and awe someone, but it will never change an opinion, right a wrong, or save a soul.” Fair enough, but how are we to respond to our enemies then? Compassion is the answer, says Garrett. “We have to… see even our enemies—maybe especially our enemies—as human beings.” Compassion destroys any false sense of dichotomy between our enemies and us, making it much more difficult for us to hate and destroy. Thus begins the long, hard road to healing and reconciliation. It also turns our attention toward those whom Christ sent us to serve: the victims. Using Alan Moore’s short story "This Is Information" to illustrate this fact, Garrett shows that “the choice between good and evil, between us and them, may be satisfying, but it’s a false choice. Our hands need to be extended to those who are suffering, whoever they may be. But that can be a hard lesson for us to hold.”

Hard indeed, but this is the path that all of us must walk if we hope to be heroes in our world.

Adventures In Missing the Point: How the Culture-controlled Church Neutered the Gospel

(Brian D. McLaren & Tony Campolo. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003.). Review by Kevin Miller.

Have evangelicals missed the point? That’s certainly how I assessed the situation as I walked into Borders bookstore recently. I’d even been kicking around ideas for a cultural history of evangelicalism called Too Much Church? How Evangelicals Set Out to Reach a Culture But Wound Up Creating One Instead. I’d done my time in church, in Bible college, on the mission field, in Christian publishing, in seminary, and as an employee of two large para-church organizations. During that time, I had rubbed shoulders with Mennonites, Pentecostals, Anglicans, Baptists, “Vineyardians,” charismatic Catholics, and evangelicals who were leery of declaring any denominational affiliation. I had also spent a few years purposely living outside the bounds of evangelicalism, sick to death of “evidence that demanded a verdict,” three-chord choruses, and the Four Spiritual Laws. Like many people, I had simply had too much church. So I felt reasonably qualified to offer a critical assessment of this movement that had defined and consumed so much of my life.

My basic thesis for Too Much Church is that in their efforts to reach the wider culture, evangelicals have been unwittingly co-opted by that culture. The result is, rather than penetrating and countering the culture, they have formed our own shadow version of the wider culture, complete with its own radio and television stations, entertainment industry, celebrities, and cults of personality. The ironic thing is, despite this tremendous outpouring of Christian media, evangelicals have been largely ineffective when it comes winning the wider culture over to their message.

I believe the main reason for this is that most people think evangelicals have sold out. In short, they have failed to address the defining characteristic of our culture today—consumerism. Rather than counter this self-centered, profit-driven philosophy, evangelicals have embraced it wholesale, turning it into the central tool by which they disseminate the gospel. No matter what spiritual, moral or emotional problem people may have, the solution always seems to be “more church.” Read this book. Listen to this speaker. Pray this prayer. Watch this show. Go to this church (God’s really moving there.) Seven steps to success. Ten steps to happiness. For men, for women, for children, for couples, for seniors. Consume, my brother/sister, and thou shalt be healed. Like any good multi-level marketing organization, evangelicals have made sure that the solution to any problem points back to the products they are selling.

Unfortunately, this drive to consume Christian content has created a sense of cynicism amongst Christians and non-Christians alike, who have come to see the evangelical marketing machine as just another push for brand superiority in the marketplace of ideas.[1] People who are truly seeking a mystical encounter with the Almighty are turned off of this movement, because so much of it reeks of cheap hucksterism, pablum that has been watered down for the masses. As a good friend of mine says, evangelicalism is like the McDonald’s of religion, all fat, sugar, and salt but only a sprinkling of substance.

The solution to this situation, in my opinion, is not more church but less. Just like a gourmet restaurant, evangelicals should focus on stimulating and satisfying people’s appetite for God on all levels, not just making sure they go away feeling stuffed. Like a good host, we need to make the appropriate introductions and then get out of the way rather than dominate the conversation and make people dependent on us for their next quick fix.

Back to Borders: With such semi-heretical thoughts swirling in my head, imagine my surprise when I came across Adventures In Missing the Point just sitting there on the shelf. As soon as I read the subtitle, I quickly found a chair and made myself comfortable. I knew that I had found two new soul mates in Campolo and McLaren when I read the following words:

“We pastors and preachers listen to our own sermons, see the frantic pace of programs and meetings we’ve created, and shivers run up our spines: are we somehow missing the point?

“Are our churches and broadcasts and books and organizations merely creating religious consumers of religious products and programs? Are we creating a self-isolating, self-serving, self-perpetuating, self-centered subculture instead of a world-penetrating (like salt and light), world-serving (focused on ‘the least and the lost,’ those Jesus came to seek and save), world-transforming (like yeast in bread), God-centered (sharing God’s love for the whole world) counterculture? If so, even if we proudly carry the name evangelical (which means, ‘having to do with the gospel’), we’re not behaving as friends to the gospel we seek to live and proclaim. This book is our attempt, flawed and faltering to be sure, to get us thinking about the frightening possibility of unintentional betrayal of the gospel by those entrusted with it.”

Wow. So I wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Ironic that the authors had to create yet another evangelical artifact to get their point across, but point well taken all the same.[2]

I was particularly intrigued by the way the book was structured. It is divided into three sections: God, World, and Soul. Under each heading, the authors tackle various areas where they feel evangelicals have missed the point, including salvation, evangelism, social action, sin, worship, doubt, and being postmodern, among others. McLaren and Campolo take turns writing chapters and then having the other author respond. It is a true dialogue between two very different and capable thinkers. Campolo is the old warhorse, having spent the greater part of his career pushing evangelicals’ buttons. McLaren, even though he had written several books previous to this one, was still somewhat of a new kid on the block to me. So I was eager to taste this new flavor that was creating so much buzz. I only hoped the body of the book lived up to the prophetic impulse of its introduction.

While I can’t exactly call Adventures In Missing the Point a “must-read,” it certainly serves as a useful point of departure when it comes to questions about evangelical culture and the relationship between evangelicals and the culture at large. Standout chapters include Campolo’s take on homosexuality and social action and McLaren’s discourses on culture and leadership. Throughout the book, the authors challenge all sorts of evangelical conventions while rarely resorting to a finger-pointing posture. (Surprising considering the indictment suggested by the book’s title.) That doesn’t mean the authors’ opinions are not stated strongly at times, particularly by Campolo. Actually, of the two writers, I was surprised to see Campolo come off as the conservative, seeing as he is commonly considered quite liberal according to evangelical standards. But whenever he felt McLaren might be conceding too much ground in the name of postmodern dialogue, Campolo was quick to jump in and affirm the “true evangelical faith.” That said, I think the average pew-warmer will be challenged if not incensed at much of what Campolo says in this book, if they bother to pick it up at all that is.

As for McLaren, while I appreciated many of his insights, the way he communicated them was a bit too polished and self-consciously post-modern for my liking. He also seems to have an affinity for labels, such as “emerging culture” and “emerging church,” and he tends to use them too often. While he denies being the spokesperson for the emerging church—whatever that is—he never refrains from speaking on its behalf. After reading a carefully crafted chapter by McLaren, it was always refreshing to see Campolo swoop in with some “from the hip” comments that revealed how even McLaren could miss the point on occasion. I think I would appreciate McLaren a whole lot more if he would stop trying to be so conciliatory and point the finger a little more. His presentation was far too affected, like someone who had learned how to be postmodern from reading a book and was now trying to “pass for normal” amongst those for whom postmodern thinking comes as natural as breathing.

No book can be all things to all people. However, seeing as this book aimed to cast its net wide rather than deep, some topics I would have liked to see included are consumerism, the arts, politics, war, abortion, and the creation vs. evolution debate—all areas where I feel evangelicals are missing the point badly. Even so, the fact that this book exists at all is a major service to the church, because it forces us to consider seldom asked questions about what a healthy Christian culture looks like and how that culture should relate to the culture at large.

So, after reading this critique of evangelicalism, do I still feel the need to write one of my own? Definitely. But if Too Much Church? ever does see the light of day, it will only have been made richer—and more diplomatic—through my reading of McLaren and Campolo’s work.

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[1] Check out this article, for example: http://www.klife.com/resources/staff/media/GQ-WWJD.html

[2] The conundrum of critiquing consumerism by asking people to “Buy my book!” is one of the main reasons I have been hesitant to embark on such a project. Thus, Clarion serves as the ideal venue to air my thoughts, seeing as I don’t make a dime from this effort.

Generation Kill

(Evan Wright. New York: G. Putnam’s Sons, 2004). Review by Kevin Miller.

“I’ll say one thing about these guys: When we take fire, not one of them hesitates to shoot back. In World War Two, when Marines hit the beaches, a surprisingly high percentage of them didn’t fire their weapons, even when faced with direct enemy contact. They hesitated.[1] Not these guys…. These guys have no problem with killing.”

That’s how Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick describes his fellow Marines in First Recon, the elite unit that spearheaded the invasion of Iraq in May 2003. If you ever worried that perhaps this war and the men who fight it are less than virtuous, Evan Wright’s gripping firsthand account of the early days of battle will definitely put a chill in your bones.

p>An Ivy League graduate who joined the Marines in “a fit of idealism,” Fick is the most grounded individual you will meet in this book. It only goes downhill from there. There’s Sgt. Brad Colbert, “the Iceman” who can spout a litany against country music one moment, lean out the window and shoot somebody, and then resume his tirade without missing a beat; Cpl. Harold James Trombley, who gets excited when he sees his bullets rip into an Iraqi man’s legs, cutting him in half; “Captain America,” Fick’s commanding officer who shoots or stabs anything that moves; Cpl. Josh Ray Person, who thinks everyone and everything in Iraq is a “retard”; and Sgt. Eric Kocher who likes to draw smiley faces on his 40mm grenade rounds before he goes into battle. A far cry from the “Greatest Generation” who stormed the beaches in World War II. If that war was characterized by idealism, you could say the new face of war is ambivalence, a “Who gives a *censored*? Let’s frag this town!” attitude. But what else would you expect from a group of guys who, as author Wright says, “represent what is more or less America’s first generation of disposable children”?

Not that every Marine profiled comes from a dysfunctional background. Many, like Fick, are Ivy Leaguers looking for more adventure than corporate American could offer. But just as many come from broken homes and criminal or at least deviant backgrounds. Raised on hip-hop, Marilyn Manson, and Jerry Springer, these guys “are on more intimate terms with video games, reality TV shows and Internet porn than they are with their own parents.” Just imagine them rolling into your town, kicking in your door, and announcing that your liberators had arrived. Would you like Freedom Fries with that?

And yet, as much as these men are products of their culture, the very fact that they have joined the Marines can be seen as a rejection of that culture. Says Wright, “They’ve chosen asceticism over consumption. Instead of celebrating their individualism, they’ve subjugated theirs to the collective will of an institution. Their highest aspiration is self-sacrifice over self-preservation.”

So maybe these men are more idealistic than they seem at first blush, more human, too. As much as some of them get off on the killing, for others it is merely a job, the zinging bullets an annoyance. For still others, war is a traumatizing experience that will likely scar them until they bite their own “smiley faced” bullet. Take the Marine who fired on a civilian vehicle that didn’t stop at a military checkpoint. After confirming that the two men in the front seat were dead, he opened the back door and saw a three-year-old girl apparently cowering in the back seat. When he went to pick her up though, the top of her head slid off, spilling her brains out onto the ground. He was silent for days afterwards while everyone wondered if he would finally crack. I was traumatized just reading about it.

The frightening thing is, the majority of the casualties recorded in this book are civilians. Mistaken identity, misguided bombs, overzealous recruits… I can tell you one thing: This book made me more skeptical than ever when I hear the words “smart” and “surgical” used in reference to American military strikes. Time to come up with some new terms, boys. How about “wanton killing,” “total devastation” and “blitzkrieg” for starters?

The bloodshed isn’t just breeding cynics like me back at home either. Even the guys lighting up the Iraqi countryside are ambivalent about what they’re doing and why. Consider these words from Captain Bryan Patterson, Commander of Alpha Company: “There is not one good thing that comes out of war. I’m not going to pretend I’m this great American savior in Iraq. We didn’t come here to liberate. We came to look out for our interests. That we are here is good. But if to liberate means putting a Starbucks and a McDonald’s on every street corner, is that liberation? But I have to justify this to myself. It’s Saddam’s fault… Still, the protestors have a lot of valid points. War sucks.”

“The *censored*ed thing,” adds Sgt. “Doc” Bryan, “is the men we’ve been fighting probably came here for the same reasons we did, to test themselves, to feel what war is like. In my view it doesn’t matter if you oppose or support war. The machine goes on.”

Not the most hopeful point of view, but one born of experience serving on the frontlines of American foreign policy as it has taken shape in Somalia, Afghanistan, and now Iraq. Kind of takes the sheen off words like “freedom” and “liberation” that seem to flow so easily from the Bush Administration. My question is, if the guys who are on the frontlines of America’s War On Terror don’t believe what Bush and co. are selling, why should we?

If you want to know what America is really exporting to Iraq, I urge you to turn off your television and read this book. Hats off to author Evan Wright for having the courage to step inside the machine and the integrity to describe the machine as it really is.

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[1] This fact is well documented by Lieutenant Dave Grossman in “The Problem: A Resistance to Killing,” http://www.killology.com/art_beh_problem.htm.

Peter Jackson In Perspective: The Power Behind Cinema's "The Lord of the Rings"

(By Greg Wright, Burien, WA: Hollywood Jesus Books, 2004). Review by Kevin Miller.

Anyone who has visited www.hollywoodjesus.com over the last several years will be more than familiar with the name and smiling visage of Greg Wright. Not only does he serve as Senior Editor for Hollywood Jesus, for the past several years he has also facilitated an extremely popular section of the site devoted to The Lord of the Rings, particularly to Peter Jackson’s film adaptations of J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic fantasy tale. Last year, Wright, who is also an instructor of English literature, parlayed a number of his online articles about Tolkien’s work into a book entitled Tolkien In Perspective: Sifting the Gold from the Glitter. With the theatrical release of The Return of the King nearly a year behind us, and the release of the Special Extended DVD edition about to commence, Wright has seen fit to release a second collection of material that aims to get at the heart of Jackson’s films.

Wright makes it clear from the outset that his goal is not to be “right” about Tolkien or Jackson or to make himself look good in the eyes of his readers. Rather, his intention is to provide “responsible, sober analysis in order to stimulate deeper and more serious thinking on the part of the moviegoing public.” Why? Because “the unexamined film is not worth viewing—further… the unexamined film represents an abdication of living, and its attendant responsibilities.”

Although not stated explicitly, a secondary and perhaps derivative goal is to parse out the spiritual themes, symbols, parallels, parables, and archetypes contained in both the cinematic and literary versions of The Lord of the Rings. Crucial to this investigation is examining how these elements were shifted, distorted, enhanced or eliminated in the transition from page to screen. Perhaps a more general question in this regard is, can you translate an author’s work from script to screen while retaining the essence or spirit of his or her story? And, more precisely, do Jackson’s adaptations do exactly that?

Wright sets the stage for his answer with some previously unpublished lecture-based articles on the challenges inherent in adapting any literary work—especially one as unwieldy as Tolkien’s behemoth—to the screen. Acknowledging the substantial differences between the original text and Jackson’s films, one of the central subjects of this section (and the book as a whole) is the all-important question of “Why?” Why was Tom Bombadil eliminated entirely? Why were the roles of Arwen and Elrond magnified disproportionately? Why was Aragorn transformed from a confident king in waiting to a conflicted, reluctant hero? And why was Tolkien’s “neatly ordered and sensible universe ground into hamburger”? (One of my main pet peeves about the films, especially when it comes to the compressed timeline.)

While admitting that the well-read Tolkien buff will find much to squirm about in Jackson’s films—especially The Two Towers—Wright gives Jackson the benefit of the doubt when it comes to such deviations, stating,

Clearly, when one elects to depart from Tolkien’s meticulously crafted storyline… one does so for very deliberate reasons, knowing that the choices will be critiqued (and even howled at) by Tolkien’s very loyal and demanding fans…. The answer is not, presumably, that Jackson has no respect for Tolkien. Nor is Jackson incompetent.

So what’s the deal then? Why all the changes? Wright’s answer is simple “narrative effectiveness.” Like it or not, obviously Jackson had to make some tough calls when it came to reducing Tolkien’s 1,000-page manuscript down to 900 pages of screenplay. He wasn’t being lazy or disrespectful. He was just trying to make three good movies. And, as anyone who is even remotely familiar with that process knows, conciseness and efficiency are two core virtues. You just don’t have time for guys in big yellow boots who are extremely likeable but who do nothing to advance the plot (at least from a surface point of view).

Even though Wright does not agree with every decision Jackson made—far from it—he seeks to help readers understand Jackson’s choices and what they tell us about Jackson and his audience (or at least Jackson’s perception of his audience). Some of Wright’s explanations are based on interviews with Jackson and his primary co-writers, Fran Walsh (Jackson’s wife) and Philippa Boyens. Others are outright speculation or conjecture based on Wright’s reading of the films. Nevertheless, Wright’s commentary is consistently insightful and illuminating in this regard.

Once the stage is set, Wright moves on to briefly analyze previous attempts to bring The Lord of the Rings to the screen and why they failed. Then he begins a chronological analysis of all three films, focusing on a number of issues raised by each. Each chapter contains a mixture of film and literary criticism and—not surprisingly, considering Wright’s connection with Hollywood Jesus—a number of questions, insights, and applications drawn from the spiritual themes and symbolism found in Tolkien’s tale. While some of these spiritual applications seem to be tacked on, for the most part they are organic to Wright’s observations and serve to enhance his commentary while deepening the reader’s understanding of Tolkien’s intentions as well as the power of fiction to convey such spiritual truths. Standout chapters in this section include “Visions of Justice in the Two Towers,” which ponders the issue of redemption, “Our Own Private Tower of Cirith Ungol,” which offers some compelling insights into the nature of good and evil, and “Destroying Tolkien’s Ring,” a brief albeit moving chapter that shows how the making of Jackson’s cinematic trilogy took on the character of Frodo’s struggle to destroy Sauron’s ring.

Interestingly, throughout the book we get Wright’s commentary in “real time.”Each chapter is dated according to when it originally appeared on Hollywood Jesus and, as Wright states in his introduction, no attempt was made to smooth over inconsistencies or seeming contradictions in his early readings of Jackson’s films. Nor has he attempted to correct himself where he was outright wrong. At some points, this mode of presentation proves to be as interesting as the content it expresses, because it allows us to see Wright’s thoughts and reflections unfold over time, particularly in regard to Jackson’s artistic decisions.

At first, Wright is uniformly affirming, even exuberant about Jackson’s work. But once he sees The Two Towers for the first time, he begins to hold Jackson a bit more at arm’s length. By the end of the book, he almost seems to wonder if Jackson, Walsh, and Boyens have missed the point of Tolkien’s work entirely, at least on a spiritual level. This becomes painfully clear in Wright’s recollection of an interview he did with Jackson, in which he asked Jackson if Tolkien’s theory of eucatastrophe (“the joy of the unlooked-for happy ending, a joy that catches a glimpse of the biblical resurrection story—the triumph of God over sin, death, and the grave”) had ever been broached in story conferences, to which Jackson replied, “No, what is it?” Also infuriating for this self-confessed Tolkien purist was Walsh and Boyens’ admission that they had not bothered to consult with experts on Catholicism prior to working on the script, even though Tolkien was a devout Catholic who admitted his faith had a profound impact on his writing. How could these people claim to be keepers of the “Spirit of Tolkien,” Wright wondered, if they had no knowledge of the foundational issues behind Tolkien’s fiction? Judging by the photo on the book’s back cover, Wright does not have a lot of hair left on his head, and I get the sense he started pulling the remaining strands out during such moments.

Despite such misgivings, Wright concedes that even though fans and critics may be disappointed to discover that the filmmakers were not as serious about Tolkien’s work as they may consider themselves to be, in the great scheme of things, Jackson’s shortcomings have not proved to be disastrous. “These [Jackson, Walsh, and Boyens] are good people, who have good, solid moral and spiritual values, and who believe in the value of human life. We could have done a lot worse than Jackson (and company) as the guiding force behind the cinema’s The Lord of the Rings.”

That said, I have no misgivings about recommending this book to anyone who would like to deepen their understanding of the spiritual nature of Tolkien’s writings, Jackson’s films, and the relationship between the two. Non-Christians will likely be surprised—and possibly even delighted—by the spiritual insights Wright manages to draw out of the literary and cinematic versions of Tolkien’s work. This book also serves as a good caution for Christians who would rush out and embrace Jackson’s films as “Christian” just because the source material upon which they are based was written by someone who claimed Jesus as Lord. While the films definitely retain much of Tolkien’s original themes, such as faith, hope, love, faithfulness, sacrifice, and redemption, the way these themes are altered from page to screen definitely bears closer examination—something that Wright offers in spades.

No Other Gods Before Me by J. Stackhouse - Review by K. Miller

John G. Stackhouse, Jr., Editor (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001)

When an editor begins an anthology by saying he doesn’t agree with much of what is written in the essays that follow his preface, readers immediately suspect that they are in for a rough ride. But such is not the case with No Other Gods Before Me?, a book that takes an initial stab at some of the primary issues facing those who would formulate an evangelical theology of religions.

Although the essays contained therein do express a wide divergence of views and approaches to the topic, Stackhouse’s admission of discord between himself and the other contributors—and between the contributors themselves—is less a comment on the quality of the essays than on the embryonic state of evangelical thinking in this area.

According to Stackhouse, evangelical academic theology has long enjoyed a “splendid isolation,” allowing it to avoid direct confrontations with people of other faiths. But this isolation is becoming increasingly difficult to sustain as other religions continue to flourish, both around the world and on our own doorstep. Thus, there is a pressing need for evangelicals to determine what we think about our new neighbours’ religions so we are able to “represent the gospel helpfully to them” and “love and serve them best in Christ’s name.”

As Stackhouse makes clear, this book’s intention is not so much to put forward a systematic theology of religions as it is to take a sounding of current evangelical thinking in this area in order to stimulate others to undertake the “larger project.” And there is much in this book to both stimulate and challenge readers, no matter what part of the evangelical spectrum you come from. From questions about the possibility of revelation in other religions to ruminations on the purposes of other faiths in God’s economy, this book cuts a broad swath.

However, it is also a spotty one. Although this book purposely avoids a systematic approach to the study, one can’t help but wish it had veered more in that direction. That way, instead of simply offering a potpourri of thoughts and opinions, the contributors could have moved evangelicals even further towards realization of the larger, comprehensive project of which Stackhouse speaks. Nevertheless, this book—particularly Stackhouse’s afterword—still provides theologians and others working in this area with much stimulus in the way of future research topics.

War of the Worlds by Kevin Miller

How do we respond to evil? How should we respond to evil? Those are the main questions raised by War of the Worlds, Steven Spielberg’s take on H. G. Wells’ classic tale of invaders from outer space. And nothing could be more evil than the creatures represented in this film: alien life forms who have plotted the annihilation of the human race for centuries, even going so far as to bury their machines of extermination deep under the earth long before humans ever arrived on the scene. Pre-meditated killing at its best.

And yet, for all their technology, these aliens seem surprisingly inefficient, choosing to mow down human beings, buildings, and neighborhoods one at a time rather than taking them out in one, big “schebang.” If humans really are bugs in the aliens’ eyes—as the opening narrative of this film suggests—obviously no one on their planet has ever heard of “Raid.” Mere humans have come up with vastly superior means to wipe out bugs, never mind their fellow human beings. Perhaps these extra-terrestrial killers are as sporting as they are vicious. Eventually, however, it is revealed that the aliens have something more in mind than a simple holocaust—even though holocaust imagery is used throughout the film. Don’t worry: I won’t tell you what that ulterior motive is; because, frankly, I don’t think I really understand it myself!

And that, essentially, is where this film breaks down: when it comes to offering explanations. For example, apart from a few comments in the opening narrative about how the aliens have watched our world with envy over the centuries, we have no idea why these aliens attack. Has their home world gone sour? Did they have a bad encounter with humans in the past? No, it appears they are just plain evil. At least that is what we must assume, seeing as virtually no attempt is made to personify the enemy. Add this to the series of increasingly preposterous coincidences that allow the heroes to survive the onslaught, and this film veers dangerously close to a one-way trip to the remainder bin. The porous script is redeemed somewhat by excellent direction, sound design, acting, and special effects. But when the foundation of the structure is bad, it isn’t long before the entire thing comes crashing down—and it doesn’t take a death ray from outer space to do it.

As I reflected on the spiritual aspect of this film, two things struck me: First, as I have already mentioned, is the depiction of the alien invaders. David Bruce (www.hollywoodjesus.com) points out in his excellent commentary on this film (located elsewhere on this site) that the characterization of the aliens in War of the Worlds is a clear reflection of the times. Back in the 1980s, Stephen Spielberg brought us E.T., a film about an ugly albeit friendly alien who was more bent on exploration than destruction. According to Bruce, this represented our desire to end the Cold War before nuclear proliferation killed us all. What a contrast to the nameless and nearly faceless invaders Spielberg brings us in War of the Worlds. And yet, how appropriate, seeing as that is how our enemies are often portrayed today, especially by propagators of the so-called “War on Terror.” Perhaps Spielberg sees this film as a way to help us expunge some of the fear we experience every time we turn on the evening news.

Unfortunately, rather than serve the film (and the viewer) I think Spielberg’s anonymous depiction of the enemy actually dooms the film instead by essentially confining the action along two dimensions: fight or flight. Both of these responses to evil may be valid under certain circumstances, but they are also instinctive and, therefore, highly uncreative. Even the lowest form of animal—take bugs, for example—will choose one of these two strategies when faced with a threat. But contrary to what the aliens in this film think, we are much more than bugs, aren’t we? If so, doesn’t that demand a more creative, more human response to evil? 

Don’t get me wrong: Fleeing from evil may be effective and necessary for a time, but eventually, as this film demonstrates, we will run out of places to hide. And then what? History contains countless examples of the barbarity humans are reduced to under such circumstances. (Read Josephus’ account of the sack of Jerusalem in ad 70 for example.) Taking a vengeful, “eye for an eye” response to evil is also doomed to failure, because it leads inevitably to escalation—either mutually assured destruction or desperate acts of terror in the face of overwhelming force. This fact is also demonstrated in War of the Worlds as well as in our own War on Terror. So the question remains: What would a more human, more three-dimensional response to evil look like? What would it look like in terms of this film? In terms of real life?

War of the Worlds gives us a partial answer when, at a critical juncture, hero Ray Ferrier stops running from the aliens and actually allows them to capture him instead. For perhaps the first time in this film, mere survival is no longer Ray’s primary motive. Finally, he has found something more important than his own life, and he is willing to risk everything to attain it. Not coincidentally, this is the precise moment when the tide begins to turn against the aliens.

So, we can see that part of the answer to our question is self-sacrifice. Taken either physically or literally, a self-sacrificial response to evil goes beyond an instinctive flight or fight response and asks, “How might we ensure that we not only defeat evil but, in defeating it, not become the evil thing we are trying to overcome?”

Beyond self-sacrificial love for those near and dear to us, however, a second factor must be present if we are to take a truly three-dimensional response to evil, and that is this: self-sacrificial love of enemy. I’ll admit: It’s difficult to love—much less be willing to die for—a nameless, faceless enemy, especially one that is trying to wipe you off the face of the planet. But isn’t that exactly what Christ did on the cross? As the Apostle Paul says in Romans 5:8, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Elsewhere Paul says, “For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!” (Romans 5:10) Anyone who claims to be a follower of Christ must follow this example. And anyone who is not a follower of Christ should give it serious consideration—as did people like Gandhi, with resounding success.

War of the Worlds teeters on the brink of such a three-dimensional response to evil, and that is one of the few times this movie threatens to break out of the two-dimensional prison in which it has confined itself. If we want to break out of the same prison—to respond to evil as human beings, not as mere bugs—then we must be willing to fully embrace this third dimension as well. I’m not saying it will be easy. I love my life and the life of my family and friends as much as anyone. But, like the Apostle Paul, I have also glimpsed the greater good. I realize that whether I live or die is not the most important thing. It’s what I live or die for that really matters.

Constantine by Kevin Miller

Perhaps I was reading too much into the symbolic language of this film, but when the opening shot featured two squatters scrabbling around in the dusty ruins of a Mexican church, I had a feeling institutional Christianity was in for a rough ride. That feeling intensified when one of the squatters broke through the church’s rotting floor and discovered a religious relic wrapped in a Nazi flag, no less. And instead of bringing about healing or redemption, this relic—the so-called “Spear of Destiny” used to pierce Jesus’ side following his crucifixion—brought only death and destruction. In less than 60 seconds, the filmmakers had depicted the church as irrelevant, fascist, superstitious, and lethal. Where were they going to go from here?

As the film progressed, however, I was surprised to discover that Constantine wasn’t as interested in attacking the church as it was in appropriating various aspects of Christian theology and mythology for its own purposes. Using a mixture of Catholic and Protestant tradition as raw material, the filmmakers created their own rather fascinating cosmology, one that posits—not unlike the book of Job—that God and Satan have made a wager with no less than the souls of humankind hanging in the balance. The rules? No interference allowed, just influence. The cosmic super being with the most souls in the end wins. Thrown into the mix is a race of half-breeds—half-human/half-angel or demon. These are the “influence peddlers,” as John Constantine calls them. With full-blooded demons and angels restricted to their respectively hellish and heavenly realms, the half-breeds are the only non-human participants in this celestial game.

Every so often, one of these half-breeds breaks the rules, moving from influence to interference. When this happens, Constantine steps in and “deports” them back to hell. To do so, he employs a combination of pagan and Catholic artifacts and rituals, a fact that is sure to incite those who hold allegiance to the Vatican. How did John Constantine—a mere human—inherit such a role? Since he was a child, the spiritual beings that haunt this world were plainly visible to him, and he to them. Eventually, this “gift” of seeing became so overwhelming that Constantine tried to commit suicide as a way of escape. But rather than offer an escape from hell, his actions delivered him to that place of fire and brimstone instead—them’s the breaks, according to Catholicism’s rules about such matters. Two minutes later, his soul was yanked back to the land of the living. But for Constantine, it felt like he had been gone for an eternity.

Forever altered by his sojourn into hell but knowing he was doomed to return as a consequence for his sin, Constantine has dedicated his life to deporting as many demons as possible in the hope that eventually God will relent and grant him admission to heaven. The point that Constantine keeps overlooking though—as a half-breed angel named Gabriel reminds him—is that you can’t earn your way into God’s good graces. It takes faith and self-sacrifice.

Even before his stint in hell, faith was not something with which John Constantine struggled. Who needs faith when the things hoped for, the things unseen—and the things most feared—are all around you (cf. Hebrews 11:1)? It’s self-sacrifice that poses the real problem to Constantine, but not because he is inherently self-centered. He just doesn’t see the point of it. And who can blame him? With a God who merely toys with the beings he has created, how could anyone take his ethical requirements seriously? God’s apparent indifference to the affairs of Men puts him not only in the same league as the devil but also on the same team. Such a God could not be anything but evil. But not all hope is lost for Constantine. Despite appearances to the contrary, eventually even he comes to believe that God might have a plan for his life, one that doesn’t involve relegating him to eternal damnation.

No doubt, many Christians will be upset that this film takes such license with orthodox theology. This might be a valid criticism if Constantine actually tried to portray its version of the spiritual world as true—the same way author Dan Brown tried to portray The Da Vinci Code’s version of church history as correct. However, the people behind this film make no bones about the fact that they are constructing a fantasy, period. That they treat the church as basically inconsequential in the spiritual battles that rage on this planet is not to be taken lightly. But once again, I do not think it is something to get angry about. If some people feel this way about the church, it is incumbent on Christians to find out why and then address such issues accordingly, not simply lash out because someone dared to criticize our record.

While the theology of this film is far from orthodox, the themes and questions it raises are a different story. Few Christian films have done a better job of depicting the difference between works and grace. And few mainstream films offer such a strong affirmation of the spiritual dimension of life, showing it to be every bit as real and consequential as the physical. Constantine also addresses a number of spiritual questions that seem particularly pressing at this point in time, questions like “Is God good?” “Does he have a plan for me?” “Is he out to get me?” “Is he even there?” and “What must I do to be saved?” 

While I hope viewers won’t blindly accept the deistic, dualistic portrayal of good and evil in this film, I do hope it inspires them to think more seriously about the above questions and the spiritual dimension of life as a whole. Constantine certainly had that effect on me. And for those of you who feel the filmmakers’ depiction of the church in the opening sequence of this film was pretty much dead on, I urge you to give Christianity a second chance. The church’s record is far from unblemished. But it is not nearly the inconsequential, fascist, spiritually bankrupt institution this film makes it out to be.

Not quite The Matrix but infinitely better than Van Helsing, Constantine is that rare supernatural thriller that isn’t afraid to make you think. I’m already looking forward to the sequel.

Million Dollar Baby by Kevin Miller

“Some choices you don’t want to make,” says Scrap, the one-time heavyweight contender who narrates this film. Unfortunately, his boss, boxing trainer Frankie Dunn, is about to be presented with a real doozie.

It doesn’t appear that way at first. In fact, had I not been aware of all the controversy surrounding this film, I would have been disappointed that a brilliant director like Clint Eastwood had devoted one of his few remaining years to craft what was turning out to be a compelling but not quite innovative boxing movie. And then, right when the formula called for a “Rocky-like” character to start shouting “Adrian! Adrian!” with his/her eyes swollen shut and arms raised in victory, Eastwood pulled the old “one-two” and knocked us face-first onto the canvas.

When the world finally came back into focus, we found ourselves in a completely different moral landscape. Up to that point, the film had revolved around a traditional win/lose axis. Now we were in life and death territory, and it didn’t look like there was any escape—at least none that would cost Frankie anything less than his soul.

If it seems like I’m dancing around this film’s subject matter, that’s because I am. To do any differently would be to ruin the viewing experience for those who don’t yet know the story. At the same time, it is difficult to address the compelling questions this film raises without giving away the big plot twist. So if you haven’t seen the movie yet, perhaps you should save the rest of this review for later. If you have seen the film and you’re eager to dig deeper into its themes, read on.

Let me start by saying that, sadly, the response of many Christian critics to this film has been as predictable as a thunderstorm in Saskatchewan. You could see it coming for miles, and it was all dark clouds and thunder. The fact that Eastwood dared to even broach the topic of euthanasia seems to have offended them as much as it offended the priest Frankie consults in this film. And, like the priest, rather than take a thoughtful, compassionate approach to the issue and the people involved, these reviewers simply remind us of the consequences—the rules, as it were—and then leave us to our own devices. However, I think these Christian reviewers are reading this movie all wrong. Even though Frankie turns compassionate executioner in the end, I do not see Million Dollar Baby as an endorsement of euthanasia by any stretch. In fact, I have yet to see a film that does such an effective job of raising an ethical question and then allowing us to form our own conclusions about it rather than hitting us over the head with an opinion. With this film, I do not believe Eastwood is saying assisted suicide is right. He is saying that it is a complicated subject that raises more questions than answers; that it looks a lot different when you are face-to-face with someone begging to die than it does on paper.

Some of the questions Million Dollar Baby raised in my mind are: Is there a pain so great that it negates the reason for living? Can the Angel of Mercy ever look like the Angel of Death? Can the face of the executioner ever be the face of God? Did Frankie deliver Maggie from hell or deliver her (and himself) to it? When do the hands of Man become the hands of God? When do they become the hands of the devil? And how can we know the difference? The priest in this film said that sometimes we need to step out of the way and let God do his work. But aren’t we God’s agents on earth? As Scrap says several times in this film, “In boxing, everything is backwards.” What about life? Perhaps instead of stepping out of the way in such circumstances God is waiting for us to step in and do his work. After all, God has given us the power of life and death over our fellow human beings. Isn’t it possible that there are some instances in which exercising this power is not a sin but a blessing? Many people think so when it comes to war, capital punishment, and abortion. Why not euthanasia?

Lest anyone think that Iam endorsing euthanasia in this review, I am not. I’m not advocating against it either though because, frankly, I don’t think I have answered the above questions well enough for myself yet. However, I do know that as I watched Frankie bend over and kiss Maggie one last time, he had no motive other than love in his heart. I also realized that no matter how miserable she was, there was no way I could have brought myself to reduce this beautiful, spirited girl to nothing but a cold lump of flesh. It just goes to show that when it comes to life and death choices like this, sometimes emotions can cloud your judgment. At other times, though, I think they make things perfectly clear.

Scrap is correct. No one wants to face a choice like this. But with the “right to die” movement growing in strength, I am thankful that Clint Eastwood used this film to give the question of assisted suicide the moral gravity and attention it deserves.

Coach Carter by Kevin Miller

The majority of films are forgettable. A slim minority are entertaining. A precious few are insightful. And then, every so often, a film comes along that is truly significant. Hotel Rwanda is one such film.

Hotel Rwanda is a significant film primarily because it documents an era in history when the system broke down. It was a time when people around the world glanced up at their television sets during dinner, saw images of carnage and genocide, and then calmly resumed their meals. Over a period of 100 days in 1994, nearly one million people were massacred in Rwanda—many of them women and children, and most of them hacked to death by their neighbors with machetes. But, apart from a few NGO’s and religious groups, the world didn’t lift a finger to stop the killing.

Outsiders did not intervene, this film argues, because to most people, Rwandans were not even “niggers,” they were Africans. While racism likely had something to do with our hesitance to intervene, I am certain that bureaucratic squabbling and incompetence were just as significant. But no matter why the world failed to step forward, the fact remains that nearly one million people died, and millions more were injured and/or traumatized by the violence. If there is one message that comes through loud and clear in this film, it is this: Never again. As difficult as it is to imagine, we would be naïve to think that such atrocities will not happen again somewhere in the world. I just pray that we have learned enough from our indifference and incompetence in this situation to respond more appropriately in the future.

Hotel Rwanda is also significant because it shows us that in the midst of the carnage (which the film mostly suggests rather than depicts), there were also people who did care. One of these people was Paul Rusesabagina, manager of the Hotel Des Milles Collines, a four star establishment in Kigali. Paul’s intentions are far from selfless at the beginning of the film. He is more focused on currying favor with the power elite than helping his fellow man. But when the killing begins, he does not hesitate to use his connections to protect Tutsi and Hutu refugees, eventually sheltering 1,286 of them in his hotel. As this film portrays, this was an extraordinary feat, made possible mainly by Rusesabagina’s influence, intelligence, bravery, and wit. Other heroic figures in this film include the embittered UN colonel tasked with watching the massacre but not intervening, a young news cameraman who lays his life on the line to get the story to the world, a Red Cross worker who is forced to witness the execution of the children she is trying to rescue, and numerous unnamed Catholic priests and nuns. With so many films, TV shows, and politicians suggesting revenge as the only appropriate response to evil, it is refreshing to see a film that demonstrates characters who embrace an alternate point of view. While the Hutus and Tutsis were slaughtering each other as a way to settle old scores—trying to overcome evil with evil—Rusesabagina and company were trying to overcome evil with good. And, miracle of miracles, it worked! For those who wonder whether there really is anything good in the midst of all the horror they witness on CNN each week, this film answers with a resounding “Yes!” There is reason for hope. All it takes is for good men and women to act boldly in the face of tragedy.

Finally, this film is significant because it reminds us that no matter how comfortable our lives are over here, there are always people living over there for whom comfort is but a vague thought at the bottom of a long list of primary needs. With the death toll from the South Asian tsunami still rising, this is hardly a new thought. But I am certain it will not be long before we, too, look up from our dinner at the scenes of horror caused by this natural disaster, and then resume our meal. As any aid agency will tell you, people have a tendency to respond generously to such situations out of emotion over the short term. But that response quickly fizzles out as we become immune to the images and resume our normal lives. Hence, we need films like Hotel Rwanda to help us fend off indifference and remind us that giving is not a one-time event. If we truly want to make a difference, if we truly want to prevent tragedies like Rwanda from happening again, generosity must become a lifestyle.

When it comes time for the Oscars this February, I hope Hotel Rwanda is nominated for Best Picture, if only because that means more people will see it. That said; I am doubtful it will win, mainly because from an artistic point of view, it is not exactly a spectacular film. The acting is first-rate, especially by star Don Cheadle, and the script is solid. But director Terry George has chosen dramatic realism over flash and style, which may not impress some voters. I guess it all comes down to what Academy members base their votes on: style or significance. If it is the latter, Hotel Rwanda will definitely go home with the gold.

Hotel Rwanda by Kevin Miller

The majority of films are forgettable. A slim minority are entertaining. A precious few are insightful. And then, every so often, a film comes along that is truly significant. Hotel Rwanda is one such film.

Hotel Rwanda is a significant film primarily because it documents an era in history when the system broke down. It was a time when people around the world glanced up at their television sets during dinner, saw images of carnage and genocide, and then calmly resumed their meals. Over a period of 100 days in 1994, nearly one million people were massacred in Rwanda—many of them women and children, and most of them hacked to death by their neighbors with machetes. But, apart from a few NGO’s and religious groups, the world didn’t lift a finger to stop the killing.

Outsiders did not intervene, this film argues, because to most people, Rwandans were not even “niggers,” they were Africans. While racism likely had something to do with our hesitance to intervene, I am certain that bureaucratic squabbling and incompetence were just as significant. But no matter why the world failed to step forward, the fact remains that nearly one million people died, and millions more were injured and/or traumatized by the violence. If there is one message that comes through loud and clear in this film, it is this: Never again. As difficult as it is to imagine, we would be naïve to think that such atrocities will not happen again somewhere in the world. I just pray that we have learned enough from our indifference and incompetence in this situation to respond more appropriately in the future.

Hotel Rwanda is also significant because it shows us that in the midst of the carnage (which the film mostly suggests rather than depicts), there were also people who did care. One of these people was Paul Rusesabagina, manager of the Hotel Des Milles Collines, a four star establishment in Kigali. Paul’s intentions are far from selfless at the beginning of the film. He is more focused on currying favor with the power elite than helping his fellow man. But when the killing begins, he does not hesitate to use his connections to protect Tutsi and Hutu refugees, eventually sheltering 1,286 of them in his hotel. As this film portrays, this was an extraordinary feat, made possible mainly by Rusesabagina’s influence, intelligence, bravery, and wit. Other heroic figures in this film include the embittered UN colonel tasked with watching the massacre but not intervening, a young news cameraman who lays his life on the line to get the story to the world, a Red Cross worker who is forced to witness the execution of the children she is trying to rescue, and numerous unnamed Catholic priests and nuns. With so many films, TV shows, and politicians suggesting revenge as the only appropriate response to evil, it is refreshing to see a film that demonstrates characters who embrace an alternate point of view. While the Hutus and Tutsis were slaughtering each other as a way to settle old scores—trying to overcome evil with evil—Rusesabagina and company were trying to overcome evil with good. And, miracle of miracles, it worked! For those who wonder whether there really is anything good in the midst of all the horror they witness on CNN each week, this film answers with a resounding “Yes!” There is reason for hope. All it takes is for good men and women to act boldly in the face of tragedy.

Finally, this film is significant because it reminds us that no matter how comfortable our lives are over here, there are always people living over there for whom comfort is but a vague thought at the bottom of a long list of primary needs. With the death toll from the South Asian tsunami still rising, this is hardly a new thought. But I am certain it will not be long before we, too, look up from our dinner at the scenes of horror caused by this natural disaster, and then resume our meal. As any aid agency will tell you, people have a tendency to respond generously to such situations out of emotion over the short term. But that response quickly fizzles out as we become immune to the images and resume our normal lives. Hence, we need films like Hotel Rwanda to help us fend off indifference and remind us that giving is not a one-time event. If we truly want to make a difference, if we truly want to prevent tragedies like Rwanda from happening again, generosity must become a lifestyle.

When it comes time for the Oscars this February, I hope Hotel Rwanda is nominated for Best Picture, if only because that means more people will see it. That said; I am doubtful it will win, mainly because from an artistic point of view, it is not exactly a spectacular film. The acting is first-rate, especially by star Don Cheadle, and the script is solid. But director Terry George has chosen dramatic realism over flash and style, which may not impress some voters. I guess it all comes down to what Academy members base their votes on: style or significance. If it is the latter, Hotel Rwanda will definitely go home with the gold.

Lemony Snicke's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" by Kevin Miller

And the Oscar goes to… Jim Carrey, Jim Carrey, and Jim Carrey.” That’s what I hope to hear come February 27, 2005. One statuette for each character the actor portrays in this film. After all, isn’t it time critics stopped chiding Carrey for super-sizing every performance and started recognizing that is exactly what he was put on earth to do? If this movie also wins awards for production design, costumes, makeup, and directing, it will have been a very good night indeed—and well deserved.

That said; the one award I would withhold from A Series of Unfortunate Events is “Best Picture.” Yes, this is an entertaining film. And it does succeed in creating memorable characters, exciting situations, and a highly innovative fantasy world. But, based as it is on the first three books in the Lemony Snicket series, the movie also suffers from a serious case of “episodism.” What I mean is, the same sorts of scenes and situations keep happening over and over again. After their parents are killed in a mysterious fire that also destroys their mansion, the Bauedelaire children—Violet, who invents things; Klaus, who reads; and two-year-old Sunny, who can bite—are shipped off to one mysterious relative after another. All the while, they are hunted by the evil Count Olaf, leader of a gothic acting troupe who is bent on killing the children and stealing their inheritance. Relying on their wits and a bit of luck, the children manage to escape Olaf again and again, only to be shipped off to yet another mysterious “relative.” The third time this happens, some of the threads begin to sag in what has been up till then a tautly woven adventure. But such problems are endemic to stories that intentionally withhold the climax until a subsequent film.

In the tradition of classic children’s tales like Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang or virtually any novel by Roald Dahl, the adults in this film are either clueless or evil. Either way, they cannot be trusted. I’m not sure that I am entirely comfortable with this message. The world being what it is, children today are more in need of assurance than cynicism. Then again, a bit of healthy skepticism when it comes to adults and their intentions is never a bad thing. I also think the Bauedelaire children serve as healthy role models for kids today. Left alone in the world, as it were, they are forced to think for themselves—a skill that many adults struggle to master. The children also demonstrate that everyone has something to contribute to the good of the group, and that we are stronger when we work together than on our own. 

Finally, I also affirm the overall message of this film. For children who may suffer at the hands of adults, as the Bauedelaire children most definitely do, this movie assures them that what might at first seem like a series of unfortunate events may actually be the beginning of a beautiful journey. And even though the world may appear evil, if we look hard enough, we will discover there is much more good than bad. I can’t imagine a more appropriate message for this time of year.

Team America: World Police by Kevin Miller

First of all, Friday Night Lights is a great sports movie. It has everything you expect from a film in this genre: an appealing—albeit motley—bunch of players, each with his own hopes and inner conflicts; a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for the team to overcome during the upcoming season; a coach who drives them hard but who really has a heart of gold; and tons of bone-crunching action that looks as if it came from a ten-year “best of” sports highlight reel. Films like Hoosiers, Remember the Titans, and Miracle set the stage for this genre, but Friday Night Lights has stolen the show.

But Friday Night Lights is more than just a great sports movie; it is a great movie—period. In fact, I would almost say it is a “perfect” film. You’ll have to watch it to know exactly what I mean by that, but it has everything to do with quality. The acting, the directing, the lighting, the script, the camera that won’t stop moving—I could burn through a phone book of superlatives in every one of these areas. More importantly, however, I loved this film because it does exactly what all movies should do: It makes viewers feel something, perhaps more powerfully than they have ever felt it before. In this case, the overwhelming feeling is one of inspiration. Friday Night Lights compels you to examine your life, to make sure you haven’t lost track of why you are living it, and to refocus on doing your best, on striving toward achieving something extraordinary. Although sports is the central metaphor, Friday Night Lights is really about what it means to be human, the things that get in the way of that pursuit, and how those thing might be overcome.

Hell is a small town in this film, and its name is Odessa, Texas. The only means of salvation are to get out (if you’re smart enough or rich enough) or to make it big playing football. Since few people are able to do either one, most resign themselves to “memories and babies” and spend the rest of their lives reflecting on the glory days while living out their vanquished dreams through the local high school football team. Having failed to achieve anything of consequence themselves, they feel their only hope for significance is for the Permian Panthers to have a winning season. And they will do everything they can to ensure that happens. As a Canadian, I’ve always wondered why small town America is so obsessed with high school football. This film gave me at least a partial answer as to why.

As you can imagine, such expectations put an enormous amount of pressure on the young men who make up this team. For most of the guys, football ceased to be about fun a long time ago. Coach Gary Gaines wears his role like a death sentence, at one point telling his guys, “You have the responsibility of protecting this team and this school and this town.” Whew. Anyone up for a little two-hand touch? Consequently, the upcoming season isn’t really something to look forward to; it’s just something to endure, to survive. If the Panthers win State, then the pressure is off. If not, well, as one of the team’s boosters tells Gaines, “Things won’t go well for you.” Despite the pressure, it’s obvious that Gaines and his boys really do love the game. If only people would leave them alone long enough so they could relax and enjoy the experience. Who knows? Perhaps they might even become a better team as a result.

The pressure to perform affects each character differently. Gaines is more disappointed than intimidated by the constant harassment and abuse. He seems to be operating from a set of inner convictions that few other characters in this film possess. Quarterback Mike Winchell is another story. Driven by a football-obsessed mother at home and a fan base that celebrates him one moment and then vilifies him the next, his every look and mannerism tells you he just can’t wait for this show to be over. Then there’s Boobie Miles, the NFL-bound star who blows his chance at the big-time for a shot at small-town glory. Finally, you have Don Billingsly. He’s so wound up most of the time due to his abusive, former State Champion father that he can’t even hold onto the football. Indeed, whatever dysfunctions are present in Odessa, they all manifest themselves in this football team in one way or another. And it’s all the players can do just to hold things together.

At one point, Coach Gaines senses Winchell is about to crack, so he decides it’s time for a little “man-to-man” with his quarterback. During their conversation, Coach Gaines tells Winchell that he is old enough by now to realize that sometimes life gives you the short end of the stick. The question is: What are we going to do about it? Will we allow it to define the rest of our lives, as some characters in this film do, or are we going to find some way to overcome it? For Gaines, it all comes down to where you find your identity. On what will you base your life? Winning? That didn’t work so well for people like Don Billingsly’s dad. When his team won State, he was the centre of everyone’s hopes and dreams. But when the season ended, he was faced with the glaring question: What do you do when the cheering stops? By the time we meet him, he is still trying to find a satisfactory answer to that problem, one that goes beyond self-medication, that is.

So if not winning, then what? Coach Gaines’s answer sounds frustrating at first: Perfection. By this, however, he does not mean flawlessness. To him, perfection means knowing that you did your best, knowing that there wasn’t one more thing you could have done to achieve your objective. It means having love and joy in your heart for your fellow players and your fellow man. For Gaines, true victory is a victory of character. It’s not whether you win or lose or even how you play the game. It’s about who you become as a result.

Interestingly, Jesus made a similar entreaty to his disciples: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). I’ve always found this verse somewhat frustrating as well. Who can be perfect? Doesn’t the mere attempt just lead to striving and guilt? But when you look at it the way Coach Gaines does, suddenly it makes “perfect” sense. Jesus isn’t saying that life—being human—is about being the best. It’s not even about performing "your own personal best." It’s about allowing the challenges you face to mold you into the best person you can be.

This is accomplished not through striving or guilt but by inviting God to manifest his perfect character through you during such circumstances. “We all dig our own holes,” says Gaines. If so, then perhaps yielding to this sort of perfection is the key to digging our way out.

Friday Night Lights by Kevin Miller

First of all, Friday Night Lights is a great sports movie. It has everything you expect from a film in this genre: an appealing—albeit motley—bunch of players, each with his own hopes and inner conflicts; a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for the team to overcome during the upcoming season; a coach who drives them hard but who really has a heart of gold; and tons of bone-crunching action that looks as if it came from a ten-year “best of” sports highlight reel. Films like Hoosiers, Remember the Titans, and Miracle set the stage for this genre, but Friday Night Lights has stolen the show.

But Friday Night Lights is more than just a great sports movie; it is a great movie—period. In fact, I would almost say it is a “perfect” film. You’ll have to watch it to know exactly what I mean by that, but it has everything to do with quality. The acting, the directing, the lighting, the script, the camera that won’t stop moving—I could burn through a phone book of superlatives in every one of these areas. More importantly, however, I loved this film because it does exactly what all movies should do: It makes viewers feel something, perhaps more powerfully than they have ever felt it before. In this case, the overwhelming feeling is one of inspiration. Friday Night Lights compels you to examine your life, to make sure you haven’t lost track of why you are living it, and to refocus on doing your best, on striving toward achieving something extraordinary. Although sports is the central metaphor, Friday Night Lights is really about what it means to be human, the things that get in the way of that pursuit, and how those thing might be overcome.

Hell is a small town in this film, and its name is Odessa, Texas. The only means of salvation are to get out (if you’re smart enough or rich enough) or to make it big playing football. Since few people are able to do either one, most resign themselves to “memories and babies” and spend the rest of their lives reflecting on the glory days while living out their vanquished dreams through the local high school football team. Having failed to achieve anything of consequence themselves, they feel their only hope for significance is for the Permian Panthers to have a winning season. And they will do everything they can to ensure that happens. As a Canadian, I’ve always wondered why small town America is so obsessed with high school football. This film gave me at least a partial answer as to why.

As you can imagine, such expectations put an enormous amount of pressure on the young men who make up this team. For most of the guys, football ceased to be about fun a long time ago. Coach Gary Gaines wears his role like a death sentence, at one point telling his guys, “You have the responsibility of protecting this team and this school and this town.” Whew. Anyone up for a little two-hand touch? Consequently, the upcoming season isn’t really something to look forward to; it’s just something to endure, to survive. If the Panthers win State, then the pressure is off. If not, well, as one of the team’s boosters tells Gaines, “Things won’t go well for you.” Despite the pressure, it’s obvious that Gaines and his boys really do love the game. If only people would leave them alone long enough so they could relax and enjoy the experience. Who knows? Perhaps they might even become a better team as a result.

The pressure to perform affects each character differently. Gaines is more disappointed than intimidated by the constant harassment and abuse. He seems to be operating from a set of inner convictions that few other characters in this film possess. Quarterback Mike Winchell is another story. Driven by a football-obsessed mother at home and a fan base that celebrates him one moment and then vilifies him the next, his every look and mannerism tells you he just can’t wait for this show to be over. Then there’s Boobie Miles, the NFL-bound star who blows his chance at the big-time for a shot at small-town glory. Finally, you have Don Billingsly. He’s so wound up most of the time due to his abusive, former State Champion father that he can’t even hold onto the football. Indeed, whatever dysfunctions are present in Odessa, they all manifest themselves in this football team in one way or another. And it’s all the players can do just to hold things together.

At one point, Coach Gaines senses Winchell is about to crack, so he decides it’s time for a little “man-to-man” with his quarterback. During their conversation, Coach Gaines tells Winchell that he is old enough by now to realize that sometimes life gives you the short end of the stick. The question is: What are we going to do about it? Will we allow it to define the rest of our lives, as some characters in this film do, or are we going to find some way to overcome it? For Gaines, it all comes down to where you find your identity. On what will you base your life? Winning? That didn’t work so well for people like Don Billingsly’s dad. When his team won State, he was the centre of everyone’s hopes and dreams. But when the season ended, he was faced with the glaring question: What do you do when the cheering stops? By the time we meet him, he is still trying to find a satisfactory answer to that problem, one that goes beyond self-medication, that is.

So if not winning, then what? Coach Gaines’s answer sounds frustrating at first: Perfection. By this, however, he does not mean flawlessness. To him, perfection means knowing that you did your best, knowing that there wasn’t one more thing you could have done to achieve your objective. It means having love and joy in your heart for your fellow players and your fellow man. For Gaines, true victory is a victory of character. It’s not whether you win or lose or even how you play the game. It’s about who you become as a result.

Interestingly, Jesus made a similar entreaty to his disciples: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). I’ve always found this verse somewhat frustrating as well. Who can be perfect? Doesn’t the mere attempt just lead to striving and guilt? But when you look at it the way Coach Gaines does, suddenly it makes “perfect” sense. Jesus isn’t saying that life—being human—is about being the best. It’s not even about performing "your own personal best." It’s about allowing the challenges you face to mold you into the best person you can be.

This is accomplished not through striving or guilt but by inviting God to manifest his perfect character through you during such circumstances. “We all dig our own holes,” says Gaines. If so, then perhaps yielding to this sort of perfection is the key to digging our way out.

The Forgotten by Kevin Miller

Without giving away too much, The Forgotten is about what happens when a mother who is grieving over her dead son suddenly discovers that all evidence of her son’s existence has disappeared—photos, newspaper reports, home videos, everything. At first, she suspects her husband and psychiatrist of perpetuating an elaborate hoax to help her overcome her grief. But when confronted, they tell her she never actually had a son, that her “memories” of him are a figment of her imagination. Unwilling to accept that she might be going crazy, she sets out on a wild, adrenaline-driven journey that eventually leads to an explanation far weirder than she could have ever imagined.

I would put this film into the same category as the recent sci-fi thriller Godsend. Take away the modern trappings, and both films could easily have served as episodes in the original Twilight Zone TV series. That would be a compliment were it still 1957. Unfortunately, the same plot devices that worked back then don’t really cut it today. Thus, even though both The Forgotten and Godsend still offer a lot of entertainment value, the films ultimately fail due to half-baked story development and endings that are so conventional you just wish the screenwriters had thought to give M. Night Shyamalan a call. That said; The Forgotten is definitely the superior of the two films. Not only are the premise and script more compelling, the overall look and feel of the film make it abundantly clear that director Joseph Ruben is ready to move on to bigger and better things.

The Forgotten effectively plays on a number of fears—fear of losing a child, fear of losing your mind, even fear of the government. But most of all, it plays on our fear that the ultimate power in the universe may not be good after all, that “God,” or whoever happens to be in charge, is merely toying with us in one grand, cosmic experiment. While the film does not offer any assurance that that isn’t the case, it does offer hope in the form of a familiar, four-letter word: L-O-V-E. And that is more than I can say about most episodes of The Twilight Zone.

Godsend by Kevin Miller

If Godsend had been made 50 years ago in black and white, it would be exactly the kind of thing I enjoy watching late on Saturday nights when there’s nothing else on TV. That’s because it’s full of the same campy plot devices and characters that make those old films so great—a mad scientist, a “monster” (the product of science gone wrong), non-stop “Don’t open that door!” suspense, and a musical score that’s always ready to jump up and scare you even if nothing else will. Like many sci-fi and horror films of the 1950s and 1960s, Godsend is also a cautionary tale, not so much about cloning—which is Godsend’s main subject—but about what happens when the power to do such “godlike” acts falls into the wrong hands. In an era where technology borders on the miraculous, this is truly a parable for our times.

However, viewers today are a lot more sophisticated than they were in the 1950s. They’re not as apt to buy in to the faulty premises and dubious science that make those old films so laughable today. The intermittent titters I heard emanating from the audience during scenes that were supposed to make them cover their eyes in horror was ample evidence of that. Unfortunately, such devices are exactly what the makers of this film expect us to take seriously. And it just doesn’t work.

That is not to say Godsend is completely without suspense. Similar to films like The Omen, The Shining, and Village of the Damned, this thriller gets most of its mileage out of “creepy kid shots”—close-ups of the child/clone Adam (played brilliantly by nine-year-old newcomer, and fellow Canadian, Cameron Bright) as he tries to sort out who or what is messing with his head. It also includes its fair share of “Gotcha!” moments that usually don’t amount to anything but still give viewers a healthy shot of adrenalin.

Godsend also raises some important questions about science, free will, and the conflict between moral choices and human ability. For example, at a high point in the film, Adam’s father (Greg Kinnear) confronts Dr. Wells (Robert DeNiro), who cloned Adam, with the gravity of what he has done. Dr. Wells defends himself, saying, “If I’m not supposed to do this, then why is it that I can?” Interestingly, this confrontation happens in a church. And when it’s over, the entire building goes up in flames, as if to signify that our ability to completely control the reproduction process through cloning means we won’t be needing God’s services anymore, thank you very much.

The problem is, Dr. Wells’ defense is essentially a copout. Just because we can do something doesn’t mean we should. I could go out and kill someone anytime I want, but does that make it right? Of course not. We can’t assume God condones such activities just because he doesn’t stop us from doing them. In addition to blessing us with tremendous abilities in science, technology, the arts, and so forth, God also gave us the power of reason and an inherent sense of right and wrong with which to regulate those abilities. Thus, it is up to us, not God, to decide what we should and should not do. God isn’t about to step in like an overprotective parent and make such decisions for us. If he did, how could we ever grow and mature? However, like a good parent, God does provide us with wisdom and guidance—if we are willing to listen to it. But in the end, how we use that information is up to us. God respects our powers of self-determination that much.

Adam’s parents, Paul and Jessie Duncan, are slightly more willing than Dr. Wells to face up to the moral consequences of their choices. However, like him, their ability to do so is clouded over by grief. Like a child whose pet has just died, Adam’s mother (Rebecca Romjin Stamos) cries that she doesn’t want another child; she wants Adam! And, like a child, her reasons are pretty much self-centered. She feels pain, and she believes getting “another” Adam will make that pain go away. But there’s something sick about the idea of parents who are willing to go to such lengths just to restore their peace of mind, to believe a lie so strongly that eventually they have difficulty discerning it from the truth. I felt incredibly sorry for “Adam 2” during most of this film. Not only was he battling for his soul as a result of a sinister interference in the cloning process, he also had to carry the emotional burden of two painfully needy adults whose real problem wasn’t so much the loss of their first son as their inability to face up to their own emotional deficits. Thankfully, the filmmakers had enough sense to show that such denial of the truth will jump up and bite us sooner or later.

At the same time, I am fairly certain that the choice the Duncans face in this film is one that many couples will be facing in the not-too-distant future. Films like this are useful when it comes to helping us think about how we would respond under identical circumstances. It may begin with pets. That is, perhaps little Jimmy really will be able to get his old dog back through the power of cloning. But let’s be honest: If the ability to clone humans does become widely available (as I suspect it will), do you really think we will be able to keep ourselves from opening this “Pandora’s Box”? Like the Duncans, I suspect many other grieving parents will be unable to resist the temptation to “replace” the child they lost rather than walk through the grieving process. And their judgment will be similarly clouded. I can’t help but think of the emotional and psychological consequences for these cloned children. Think of the identity crisis they will go through when they discover they are nothing more than a “replacement.” No matter how much their parents dote on them, they will know their parents don’t really love them; they merely love the memory of the child that was lost.

Early on in the film, Paul, who is a high school biology teacher, is considering a move from the tough inner-city school in which he works to a better paying job in the suburbs. He realizes it is a good opportunity for his family, but he feels such a strong loyalty to his students that taking the job would be akin to selling out. Jessie disagrees. She wants to move out to the suburbs, because she doesn’t like the thought of raising Adam in the city. In what is supposed to be a heartwarming scene, she tells Paul she respects his ethics, but when it comes to your children, sometimes ethics have to take a back seat. Yikes. Fortunately, the rest of this film is a powerful refutation of such fallacious moral reasoning.

Man on Fire by Kevin Miller

Following in the tradition of classics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dances With Wolves, The Last Samurai is yet another film that portrays a “white” soldier who finds his true calling and identity in the midst of a foreign culture. Predictably, this realization leads the hero—in this case, Captain Nathan Algren, an American civil war veteran who is haunted by his military past—to side with his new allies—the last remaining band of samurai—and lead them in a final, glorious revolt against the corrupt, oppressive culture Algren only recently served with such valour.

Not surprisingly, America is portrayed throughout the film as a seductive, corrupting force, undermining the ancient Japanese code of honor—bushido—in the pursuit of cold hard cash. This plays perfectly into the hands of Japanese industrialists who are eager to modernize their country and make a quick buck in the process.

The conflict between the old Japan and the new, Americanized version of the country is most poignant when Japanese businessman/minister Omura frantically orders his troops—freshly trained by American mercenaries—to pull out the “new machines” to stop an oncoming army of samurai. These new machines turn out to be hand-cranked Gatling guns (recent purchases from America) that are capable of firing 200 rounds per minute. Omura’s troops proceed to turn an entire battery of these guns on the samurai—who are armed only with swords and bows—mowing them down until not a single man remains. When it is all over, instead of celebrating their victory, Omura’s soldiers fall to their knees in a tearful tribute to Katsumoto, the leader of the samurai. Even Omura realizes that he and his troops have done more than squelch a small uprising of rebels that day. They’ve obliterated the core of their nation’s soul. And there’s no going back from here.

True to its genre, this film also romanticizes the samurai, depicting them as disciplined, enlightened people whose entire lives are based around the strict bushido code and martial arts training. Add in the fact that they live in a peaceful, remote mountain village, and it’s almost as if Capt. Algren has stumbled across paradise when they take him captive there. But lest we forget the dark shadow of death that lurks beneath this seemingly idyllic world, the filmmakers wisely place Capt. Algren in the home of a man he killed during his capture. There, Algren is forced to live with the dead man’s wife and two young sons for an entire winter. This shattered family serves as a constant reminder to both Algren and the viewer that those who live by the sword may also die by it; but it is those left behind who pay the ultimate price for the honor these strong men hold so dear.

The Last Samurai by Kevin Miller

Following in the tradition of classics like Lawrence of Arabia and Dances With Wolves, The Last Samurai is yet another film that portrays a “white” soldier who finds his true calling and identity in the midst of a foreign culture. Predictably, this realization leads the hero—in this case, Captain Nathan Algren, an American civil war veteran who is haunted by his military past—to side with his new allies—the last remaining band of samurai—and lead them in a final, glorious revolt against the corrupt, oppressive culture Algren only recently served with such valour.

Not surprisingly, America is portrayed throughout the film as a seductive, corrupting force, undermining the ancient Japanese code of honor—bushido—in the pursuit of cold hard cash. This plays perfectly into the hands of Japanese industrialists who are eager to modernize their country and make a quick buck in the process.

The conflict between the old Japan and the new, Americanized version of the country is most poignant when Japanese businessman/minister Omura frantically orders his troops—freshly trained by American mercenaries—to pull out the “new machines” to stop an oncoming army of samurai. These new machines turn out to be hand-cranked Gatling guns (recent purchases from America) that are capable of firing 200 rounds per minute. Omura’s troops proceed to turn an entire battery of these guns on the samurai—who are armed only with swords and bows—mowing them down until not a single man remains. When it is all over, instead of celebrating their victory, Omura’s soldiers fall to their knees in a tearful tribute to Katsumoto, the leader of the samurai. Even Omura realizes that he and his troops have done more than squelch a small uprising of rebels that day. They’ve obliterated the core of their nation’s soul. And there’s no going back from here.

True to its genre, this film also romanticizes the samurai, depicting them as disciplined, enlightened people whose entire lives are based around the strict bushido code and martial arts training. Add in the fact that they live in a peaceful, remote mountain village, and it’s almost as if Capt. Algren has stumbled across paradise when they take him captive there. But lest we forget the dark shadow of death that lurks beneath this seemingly idyllic world, the filmmakers wisely place Capt. Algren in the home of a man he killed during his capture. There, Algren is forced to live with the dead man’s wife and two young sons for an entire winter. This shattered family serves as a constant reminder to both Algren and the viewer that those who live by the sword may also die by it; but it is those left behind who pay the ultimate price for the honor these strong men hold so dear.

Gangs of New York by Kevin Miller

In Gangs of New York, veteran filmmaker Martin Scorsese does an impeccable job of recreating New York City circa 1846-1863, highlighting a bloody, little known period of American history. It was a time when the civil war, anti-immigration sentiment, political corruption, poverty and religious differences mixed together to create a simmering stew that eventually boiled over into the anti-draft riots that nearly destroyed the city in 1863. Unfortunately, the tale of revenge that Scorsese sets against this rich historical backdrop is depicted with such excessive brutality and gore that the historical value of his story is nearly drowned by the amount of blood spilled in the telling.

The film opens with a gruesome gang battle for control of “Five Points,” an impoverished area of lower Manhattan that was a flashpoint for tensions between, “Nativists”—Anglos and Dutch who were born in America—and Irish immigrants who were arriving by the boatload each day. When Amsterdam, the young son of the Irish gang leader, sees his father cut down by Bill “the Butcher” Cuttings, ruthless leader of the Natives, he vows to come back one day for revenge.

Sixteen years later, Amsterdam returns to find Bill still ruling the area. Keeping his identity a secret, Amsterdam gains Bill’s trust, becoming an adopted son of sorts, all the while waiting for the ideal time to fulfill his vow. But when Amsterdam finally does make his move, Bill manages to turn the tables. Barely escaping with his life, Amsterdam eventually manages to resurrect his father’s old gang and put a final challenge to Bill’s rule of Five Points.

Martin Scorsese has long been celebrated for his ability to document the sordid side of life in graphic detail. However, this film is so brutal that it forces one to ponder wonder when such graphic depiction of violence begins to harm rather than help a story. Gangs of New York is an exceptionally well-made film that raises many interesting issues. But that fact will matter little to those who aren’t willing to wade through a river of blood in order to appreciate what it is trying to say.

Bowling for Columbine by Kevin Miller

Although at times it is as sloppy as Michael Moore’s appearance, Bowling for Columbine deserves all the attention it has received; if only because for two chilling and often humorous hours, it forces viewers to ponder one very important question: Why are so many Americans shooting each other?

Moore’s search for answers takes him on a trek from his home state of Michigan to Littleton, Colorado, site of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. Along the way, Moore encounters a bizarre variety of characters, including: members of the infamous Michigan militia; James Nichols, wild-eyed older brother of Oklahoma City bomber Terry Nichols; NRA president Charlton Heston; and a Michigan teen who makes five-gallon drums of napalm in his spare time.

Moore also considers a number of arguments for America’s exceptionally high murder rate, including rock music, violent video games and movies, and the easy availability of guns. But none of these potential causal factors wholly explain the problem, because each factor is shared by most other Western countries, including Canada, which is depicted throughout the film (although not always accurately) as the “antithesis” of America.

It is not until Moore chats with none other than Marilyn Manson that he finds a potential answer. In a surprisingly eloquent speech, Manson states that the root of the problem is fear. Politicians, news organizations, and advertisers all strive to keep Americans in a perpetual state of fear. Why? “Because if you keep everyone afraid, they will consume.” And what do they consume? To quote Neo from The Matrix: “Guns—lots of guns.”

Moore’s attempt to flesh out this theory is powerful, largely because of the images he uses to support it, such as security camera footage from the Columbine massacre. But despite its emotional impact, his argument still rings hollow, because, among other things, it fails to account for several social factors that lead to violent crime. Nevertheless, it still beats the pathetic ramblings of Charlton Heston at the end of the film.

Bowling for Columbine does not score a strike, but it is definitely an earnest attempt to sort out a difficult problem. Perhaps it will inspire others more qualified to do the same.

The Passion of the Christ by Kevin Miller

To say this film has divided audiences—both Christian and non-Christian alike—is an understatement of biblical proportions. Like Jesus, the person whose final twelve hours on earth this movie portrays, The Passion of the Christ has been criticized from virtually every angle you can imagine. On one hand, it’s been condemned as anti-Semitic, obsessed with gore and blood, pro-Catholic to the point of distraction and historically inaccurate. Others have called it uplifting, inspiring and one of the most effective evangelistic tools ever made. This controversy is fitting, seeing as reactions to Jesus himself varied from those who wanted to crown him as king to those who wanted to execute him as a traitor and blasphemer. It’s no wonder this film has received similar treatment. But, as with Christ, the question remains: Whose version of the truth are we to believe?

Visually speaking, The Passion of the Christ ranks as perhaps the best “Jesus film” ever made. Featuring brilliant performances from its mostly unknown cast, superb cinematography, meticulous accurate costuming and set design, and a camera that refuses to waver even as chunks of flesh are torn from Christ’s body, this film succeeds in capturing the brutality of Jesus’ treatment at the hands of his Jewish and Roman captors like never before. Further enhancing the sense of realism is the fact that all dialogue is spoken in the original Aramaic, Jewish and Latin languages. If you’ve ever wondered what it would have been like to be there on location during Christ’s trial, torture and execution, this film is for you. But be warned: Everything you’ve heard about the violence is true—and then some. So please, please, leave the kids at home. I’m not one to whitewash the truth, but I wouldn’t take my children to a public execution either just so they could see what it was like.

Historical accuracy from a visual point of view is one thing. But remaining true to Jesus’ life from a factual point of view is quite another. In this case, The Passion of the Christ is a far cry from such “literal” retellings of Jesus’ life as The JESUS Film. Drawing from his own Catholic tradition as well as the writings of St. Anne Catherine Emmerich and St. Mary of Agreda, Gibson adds his fair share of literary and theological embellishments to the gospel accounts. For example, Satan (played by a woman, no less) keeps popping up at key moments in the film, as do a pack of child-like demons. Flashbacks to Jesus’ earlier life as a young child, as a “pre-ministry” adult and as leader of the disciples are also interwoven into the passion narrative. The film also includes such apocryphal scenes as Mary and Mary Magdalene mopping up Jesus’ blood after his flogging, the meeting between Jesus and St. Veronica on the way to Golgotha (one of the stations of the cross), the prolonged interaction between Jesus and Simon of Cyrene and the raven plucking out the thief’s eye after he question’s Jesus authority while hanging on the cross. Most viewers probably won’t notice such additions to the biblical accounts. But be prepared for questions afterward as people try to parse out what the Bible says versus fiction and/or Catholic tradition.

Perhaps because of Gibson’s Catholic background, this is also very cross-centered, gore-obsessed film. In this respect, the movie tends to spend an inordinate amount of time dwelling on the torture and crucifixion of Christ and very little time describing the purpose for his suffering or the glorious resurrection that followed. While many hail the torture sequence as an unflinching account of Jesus’ actual experience, the beating Jesus receives in this film is so brutal and prolonged it borders on the implausible. I’d really like to hear a physician’s opinion on the likelihood of anyone even surviving never mind remaining conscious and carrying his cross after receiving the sort of beating Jesus does in this film. I’d also like to hear a theologian’s opinion on the accuracy of this sequence, because, to my understanding, thirty-nine lashes were all that was allowed under Roman law. But in this film, Jesus got more like seventy times seven. Thus, at a certain point, it begins to feel like director Mel Gibson has mistaken the degree of suffering Jesus experienced as being more important than the identity of the person being punished. The way I see it, the emphasis of the gospels is not that Jesus suffered more than any person who ever lived but that Jesus was God and yet he willingly turned himself over to his creation and let them do with him as they wished. In no way do I want to downplay what Jesus went through, but I don’t think overstating the case does us any good either. And that’s exactly what I think Gibson does in this film.

Taken as one man’s interpretation of Christ, this film merits much discussion and debate. An entire book could be written on Gibson’s unique approach to this compelling story. Indeed, there’s already been as much ink spilled about this film as there was artificial blood in making it. So if all Gibson hoped to do was re-ignite public dialogue about the person and mission of Christ, he has already succeeded. And if he wanted to make a lot of money in the process, more power to him. He’s scored big on that front as well.

Beyond mere controversy or box office numbers, however, Gibson should also be congratulated on an artistic level. Not only has he remained true to his original vision throughout a storm of opposition, the final product is a powerful piece of religious cinema that will definitely stand the test of time. While in many cases the artistic license he has taken with the passion narrative serves to enhance the story, at times it also tends to muddy the waters. So if you want to get the straight goods on Jesus, I recommend you return to the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John in the Bible. Prepare to be surprised though: You just may discover a Jesus you never knew.

The Alamo by Kevin Miller

In making The Alamo, director John Lee Hancock faced a task similar to James Cameron when he made The Titanic. Both films are based on historical events where the outcome is certain. Thus, the challenge is not so much to surprise viewers as to depict characters and events as dramatically and as realistically as possible so when the end does come, we feel as if we’ve lived the adventure ourselves.

So how does Hancock score? Pretty well on some counts, not so good on others. This film gets high marks for costumes, sets, props, and battle sequences. If The Alamo were a painting, it would fall into the category of photo-realism. And it would earn top dollar.

Hancock wins bonus points for presenting a fairly balanced depiction of the conflict. Instead of painting the “Texians” as heroes and the Mexicans as bad guys, he makes it clear that each side had only its self-interest in mind, and both were willing to kill for it. What made the Texians different was that they were fighting for liberty—even though their gaining liberty meant depriving others of the same. Then again, I guess you could say the same thing about the Mexicans…

On a character level, the Mexican General Santa Anna definitely comes off as the villain here. But, this being an attempt at revisionist history, he isn’t the only one with his warts on display. When we first meet Colonel William Travis, the young officer charged with defense of the Alamo, he’s signing the papers that will allow him to abandon his pregnant wife and two children. The reason? He’d rather have a few days of glory in Texas than a lifetime without a “name.” It’s hard to believe we’ll care when this guy bites it. But we do, if only because of how much his death will devastate his son.

It is a little more difficult to care about James Bowie, famed knife-fighter. That’s no slam against Jason Patric who portrays him. It’s just that after resolving a leadership dispute with Travis, Bowie basically retires to his deathbed for the remainder of the film. In addition to tuberculosis, I got the sense Bowie’s character also fell victim to the slash and burn editing process this film was forced to undergo between its original release date of December 2003 and today.

Our greatest sympathies go to Davy Crockett, played with a delicate mixture of bravado and introspection by Billy Bob Thornton. Crockett arrived at the Alamo not even realizing a war was going on. He just wanted the 640 free acres of land promised to anyone who signed up for the Texas militia. The burden of Crockett’s celebrity also weighs heavily upon him. Not only does this make it impossible for Crockett to flee when the opportunity arises (What would people think?), his presence inspires the other men to glorify the position they find themselves in. But Crockett knows all they have to look forward to is killing and death. Glory may come, but they won’t be around to experience it. He tries to tell them the truth, but the men merely clamor for the fictional version of his life.

Despite these engaging character studies, this film ultimately fails from a structural point of view. By presenting the fall of the Alamo as one long flashback book-ended by General Sam Houston’s response, the pacing just doesn’t work. It’s anti-climactic, slow to get going, and far longer than it needs to be. One gets the sense that the footage was there, but things never really came together in the editing room. Perhaps they spent too much time working on it.

As one might expect in a story that takes place in a Spanish Catholic mission, the cross is an ever-present icon in this film. We first encounter it at night when Bowie leads a small scouting party through a graveyard of crooked wooden crosses just outside the Alamo. Later, a crucifix hangs over Bowie’s deathbed as a Mexican folk healer makes the sign of the cross over him with an egg and then cracks it into a glass of water. A cross-shaped window also lights Bowie’s room. From time to time, we even view the action outside through this glowing symbol. But never once does Bowie acknowledge it or his need for a savior. Though barely conscious, his attention remains fixed solely on protecting his self-interest, to the point where his last act is to kill those who would deprive him of his final hours of life.

Perhaps that is the problem with everyone in this film, “Texians” and Mexicans alike: They’re all looking out for number one. The Texas Rebellion, of which the battle for the Alamo was but a part, was led by Americans who had recently broken away from the British Empire. Now they wanted to gain independence from Mexico, which had recently won independence from Spain. But there was no way Mexico’s Santa Anna was about to extend the same freedoms his own people had just obtained. For, in a moment of prescience, he states, “If we lose this war, we will forever be begging crumbs from the Americans’ table.” Seems he understood the stakes perfectly well. The question is: Where does the battle for independence end? And at what point does the number of lives lost negate the freedoms gained?

There is no question the defenders of the Alamo were in a dire situation. But as the cross kept reappearing in this film, I couldn’t get over the fact that the solution to this conflict was right in front of them, and yet no one was able to see it. They came close though. During what is perhaps the film’s most poignant scene, Crockett plays his fiddle to accompany a song the Mexican army plays every night before shelling the Alamo. The Mexicans are so touched by the gesture they forego the attack for that night. “It’s amazing what a little harmony can do,” Crockett remarks afterwards. Indeed. For a moment, both sides seem to discover the common bond of humanity that unites them. They may be at war, but they are all fighting for the same basic principles: freedom, dignity, and the chance to create a better life for their families. Perhaps if they had looked to the cross—to Christ—they would have realized this, set aside their arms, and worked out a more creative solution to their conflict. In a world where violence only begets more violence—both at home and overseas—it would behoove us all to do the same.

In America by Kevin Miller

In a film full of great moments, it is difficult to choose one that defines what In America is all about. Perhaps the most poignant is a scene where eleven-year-old Christy Sullivan sings the Eagles’ song “Desperado” at her school talent show. As she delivers her angelic rendition of that classic tune, her father, Johnny, zooms his camcorder in on her face during the closing verse: “Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences; open the gate. It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you.
You better let somebody love you; let somebody love you. You better let somebody love you, before it's too late.”

Although Johnny doesn’t realize it at the time, this is exactly what he needs to do if he ever hopes to find peace: allow someone (namely, his family) to love him. But before this can happen, he will have to let go of the pain and grief over his son Frankie’s death. Unfortunately, that is easier said than done.

Johnny isn’t the only one who needs to deal with his grief. The entire Sullivan family—Frankie, his wife Sarah and their two daughters—has been stuck in a state of denial for the past year. Seeking to escape their anguish, they sneak across the Canada-US border and attempt to build a new life for themselves in a run-down apartment in the Hell’s Kitchen area of New York City. Struggling against poverty, limited career opportunities (Johnny is an aspiring actor), and the stigma of being “different,” the Sullivan’s try valiantly to squeeze the last few drops of juice from the shriveled up lemons they’ve been given. However, faking it can only get you so far. Sooner or later, they will have to face up to the issues that have haunted them all the way from Ireland to the Big Apple. For if they don’t, they risk becoming nothing more than hollow shells, ghosts that merely haunt the earth for the rest of their days.

The Sullivan’s unlikely ally in this struggle is Mateo; also known as “the man who screams.” A struggling African-American artist, Mateo is battling his own demons in the dark reaches of his apartment below. Despite his hard exterior, the precocious Sullivan girls win him over when they tell him about Frankie’s death. This begins Mateo’s tumultuous incorporation into the Sullivan family, wherein he acts as a catalyst to thaw out their frozen emotions. This experience also helps Mateo overcome his own misery.

Despite these positive developments, death continues to plague the Sullivan’s every step. Even when Sarah becomes pregnant with another child, there is a risk that one or both of them won’t survive the delivery. And then Mateo is hospitalized with advanced HIV/AIDS. One gets the sense that the only way death will leave is if someone—namely Johnny—finally turns around to face it. But can he? And if he does, will anything really change? You’ll have to watch the movie to find out. But I can tell you that seeing as the film is told from a child’s perspective, there’s plenty of room for magic and miracles just when you think all hope is lost.

In the end, we realize that Johnny’s journey is really our journey—or perhaps the journey of all humankind. All of us are packing a world of hurt on our shoulders, struggling like the mythological Atlas to find some place where we can lay our burden to rest. However, having carried it for so long, we are often loath to let it go. As painful as it may be, we’re afraid of what life will be like without it. We’ve lost hope, unable to believe things could ever again be as they were. Tragically, this reluctance to embrace change is precisely what prevents us from receiving the only thing that can offer a permanent solution to our pain: love. Love from others and, ultimately, love from God. Thus, like Johnny, if we ever hope to find that all-elusive peace, we also need to come to our senses, come down from our fences and open the gate. We need to let someone love us before it’s too late.

Cold Mountain by Kevin Miller

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as depressed walking out of a movie theatre as I did after viewing this film. Not only did it feature one of the most horrifying civil war scenes ever filmed, it also—unwittingly, I think—conveyed such a strong sense of hopelessness regarding humanity’s predilection toward violence that, for a moment, it made me seriously question whether or not there really is any good thing deep in the heart of man.

This film is supposed to be a love story between a simple carpenter named Inman and an upscale southern belle named Ada, with whom he has a passing romance prior to being drafted into the Confederate army. After months on the battlefield, Inman is seriously wounded in a daring night raid. While in the hospital, he receives a letter from Ada—who is now hundreds of miles away—begging him to leave the war and return to her. Totally unequipped for life outside of the city, Ada is struggling to survive in the small town of Cold Mountain, South Carolina after her father dies of a heart attack. With the help of a young female drifter, Ada is able to make ends meet—barely. But she also has her hands full fending off the advances of the Confederate Home Guard, a self-appointed group of thugs who hunt down and kill any able-bodied men they find, presuming them to be deserters.

Once Inman is strong enough to leave the hospital, he acquiesces to Ada’s wishes and walks away from his unit, beginning a long and perilous journey home that many have referred to as an interpretation of Homer’s Odyssey. Like Odysseus, Inman meets all manner of strange characters along the way, some of whom help him along the journey and others who continue to manifest the brutality Inman encountered on the battlefield. He also encounters some of the victims of war, most poignantly in the form of a single mother and her sickly baby who live at the mercy of marauding soldiers. What’s remarkable is how quickly such victims take up the gun once the opportunity affords itself, proving once again how easily the abused can become the abuser.

It’s inevitable in such a story that Inman will finally make it home to his beloved. But from the beginning, there’s been a dark pall hanging over this reunion, taking the form of a vision Ada had in which Inman is stumbling along a mountain path surrounded by crows. Thus, after a brief, passionate reunion, the film moves into its final, unavoidable sequence: a showdown between the hero and the evil men who have been threatening his love.

While this film attempts to use the love story as a way of infusing hope into this otherwise dark tale, whatever redeeming power this thinly sketched relationship has is completely lost amid a blood-stained depiction of a period of American history that is best described by political philosopher Thomas Hobbes as ”an existence of continual fear and danger of violent death… solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” This movie offers virtually no hope to its characters, except perhaps a quick and painless death. But considering the villains that stalk the frames of this film, such an act of mercy is far from likely.

Cold Mountain is a graphic reminder that although Americans love to think of themselves as a peaceful people, the reality is, the foundations of their nation are slaked in blood. Whether you consider the Civil War this film depicts, the conquest of Texas (a blatant land grab from Mexico that is about to be romanticized in The Alamo), the colonization of Hawaii, the Vietnam War or, most recently, America’s invasion of Iraq, at every stage of its development, America has consistently resorted to violence as a way of solving its problems and reaching its goals. They’re supposed to be the good guys, “one nation under God.” But how can that be true when the methods they use to achieve their ends are virtually indistinguishable from those of their enemies? They’re more efficient, maybe, but no less brutal. Like the hero in this film, they may overcome the bad guys in the end. But as they stand over their vanquished foes, smoking gun in hand, they can’t escape the fact that now they have also become murderers. And if their means are no different than those of the people they oppose, doesn’t this call their goals into question as well? 

In addition to offering a critique of America, this film also caused me to look deep inside my own heart to see if, given the right conditions, even I could be reduced to the type of behavior depicted in this film. Surely not, I objected. That sort of thing is so uncivilized, so barbaric. Surely we’re beyond that kind of brutality by now.

But then I began to consider that the Civil War—the bloodiest in America’s history—was fought by ordinary men. They weren’t trained killers or murderers; at least they didn’t start out that way. They were farmers, carpenters, and blacksmiths, ordinary people. I also began to think about the many atrocities we read about or hear about on the news each day, also committed largely by “ordinary people,” and I realized we aren’t beyond this sort of behavior at all. In fact, since the Civil War, all we’ve done is refine our ability to kill and maim the enemy, making it as efficient—and sanitary—as possible. So, to be honest, take away the constraints of faith and society under which we all live, and I doubt even the best of us would be distinguishable from the thugs portrayed in this film. But still more frightening is to think that even within the bounds of faith and society, we still engage in systematic “push-button” mass murder that is celebrated in presidential cabinets and pulpits alike.

So if all of us, given the right conditions, are prone to acts of violence, seeking to end violence through violence is never going to work. That’s because if such evil lurks in the heart of every person, then it can only be truly eliminated when every person is dead, including me—including you. No, the only way I see of escaping our inclination toward destruction of self and others is by laying down our weapons, submitting to God, and refusing to fight fire with fire. In God, we have the ultimate example of how to deal with our enemies; not by overcoming them with superior weaponry—as God, the ultimate “superpower,” could easily have done with us—but by overcoming evil with good (Romans 12:21). As the Apostle Paul also says in Romans, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). That’s right, while we were God’s enemies, all he could think about was how to end the war we had started, how to reconcile himself to his children. Thus, instead of fighting us, he chose to sacrifice the life of his own Son instead, thus bridging the uncrossable chasm between humanity and God—a chasm we created through our own disobedience. If this act of reconciliation is the foundation of our faith, can we really call ourselves Christians if we do anything less for our enemies? I think not, for only by loving our enemies do we begin to resemble our Heavenly Father. And only those whom our Father recognizes as his own children will be granted the honor and joy of spending eternity with him (Matthew 7:21–23).

I hope more people, Christians and otherwise, catch on to this reality, because I can’t think of anything worse than having to live in “continual fear and danger of a violent death” as the characters do in this film—except perhaps to spend eternity spent in this state. And I can’t think of any way to avoid such a fate except by following God’s example.

The Manchurian Candidate by Kevin Miller

Could there be a more appropriate time for a film like this? Released one month after Fahrenheit 9/11 with conspiracy theories about George W. Bush—“the Arabian candidate,” as he has been called—running at an all-time high, The Manchurian Candidate is a masterpiece of cinematic timing. Thankfully, it is also a great movie. Based on the 1962 classic starring Frank Sinatra, this remake retains all of the suspense of the original but updates the context so that it has that ring of truth that makes you believe something like this really could happen—almost.

It all begins with Captain Bennett Marco, a Gulf War vet who cannot seem to leave the war behind. Diagnosed with “Gulf War syndrome” and “post-traumatic stress disorder,” Marco has been relegated to giving speeches to Boy Scout troops about the Congressional Medal of Honor. At the same time, he is plagued by a recurring dream full of horrific images. When he meets up with an old war buddy who is suffering from exactly the same affliction, Marco begins to suspect that maybe he is not crazy. Perhaps the dream is reality, and what he has always been led to believe about his tour of duty in Kuwait is nothing more than a fabrication, a memory implanted in his mind by an unknown entity for unknown reasons.

When the body of Marco’s war buddy turns up in the river, he is even more certain a conspiracy is underfoot. Desperate for answers, Marco seeks out the only other surviving member of his platoon: Raymond Prentiss Shaw, who was decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor for saving Marco and his platoon when they were ambushed in Kuwait. Shaw is currently on a fast track to the White House, thanks to his pit bull mother, and is not interested in Marco or his theories at first. But when Shaw begins to have nightmares as well, he realizes Marco may be on to something.

Meanwhile, Marco has discovered some nefarious connections between what he “remembers” about the brainwashing experience in the Gulf and one of Shaw’s largest campaign sponsors: Manchurian Global. He comes to believe that Manchurian has somehow preprogrammed Shaw to be a “sleeper” in the White House, a pawn that they can activate at will. Marco has no idea what Manchurian is up to, but he is not about to wait around and find out. However, just as Marco is about to make his move, another dimension of Manchurian’s conspiracy is revealed, placing Marco and his plans in jeopardy.

I will not reveal anything further about the film save this: Hollywood has been pumping out some smart thrillers lately, and The Manchurian Candidate is one of them. While the premise of this film is more fun than feasible, the idea that big business wields tremendous clout in Washington is far too real to ignore. Power and money go hand-in-hand—you can’t have one without the other. And this film paints a grim picture of what happens when money and blind ambition get in the way of the common good—or, worse, what happens when people in power begin to believe that their money and their ambition are the common good. Rather than encourage conspiracy theories of this ilk, however, The Manchurian Candidate is more like a classic, sci-fi cautionary tale, a parable rather than a docudrama. In this sense, I think it does far more than Fahrenheit 9/11—a purportedly non-fiction film—will ever do to raise awareness about what is really going on in the world.

Then again, perhaps I am just not paranoid enough…

The Village by Kevin Miller

Writer, producer, director M. Night Shyamalan is known for two things: high concept premises and surprise, twist endings. After his breakthrough hit The Sixth Sense, Shyamalan has used this same approach to make Unbreakable, Signs, and now The Village. Unfortunately, while Shyamalan appeared to be a fresh new voice when he first broke onto the scene, each successive film is making him look more and more like a one-trick pony, at least from a writing point of view.

To be fair, following up a film like The Sixth Sense is no easy task. Perhaps Shyamalan would have been wiser to go in an entirely different direction rather than attempt to top what many believe to be the best thriller of all time. However, Shyamalan seems determined to prove that The Sixth Sense was not a fluke but the beginning of a long line of modern-day “Hitch*censored*ian” classics. Thus, we come to The Village.

The Village differs from Shyamalan’s previous films in that it is a period piece. It appears to be set at the turn of the century in a small community called Covington that is surrounded by a mysterious forest. The rules of the village are simple: The people of Covington stay out of the woods and avoid using the “bad color” (red), and the creatures that purportedly inhabit the woods refrain from killing and eating the villagers. If ever an uneasy truce had been forged, this one is it.

With such rigid rules in place, it is only a matter of time before villagers begin testing them and, eventually, breaking them outright. While the young boys of the village are content to play a game at night where they stand on a stump with their back to the edge of the forest until their nerves can’t take it anymore, one young man—Lucius Hunt—has had enough of games. He approaches the elders of the village and requests permission to cross through the woods to “the towns,” where he hopes to obtain medicine to prevent tragedies like the funeral scene that opens the film. Lucius feels the creatures in the forest will let him pass, because he believes they will know his intentions are pure. But the elders refuse to honor Lucius’ requests. Never mind the creatures, they seem even more afraid of the towns and what will happen to anyone who goes there. Years ago, the elders left the wickedness and corruption of the towns, vowing never to return. They established Covington as a place to rebuild the innocence they had lost, to create a better life for them and their children. In that sense, the creatures are more of a blessing than a curse, serving to reinforce Covington’s boundaries in a way the elders never could. 

Frustrated with the elders’ reticence, Lucius takes things into his own hands one day and crosses the boundary of the village into the forest, where he plucks some forbidden red berries from a bush. Unfortunately, his actions do not go unnoticed by “the things that we do not speak of.” That night, Covington goes into panic mode when a sentry spots one of the creatures slinking out of the trees and into the village. The next morning, the villagers emerge from their fortified homes to find red slashes painted across every door. A warning has been issued. The villagers had better heed it or die.

Lest you think I have spoiled the story for you, nearly all of what I have written so far is presented in the trailer to this film. This is all still set-up, and a good one at that. At this point, The Village just bristles with questions: What is the nature of these creatures? How did the people of Covington ever make it to their present location? What is the significance of the color red? What are the towns really like? Will Lucius make a break for the towns? What will happen to him if he does?

I will leave you to discover the answers to these questions yourself. As for me, knowing what I do of Shyamalan, I guessed the “surprise” ending about a third of the way into the film, and I think I had suspicions even before that. That is not to say I am inordinately clever, just that there were only so many ways this film could go, and the path Shyamalan chose seemed the most likely option. If anyone else had made this film, I doubt I would have been so quick to guess the ending. Likely, I would have been so drawn into the story that I would have been rewarded with that delightful “Aha!” moment that I had when the premise of The Sixth Sense was finally revealed. Thus, my disappointment at the way Shyamalan chose to resolve this film is not so much a comment on the structure of the story itself, which is reasonably sound, but that it was just so “Shyamalanian.” Perhaps he would have more success at surprising us these days if he began writing films under an assumed name. That way we would not see him coming.

Apart from “predictable unpredictability,” something else Shyamalan is known for is inserting not-so-subtle spiritual messages into his films, and The Village is no exception. What we have here is a group of people, who have withdrawn from the wider culture to establish their own ideal society, the boundaries of which are reinforced by fear. Sound familiar? It should. Covington looks and feels very much like an Amish, Mennonite or Hutterite community—if you don’t count the bloodthirsty monsters prowling the borders, that is. The renunciation process required to join the community demands that each elder retain a small box of mementos from their past life to remind them of their sins, “lest they be reborn in another form.” But sins were never meant to be boxed up. And once the corruption and death that haunted them in the towns begins to creep into their village, the elders of Covington come to realize that sin is not in the towns, it is in them. Running away from their past or trying to stuff it in a box will not solve anything. Sin thrives in fear and secrecy. Thus, the only way to overcome sin is to bring it out into the open, confess it, and then embrace the freedom that follows.

Despite a golden opportunity to do just that; the elders choose to maintain the façade of their existence instead. While they realize doing so may prevent them and their children from embracing life to the fullest, better that than having to return to the towns and attempt to be salt and light in a society that repudiates all they hold dear.

It was difficult to watch the elders make such a decision. But as I did, I could not help but think of how many times we Christians have done exactly the same thing. Rather than work to transform society from the inside, as we have been called, we have withdrawn from it into segregated communities dominated by fear and control. Like the elders, we have chosen a lesser existence rather than risk being polluted or rejected by the world. However, also like the elders, we must realize that sin is not “out there.” It is right here, in us. Only when we are able to face that fact and bring our secrets into the light will we truly become the people God has called us to be. 

Michael Moore Delivers a New Type of Fear by Kevin Miller

I arrived at the theatre at 7:22 p.m. Fahrenheit 9/11 was scheduled to start at 7:30. The film was showing on two screens that night, one of which, I discovered, was already sold out. When I got inside, I realized I should have come earlier. Way earlier. The place was packed. It was all I could do to find a seat.

During the previews, I was astounded as I looked around at the crowded theatre. This was a Saturday night, in Canada. By all accounts, we should have been out drinking beer and participating in some sort of hockey-related event. But we were all here to watch a documentary. About the United States, no less. On a Saturday night. Perhaps what Michael Moore said during his Oscar acceptance speech for Bowling for Columbine was true, I thought. Perhaps we really do prefer non-fiction to fiction. The question remained, however: In which category did this film fall?

That question was answered for me over the next two hours as I watched what could best be described as an exercise in fear mongering of the worst kind. Even though this film won the Palme d’Or in Cannes, I have to say that, as a documentary, Fahrenheit 9/11 is not particularly good. As a purportedly non-fiction film, it scores even worse. And as entertainment? Let’s just say it’s no Bowling for Columbine.

Without going into too much tiresome detail, and at the risk of piling up a small mountain of adjectives, my summary of Fahrenheit 9/11 goes something like this: unfocused, snide, contradictory, paranoid, emotionally manipulative, exploitive, and, at some points, outright delusional. By now, we all expect a certain amount of chutzpah from Moore. That’s what I love about him. He never fails to see the humorous side of the serious issues he explores. He’s a master at mixing information with entertainment, and he isn’t afraid to go out on a limb to stir up controversy and discussion. But this time, I fear the limb may have snapped. Rather than tackle a serious issue in a semi-serious way, as he did with Bowling for Columbine and Roger and Me, Moore attempts to place George W. Bush at the center of the biggest boondoggle of all time. For two painstaking hours, Moore does his best to convince us that Bush is some kind of "Manchurian Candidate" planted in the White House to serve the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. And he has all sorts of goofy looks and menacing music to prove it!

While I am not a big fan of George Bush’s administration or the war in Iraq, Moore lays things on a little too thick in Fahrenheit 9/11, even for an avowed fan like me. For example, at one point Moore asks us to believe that “Big Tobacco” pressured the Department of Homeland Security to allow matches and cigarette lighters onboard commercial flights so that smokers could light up immediately upon landing, even though such items could be used to ignite bombs like the one convicted terrorist Richard Reid hid in his shoes. Or how about this: After outlining the admittedly extensive connections between the Bushes, the Bin Ladens, and the Saudi royal family, Moore asks something along the lines of: “If someone is paying you $400,000 per year to lead their country but, over the years, the Saudis have paid your family $1.4 billion, when you wake up in the morning, who are you going to worry most about pleasing: The Saudis or the American people?” Moore’s premise here is that the only thing that motivates George W. Bush is money. However, as I listened to Moore draw this conclusion, I began to wonder who was more concerned about making money off the Saudi-Bush connection: George W. or Michael M.? As with any blame game, it isn’t long before the finger you are pointing at others turns around and starts pointing back at you. (In fact, there's probably a big, fat finger pointing back at me right now!)

Refreshingly, Fahrenheit 9/11 does include a couple of Moore’s trademark publicity stunts, such as when he rides around the Capitol building in an ice cream truck while reading the Patriot Act over a loudspeaker or when he approaches congressmen on the street and asks them to enlist their children to serve in Iraq. Once again, if Moore had resorted to more of these antics instead of using a conspiracy theory approach, the opinions he expresses in this film would have been much easier to swallow, because it would be obvious that he considers them just that: opinions. Instead, he presents his opinions as facts, and he expects us to embrace them as such. I’m sorry, but in this age of 24-hour news and the Internet; such obvious propagandizing just doesn’t cut it.

That’s not to say Fahrenheit 9/11 does not have its moments. The footage of young American soldiers talking about the type of music they like to listen to as they blow up Iraqi neighborhoods with their tanks is one of the most chilling things I have ever seen. War as a video game come to life.

Thankfully, Moore balanced these interviews with the accounts of soldiers for whom killing had become a face-to-face affair. Their disturbing version of the conflict led me to believe that the pimple-faced push-button killers in the tanks had yet to encounter the victims of their carnage firsthand. Taken together, their testimonies, as well as Moore’s coverage of grieving mothers on both sides of the conflict, present a grim picture of modern war and its effect on us—equal parts desensitization and soul-rending tragedy. If Moore had only stuck with something along these lines, I think this film really would have amounted to something.

Recently, I expressed my doubts that Fahrenheit 9/11 would change anyone’s mind about George Bush or Michael Moore. Having been pre-conditioned by the media to hate one or the other, I proposed that viewing the film would only solidify people’s preconceptions, because most would go into the theatre looking to confirm their particular point of view rather than challenge it. However, in my case at least, viewing the film had exactly the opposite effect. I went in a Michael Moore fan. And while I didn’t emerge as a convert to the George W. gospel, I definitely lost a lot of respect for Moore and his ability to play fair with the facts. I also have serious doubts about his preference for non-fiction over fiction. His film may feature real people and real events, but you don’t have to dig too deep to realize the yarn he attempts to weave out of this mish-mash of footage and fallacies is anything but the truth.

At the same time, I cannot dispute that Moore has tapped into at least one fundamental truth: People are outraged with a political system that strives to keep them ignorant and powerless. They are tired of an administration that withholds information from the very people who elected it, one that uses fear to manipulate them into sanctioning its agenda, for good or for evil. People want the truth; they demand it. Sadly, however, truth appears to be in short supply these days. We live in an age of inquiries and commissions, conspiracies and suspicion. As an auto mechanic featured in this film says, “You should never trust anyone you don’t know. In fact, you probably shouldn’t even trust the people you do know.”

Many people hoped to find the truth in Fahrenheit 9/11. An astounding number, actually. Even though the film opened on less than a quarter of the screens of its closest rival, it still topped the weekend box office. Unfortunately, while people may believe they have found the truth in Fahrenheit 9/11—people actually applauded the film where I viewed it—I fear they may have unwittingly bought into the very thing Moore’s film purportedly condemns: Fear packaged as truth in order to sway them in a particular direction. This time, however, they weren’t taught to fear Osama Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, or a host of nameless, faceless Middle Eastern terrorists. They were taught to fear George Bush, the American government, their neighbors—even themselves. Jesus said, “the truth will set you free.” In this case, however, Moore’s “truth” doesn’t offer freedom. All it provides is a different type of bondage.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Kevin Miller

In terms of my childhood influences, Roald Dahl occupied the same rare air as J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Dr. Seuss. He was a master storyteller; one whose work I savored much like Charlie Bucket savored his Whipple Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight chocolate bar on his birthday each year—bit by precious bit. Needless to say, then, when someone like Tim Burton ventures to bring a book like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to the big screen, for me and countless other former children, he is treading on holy ground. Thankfully, even though Burton’s account of the gospel of Wonka is eerily unorthodox, he avoids falling into full-blown heresy. I wouldn’t necessarily call the changes he has made to the story improvements, but Burton’s film is definitely an intriguing adaptation of Dahl’s beloved children’s tale.

One of the most significant and fascinating deviations from the book is Burton’s characterization of Willy Wonka. As written by Dahl, Wonka was a mysterious, delightfully childlike man with a heart like Santa Claus and a face like Uncle Sam. He was also a genius, a “magician with chocolate,” according to Charlie’s Grandpa Joe. In Burton’s film, Wonka is still a genius, but he has more in common with Howard Hughes or Michael Jackson than Santa Claus. And his face, well… Let’s just say it’s more disturbing than comforting. Burton’s Wonka is also childlike in his own way. But rather than portray him as an old man who has managed to retain his sense of childlike wonder, Burton depicts him as more of a man-child who hasn’t really gotten over the trauma of his early years but who doesn’t know how to grow up either. He is clumsy, gawky, unsure of how to relate to others, and uncertain if he even wants to. He doesn’t seem to like children, so it’s a wonder he ever issues the invitation for the children to tour his chocolate factory at all. But perhaps it’s his way of reaching out, a desperate cry for help from a troubled man who realizes he is losing his grip on reality and that somehow only the wisdom of a child can bring him back.

In these and other ways, Burton’s take on Wonka couldn’t be more different from Dahl’s original vision. However, even though I regard myself as somewhat of a Dahl purist, I don’t see these changes as intrinsically negative. Not only have Burton and actor Johnny Depp managed to create an entirely original character who is captivating in his own right, the choices they made also enabled them to showcase Dahl’s delightfully wicked sense of humor, which is one of the most attractive features of his work. In fact, my only real complaint about the film is the superfluous backstory that explains how Willy Wonka became the troubled genius we see on screen. Mystery, says screenwriter William Goldman, is one of the key ingredients of an effective character. While Burton’s Wonka definitely starts out as an enjoyable enigma, eventually it is revealed that he is nothing more than the product of a (yawn) troubled childhood. As I’ve stated elsewhere in regard to George Lucas’s laborious exposé of Darth Vader’s origins in Star Wars Episodes I–III, sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone.

That said; Burton’s ambiguous depiction of Willy Wonka does lead to some interesting spiritual reflections. But before I get to those, a bit of set-up: In terms of structure, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory bears a strong resemblance to C. S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. In Lewis’s tale, a group of people gets the chance to take a bus from hell to heaven. If they like it there, they will be allowed to stay. If not, they are free to return to the dreary, rainy place from whence they came. Strangely enough, after a short stint in Paradise, one-by-one, each passenger decides they were much happier down below where they were free to pursue their vices, so back on the bus they go. Only one character decides to stay, and he is gloriously transformed as a result.

Similarly, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, five children and their guardians are invited to leave the dreary, hopelessness of their lives (hell) and visit Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (heaven). At the end of the tour, Wonka (an admittedly bizarre stand-in for God) promises that one of the children will receive a prize far greater than they can imagine. However, as in The Great Divorce, one-by-one, the children fall victim to their vices—whether gluttony, greed, pride or anger—turn their back on Wonka and the factory and return to the world from whence they came. In the end, only Charlie remains. By virtue of his stalwart character, he has proven himself worthy to receive the prize, which is nothing less than Wonka’s glorious chocolate factory itself!

However, in a surprising departure from the original story, rather than give the factory to Charlie outright, Wonka reveals one final stipulation: To inherit the factory, Charlie must say goodbye to his family forever. Suddenly, what appeared to be a gift from God looks more like a deal with the devil. Charlie refuses, and Wonka goes away angry. But he is also troubled. How could Charlie turn down such an offer? Never having experienced familial love himself, he simply cannot understand Charlie’s motivation. Only when Charlie helps Wonka reunite with his own father does he finally see what Charlie was on to.

To my mind, Wonka’s surprising about-face is an accurate reflection of our current feelings of uncertainty toward God. In Dahl’s book, Wonka is similar to the version of God I heard about in Sunday school—all knowing, all loving, and so forth. In Burton’s film, however, Wonka is nasty, confused, and socially awkward—hardly what you would call divine attributes. At times, you can’t help but wonder, is Wonka God or is he the devil? Are his Oompa Loompas angels or demons? Is the chocolate factory heaven or hell? Should the children love Wonka or fear him?

Some of our depictions of God bring to mind the same questions. Does God delight in seeing us fall victim to our vices? Is he some sort of eccentric misfit who needs us as much, or more, as we need him? Could it be that, like Wonka, God has a thing or two to learn from us as well? Can he be trusted? At times, we may see him as unable or unwilling to relate to common people like ourselves, as Wonka was unable to do. We may also suspect that, like Wonka at the opening of the factory tour, God is just putting on a show for his own amusement—and not a very good show at that.

I much prefer images of God closer to Dahl's original description of Wonka—a kindly, self-assured being with an eye to celebrating redemption rather than glorying in defeat. A God of grace and constancy certainly has been my experience. Faced with a double-dealing God similar to Burton's version of Wonka, the choice to re-board the bus back to hell would almost seem to make sense.

A History of Violence by Kevin Miller

Just to prove that I can be as small-minded as the next person, my first comment upon emerging from A History of Violence was, “Well, that was… gratuitous.” From the lingering shots of bullet-riddled heads to sex scenes that went places few mainstream films have gone before, I shook my head as I walked through the lobby and thought, “That’s Cronenberg for you.” What else could I expect from the man who brought us films like Videodrome, The Fly, Naked Lunch, and Crash (1996)—the latter being about a subculture of people who get sexually aroused by car accidents?

And yet, as much as Cronenberg’s films have pushed the limits of good taste, they have always been about much more than grossing out an audience. Sexuality, identity, alienation, technology, spirituality, violence, and the very nature of existence itself are merely some of the areas Cronenberg has explored through film. You may not always agree with his conclusions; but you have to admit that he have a knack for getting the discussion started—or at least creating awkward silences at *censored*tail parties. So you can imagine that as I walked into A History of Violence—a movie I had been eagerly anticipating for months—I was ready for him to lob yet another grenade into our ever more conservative midst and ignite a firestorm of controversy, argument, and disgust.

Instead of an explosion, however, what I heard instead was a mind-numbing thud. When the movie was over, the grenade just lay there on the ground. I thought that perhaps Cronenberg had forgotten to pull the pin. So I bent down to pick it up, turning it over in my hands. Nope, no pin. But no explosion either. Weird. Could it have been a dud? The disgust portion of the film had definitely registered. But where was the scintillating intellectual and artistic statement? In contrast to Cronenberg’s previous work, this film seemed to be about nothing more than it was on the surface—a man with a violent past that finally catches up to him. What a bummer. Had Cronenberg finally sold out?

I carried the grenade around for about three days before it finally went off. That’s when I realized pulling a pin wouldn’t detonate it; it used a timer. The explosion occurred while I was voicing my disappointment about the film to a friend.

“Wait a second,” he said. “I think you’re missing something.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Just imagine if Tom Stall is America.”

I thought about it for a moment. Tom Stall as America… Of course!

KABOOM!

When the smoke cleared, suddenly an entirely new vista opened up to me. Tom Stall was America! The parallels were too obvious to ignore. Like Tom, America likes to think it is all about small towns and apple pie, but it has a history of violence as well! All it takes to reveal that history is a “clear and present danger.” For Tom, it was two hit men with guns in his diner. For America, it could be anything—9/11 perhaps? It doesn’t matter, because at that point, instinct kicks in, and the enemy is dispatched in an efficient albeit ghastly manner. (That’s the reason for the lingering shots of gore, says Cronenberg. Too often we cheer for the good guys without facing up to the true cost of victory.)

Bad guys dead, problem solved, right? Not by a long shot. The immediate threat is removed, but it turns out these guys had friends—powerful friends—and Tom may have a history of violence with them as well. Sound familiar in terms of America? If not, just think about it for a while… Suddenly, more bad guys show up. Now Tom and his apple pie-loving small town have a huge problem on their hands. Where life used to be about faith, family, and football, now all anyone is concerned about is security. Getting the picture now?

And look what’s happening to the next generation! Preferring to live a peaceful existence, Tom’s son used to let the local bully push him around. But when his father’s actions at the diner make him a hero, Tom’s son decides to follow in his father’s footsteps and fight back, putting the bully in the hospital. Later on, he even takes out one of the bad guys with a shotgun. Now he’s a cold-blooded killer, too, just like daddy. But instead of making him happy, suddenly, he couldn’t be more miserable! Worst of all, he realizes his father has been lying to him. He isn’t about apple pie at all. He’s as bad as the guys he’s been killing, if not worse.

And the sex! Could it be that a history of violence has intruded upon this sacred act as well? Nonsense, you say. Oh really? Cronenberg begs to differ, via his infamous “scene upon the stairs.” I’m still trying to decide which term best describes what goes on there—sex or violence—but I do know this much: the scene is profoundly disturbing.

By the end of the film, Tom Stall manages to gun down or otherwise slaughter every last one of his enemies—including his brother, who was behind the whole thing. (Hmm… Now what could that mean in terms of our Tom Stall/America connection?) At this point, we should be happy for him. The enemy is gone, his family is safe, and their small town should be free to go back to their apple pie loving ways. 

But can we really get off the hook that easily? Can Tom? He may have eliminated his enemies, but he has paid a terrible price. When he returns from the carnage, in place of the friendly, family man we used to know is a steely-eyed killer, a man who reaches out with hands of love but only causes others to shrink back in fear now that they know full well what other things those hands are capable of doing.

Is there a lesson here for America as well? Perhaps, but who am I to say? I’m merely a Canadian, as is Cronenberg, and we can be very bit as small-minded as our neighbors to the south—gratuitous, too, in our praise as well as our critiques. But this isn’t about standing along the border and pointing fingers. Canadians have a history of violence as well. Just ask our First Nations people. Therefore, rather than seek to lay blame, if anything, this film should prompt us toward self-examination. Are we actively seeking to prevent a history of violence from continuing, or are we tacitly allowing it to persist, both at home and abroad? Are we, like Tom, living in denial about our true nature? Not a comfortable thought, but thank God for people like Cronenberg who are willing to toss the occasional grenade into the midst of a crowded *censored*tail party. Rather than destroy us, such intrusions may be exactly what is required for our salvation.

The Misguided Quest for Relevance by Kevin Miller

In my more cynical moments, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to attend a seeker-sensitive Buddhist service. Not wanting their non-Buddhist guests to feel ill at ease, I can just picture the monks—who usually go about with shaved heads and orange robes—donning toupees and three-piece suits instead. And rather than chant, burn incense or bang gongs, they would set their prayers to contemporary music—complete with a five-piece rock band—replace the rank incense with inoffensive potpourri, and only bang the gong after the priest made a really good joke during his sermon, which mentioned absolutely nothing about the Noble Eightfold Path, self-denial or enlightenment but contained many pop culture references. Afterwards, we’d all be invited downstairs to partake in a Westernized version of a Chinese meal, complete with French fries, chicken nuggets, and other non-Asian alternatives.

But if I ever chanced to stop by that same Buddhist temple on a day when they weren’t doing their seeker-sensitive shtick, I think I’d be sorely disappointed. Here I had taken time out of my busy schedule to attend a Buddhist worship service with the hope of discovering what these unique people were about, only to discover it was all a sham. These guys weren’t into rock music. They didn’t have hair. And they sure as heck didn’t eat chicken nuggets! In fact, their lives seemed downright difficult with all that chanting, mediating, and heavy breathing. Where was the fun in that? Sure, they had seemed relevant, even innovative at the time. But authentic? Not anymore. Suddenly they didn’t seem so relevant either…

To my mind, evangelicals are making the same mistake as these fictional Buddhist monks. In the quest to convince outsiders that Christianity is still relevant, they have sacrificed the very thing that attracted people to Jesus in the first place: authenticity. It’s a self-perpetuating problem: The more relevant evangelicals try to appear, the less authentic they become, because each step toward relevancy usually involves compromising one or more of their core beliefs or practices to accommodate outsiders. Slowly but surely, the distinctives of the faith are lost as evangelicals become more and more like the culture they are trying to reach rather than the other way around.

In such a climate, we need to remember that being relevant is not about jazzing the gospel up or dumbing it down. It’s not about being trendy or cool. It’s not about selling Jesus like just another quick fix. It’s about truly living out the faith we profess. It’s about being in love with Jesus. Ultimately, it’s about being authentic. In an age defined by cynicism, nothing could be more relevant than that.

Sensitive to Seekers

If this is true, why do so many of evangelicals seem unable to grasp this point? First, because being relevant works—or at least it appears that way. Exhibit A: The seeker-sensitive movement. Faced with the task of evangelizing a nation of shoppers, mega-church pioneers like Robert Schuller, Rick Warren, and Bill Hybels realized that telling people they were sinners who needed to deny themselves and take up their cross was no way to grow a church. Much like their secular counterparts, seeker-sensitive advocates discovered that appealing to people’s self-interest, particularly their negative felt needs, was the shortest route to marketing success, with success defined as adding the greatest number of people to the flock in the shortest amount of time. And flock they did. These pastors now oversee some of the largest congregations in the United States.

No one would argue that winning more people to Christ is a bad thing. However, there is a fine line between accommodating a culture and capitulating to it. By selling people a watered-down version of the faith, you may increase your numbers, but are you really making disciples? Appealing to felt needs and offering Christ as the fulfillment also veers dangerously close to giving the impression that Christ isn’t the end, he’s just the means to an end—freedom from depression, financial success, weight loss, happiness, and so forth. The danger, as Gary E. Gilley, author of The Little Church Went to Market: The Church In the Age of Entertainment warns, is that “If someone is able to satisfy his or her felt needs without Christ, the message of Christianity can be discarded.”[1] In sum, there is a fine line between feeding the consumerism of a “market” and genuinely feeding real spiritual hunger in Jesus’ name. Perhaps the difference lies in whether our motivation to offer spiritual bread stems from Christ's compassion or a church-growth marketing plan.

So the question remains: Does the seeker-sensitive approach—does striving to be relevant—work? Are more people attending church today as a result? Not according to David F. Wells, author of God In the Wasteland: The Reality of Truth in a World of Fading Dreams. In 1937, church attendance in America averaged 41 percent of the population. Just over 50 years later, it was holding steady at 42 percent. [2] And, according to a recent article in Christianity Today, in 1999 it averaged 43 percent.[3] These numbers show that church attendance in North America is pretty much what it’s always been.

The same goes for church size. Going to Wells again, in 1890 the average Protestant church had only 91.5 members, not all of whom were in attendance on any given Sunday.[4] Today, 50 percent of churches average fewer than 75 attendees per week, and only 5 percent more than 350.[5] Thus, although some of the hundreds of churches that employ the seeker-sensitive approach may be getting bigger, it seems most of them are not. In fact, evidence suggests these few mega-churches may actually be growing at the expense of smaller churches in the same way big box stores are swallowing up local mom and pop concerns. So in the end, the seeker-sensitive movement may be all about consolidation, yet another example of evangelicals being discipled by culture rather than the other way around.

A Growing Sense of Insecurity

A second reason why I believe evangelicals are tripping over themselves to appear relevant is a growing sense of insecurity about their place in society. Even while they enjoy more prominence and influence than ever, evangelicals and their cultural agenda are viewed with increasing suspicion, cynicism, and in some cases, fear. While evangelicals believe they are bringing a positive moral influence to society, many outside the fold see them as perpetrators of intolerance, war, censorship, and repression. Whether or not such accusations are justified is a matter for further discussion. My point is, while the culture tends to view evangelicals as an oppressive, monolithic “Moral Majority,” many evangelicals see themselves as a persecuted minority. In this battle of cultures, both sides regard themselves as the victim.

Realizing they have fallen out of favor, some evangelicals have employed the tactic of affirming points of convergence between Christianity and culture—particularly popular culture—as a way of showing that Christianity is still relevant. Dozens of books, articles, and web sites have been created to this end, including a Christian media conglomerate that is actually called Relevant. Central to this approach is “mining” popular culture for nuggets of truth and then using them to build bridges of dialogue between Christians and non-Christians. It’s the seeker-sensitive approach for a new generation.

While I applaud the spirit behind this approach,[6] it also raises some questions: By catering to people’s fascination with pop culture, are we merely conditioning people to associate the Church (and Christ) with things that are not even remotely central to the gospel? If our main point of connection with non-Christians is in the area of the trivial, how do we move them beyond that to the transcendent? I’m not saying that the arts aren’t important and that there aren’t legitimate ways of using this cultural stage to share the gospel. But people are looking for answers that go beyond their present experience. If all we are offering is a Christian distillation of what already exists, I fear people will quickly lose interest and resume their search for—you guessed it—authenticity.

Thus, if we want to have a truly transformational effect on the world, we must do more than simply mirror our culture. We must serve as a window to a far greater reality—which is nothing less than the Kingdom of God. This begins by using points of connection, such as film, to raise questions that lead people away from a fascination with the trivial and cause them to ponder the deeper issues of life. For example, we might ask: Why are we so preoccupied with popular culture? Could it be that our desire to for entertainment is out of balance, that we are using entertainment to meet a need for something else? If so, what might that be? How can we restore balance in this area?

The Root

I suspect a third motivation behind our quest for relevancy is a deep root of doubt, a sneaking suspicion that Christianity really is irrelevant, that Christ is irrelevant, that if we don’t do something to jazz him up or dumb him down, non-Christians simply won’t get it. Perhaps that’s because in the midst of our outreach opportunities and church programs, we’ve lost contact with the person at the center of it all. Perhaps, and it pains me to say this, we really don’t know Christ. We’ve been “in the Word but not of it.” Our fears about how our neighbors perceive our faith may be largely a projection of our own insecurities.

Aristotle said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I’d change that slightly to say, “The unexamined faith is not worth sharing.” I think it’s time to scale back the outreach strategies for a moment and reacquaint ourselves with the One we are so eager to share. Perhaps we also need to reassure ourselves that Jesus isn’t just the means to an end; he is the End. He is also the Beginning. And you can’t get more relevant than that.

When The Passion of the Christ was released last year, author and pastor Brian McLaren noted that many Christians saw Gibson’s film as the greatest outreach opportunity in 2,000 years. McLaren, however, saw things differently.

Do you want the emerging culture to sit up and take notice? Don’t show them another movie, however great it is. Show them Christians around the world (starting with those who have been given the most: us) who care and give and love and move to serve.

There are millions of poor Muslims who see the West as decadent, strident, arrogant, selfish, careless, and pugilistic, and of course, they are right. Can you see how offering them a fine movie could just make things worse? Instead, why don’t we show them some Christians (in the West but not of it) who are honest, upright, peacemakers, compassionate, humble, and generous?

Our world is torn by ethnic, class, and religious hatred. Don’t show the emerging culture a movie about Jesus: show them a movement of people living like Jesus—people who like him love the different, even the enemy, whose doors are open and tables are set with welcome.[7]

In an age ravaged by cynicism, McLaren argues, authenticity is the only valid Christian response. There is nothing wrong with using a film to share the gospel. But if we are looking to “events” like this as a way of shortcutting the evangelism process—if we’re using them as a substitute for relationship—then we really need to reconsider our actions. People resent the church for resorting to cheap marketing gimmicks to get others to sign up. That’s not the Spirit of Christ; that’s the Spirit of this Age. What people are looking for is the truth. And if we fail to give it to them, our efforts at relevancy will serve only to widen and deepen the gap between Church and culture rather than bridge it. Outsiders will realize we’re no different than they are. And, in truth, we won’t be.

---

[1] The Market-Driven Church: A Look Behind the Scenes by Gary E. Gilley,p. 21(found at http://www.rapidnet.com/~jbeard/bdm/Psychology/cgrowth/mkt.htm).

[2] God In the Wasteland by David Wells, p. 78. (more data needed)

[3] Christianity Today, July 10, 2000, p. 20. (author’s name needed)

[4] Wells, p. 78.

[5] Gilley, p. 8.

[6] I actually review films for www.relevantmagazine.com and www.hollywoodjesus.com.

[7] Passionate, But Not for Mel’s Movie (http://www.christianitytoday.com/leaders/newsletter/2004/cln40309.html).

Can We Really Overcome Evil With Good? Interview with Tony Campolo by Kevin Miller

A Conversation with Dr. Tony Campolo About the War In Iraq, the War on Terror, and Loving Our Enemies

Dr. Tony Campolo is known around the world for his outspoken views on religious, cultural, social, and political matters. A sociologist by trade, he is also a popular speaker and teacher and has been featured on television programs like Nightline, Crossfire, Politically Incorrect, The Charlie Rose Show, and CNN News. The author of twenty-eight books, Dr. Campolo’s most recent titles include Adventures in Missing the Point (with Brian McLaren), Revolution and Renewal: How Churches Are Saving Our Cities, and Let Me Tell You a Story: Life Lessons From Unexpected Places and Unlikely People. Despite these lofty credentials, Dr. Campolo was kind enough to grant us an exclusive interview for this issue of Clarion.

Clarion: What is your opinion on the war in Iraq?

Tony Campolo: There are two ways of looking at this question. There are some Christians who are pacifists. I would fall under that category. We build our case on the fact that historians do not argue, that for the first three hundred years of the Christian faith, the church was pacifist. It wasn’t until the time of Constantine that Christians really entered into the military. Secondly, I think an honest reading of the Sermon on the Mount and the other teachings of Jesus in the gospels would lead one to a pacifist position. The other position that Christians take is what is called the “just war” theory. This was developed by St. Augustine and refined, perhaps, by Calvin.

Clarion: Do you think it is possible to have a “just war” today?

Tony Campolo: Yes, it is possible to have a just war if you use those standards, and most Christians would hold to a just war theory. But I’m fairly convinced that the war in Iraq does not meet the requirements of a just war.

I say this in part because the first characteristic of a just war is that all possibilities of avoiding conflict have been exhausted. In the case of Iraq, the US went to war while everyone else was trying to negotiate. The pretext of the war was that America had absolute proof that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. The evidence is quite clear now that those weapons probably did not exist. I think that giving the UN team more time, believing the UN research team that no weapons existed, would have been a wise course of action to take.

Another justification of a just war is that the good that is achieved will outdo the evil that is done. This obviously does not measure up in the case of Iraq. You can talk about 7,000 people that Saddam Hussein slaughtered (put to death for being political enemies). I’m sure there were lots of other people killed. But when you talk about atrocities, they’ve uncovered the graves of at least this many people. On the other hand, some have estimated that more than that many Iraqis have already been killed and wounded as a result of this war, with more Iraqi citizens dying every day. More than a thousand US soldiers have died, and the end of death is not in sight.

Beyond that, the goals of establishing a democracy were ill conceived, because I’m not sure a democracy is viable in Iraq. There are 1.5 million Christians in Iraq. But the overwhelming majority of people in Iraq are Shi’ites. If there is a democratically elected government in Iraq, the Shi’ites will dominate, and we will have a Shi’ite regime. The freedom Christians have had in Iraq to evangelize and create new churches will be severely curtailed under a Shi’ite regime.

Clarion: Why do you think America was so eager to go to war?

Tony Campolo: The former Secretary of the Treasury, John O’Neill, has pointed out that from the first day of his presidency, George Bush talked about getting rid of Saddam Hussein. [Editor’s note: O’Neill did so in the book The Price of Loyalty by Ron Suskind.] I don’t judge people’s motives, but it’s obvious from what O’Neill has said that from the very first cabinet meeting, this is what the presidency was after.

Clarion: Why would the removal of Saddam Hussein be so important to them?

Tony Campolo: I have some suspicions; I contend that oil had a great deal to do with it. The things that raise these suspicion in me about our motives as a nation is that during the first week of the war, the president immediately gave over all rights to develop the oil industry in Iraq to Haliburton, a company that still is financially contributing to Vice President Dick Cheney. A further problem was that there was not competitive bidding, which is against US law. More importantly, with massive unemployment in Iraq, one has to ask why the Iraqis were not given the opportunity to rebuild their oil industry. After World War Two, the United States gave lots of money to Germany and France to rebuild their infrastructure. We did not send Americans over to do it. There is every indication that the Iraqis could rebuild their oil industry, seeing as they built it in the first place and rebuilt it after the first Gulf War. Bechtel, a major contributor to the Bush election campaign, was given contracts to rebuild the infrastructure of Iraq. There is suspicion that these contracts were politically motivated. The Bible says to avoid the appearance of evil. I have to tell you, this is not avoiding the appearance of evil. When all is said and done, as one of my students who visited Iraq recently has said, ‘Saddam Hussein is a horrendous tyrant. But if a man is brutalizing his family, you don’t burn down his house with his family inside to get rid of him.'

Clarion: So you’re saying it would have been better if the US simply got rid of Hussein instead of declaring war on the entire country of Iraq?

Tony Campolo: When faced with a similar situation in Yugoslavia, the US was able to secure a verdict from the UN and the world court that this man—Milosovich—should be indicted for war crimes. That created the condition of going in and taking him alone. That course of action was rejected by the US.

You’ve got all these arguments: weapons of mass destruction, the removal of Saddam Hussein, going over there to create a democracy. When you begin to raise all of these questions, you find one big question behind them all: Should the US be moving into all nations where there is tyranny? Should we be going into Burma, for instance? Does the US have that responsibility? Take Red China as a case in point. Should we go in there? Or should we just invade smaller countries? And if we do, can we still call ourselves idealists?

Clarion: So you’re saying Saddam Hussein had the bad luck of sitting on one of the world’s largest oil reserves?

Tony Campolo: Yes, I am. But that’s merely speculation.

Another tenet: The US is under condemnation by the UN for using cluster bombs. And my students who were in Iraq saw the effects of these in the hospitals. How can you drop a cluster bomb in a populated community and call yourself a just nation?

What we are facing right now—and this does not make the US press or even the Canadian press—is that there have already been twenty-two suicides among troops in Iraq and three hundred attempted suicides. This rate far exceeds the suicide rate in Vietnam. The Navy has a psychiatric team that is expecting almost twenty percent of the US soldiers who go to Iraq will have psychiatric problems upon returning home. They contend that this is largely due to the fact that they expected to be received as liberators but instead find themselves being received as occupiers in a hostile nation.

We should note that in between the first and second Iraq wars, there was an embargo that really caused great suffering to the Iraqi people. It is estimated by the UN that half a million children died as a result of that embargo. You have to be extremely naïve to think that when you kill half a million children in a nation of seventeen million your soldiers will be welcomed as heroes when they march into town.

I feel the American people have been deceived and are still being deceived. I think everything about that war has the mark of a propaganda machine, such as the ‘rescuing’ of a young woman (Jessica Lynch) in a hospital that was shown to be a complete farce. She says it didn’t happen that way. ‘I was a coward,’ she says. ‘I was crying, I didn’t shoot my gun at anyone. I was in an accident due to my own stupidity. To call me a hero because of that is ludicrous.’ I fear for a nation that does not tell the truth to its people, because democracy in the United States depends on the truth.

Clarion: I often struggle with this, not knowing what to think about situations like America’s involvement in Iraq, because I don’t believe I have reliable information.

Tony Campolo: During times of war, you certainly don’t have to tell everyone everything, but to deliberately make up lies, that’s unnecessary. Let me say beyond this that I basically believe that George Bush is a good man, a Christian man trying to do the right thing. I can’t say as much for the forces behind the throne, who I believe are calling most of the shots.

Clarion: Who might these forces be? The Saudis? Big Oil?

Tony Campolo: I don’t know about the Saudis. In fact, one of the reasons we went to war was because of the Saudis. The Saudi government is increasingly unstable and unreliable. If any government has ties with Al Qaeda, it’s them. You have to remember that Bush has promoted this war because of 9/11, but there weren’t any Iraqis on the planes. There were Saudis and Egyptians. Secret documents found with Saddam Hussein said he had no connections with Al Qaeda and instructed his followers not to have anything to do with the organization. On the other hand, there are members of the Saudi royal family suspected of having helped fund Al Qaeda. The Saudi government is in a very precarious position. If it were to fall into unfriendly hands, the US economy would be doomed. That’s where the oil theory comes in. The US economy is almost totally dependent on Saudi oil right now. Thus, seizing Iraq’s oil fields is a form of insurance. There is every indication that there will be a radical Muslim takeover of the Saudi royal family, in which case the US would really be left out in the cold. So there are my speculations.

The ultimate question is, did we do what Jesus would do? And I think that question is one that people have to answer for themselves. I don’t think we did, but others will think otherwise. I have to say that my heart goes out to these soldiers over there who live in constant fear, many of whom have given their lives in a cause that is becoming increasingly ambiguous.

Clarion: What do you think of the ‘war on terror’? Can it be won?

Tony Campolo: That’s a good question. It can be won, but you can’t win the war on terror by killing terrorists just as you can’t win the war against malaria by killing mosquitoes. You get rid of malaria by getting rid of swamps that breed mosquitoes. In the same way, you get rid of terrorism by removing the conditions that breed terrorists.

You have an educated elite emerging in the Arab world that is angry over the humiliation of their people at the hands of the West. They find themselves powerless and pushed around. Tony Blair, on one occasion, said all the problems in the world right now can be traced back to Palestine and Israel, and I think he may be right. The United States provides one-third of all its foreign aid in any given year to Israel, most of which is used to build up a gigantic military. Thus, Israel is in a position to do what it wills in the Middle East. The inability to stand up to Israel, backed by the US, where the Palestinians are left with no negotiating power whatsoever, leaves them in a state of hopelessness. That’s what creates a suicide bomber, someone who sees there are no other alternatives. The suicide bombers have as much in their statements before going to death.

Clarion: So the situation in Israel, this is one of the conditions that breeds terrorist attacks against the US?

Tony Campolo: That’s one of them, but it’s the overall sense of being inundated by western commercial, political, and industrial interests. The Arabs see Israel as a surrogate nation used by the US to maintain its power in the Middle East. You have to grasp the fact that we overthrew the democratically elected government in Iran to make way for the Shah. We have been the primary buttress for the ruling family in Saudi Arabia, which is despised by much of the Arab world. Along with the English, we are responsible for creating the State of Israel. It is the western nations that actually created the national boundaries of all the nations that exist in the Middle East. It’s the West who created all of these nations after World War One when the Ottoman Empire fell and England divided up the territory.

I don’t want to get much more into the Middle East situation except to say the following: The Jews have suffered enough. They are the victims of anti-Semitism in every western nation. They justifiably believe they can have no freedom or dignity unless they can have a land of their own in which they are the rulers, and I agree.

Clarion: But what about the Palestinians, can’t they make the same claim?

Tony Campolo: The Jews should have a secure land with secure borders. They shouldn’t have to worry that their children will be killed on the way to school due to terrorists. Whatever may have been the justification for creating the state of Israel in 1948—and that can be debated—the Palestinians are asking what right a group of people in New York had to create a new nation in which the Palestinians became second-class citizens. But whatever the reasons, I would have to say that the nation exists now, and I violently oppose that kind of thinking among the Arabs, that the solution to the problem is to drive the Jews into the sea. We must stand behind the people of Israel and defend their right to exist as a nation.

Clarion: And the Palestinians?

Tony Campolo: Having said that, if we believe the Jews are entitled to a land of own, should not the Arab people who lived in the Holy Land have a land of their own, too? This was the original intention of the UN when the State of Israel was created, an intention that I think the Palestinians foolishly rejected. It has been said of Yasser Arafat that ‘he has never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity.’ There have been many opportunities for a separate Palestinian state to exist in ways the State of Israel would have supported. Most of those proposals were rejected by the Palestinians. Things have changed now. The Palestinians are willing to accept the State of Israel, but they want a negotiated settlement. However, the Israeli government is imposing a settlement by building a wall along what they want to be the border. Leading ideologists in the American Jewish community, people like Thomas Freedman, would say the survival of Israel—in the long run—depends on the nation making friends with Arabs. The United States could be there for Israel for 50 years at the most.

Clarion: What do you mean?

Tony Campolo: The United States isn’t always going to be the powerful nation it is today. Nations rise and nations fall. You can put it off to one hundred years if you want. But the US economy is facing a national debt of over seven trillion dollars! We simply cannot support what is going on in the Middle East right now. Military spending is exhausting us. We can’t always be there. Even if the US is behind Israel, consider the fact that there are Arab peoples living within Israel who are multiplying at a rate that is much greater than the rate at which the Israelis are multiplying. Demographically, twenty-five years from now, there will be more Arabs in Israel than Jews. Either Israel has to deny these people the right to vote or they will be taken over by an Arab majority. In fact, the most extreme Arabs right now do not want a settlement. They’re the ones doing the bombing. No one is asking why they’re so willing to wait. But Arabs have a great capacity to wait. As I said, it’s only a matter of time before the number of Arabs exceeds the number of Jews in Israel. Incidentally, this is exactly what happened after the Crusades, as Friedman points out. After the First Crusade, the Christians took back the Holy Land, but over time, the Arab population grew, so that the Christians had to retreat. If there’s anything the Arabs remember, it’s the Crusades. They learned why they lost the Holy Land, and they learned how they got it back. And history will repeat itself. That’s why these extremists torpedo every plan that comes along that proposes two states. They want a one-state solution. ”Let Israel own all the land, and let us outbreed them,” they say. This is obviously what has happened in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank over the last twenty-five years. The refugees that were once a smaller number now have grown into the millions. And the children that are raised in these places are taught to hate Jews. It is a fact that the schools teach hatred and a twisted view of history that makes the Jews and the Americans the incarnation of Satan. What are the consequences of that? Millions and millions of children growing up with that kind of thinking within the nation of Israel. The time has come for spiritual leaders who are moderates, in the Jewish community, the Muslim community, and the Christian community—please remember fifteen percent of all Palestinians are Christians—to come together and find some common ground between the Torah, the New Testament, and the Koran that will mean peace.

Clarion: Seeing as our magazine is a ‘journal of spirituality and justice,’ I’d like to ask you to define justice. For example, what does justice look like in the case of someone like Saddam Hussein? And how are we to balance loving our enemies with holding them accountable for their actions?

Tony Campolo: I’ll put it this way: What if the United States obeyed the teachings of the Apostle Paul in Romans 12: to love your enemies, do good to those who hurt you, overcome evil with good, feed your enemy if he is hungry, for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head? Paul suggests that the way to get rid of an enemy is to do the good that Jesus would do. I contend that if, over the last ten years, instead of an embargo we had fed the people of Iraq, we provided them with they medicine they needed to prevent their children from dying, and helped them economically so they were economically allied with us, I think that such loving commitment would have done more to bring down Saddam Hussein than the embargo. If we had done the good that God requires of us, then we would have overcome evil with good. The question that the church has to answer is, ‘Do we really believe the Apostle Paul? Do we really believe that evil can be overcome with good? Do we really believe that doing such good will ultimately destroy our enemy by heaping coals of fire on his head?’ I believe in the Bible, and I am willing to tell those who are in places of leadership what the Bible requires of them, whether they listen or not. In my case, I let it be known what the Bible teaches to President Clinton. I did not have the same opportunity with President Bush. I hope there are others who at least speak the Scriptures to him on this matter.

Kevin spoke to Dr. Campolo in Kona, Hawaii on January 29, 2004. Kevin Miller is a freelance author, editor, and educator from Abbotsford, BC. To learn more about Kevin and his work, please visit www.kevinwrites.com.

Dr. Tony Campolo is professor emeritus of Sociology at Eastern University in St. Davids, Penn. Founder of the Evangelical Association for the Promotion of Education (EAPE), Dr. Campolo has provided the leadership to create, nurture and support programs for “at-risk” children in cities across the United States and Canada and has helped establish schools and universities in several developing countries. He is a graduate of Eastern University and earned a Ph.D. from Temple University. He is also an ordained minister in the American Baptist denomination. Dr. Campolo is married to Peggy (Davidson) Campolo. They have two children and four grandchildren. For more information on Dr. Campolo, please visit www.tonycampolo.org.

When is a Life Not a Life? by Kevin Miller

Should Scott Peterson receive life or death? That was the prickly question facing twelve ill-fated jurors who spent the early part of their holiday season the same way they spent most of their summer—sequestered in a Redwood City, California hotel. All because two years ago on Christmas Eve, Scott Peterson made a similar life and death decision in regard his wife Laci and their unborn son Connor. According to the State, Scott chose poorly. He took their lives. Now the jury has recommended that the State do exactly the same thing to him. My question is: Does anyone else see the irony in this situation?

      First of all, recall that one of the murders for which Scott is deemed responsible is that of his unborn child Connor, a foetus. Interesting that in California, it is legal for a certified medical practitioner to end the life of an unwanted foetus under certain conditions, because a foetus is not legally defined as a “person” until it exits the womb. But if someone other than a certified legal practitioner intentionally ends the life of a foetus—whether that foetus is wanted or not—he or she is charged with murder, which is a crime against a person. Can you see the contradiction here? Does the State consider a foetus to be a person or not?

      What this means is, if Scott were a licensed abortionist, technically he would only have been charged with one murder in this instance, not two. That said, I am certain there are rules against even a licensed abortionist terminating the gestation of his own child, and I doubt if drowning is among the accepted means by which to do this. But, taken on principle alone, clearly the State of California does find the termination of human foetuses acceptable under certain circumstances, none of which were met in Scott Peterson’s case.

      The contradictions don’t end there. In California, it is also legal for the State to kill someone they deem to be no longer fit for society, i.e. someone convicted of first-degree murder. Once again, if Scott were a licensed executioner and Laci had been found guilty of first-degree murder, he would have been able to kill her with virtually no retribution from the State. In fact, he would have been paid to render such a service to society.

When Is It Wrong to Take a Life?

      So it seems that the issue in Scott Peterson’s case is not so much about whether taking a life is wrong. After all, we’ve already seen that the State sanctions the taking of foetal and human life under certain circumstances.[1] The real question is whether or not those circumstances were met in either Laci or Connor’s deaths. Everyone agrees that they most definitely were not. Therefore, the State of California has decreed that whoever is responsible for the crime must share the same fate as his victims. No wonder the late Mother Theresa accused the United States of fostering a “culture of death.”

But the State Doesn’t Bear the Sword for Nothing…

      Many Christians agree that taking the life of an unborn child is wrong. But when it comes to the death penalty, they will argue that the Bible clearly states that God has given governments the power of life or death over their citizens. Read Romans 13:1–5, for example:

For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you.

For he is God's servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God's servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. (NIV)

Thus, according to one interpretation of this passage, execution of murderers, such as the one who killed Laci and Connor, is right and good. How else can governments maintain order?

      Unfortunately such an argument is drowned by overwhelming statistical evidence that suggests the death penalty does nothing to deter violent crimes. In fact, it may actually encourage them. California, home of some of the strictest penalties for murder, also has one of the highest murder rates in the United States. Meanwhile, a country like Canada, which abolished the death penalty three decades ago, has one of the lowest murder rates in the world. How can this be? There is not enough room here for a complete presentation of the arguments for and against capital punishment. However, I will make note of a few observations that cast some doubt on this passage’s usefulness as a plank in the pro-capital punishment platform.

      First, there is much debate as to whether or not the word “sword” as used in this passage means literally “execution” or whether it merely symbolizes authority and a government’s use of force in general to enforce laws or defend a nation’s interests. Obviously governments during the Apostle Paul’s time used execution as a means of punishment, but nowhere in his writings does Paul condone this practice.

      In fact, as a former executioner who left that occupation to follow Jesus, Paul would most likely condemn taking the life of another, even in the name of a government. After all, hadn’t Paul been on his way to do that exact thing to Christian believers when Jesus appeared to him on the road to Damascus? Turns out that even if governments do bear the sword in the literal sense of execution, they can still be wrong. Dead wrong. The cases of dozens of innocent people who have been wrongfully executed in the United States and Canada during the last century also attest to this conclusion.

Where Does It End?

      Second, once you begin assigning governments the power of life and death over their citizens—even those who commit horrible crimes such as the one Steven Peterson is accused of—you’ve entered a foggy no-man’s land chock full of ethical and philosophical landmines. For example, it’s easy to convince people that governments should execute certain criminals, such as murderers. Society is better off with such people, proponents of capital punishment argue. It’s also cheaper to kill them than house and feed them in prison for the rest of their miserable lives. Pragmatism at its best.

      Unfortunately, it has also been rather easy to convince people that governments should have the same power of life or death over the unborn. All you need to do is redefine the words “life” and “person” so that foetuses are excluded on both counts. Why should a mother who finds herself with an unwanted pregnancy be forced to carry the child to full term? It’s so inconvenient. Besides, doesn’t a woman have the right to choose what to do with her own body?

      Yes, pro-lifers argue. But such choices should be made before the woman engages in a sexual act that may lead to pregnancy rather than after she becomes pregnant. If a woman is prepared to engage in such acts, she should also be prepared to deal with the potential consequences, should she not?

      Regardless of your opinion on the death penalty or abortion, when the question is raised regarding whether or not governments or their citizens should have the power of life or death over allow the aged or terminally ill, the lines that once seemed so clear quickly begin to blur. For, if a government sanctions the taking of these people’s lives—even with these people’s permission—it opens up the field for all sorts of other special conditions under which it is deemed better to end a life than allow it to continue. What about the lives of those who are severely disabled, for example? If we could get enough people to agree that society would be better off without them, would that make it right? We seem to think this logic works when it comes to abortion or capital punishment. So why stop there? Why not start eliminating everyone else who poses a potential threat or drain on society, such as thieves, child molesters, teenagers who do nothing but play video games, have illicit sex, and commit petty crimes and people whose sexual orientation we disagree with?

We Can’t Have It Both Ways

      What I’m trying to get at here (rather facetiously, I must admit) is that we can’t have it both ways. Taking a human life—whether born or unborn—is either fundamentally right or it is fundamentally wrong, regardless of what the current legislation says. Murder—the pre-meditated termination of a human life—can’t be right in some circumstances and wrong in others. On a gut level (A spiritual level, perhaps?), somehow we all recognize this as a horrible act whether the State sanctions the killing or not.

      For example, when Marva Stark, leader of the New Jersey chapter of the National Organization for Women (NOW), a group that officially supports legalized abortion, spoke out against the double-murder charge levelled against Scott Peterson—arguing that Connor was not a “person” and therefore could not be murdered—she was quickly sanctioned by her own group, because such a position cast NOW in an unfavourable light. Despite NOW’s pro-abortion views, somehow even these women recognized that what had been done to Connor was wrong. Besides, NOW’s spokesperson Rebecca Farmer argued, California has laws against fetal homicide. Thus, NOW could safely support the charges while sustaining their pro-abortion stance. Talk about having your cake and eating it too.

Redefining Life

      When is a life not a life? Apparently, whenever the government says so. If Connor Peterson were a foetus about to be aborted, his existence would not merit the label “life,” and his mother and father could proceed with the procedure with a clear conscience, at least from a legal point of view. However, seeing as Connor’s existence was terminated under circumstances other than legalized abortion, the State of California is willing to redefine Connor’s existence as “life” and punish the person who ended it according to the full extent of the law.

      Similarly, if Scott Peterson is convicted of this double-murder and given the death sentence, the State of California will essentially do the same thing to him as they do to unborn babies: redefine his existence so that he no longer qualifies as a “person.“ Thus, his life can be terminated with no legal retributions levelled against those responsible. How convenient.

The Easy Way Out?

      You can argue all you want for the legal, moral and pragmatic advantages of both abortion and capital punishment. But in both cases, I would argue that you’re taking the easy way out: choosing to end a life rather than deal with the consequences of its continuation.

      In the case of abortion, you’re choosing to end a life rather than raise a child you didn’t plan on having. By allowing capital punishment, you’re choosing to end a murderer’s life rather than attempt to reform what’s left of his or her humanity. Admittedly, in both instances, choosing to let the life continue involves a risk. For example, the unexpected child may present you with some trying financial, personal and social challenges. But many people overcome such challenges and go on to live happy, productive lives.

      The murderer, on the other hand, may choose not to repent of his crimes. In fact, once released at the end of his or her sentence, he or she may even go on to commit more crimes. However, there is also ample evidence that the lives of such people can be reformed. Take the Apostle Paul for example.

Need I say more?

We are All On Death Row

      At any rate, choosing death in either instance means an end to all further choices and potential for change and growth. Just think for a minute if God took this approach when dealing with us. Would we really want him to treat us the way California treats unborn babies and murderers?

In Romans 3:23, Paul observes that everyone has sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. A little later in Romans 6:23, he notes that the wages of sin is death. What this tells me is that each one of us is in the same situation as a person who commits double-murder in the State of California. We’re all on death row. The axe is about to fall.

      However, for some reason, God hasn’t gone ahead with our execution. Somehow he just continues to let us exist. Why do you think this is so? Do you think it’s convenient for him to have a bunch of sin-addled malcontents roaming the earth committing all sorts of mayhem and carnage? Not for a second! Do you think he’s too weak to wipe us out? Not a chance. God is more than able to do away with us a thousand times over, but he has chosen to let us live, carnage and all. Why?

      Perhaps because he knows that where there is life, there’s hope. Wiping us all out would sure solve a lot of problems. But it would also eliminate any chance for redemption of our fallen condition. Thus, instead of giving us what we deserve, God has chosen to take the long, difficult road of slowly helping us grow up into the kind of people he created us to be. There are a lot of sacrifices involved on his part, but he seems to think the results are worth it.

      Should Scott Peterson be charged with a double-murder? Definitely. If convicted, should he also receive the death penalty? Considering the above argument, I think not. His death may give Laci and Connor’s friends and relatives some temporary sense of satisfaction. But in the long run, don’t you think we would all be better served if Scott’s life could somehow be reformed rather than terminated? That way we would have at least some hope of wringing good from this otherwise horrendous situation.

            And I believe that is what God would like to see happen.

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[1] Note: I am only differentiating “human” and “foetal” life here for the sake of argument. Ordinarily I would assume them to be one and the same.

Three Quotes to Ponder by Kevin Miller

"We do not mind offering you a long-term truce with fair conditions that we adhere to... We are a nation that God has forbidden to lie and cheat. So both sides can enjoy security and stability under this truce so we can build Iraq and Afghanistan, which have been destroyed in this war. There is no shame in this solution, which prevents the wasting of billions of dollars that have gone to those with influence and merchants of war in America."

-- Osama Bin Laden (from a recently aired audio tape)

"We don't negotiate with terrorists, I think you have to destroy them." --Dick Cheney (from a recent television interview)

"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you. "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.
--Jesus Christ (Luke 6:27-35)

King Kong - Review by Kevin Miller

Let me address the obvious criticism first: Was this movie an over the top, overly long, self-indulgent piece of filmmaking? You bet it was. And thank God for that. After all, this is a story about a 25-foot gorilla that winds up on top of the Empire State Building batting planes out of the air. This is no time for restraint. It’s also a project that director Peter Jackson has dreamed of working on since he was a kid. Peter Jackson, boys and girls—the man who is to directing what Jim Carrey is to acting—so what else did you expect? Sure, doubters will complain that some scenes, such as when Kong fights three dinosaurs while falling through a web of vines, go on for too long. But that only shows lack of appreciation for the sheer breath of imagination and industry required to create such moments. As for me, about midway through the cavalcade of brontosaurs and humans, I wanted to stand up and cheer. King Kong is the blockbuster of all blockbusters. It’s the reason why megaplexes exist. It’s Hollywood at its best. Its all systems go. It’s $207 million well spent. And I loved it!

What made me love this film even more was the depth of insight and emotion Jackson managed to extract from his source material. Like Jackson, I’ve been a huge fan of King Kong since I was a kid. I even stayed home from a family camping trip one summer so I could catch the 1976 remake on TV. Despite my fascination, I never really thought of Kong as anything but a cool, effects-driven monster flick. However, in Jackson’s hands, King Kong becomes a powerful parable about our schizophrenic relationship with the environment, a dire warning that we ignore at our peril.

The parable begins when filmmaker Carl Denham—played with delightful panache by Jack Black—speaks boldly and eloquently of his desire to “view the beast unshackled” in the wilderness, something only a few brave souls like him are willing to do. But after a brief, firsthand taste of Kong and Skull Island’s other monstrous, unshackled inhabitants, Denham’s romantic ideals are quickly scuttled by the drive to survive, subdue, and, perhaps, to profit.

Meanwhile, Anne Darrow, the woman offered up to Kong by the terrifying natives of Skull Island, begins to develop the strangest case of Stockholm syndrome you’ve ever seen. And who can blame her? The blustering, bellowing ape is irresistible. A triumph of animation and characterization, to see Kong is to love him. Whether he’s ripping dinosaurs in two, beating his chest in triumph or taking time out to enjoy the sunset, Kong is truly a king among beasts. Despite his ferocity, Darrow is uniquely able to appreciate him as such.

Sadly, Denham and his companions are not similarly gifted. Rather than respond to Kong with the awe and respect he deserves, they seek only to subdue him, to tame him, to kill him if they must. That they are able to bring him down at all is truly a triumph of Man over Nature. But for some reason, this accomplishment evokes little urge to celebrate. “We’re millionaires, boys,” says Denham as he stands over Kong’s unconscious form. Perhaps, we wonder, but at what cost? Nothing less than the wonder and awe that drew Denham to Kong in the first place.

Listless and lifeless, when Kong is put on display in New York, he is nothing but a grim shadow of his former self. The fire that drove him previously has all but gone out. Tragically, when that fire is reignited again, we know it can only lead to his doom. New York is no place for an artifact of unbridled nature like Kong, after all. And it is only a matter of time before Kong meets his fate atop the pinnacle of humankind’s triumph over the very essence of what he represents.

As I see it, Darrow and Denham signify two sides of our split personality regarding the environment. On the one hand, we love and appreciate nature in all of its unfettered beauty and power. But few of us can leave it at that. The drive to subdue and exploit is irresistible. While we tend to celebrate our ability to do so, this film seems to question whether or not we’ve gone too far. King Kong is a call to repentance, a call to return to a sense of wonder and awe in the face of nature. It is also a warning that if we continue our attempts to shackle nature, as Denham attempted to do, sooner or later it will come back to bite us.

With such a strong environmentalist message embedded throughout the film, I was a little confused about why Jackson retained the original film’s final line about how it “’twas beauty that killed the beast.” Clearly, it wasn’t beauty but greed that was responsible for Kong’s death. Or, as another character put it, it was Denham’s “unfailing ability to destroy the things he loves.” Perhaps this was simply a case of sentiment trumping theme. The real question though is where our unfailing ability to destroy comes from. Why this love/hate relationship with our environment? Why are beauty and wonder so often overcome by fear and greed? As I pondered this, I was drawn back to another classic tale of Man and Nature—the Garden of Eden. If you pay close attention to the curse God utters to Adam and Eve just prior to expelling them from the Garden (Genesis 3:14–19), you will note that their disobedience ruptured their relationships on three levels: God and Man, man and woman, and Man and Nature. Where there used to be harmony, trust, and love, there was now conflict, distrust, and hatred. Where Man used to be able to sit back and enjoy the bounty of Nature, now he had to work and toil for every scrap.

Not a pretty picture. But the story doesn’t end there. If it took an act of disobedience to rupture these relationships, it follows that an act of obedience may be all that’s required to make them right again. So perhaps our inner “Carl Denham” doesn’t have to win the day after all. All we need to do is unleash our inner “Anne Darrow.”