I mean, I get where that's coming from. We don't want to so forget the world God has promised us, the one Christ began to bring about, the one with no tears or sorrow, the culmination of which we look forward to each day and celebrate in our weekly gatherings, that we stop working and living into it. We don't want to say this is the world we live in and we just have to deal with it. We don't want to forget that there's something more. I get it.
The problem is, though, that the world we're rejecting, the one that's dying away and will ultimately parish still exists. It's not dead yet - and that world is one where violence is embraced and justified to gain and maintain power. Violence anywhere leads to violence anywhere. If you can justify any violence, someone will, in fact, justify any violence. The notion of good guys and bad guys is a fallacy from the pits of hell, but so long as we live in a world where it's still believed and lived out, this is the result.
I'm not saying you can't be saddened and heartbroken for the violence of our world, for the lives lost, and the lives forever changed by mass shootings, I just don't think we can be surprised that a world built on violence produces violence any more than we can be surprised that pulling the lever on the soft serve machine means ice cream comes out. It's cause and effect.
We don't have to live the effect, we don't have to be satisfied or complacent with it, but we shouldn't be surprised. Christians least of all. We should have a worldview that understands the problems inherent in the machinations of power, the complications that arise when love is not our response to absolutely everything. We should not be shocked by the world in which we live, even as we grieve it.
I get especially upset with this "don't be numb" rhetoric, because it's rarely accompanied by a full-throated, scripturally-based, Christ-like denunciation of violence. I recognize that the realities of the world mean we can't expect everyone to be 100% non-violent in every situation. That's not the issue, though - the issue is our inability to condemn ourselves, even as we recognize violence is sometimes the least bad choice we can make.
Just because violence is the best course of action we can come up with in a given moment, doesn't mean it's justified. If we, as Christians, resort to violence, we should be doing so with pleas of forgiveness and mercy on our lips. Taking life, even to protect life, is not a Christ-like virtue. When we make heroes out of people who do so, we contribute to a culture of violence whose byproducts are these senseless murders.
That's another thing: we call them senseless, because they make no sense to us. Often, though, perpetrators of societally condemned violence find great sense in their own actions. They plan them; they feel compelled that they are the best possible course of action, given the assumptions they hold.
Just because we disagree with those particular assumptions doesn't make them morally any different than the assumptions we use to justify the violence we deem (even regrettably) necessary. We live in a society where we're privileged to mostly outsource our violence to others - police, military, etc. Just because we're not perpetrating that violence, doesn't mean it's any less ours; it's done in our name, by people's whose actions we justify (at least passively).
Jesus said those who live by the sword will die by the sword. We can make our individual decisions - and I pray they are always to non-violence and love - but we're also communal people by nature; like it or not, we participate in a world that lives by the sword. Christians can be saddened by violent deaths, but we really shouldn't be surprised. Christians should know better.
People who grow up in a society where violence is the answer to evil have a right to be shocked and surprised when it's used to perpetuate evil. Christians, who've been exposed to the Kingdom of God, where violence is never the answer and always the enemy, just don't have an excuse. Gun laws are great and I'd support better ones. I don't believe any weapon should ever be directed at any human ever. Laws pushing us in that direction will likely save lives, but they won't solve the problem.
Violence is the problem. Until we name it and address it, nothing will change, and we shouldn't be surprised by anything.
You can explore there, maybe help out, and be excited with us for the next phase in our adventure.
You'll also see I added some other pages to make this look a little more like a real website (someday I'll figure out the right url and buy it, I promise). But I also wanted to highlight my writing and speaking. I want to do more of both, so having a way to invite connection makes sense.
If you've got a congregation, camp, gathering, or group that might benefit from engaging with me, let me know. I'm always excited to connect with people.
If you want to talk more about The Nest and the new ministry we'll be doing in our new house, you can check out the Facebook page. This what we've been dreaming about and trying for the whole seven years we've lived in Middletown and we're excited for the possibilities.
Max Lucado, if you don't know, is a pastor from Texas, but one of the more prolific evangelical authors of recent times. He's published 40 some books and the jacket of this one boasts 130 million total books in print. His writing is basically a Christian version of self-help, with lots of bible verses and basic affirmations. It's not terrible. I don't always (or often) agree with his theology, but I have found his writing helpful from time to time (especially when I was younger and less confident in my own beliefs).
I don't want to trash it, but it's not my thing.
As I read through the book, some chapters seem really good - like they'd be incredible helpful to people who need a dose of hope. Others (far fewer) seem problematic, like they're going to provide a short term fix, but make things worse in the long run. These tend to be over-spiritualized chapters. It's not surprising; one of the hallmarks of evangelical theology is a tendency to downplay or ignore humanity. Modern evangelicalism was birthed out of a theological divide that, in shorthand, led to liberals being associated with social justice and real-world problems, while conservatives became associated with eternal destiny and spiritual health. These are just stereotypes, but they're important.
In one chapter, Lucado talks about how the Devil is the embodiment of evil and selfishness and those people who deny the real, personal existence of a devil are just playing into his schemes for damning our souls. This is very typical evangelical fodder (although a bit dated) perfectly appropriate for someone Lucado's age and for his core audience. I'd argue this kind of talk ends up letting us, as people, off the hook. We blame the devil for our sin and it creates a layer of separation from responsibility. Evangelicals have been trained to take the shame and guilt of sin on ourselves (sometimes too much), but we struggle accepting responsibility, which, in my view, is a real key to overcoming and redeeming our faults and failures.
The most recent chapter I read started and ended with the powerful story of a college softball player who injured her knee rounding first base on a game-winning home run. The rules prevented her teammates from helping her to reach home plate, so the opposing team decided to do it, even though it meant them losing the game. It's a profound story of compassion and selflessness - the kind of thing that can bring a tear to the eye and stir the soul.
Lucado uses it in an interesting way, though. The softball story is bookended around an extended explanation of Jesus' humanity. (Lucado's real talent is somehow extending what should be a paragraph of information into a chapter; that's how you write forty books while working full-time as a pastor.) He talks about how Jesus experienced life as we do, understands our suffering, and offers a solution.
All of that is great. He ends the chapter, though, after revealing the conclusion of the story, by saying what that opposing team did for the injured player in what Jesus wants to do for us. We're stuck in the failure and inadequacy of life, incapable of doing what we need to do and God makes up the difference. That's all true, but it missed the actual, practical point: that we're called to do for others what those players did for their opponent. We're called to be the difference for each other.
Now, I grew up hearing that kind of argument refuted as humanistic. God does for us; we don't do for ourselves. Ultimately that comes back to the Calvinist idea of total depravity - that sin completely removed the image of God from humanity and we're incapable of doing good without God.
That's not the foundational argument for over-spiritualizing, but it is a contributing factor. Many evangelicals want to be careful not to attribute anything good to humanity.
I don't think that's a real worry, because I don't believe in total depravity. I certainly affirm that people are incapable of being good on their own, but I wholeheartedly believe God has always intended to make us partners in the redemption of the universe. God works with us and in us - sometimes before we're even aware of it - to bring good to the world. It doesn't diminish the power of God to say that we can be agents of grace and salvation to one another - so long as we recognize the work of God underneath and within it all.
The real issue evangelicals struggle with - at least in this instance - is the notion that this life doesn't matter. We get so focused on being "in the right place" when we die that our lives become a means to an end. I don't know whether Lucado himself would say it (I don't like putting words in someone's mouth), but many evangelicals would say that grand gesture in the softball game doesn't mean squat if the people involved haven't prayed the right prayer and committed their lives to Jesus Christ.
That's far too dichotomous for me. It's a simplistic separation between the physical and spiritual - something the New Testament and the earliest Christians fought tooth and nail against. Jesus profoundly merged the physical and spiritual; the Jewish tradition (of which Jesus was deeply a part) says we are not us without both elements. The Lord's Supper, the center of our faith, makes it very clear how these two things are completely intertwined.
Yes, Jesus wants to do for us spiritually what those players did so graciously and self-sacrificially for their opponent. We can be lifted up, made whole, healed, and redeemed by the love of Jesus Christ. But that love was manifested in a physical act: suffering and dying out of love for the world. That love continues to be manifested in physical acts, like the one in question and a billion others around the world every day.
In fact, Jesus tells his disciples they will do even greater things than him. Maybe, just maybe, some of those things are fallible, sinful, dysfunctional human beings responding to the love of God by being agents of salvation to each other in the midst of the world. I don't believe eternity is some far off place. I don't believe "afterlife" is the best way to talk about heaven. Eternity begins here and now. God's redemption is happening as we speak. Our call is to be part of it as God calls an enables.
I believe strongly the condition of your soul has far more to do with the condition of your hands and heart than most evangelicals have been led to believe. I suppose there's some danger out there that we could focus so much on humanity that we forget God. I don't think it's likely, though. After all, no one has put more faith in humanity than has God. We'd do well to follow that example.
Way back last fall I purchased an online course from the great Peter Rollins. He did a "pay what you can" offer for his teaching on Paul Hessert's book Christ and the End of Meaning. There's nine videos (with Q & A, since the course was originally taught live online), plus a PDF copy of the book, which is out of print. I got the course as professional development. I need 20 hours of continuing education as part of my ordination and it's so wonderful to have such great online resources available.
I didn't intend, necessarily, to write or report on what I was learning, but after viewing the first video and reading the first chapter of the book, I'm pretty excited about the kinds of thoughts in triggers in my mind. The following is an extended quote from Chapter 1, that I felt most compelling:
In order for Christianity to be "meaningful" in the culture, it must validate the culture's demands for meaning and power and try to fulfill them. It does this by accepting the cultural structure as the basis of its own understanding — that is, the imperfect present linked to, but separated from, the ideal by time and guilt. The variant forms of Christian thought and practice — conservative, liberal, evangelical, fundamentalist, charismatic, orthodox — are but various forms of this one cultural orientation. In spite of the specific features by which each distinguishes itself from the others, or those features by which the others characterize it, there is a remarkable structural unanimity.
For example, all are one in the condemnation of the present as deficient to the ideal or even a betrayal of it. One stresses contemporary "immorality" in terms of promiscuous and deviant sex, drug and alcohol addiction, and preoccupation with "materialistic concerns." Another attacks "secular humanism." Another stresses systemic poverty and indifference to human values. Still another points to obsession with ideology that feeds the arms race and the peculiar economy attending it. Another concentrates on the neglect of traditional religious and patriotic practices.
It is the circle of reality as a whole that is legitimated by religion, and the condemnation of the present, in whatever form this may take, is one of the most important ways this circle is supported. Condemnation of the present is not an attack on the culture but a reinforcement of its structure.
Hessert's main argument is that western society has one "circle of reality" through which it approaches life. Generally this is the distance between what is and what might be. We see ourselves as we are and the distance between now and some ideal future as the purpose of life. We want something different than what we have - whether it's a job, money, a relationship, happiness, peace, freedom, weight loss, whatever - and we work towards achieving it.
His argument is essentially that most of Christianity has generally participated in this same western "circle of reality." Typically, though, various Christian denominations find an alternative goal. They replace whatever "worldly" thing we're searching for with Jesus or fulfillment or social justice or whatever, calling it a different perspective or worldview, but really just reinforcing the very same "circle of reality" centered in pursuit.
It's only chapter one, so I don't have a lot, yet, to say about the alternative, but I'm fascinated by the religious implications of Hessert's idea that there is an alternative - an alternative that is perhaps much closer to Christ and Christ's teaching than what we've come to know as Christianity.
Established religion, at least in this western "circle of reality," tells us there's something wrong with the world. It highlights the difference between what is and what could be, focusing on all the problems that prevent the now from being the ideal. What if a better understanding of Christianity says there's nothing wrong with the world, just our perception of it?
Rollins used the analogy of fish in the water. They're not conscious of the water itself, it is just part of the fabric of a fish's reality. Our "circle of reality" is not something we inherently see, but the structure by which we experience the world. Jesus called us to notice the water, to see our "circle of reality," and then Jesus challenged us to adopt a different one. The critique of Christianity is not about the substance of our beliefs, but about the very frame around which we build them.
Jesus provides a fundamentally different way of seeing and understanding existence. "Blessed are the poor" makes no sense in our culture, neither does "love your enemies," or "give without asking anything in return." These ideas fundamentally contradict how we understand the world. Our "circle of reality" is built around acquisition and improvement, but Jesus calls us to look at things differently.
What if the Kingdom of God is not something in the future (the ideal), but it's just a different way of seeing what's already here? Again, it's only chapter one, but I'm excited to see how Hessert (and Rollins) explores this argument more thoroughly. What if the culmination of all things is not some far off resolution to a current problem, but the result of people seeing the world as it is?
I love the optimism of this idea: that there's nothing wrong with the world, just something profoundly wrong with how we look at it (and thus how we live in it).*
*I found out this is, apparently, a Henry Miller quote. Who knew? (Not me. I promise.)
More than anything, as with any medeival-ish society specifically, loyalty is set against love. From the very beginning, when Ned Stark takes his boys out to execute a deserter, he leaves them with the lesson: "he who passes the sentence, swings the sword." Ned is known to be a person of wisdom and mercy, but he also executes his responsibilities (literally). His loyalty is never questioned, but it clearly trumps love. He can't do what he might be inclined to do; he has responsibilities. The situation dictates his response.
People are what they do. I think most of us believe this - at least about other people. We might have sentimental feelings now and then or we might know that there's more to someone than just their worst actions, but generally we judge other people by what they do.
Cersei Lannister is set up as the ultimate big baddie in Game of Thrones. This is because her loyalty is to herself alone. She'll lie, cheat, kill, and betray anyone, at any time, for power. The show talks about how her children are her motivation, but only in so much as they are extensions of herself. Cesei's conscience is based on survival and domination. If it helps her, it's right; if it hurts her, it's wrong. This makes her an ultimate villain.
Every other character on the show is grey; they do good and they do bad. One of the major intentions of George R. R. Martin, the author of the books, was to establish a world with some sense of realism. Most fantasy has good guys and bad guys; the sides and stakes are clear. With Game of Thrones you're never sure who to support or for how long. Except Cersei; no one is rooting for her. There's some fleeting attention paid to her affection for her twin brother, Jaime (who is also her lover... yeah, I know, the show goes places), but she never has his best interests in mind, only her own. By this final season, she's even driven him away with her madness and treachery.
Cersei is loyal to no one, so no one is loyal to her. Cersei's actions are despicable as is she; entirely unlovable.
Yet, as we saw on Sunday, Jaime came back. He'd finally escaped and found love with a women (Brienne) he truly respects, one who sees the good in him and genuinely wishes the best for him, someone who is loyal to a fault - essentially the exact opposite of his sister. One of the most heart-wrenching scene in the entire run of the show is Jamie leaving her to return to Cersei. He says, "She is hateful and so am I." It's his rejection of whatever good Brienne sees in him. At the time it feels like weakness, but this week it's revealed as incredible love.
Jaime eventually find Cersei, her city is being sacked and burned by a dragon; any chance she has of power or continued life is gone. He doesn't return to apologize, to justify her actions, or rejoin her team. Jaime returns to Cersei so she doesn't have to die alone. Yes, they're trying to escape and run away to live happily ever after, but no one (not even them) believe that'll ever happen. They came into the world together and they leave the same way.
It's extremely touching. Many fans are upset the show's villain got such a favorable death. Yes, her life was a selfish waste, but she was loved - and that's not nothing.
It's also not loyalty. Jaime had no reason to return, no advantage in this play. No one would even look favorably on him for being loyal in this moment, because Cersei doesn't deserve it. He'd already abandoned her; the family ties were broken. This return was all love. Love for one who is unquestionably unlovable.
That's magic. It's a recognition that there's some part of us worth something regardless of our deeds, attitudes, or intentions. We cannot be utterly irredeemable, because we are human; beneath whatever it is that makes us unique is something that connects us all together, something bigger than ourselves. That core humanity is worthwhile, is valuable, is lovable, even if we are not.
Loving your enemies is the most profound idea in the history of the world. Most everything Jesus said had been said before, but this idea was new. A love grounded entirely outside self-interest and directed entirely towards another - no personal gain. Logically it feels like a love wasted, but it is the only real expression of love.
What's more, Jaime doesn't see Cersei as an enemy, although she is - to him and to everyone else. He might've been her brother, lover, and closest confidante, but she's done nothing to acknowledge his worth or for his benefit. No one else in the entire universe of the show has any reason to mourn her passing and every reason to celebrate. Jaime's in that camp, too, but he doesn't know it. That's because of love.
You see, the trick is not really loving your enemy. That's the goal; that's where it starts. But the love at the core of Christian teaching can't be love of enemy, it is a love that so transforms us that we have no enemies. Even those who act like enemies to us are not enemies in our eyes. Loving our enemies is still passing judgement on them. There's a magnanimity that is, in the end, self-serving.
Some people look at the call to love our enemies and believe they have to be kind to everyone - a sublimation of our natural responses. I don't think that's true. The command to love our enemies is, in my mind, a reminder that everyone, all of us, are worthy. We are called to love our enemies because there are no enemies - even if people sometimes act like it. That doesn't mean we ignore the consequences or somehow aid in people being selfish and evil, we simply refuse to believe (and thus act) as if those actions are all they really are.
Our actions define us, but they are not all of us. I think this reality is the only way to find hope in the midst of suffering. I suspect it's the only way to imagine something beautiful in the midst of the dirty chaos that is Game of Thrones. It's one small example of love in a story about loyalty. I suspect this lesson was not the one the show's creators planned to communicate, but I'm glad it was present, even if they rest of the episode left something to be desired.
Part of the criticism was answered because it's a show set in the fantasy past, in the midst of a darker time and a strong patriarchy. Women are treated poorly because that's been the lot of women in history. That doesn't hold a lot of weight for a show that features zombies and dragons; historical accuracy is somewhat malleable. There's only ever been one woman in the writer's room and it's easy to tell what perspective reigns.
The controversy returned again this week with a short conversation between Sansa Stark, a scion of one of the noble houses, and Sandor Clegane (known as The Hound). As a child, Sansa had been sent to the capital and betrothed to a lunatic sadist would-be king. The Hound was the personal bodyguard of said prince and bailed when it became apparent the guy wasn't worth defending. He offered to take Sansa with him, to bring her home, but his reputation wasn't the greatest at that point and she was very afraid to speak up for herself or act in her own best interest.
One of the arcs of the show has been Sansa's growth and maturity, most of which comes in the midst of terrible sexual and emotional violence.
She spent years being used and abused as pawns of more powerful people. She survived and has become a wise, ruthless, powerful player in her own right. It's a triumph of resiliency - at least as much as can be in a fictional universe.
The conversation in question has Clegane reminding Sansa that he could've saved her from the terrible suffering that has been her life. She reminds him that she's also achieved incredible success in the midst of that suffering and says that without her suffering, she would not be the wise, self-assured person speaking to him.
Obviously, it's problematic to have a woman give credit for her success to the horrors of her life, as if she didn't already have this potential within her that could've been brought out in other (less miserable) ways. This is sound criticism, but I'm not sure that's really what's being implied. I saw her statement as recognizing the importance of adversity. Yes, she could have realized her potential without rape and abuse, but perhaps she could not have realized her potential without suffering and struggle. The coddled, sheltered life meant for her, cushioned by a safe, protected, familiar environment likely would not have given her the tools to navigate an otherwise dangerous and ruthless world.
Our children need to be challenged - to stumble, fall, and fail - allowing them to do so is one of the most difficult parts of parenting. Protection is a natural instinct that's reinforced by cultural pressure to remove obstacles from our children's paths to success. We make fun of parents showing up to job interviews with their twenty-something children or negotiating grades with college professors, but that's just an extension of the social pressure towards supervised play dates and baby wipe warmers.
It's not that any of those things or those instincts is bad on its own merits, but to the extent we keep our children from failing, we're failing them. I'm the father of an almost-seven-year-old only child. She's as spoiled as they come - or at least it feels that way. I'm not talking about dropping them off at boot camp or taking away their bike helmets. It's hard enough to make my daughter (and remember, she's seven) buckle her own seat-belt.
I see how easy it is to quit when things are difficult. From tying her shoes to pouring a glass of milk, simple tasks still take practice - which usually means failure, at first. A lot of things came easy to me in life; those things gave me space to just avoid the things that didn't come easy. I don't know that I learned hard work as well as I could have. I'm pretty sure I could've used a little more perseverance in the face of failure; I suspect most of us could.
Because life is hard. Well, life for many of us could be pretty easy. I'm an educated straight white male; the stars have aligned to make coasting through life awfully easy for me and people like me. I guess I should say making a worthwhile life is hard. It's difficult to accomplish things that really matter, no matter how gifted you are. Maybe I'm dead wrong and the writers of Game of Thrones really do believe that everything happens for a reason. Rather than justifying abuse, I hope they're simply trying to point out the value of adversity in general. We could all use the reminder from time to time.
As a Christian, I allow the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ to be the measure of my beliefs. I try to be challenged by scripture and the work of God’s Holy Spirit to align my life (my actions) with the life (and actions) of Jesus. The struggle comes in exploring the distance between those beliefs and my reality (both my actions and the actions of others that impact me).
But you don’t necessarily need a “faith” per say, to engage in this exploration. I’d argue no one has a choice. Willful ignorance or obliviousness might minimize the tension or limit your discomfort, but you can’t ever eliminate it entirely.
Even an extreme nihilist, driven by the belief that nothing matters will, on occasion, encounter some experience, some moment of meaning, that challenges this core assumption. Life will give you pause to doubt its ultimate meaninglessness the same way it will give a person of faith and belief pause to doubt its purposefulness.
I’d argue Jesus’ life and teaching were not intended to start some new religion, but to challenge the concept of religion. He deftly illustrated that a system of beliefs and practices cannot be the solution to our existential angst. We may ultimately come to find ourselves within a particular religious tradition, but that only happens because we’ve come to believe those beliefs and practices are worthwhile in our search to reconcile the truth in our heads with our reality.
This is why I can say our “church” is a gathering of people with no required set of beliefs. If whatever Christian perspective on life and belief I happen to have is actually true, others will be convinced on the merits, on its practical value in making life bearable (if not enjoyable), not because of some inherent authority or coercive fear.
I’d argue those religious leaders who appeal to authority or fear as the basis of belief don’t really believe in anything except power. They are religious leaders, but theirs is not the religion they claim to represent.
This is the perfect example of how a “church” built on this tension between belief and reality can be beneficial. It allows us to think about our own beliefs and our own actions and the relationship between them without the shame of having to live up to some imposed religious standard. The very religious standard, I’d argue, Jesus came to topple.
The twin questions of “Why do we do what we do?” and “What do our actions say about our beliefs?” allow us to examine this gap in ways that lead to growth. It doesn’t require us to have the same answer to questions like “What is true?” or “What is right?” in order to be supportive and helpful to each other.
I know this all sounds very relativistic, as if all beliefs are equally valid, but that could not be further from the truth. It’s merely a recognition that our beliefs can only truly change when we’re convinced they need to change. It’s a belief that truth wins out in the end. If my beliefs are right, that will become apparent. If my beliefs are wrong, that will become equally apparent.
The job of the “church” is then not to convince someone to change their mind, but to help people explore that gap between belief and action.
That gap gets exposed in two ways. The first is when we’re made aware of a gap that exists. It’s quite likely we’ve got beliefs that aren’t reflected well in our actions, but we simply don’t notice them because they aren’t supper impactful or they’re so commonly accepted as to never be questioned.
The “church” should be a place where we’re sometimes awakened to belief-action gaps we never knew existed. “The way I treated my co-worker this morning does not reflect the value I believe she possesses.” You may not have been aware of that gap at the time – she messed up, you got angry, it seemed appropriate – but when that awareness comes, either through your own self-reflection or the loving words of a friend, the “church” can be a place that helps you work through it.
The second way our belief-action gap is exposed is through a challenge to our beliefs. Ideally this wouldn’t be a direct confrontation – “Your belief is wrong” – although that happens all the time in life, but a realization that our belief just doesn’t add up. This is the stereotypical mid-life crisis: “I thought job success and money were supposed to make me happy and they don’t, am I missing the point of life?” It’s a question you need to work through for yourself, but a process you shouldn’t do alone.
Where “church” has failed in the past is where it’s heaped shame and scorn on the recognition of these belief-action gaps, rather than comfort and acceptance. We feel a natural shame when we recognize our beliefs and actions don’t match-up. We feel inadequate, guilty, sinful, even though what we’re experiencing is both deeply human and deeply healthy. Until and unless we face up to these belief-action gaps we’re never going to be able to grow.
Too often the “church” adds to the guilt, making us feel like these gaps, these tensions and discomfort are wrong. Let’s say you believe generosity is important, but find yourself saddled with debt and obligations that making giving generously impossible. Recognizing that gap brings with it a sense of failure and hopelessness. Too often the “church” compounds this with guilt and feeds a cycle of regret that prevents us from addressing the gap.
What if “church” were a place of comfort? What if the “church’s” response to this generosity gap was mourning and reassurance. “I’m sorry you’re feeling this discomfort and tension, but it’s an opportunity to grow. There may not be readily available solutions, but we’ll walk through this tension with you, and support you as you try to find balance.” What if “church” were the place you could go when you’re feeling lost and find assurance that you’re not lost alone?
This requires us recognizing the difference between internal and external pressure. It’s easy, especially in a religious setting, to feel pressure to change beliefs we’re not ready (and maybe don’t need to change). If everyone else thinks drinking alcohol is wrong and you don’t; it’s easy to feel an imposed shame, a challenge to your belief that is entirely external. This is bad and unhealthy.
At the same time, we pay feel a tension between our beliefs and the beliefs of others that is genuinely real within us. We might be convinced that our belief really does need to change – maybe it’s because we’ve been exposed to the alternative beliefs of others, but not because they’re imposing those beliefs upon us.
It’s a tricky thing to parse, of course, whether your tension is real or imposed. The “church” should be constantly policing itself in this regard. This could easily lead to a timidity that finds to discussion of beliefs at all out of fear we’ll make someone uncomfortable. The problem, of course, is not the discomfort, but the source of that discomfort.
There’s a real difference between saying “violence is evil and must be avoided at all costs,” and saying “I must avoid violence; I don’t like what it does to me.” When we can consider a belief outside of ourselves, it gives us the distance necessary to maybe consider it for ourselves. Does Ryan’s rationale for this belief make sense in my life? A healthy “church” is one where either answer to that question is genuinely acceptable.
I keep using quotations around the word “church” and I do that for a very specific purpose. We have a lot of ideas that come into our heads when we hear that word “church.” It means vastly different things to people. Usually it has some specific religious context. “Church” is the Christian version of the word; other religions use different terms: temple, mosque, gurdwara, etc.
I think, at their heart, all of these are attempts to be communities of care and concern. You don’t need to be affiliated with any particular religion to do this, either. As human beings we’re all searching for communities of radical acceptance, where we can be loved and valued regardless of our actions and beliefs. To me, this is what “church” means. I don’t think it has to be a place of songs and pews and preaching, although I don’t think we should necessarily throw those things out either.
If Jesus came to show us and call us to radical love – a love that is willing to die for its enemies – than any community can be a “church,” if it has this practice as its goal. Honestly, you don’t even really have to be willing to love your enemies; you really just have to be willing to love the people in front of you.
I know all of this requires some underlying beliefs that not everyone will agree with: a belief in radical love, in the ultimately victory of truth, in the importance of other people, etc. Someone who specifically disagrees with those things might not be capable of participating in “church” as I see it. That’s regrettably true.
Of course, if beliefs in love and truth and ultimate reality are in fact real and true and ultimate, those people incapable of participating won’t necessarily always be incapable of participating – in the very same way none of us are really capable of participating and never will be. That doesn’t mean we don’t try.
After all, we’re stuck with that gap between our beliefs and our actions whether we like it or not. Whether we embrace love and community or self-interest and individuality, we’re all going to face doubts and challenges and discomfort. If you want to do that alone, it’s fine by me. I’d rather do it together.
Semenya is a woman with DSD (difference in sexual development) - she has some male reproductive organs which drastically increases the amount of testosterone naturally present in her body - fighting to compete according to her gender identity without medical intervention. There may yet be other legal action, but those options are longshots at best.
Essentially, what this ruling means is that Semenya will have to run against men or have her testosterone levels medically lowered to within allowable limits for female competition. Neither of those outcomes seems entirely fair. This whole issue is further complicated by the appalling way in which Semenya has been treated during a decade long process to get to this point.
She was, at one time, unaware of her DSD status and found out along with the public when a forced "gender confirmation" test was illegally revealed in the media. She's been subject of scorn, ridicule, and abuse from many parties over a long period of time and has had to suffer greatly in her pursuit of athletic achievement.
The ruling is being framed as a setback for gender identity recognition, but I think things are a bit more complicated than that. We've seen similar struggles at all level of sport. Recently Connecticut State High School track and field has seen transgender girls winning state titles and backlash - or at least frustration - over the real and perceived advantages of a different hormonal makeup.
With athletics, there is always a preference for superior physical attributes, right? People with better fast-twitch muscles, larger frames, or elite hand-eye coordination excel over others. Most every successful athlete works incredibly hard, but there are inherent physical advantages that usually make a difference at the highest levels. Why should testosterone be any different?
It's a good question, especially since the current "best practice" for preventing doping involves a "biological profile" that measures an athlete against their own physiology and not against some objective standard. Athletic officials get biological data from athletes very early in their careers to establish a standard by which to judge if there's any unnatural advantages at play. It's not perfect, but it does recognize that some athletes do have inherent physical advantages, which contribute to their success.
Semenya's case is quantitatively different because her DSD puts her testosterone levels many times above what's ever been measured in women without DSD; it is a far greater disparity than you'd find among more biologically typical men or women. The scale is simply well beyond what's historically been encountered.
Semenya doesn't win every race, though. Women - women with what are now declared to be "typical" testosterone levels - have beaten her in competition. It doesn't happen too often, but the argument is that her physiological advantages clearly aren't unfair, they just provide her with a larger advantage than we're used to seeing. That's a compelling argument on a world-class level, but it's a lot tougher to accept at lower levels of competition; there's just a much, much smaller chance any Connecticut high school girl will be able to compete, because the pool of competitors is so much smaller.
The only reason we have women's sports is because there's a recognition of biological difference, right? If men and women could compete easily, they would. Testosterone makes a big difference in athletic performance and there's no way around it. What are we to do?
Many have called this ruling a loss for gender identity, but I see it more as an early victory in the battle against the concept of gender. I've written about this extensively before, but the only real difference between men and women is reproduction and even that is not a real difference. Yes, you can make gender-based generalizations, but there isn't ever a way to say "all men are ___________" or "all women are ________." Not every women can bear children and not ever man can father them. You might then move to merely having specific reproductive organs regardless of their functionality - but then you're faced with men and women like Semenya, who have DSD and don't fit into those binary categories.
For too long we've stigmatized people who aren't easily categorized. From the brutal ignorance of fay and butch to the more complicated contemporary studies of brain chemistry and hormone balance, all of it is an attempt to fit people into boxes of male and female that don't really matter outside of defined gender roles.
Think about it. There's no need to put people into gendered boxes unless you believe there are different purposes for men and women. Yes, there are some generalized biological differences that make some things easier for women than men, but that doesn't mean those activities or abilities have to be defined by gender. I know I'm repeating myself, but this is the ultimate trump card of opposition: I know men can't bear children, but not all women can either. Reproduction can't be the determining factor; that's just a fact of biology.
Perhaps you want to make a theological argument that whatever grey areas exist between genders are the fault of some sinful, imperfect world and that eternity will be a place where gender difference and roles can and will be completely separate and defined - and thus working towards that separation now is religiously faithful. I get the logic of that argument even if I vehemently disagree with the premise (you can start with Paul's admonition that "there is no longer male nor female" and work out from there), still, I won't ever defend any religious perspective's right to dictate belief or behavior to those who disagree. It's just not relevant to this discussion.
When it comes to athletics, it is unfair to require Semenya, a women, to compete with men or artificially lower her testosterone. It's as unconscionable as turning a blind eye to doping and thus all but requiring people to artificially increase various chemicals in their bodies. It's two sides of the same coin. I think it's also unfair to ask people to compete against others who are so physiologically different. Asking women with typical testosterone ranges to compete against Semenya is as problematic as requiring Semenya to compete against men with typical testosterone levels (levels that are orders of magnitude higher than hers).
My radical solution? Do away with gendered athletics. There's no real reason for it. This ruling has essentially created a third class of athletes anyway; Semenya is now in this strange medium, with higher testosterone levels than are allowed for women's competition and lower levels than can reasonably compete with men. You could have testosterone classes, the way wrestling and boxing have weight classes. At least three, but maybe more, if it makes sense. NBC is not going to balk at getting a third or fourth or fifth Olympic 100m final; those are ratings gold (pun intended). Yeah, it might cost more to stage events, but that's a small price to pay for inclusion, right?
I just think this debate over gender identity is short-sighted. Yes, blurring the lines and increasing the spectrum of how we think of men and women is better than the status quo, for sure, but you're never going to win that battle, you'll only be on a path of constant improvement. Let's work to do away with gender division and treat everyone like human beings. If there are biological or physiological issues that arise, let's treat them on their own terms, not further complicating things by adding problematic gender issues on top.
I know it's uncomfortable for a lot of people, because we've had this male-female distinction as long as humans have existed. It's an accepted part of society and culture, but think for a minute: is there a male-female distinction you make that isn't unfair to somebody? I could go farther and ask if there's any distinction you make, of any kind, that isn't unfair to somebody, but that's not really the purpose of this piece today.
It's also got implications for wider society, too. People complain about how many letters are getting added to the LGBTQIAPK+ acronym and never really including everyone. Why not say we're all people, in various places on various spectrums and stop trying to put everyone into a box. We've been discriminating against each other long enough; we don't need even more categories by which to do it; we need fewer. Ultimately we're all in our own individual box or we're all in one big one together. There's no need for an in-between.*
*I recognize as a cis white male I've got an incredible amount of privilege that makes this whole issue safer for me - and it makes me more likely to ignorantly violate the perspective of marginalized others. There's certainly valid pushback and critique to my position, largely that incremental steps are important and shouldn't be ignored. I acknowledge that perhaps my more general statements towards the end of the piece might be too idealistic and grandiose; I hope those do not take away from a proposed solution to gender and athletic competition, which I think is fair, workable, and a movement in the right direction.
Just a reminder: I don't vote for President. It's a protest against the presumed power of the office and the idea that one person should hold that kind of singular authority. The President of the United States is far from the most important or powerful person in the world and not voting helps make that belief more than just an idea. I watch elections like I watch sports: for interesting story-lines and for entertainment.
This time around, I'm in a pretty unique position. I'm from Delaware, but I'm not from Delaware, which allows me a certain perspective on Mr. Biden while also maintaining a little distance.
What makes Biden so compelling, obviously, is how easily he would've wiped the floor with Trump in 2016. Democrats are always nominating the person who would've won the last election (which is why they can never follow a two-term President: the guy who won the last election isn't eligible). Democrats also like novelty, though (Carter, Clinton, Obama, heck, even JFK), so Mayor Pete or Beto or the potential first woman President is pretty attractive. Democrats rarely care much about electability (to their detriment).
Biden, though, I think, changes the mold. Because his negatives are in the same category as Trump's, but not as extreme, it's a tough match-up for DT. He speaks off the cuff and puts his foot in his mouth, but, you know, Trump makes him look like an amateur in that department. He's had difficult relationships with women - from Anita Hill on down - but even the women who've accused him of making them uncomfortable have specifically rejected claims of harassment or worse.
Let's just say there's no chance a 30 point Democratic loss in Scranton (the white, working-class town that also happens to be Biden's birthplace) would've happened if Amtrak Joe would've been on the ticket. That red run through the rust-belt by the slimmest of margins just wouldn't have happened.
Now, as much as it seems like the same thing would happen this time around, the Democrats live in the past so thoroughly, I find it far more likely something would come out of left field to change the narrative and make the idea of Biden over Trump seem silly by November of 2020. I mean, more likely the Democrats will nominate someone else and kill their chances, but regardless, things are more likely to go wrong than right. That is the Democratic Party Way.
People love Joe in Delaware. I suspect part of it is because he's given a small state a prominent place in the nation's government for near half a century now. Never underestimate the power of a Napoleon Complex. The other part, of course, is because Joe seems so genuine. "Seems" probably indicates there's a seedy underbelly about to be revealed. I don't think that's true. Locally, you hear that people who work for Joe never forget they work for Joe, if you catch my drift. He's only ever been a politician and to survive this long you have to be good. Voters, donors, and media get the full Joe treatment, because they are literally his livelihood.
Some might call that disingenuous, but that's only because we forget (or refuse to admit) that you have to be at least 51% narcissistic just to run for dog catcher, let alone any higher office. Elected officials are not a diverse representation of the general populous; they're almost entirely comprised of that kid in high school who thought he was better than everyone else, but no one knew well enough to really know for sure whether that was true.
I don't think there necessarily has to be a dichotomy between a folksy, homespun, tell it like it is, everyman, and a career politician who treats people around him based on their ability to help his career. I think Joe Biden genuinely cares about the people it's political advantageous to care about, and while that sounds icky, for a veteran politician, it's downright miraculous.
The guy's far from perfect, but perfect is the last thing you want in a President. The harder it is to put them in the role of savior, the better. Maybe that, in itself, is reason he can't win in 2020. At this point, a department store mannequin looks like salvation to 75% of the country; it's virtually impossible to win strictly by asking people to vote against your opponent - even if that opponent is Donald Trump.
That's the real wildcard in this election. We've had Presidents with policy positions we vehemently despise. We've had Presidents who lie regularly and with conviction (in fact, we've probably never had a President who didn't). We've had terrible, inexperienced, mentally unhinged Presidents, too. As I said before, to become President, your capacity for blind self-interest has to be impossibly, unbearably high (yes, even for "the good ones"). Typically, though, Presidents decide that its in their self-interest to appear to be working for some other more noble purpose.
What those people who really hate Trump hate most is that he's not playing the game. The guy doesn't even pretend. That was unique enough for other politicians to be paralyzed in response and it was refreshing enough to voters to put him in office.
It's also the Biden playbook.
No, Joe's never been like Trump, but he's worked hard to cultivate the image that he's not like other politicians either. His gaffes couldn't be political theater, because they're so terribly embarrassing or cringe-worthy. Or is ol' Uncle Joe just that good at what he does?
I live in Delaware and I don't have an answer for that. I'm not saying Biden would be as terrible as Trump (for the record, my opposition to DT is entirely because he appears to lack the ability to even set a standard by which to judge right from wrong - which is far scarier and more dangerous than someone who just has a terrible standard or lacks the ability to use it consistently), I am saying that trump's attempts to expose the truth to the American people would be one hell of a ride.
My gut tells me Biden probably wouldn't be a very good President, but he'd be a terrific general election candidate - probably the only one who could make things entertaining. That's why he's my pick... at least right now.
It's been 20 years. There's a book coming out in a few weeks, arguing that 1999 was the best movie year ever. The Ringer has been doing a 1999 movies gimmick this week and it's brought back a lot of memories. 1999 was largely pre-internet. I mean, we had had the internet for a while, but there wasn't much you could do with it other than chat rooms and maybe AOL Instant Messenger. There was certainly no crossover between movies at the internet at this time.
It was also the dawn of the stadium seating multiplex. I'm not sure how long we'd had one in Colorado Springs, but I know most people were still going to the tiny theaters in the malls or the six-screeners on the outskirts of residential neighborhoods. We had to drive by the Tinseltown on the south end of Colorado Springs (where we couldn't get into any late night showings of Phantom Menace, because people had camped out for a week - no joke - and we had finals to take) through the literal nothing that then existed before reaching the multiplex that had just been built on the north end of Pueblo (where, as I said, we had to get second showing tickets).
So much has changed since then, obviously, but it was a great year in movies that coincided with a pivotal year in my life, so I've taken this opportunity to post a ranking of every 1999 movie I've seen with some sporadic comments about how they strike my memory.* This is not a ranking of their cinematic quality, and it's a present day ranking, not one from 1999 (otherwise American Pie would've been much higher).
*Note, I definitely did not see all of these movies in 1999.
1. Varsity Blues. I know, I know. Irresponsible drinking, objectification of women, ridiculous plot points (or lack thereof), and some seriously questionable casting choices. Still, it's a football movie about the book-ish loser who saves the day - you have to admit, that's right up my alley. Also, that soundtrack. When I think of this movie, I imagine only a football flying through the night sky with Dave Grohl belting "There goes my hero." Pure bliss.
2. The Matrix. This was my single greatest movie-going memory. I hadn't even heard of it. There was very little press. One of my friends was super excited and made us going after school opening day. Yes, it opened on a Wednesday in March. There were six people in the theater. We sat spellbound through the whole thing, speechless as the credits and the Rage-heavy soundtrack continued. We sat there without saying anything as the next showing began. We sat through the whole movie a second time (if that sounds impossible to you 'why didn't the theater workers kick you out?' ask anyone familiar with the Chapel Hills Mall theater during the late 90s). As we finally left, I don't remember any conversation other than, "that was the greatest thing I have ever seen. Obviously, the effects are no longer ground-breaking and the philosophical mythology was ruined by the sequels, but it will always have a special place in my heart. Even in retrospect, a movie about a man waking up to the reality that he's in a simulated world, written and directed by two transgender siblings who'd yet to transition has some cultural resonance and importance well beyond the kung-fu and FX. Even if you don't particularly like the movie, you have to recognize what it is and what it means.
3. Man on the Moon. I love Andy Kauffman and I think this film did such a great job of encapsulating a complicated life without drifting into hero-worship of iconoclasm. Milos Forman is an incredible director and he got a career life-changing performance out of Jim Carrey, who WASN'T EVEN NOMINATED for best actor (an award that went to Kevin Spacey - bet you wish you could have that one back, don't you, Academy!?!). Seriously, Carrey got so far into character, they made a documentary (recently) about how insane both he and the situation turned out to be. I'm not privy to what's going on in Jim Carrey's life, but you can see a stark difference from before and after. Just such a great movie.
4. Go. Another nostalgia pick, but a really fun movie that seems to be getting it's due now. Go has aged really well and it's just fun. Yes, lots of drugs and sex (see a 90s theme here), but there's a ton of great actors in it and no one is taking it too seriously. It's a fun movie that's supposed to be fun. Escapism at it's best, and really entertaining.
5. Fight Club. This is just objectively a really well-made movie. We watched it all the time in college. It speaks to a lot of complicated issues about humanity and how we deal with injustice in the world. At the same time, my personal journey away from violence makes the idea of Fight Club less appealing (although, one could argue, that's sort of the point). Dark movies, in general, are harder for me to get attached to, and I'm sure some of this went over my head at the time. Still, it's really important and deserves to be part of the Top 5.
6. Any Given Sunday. Oliver Stone's visual style has always appealed to me, and this raw, sort of fever-dream of a football movie just looks cool. They had real football players to make the violence real and shot it from new angles. The hyper-stylized excesses of football seemed outrageous at the time, but feel prescient now. The movie as a whole is not good enough to be up this far, but the meta-quality of Lawrence Taylor's character and that final locker room speech from Pacino drive it to the top. (Also, don't sleep on Jamie Foxx's breakout performance that he later turned into his own life.)
7. Big Daddy. Adam Sandler's best movie by far (although I think his performance in Spanglish is certainly better). A grown-up kid raising a kid that doesn't go over the top or goofy the way his other films do. He uses all his typical cast of actor/friends really well, plus gets great contributions from Jon Stewart (yes, that Jon Stewart) and the always lovely Joey Lauren Adams. There's no logical reason it should be this high on the list, but I love it; I might even still have the VHS in my possession.
8. Office Space. I never fell in love with this movie the way others have in the intervening two decades, but it was totally original in every sense of the word and dry humor, played straight, is something I really cherish. The Ringer had a great oral history about it's making you should check out. You just can't give enough praise to the trends they were able to buck and how they got every decision right.
9. Galaxy Quest. As far as I know, I've only seen this movie once. I don't have a lot of desire to go back to it (although I certainly will at some point). I just remember it being both a creative and loving send-up of Star Trek (which I love) and one of the wittiest movies I can remember. I actively despise Tim Allen, but he's fine in this movie, and the supporting players are outstanding - especially classic Alan Rickman. It's funnier than office space, but it doesn't have the same resonance in culture and movie-making. There's no nostalgia in this pick, just respect for one of the smartest, most-underrated comedies every made.
10. Arlington Road. There's a lot of nostalgia in this one. I probably haven't seen it in 18 years, but I probably saw it 18 times before that. I wore this DVD out, showing it and lending it to people who hadn't seen this movie (which was, and is, nearly everyone). It's a conspiracy thriller with a number of twists. It's not ground-breaking or classic; it's just good. Check it out.
11. 10 Things I Hate About You. There's some nostalgia in this, too, but definitely the best teen movie of the year. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Julia Styles, Heath Ledger. Today's teens should discover this one.
12. Being John Malkovich. Charlie Kauffman absurdity. Thank God Malkovich was actually game to it. Great cast. Great dry wit.
13. Sleepy Hollow. This is not a good movie, nor one you'll ever want to see again, but you should see it once. A visually stunning collaboration between Tim Burton and greatest cinematographer of all time, Emmanuel Lubezki (The Revenant, Birdman, Gravity, Tree of Life, Children of Men, etc), it remains the most beautiful movie I've ever seen.
14. Magnolia.
15. Election.
16. The Sixth Sense.
17. Three Kings.
18. Eyes Wide Shut.
These are five movies I recognize as brilliant masterpieces, technically far too low on the list. I, however, have only seen each once, and almost certainly before I was fully ready to appreciate them.
19. The Cider House Rules. I think this is a pretty good movie with excellent young actors, but the book is incredibly important to my personal formation, and critical reception was/is not what I would've expected. I just don't know if I have any perspective on it at all, so here it sits.
20. Blast from the Past. I'm sure this movie stinks, but it's got Christopher Walken, along with (the always lovable) Alicia Silverstone and peak Brendan Fraser, who plays a man emerging into the 90s after having spent the previous three decades accidentally locked in a fallout shelter with his parents. I love it only because of one joke I'm going to ruin. Fraser gets taken to bar to find a girlfriend and is told he needs to lie about himself to make himself look better in order to pick up women - he walks over to one whilst staring at the ground, only to look up and say, "I wonder if you can help me, I seem to have lost my Congressional Medal of Honor around here somewhere." It brings me such joy!
21. South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut. Say what you will (and it's not necessarily my cup of tea), but this is Oscar-nominated genius.
22. American Pie. It is what it is and whatever that is, hopefully we've all grown out of it.
23. Dogma. As an evangelical kid, I think I appreciated the irreverence and religious critique more than I liked the movie, also it benefits from the Damon-Affleck Good Will Hunting glow.
24. Entrapment. Most memorable trailer image of the year, hands down (fast forward to 0:54). The movie turned out to be more that watchable and it was the last, real, charming Sean Connery performance.
25. Deep Blue Sea. I did go back and try to watch this again; it does not live up to the nostaglia, but... that Sam Jackson scene... and LL Cool J. If there's ever been a good bad movie, this is it.
26. The Bone Collector.
27. The 13th Warrior.
28. The Thirteenth Floor.
I can tell you almost nothing about these movies, other than I remember really liking them.
29. For Love of the Game. Worth it, I promise.
30. American Beauty. Kevin Spacey has now allowed us all to admit we really didn't get this movie, but felt like we should've. It's certainly not bad, but it's no "Best Picture."
31. Cruel Intentions. I was as sex-crazed as any other 17 year old boy, but this was even a little too much for me.
32. Wing Commander. I know nothing about this movie. It's here for nostalgia. This is the movie George Lucas "chose" to show the Phantom Menace trailer with. We did stay to watch the movie, but 90% of the people in our theater left before it started. I seem to remember some scene where time was stopped while someone was spilling a glass of milk? Yeah.
33. The Green Mile. Emotionally wrenching. Michael Clark Duncan was great. Not as good as you remember.
34. The Hurricane. Great story. Denzel is fine. Would've rather seen a documentary.
35. Mystery, Alaska. A comedy I remember liking - and seeing more than once. Little Richard's national anthem gambit is spectacular.
36. The Story of Us. A love story I remember liking. Saw this one on a plane.
37. Happy, Texas. A typical Steve Zahn movie.
38. Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. Verne Troyer and Fat Bastard, but that's about it. The worst of the trilogy, by far.
39. Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace.
40. Bicentennial Man. I remember it being mediocre, at best, but there was something compelling about Robin Williams' performance and the overall statement it made about time and relationships.
41. The General’s Daughter. I believe this is a mystery about investigating a rape. I imagine it won't hold up well. I also recall a lot of rain.
42. At First Sight. I'm a sucker for romance... also for Val Kilmer. I also like Mira Sorvino.
43. The Mummy. I don't even remember for sure if I saw this. It was a pretty good year to be Brendan Fraser.
44. Toy Story 2. I'm sure this was good, I just simply have no memory of this movie at all.
45. Stir of Echoes. I remember nothing about this movie, other than a bunch of us watched it at someone's house late at night, it had Kevin Bacon in it, and I didn't hate it.
46. Runaway Bride. I've never liked Richard Gere and I find Julia Roberts (post Pelican Brief) to be a little much.
47. Wild Wild West. I'm fascinated by Steam Punk and I think this is a good watch for decent actors going WAY, WAY, WAY over the top, but even that is not enough to even get nostalgia credit. And although I associate the two in my head, I pray to God that "California Love" is not on this soundtrack.
48. EDtv. I remember Jenna Elfman was in it. I also remember expecting it to be really, really bad and it was every-so-slightly better than that.
49. Muppets from Space. This could be decent, but I remember it not being anywhere near what a muppet movie should be.
50. Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo. I watched this because someone else was watching this.
51. The Blair Witch Project. Obviously, your perception of this movie depends entirely on whether you thought it was real found footage when you saw it. A friend who went opening night was forever scarred. I just got motion sickness from the hand-held camera work and hated the universe for having a hand in it's existence.
There you have it. Please share and comment; this is the kind of discussion I love to have. No, I still have not seen the Iron Giant, sorry.
I had a realization, today, though, that this foundation is far from universal. I wonder if our society at large has given up on the notion of change. When I say that, I mean real change - from being one thing to being another. We're big on change in the sense that some facade we put up can come down to reveal our true selves on the inside. This is both the beauty and the tragedy of the movie Green Book. You've got an overtly racist guy who's really got a heart of gold underneath and this friendship, portrayed in the movie brings it out of him. He didn't change, he just got more comfortable with who he is.* We love those stories, I think, in part, because we don't actually believe in change. We believe people are who they are and that they're basically good. The only change is not substantive, but perspectival.
I got thinking about this because a guy at the gym today had a shirt on that said, "If you don't respect this flag I'll help you pack." I spent the rest of my hour on the elliptical playing out the conversation we'd have if we were able to unemotionally talk through that line of thought - if I went up to him and said, "Where am I supposed to go?" He might ask what country I'd rather live in and I'd reply that there isn't necessarily another one, I'd just like this country to be better.
At the core of this notion - like it or leave it - is the idea that change isn't possible. Reform might be possible - we can get slightly better or slightly worse based on hard work and circumstances, but deep down it is what it is.
We take this same approach to relationships, a lot of the time. This situation isn't working for me anymore, so I'm out. We don't expect another person to change, because we wouldn't accept them expecting us to change. What's more, we don't think change is possible - either for ourselves or someone else. We might have hope that our true selves can come out more clearly, but we may also be delusional about what our "true self" actually is.
In my marriage, some of the most difficult, important, and ultimately positive periods have been those where either myself or my wife says to the other, "this situation is untenable going forward; something has to change." Those are difficult conversations, because we're imperfect and self-conscious. We get defensive and we argue and feelings are felt and stepped on, but we come out the other side and we change. We had a brief argument yesterday where my wife reacted in a way that would've been appropriate ten years ago. She expected something out of me that would've been dead on in 2007 or 2009. My reply to her was, "Don't act like I haven't changed."
It didn't seem like much in the moment, but in retrospect, today, it was important. Both because I think she understood and accepted that response, but also because it's true. We're such different people than we were - not just because we've been married almost fifteen years, but because we've both changed (I'd say, demonstrably, in both cases, for the very much better). Yes, we're both more our true selves than we were before - which hopefully happens in any long-term relationship, but also because we've fundamentally changed.
I think a large part of that is the environment in which we were raised, where true transformation was not only possible, but expected. It sure creates a high bar in our minds for each other, but it also allows us to reach those expectations (once in a while). I'm not saying other people can't have these experiences, but I don't see a society that really believes in genuine change.
I see it in my daughter all the time. Part of it is because she's six - there's a lot of permanence built into her world view and a lot of black and white thinking. Somebody does something mean; they are always mean. I'm sure it's a failing on our part that we haven't done better to create that environment of change in her life, but it just seems like the messages she receives - not curricularly from school, but socially and relationally - is that the only real change is conformity: we act as we're expected to act, because that's how society works.
One of the hallmarks, they say, of millenials, is constant change. New job, new relationship, new city, new ideas, whatever. Young people are more comfortable outside routine. That's true in a lot of ways, but I also wonder if it's not a reality because they've been conditioned not to expect change. If things aren't going well here, they never will; let me find something else.
There's a sense of optimism there - that something better exists elsewhere - that isn't really present in older generations (I'm going to stick with this job/relationship/situation because nothing else is better), but I'm guessing both outlooks are ultimately joyless and fruitless without a real belief in change.
Can we say we'll invest in something because we believe it's possible to be different - like radically and substantially other than what it was before? I don't know that society has the tools to do that anymore and it's something I think the Church could offer, but if so, we've got to rid ourselves of our own Christian version of the same thing.
It's easy for us to fall into behavior modification as a default position. We don't expect people who come to Jesus to change substantially, we expect them to change behavior. It's our worst failing, for sure. We, as the Church, have largely give up on the idea of transformation and settled for a specific, comfortable sub-culture that's not fundamentally different than the rest of the world (just labeled with a cross).
It's not really an us vs them thing - at least from a Christian's perspective - it cuts across the kinds of dividing lines we like to put up. You can experience and believe in transformation regardless of your faith background, for sure, but I do think it's something that's fundamentally at the core of Christianity. Although I'm wondering if even the Church is losing that battle.
Like many other core elements of Christianity, people are picking up these ideas and championing them outside the traditional forms and labels of "the Church." That's where my real passion and interest lies - I want to be someone who champions what I'd call Jesus-values anywhere they exist, regardless of how we label them (and maybe without a real need to label at all).
So in the end, this isn't a celebration of Christian and denunciation of the world, but a reminder and advocacy of a firm belief in transformation wherever it manifests itself. This kind of hope is vital for any real meaning in life and any sense of a fulfilling future.
*It's a tragedy, because the other character is an African-American guy who seems to have everything altogether and it's revealed over time that he's just a lonely, broken individual deep down - which is fine, since we're all lonely and broken a lot of the time, but the racial component of the white guy being good at heart and the black guy being flawed is all sorts of problematic - especially since the movie was written by the white guy's son with no input from the black guy's family.
By now, we all know the flaws of Bohemian Rhapsody, the jumbled semi-biopic about Queen front man, Freddie Mercury, but also sort of about the band itself. It plays like a film that lost its director halfway through production, which it did. The first hour is full of cliché and tired storytelling tropes. The casting and performances are excellent, but it drags under the weight of indecision.
That being said, the most compelling critiques of Bohemian Rhapsody are about its narrative choices. Mercury’s sexuality is downplayed or avoided and Queen’s historical timeline was cut into a million pieces and re-assembled randomly, with key elements fabricated or “finessed” to serve a storyline that doesn’t deserve it.
Still, I walked out of the theatre on a high, partly because of how cool the recreation of Queen’s Live Aid set was, but mostly because the music of Queen is just so wonderful. Mercury was magnetic and his voice is unparalleled (I know, because I spent three hours the other day listening to Youtube links labelled, “Best Freddie Mercury Impersonators” and not a single one was).
Ultimately, Bohemian Rhapsody is the story of perseverance and belief, the band’s belief in each other and Freddie’s belief in relationship and stability. It’s disappointing to moviegoers because what we know most about Mercury is the period he spent in Germany in the early ‘80s forging new territory in the definition of hedonism.
The most famous anecdote that’s been trotted out is from Lesley-Ann Jones’ biography in which she recounts Mercury serenading construction workers from a hotel balcony before inviting up the one with the “biggest dick.” The film depicts one scene where Mercury tells Mary Austin, the love of his life, he’s bisexual and she contradicts him, “No, you’re gay.”
Mercury’s life was largely about refusing to be pinned down and defined. That translated to sexuality in ways that were beyond uncomfortable, even for much of liberal society.
Queen guitarist, Brian May, and drummer, Roger Taylor, spoke intentionally about Mercury following his death from AIDS-related diseases in 1991. They sought to combat the stigmatized public image of Mercury, reminding the world that he was kind, generous, and faithful to the people he loved. Whatever promiscuity and experimentation happened during the tumultuous German period was not what defined the man they’d known more than half their lives.
The general public might prefer a film that explores how someone so vulnerable on stage and in the public eye could also engage in some of the darkest debauchery the ‘70s and ‘80s had on offer. The struggle for an outwardly confident, incredibly unselfconscious rock star to reconcile a deep inner insecurity and loneliness would’ve made better Oscar fare and a more compelling storyline, but it wouldn’t be true to the vision of Mercury those closest to him embraced.
Bohemian Rhapsody is not the movie we wanted. Beyond even the awkward pacing, poor writing, and odd (lack of) directorial choices, it just wasn’t the story we wanted to see. Bohemian Rhapsody is, though, the movie Freddie deserves. It is an attempt to capture the essence of a unique individual beyond merely the accumulation of his actions. Freddie Mercury was outrageous and amazing and, at times, selfish, inscrutable, and offensive. To his friends, though, he was Freddie. Could the film have benefitted from better creative professionals? Absolutely, but this isn’t our story to tell; it belongs to those people who most knew and loved him. Even the best version of the story they wanted to tell would never make us happy.
The Freddie we saw on stage was genuinely and authentically Freddie, but that wasn’t all of him and that’s a hard pill to swallow, especially when he so willingly and completely gave himself to his fans on that stage. “You’ve brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it; I thank you all.”
In the age of Instagram, we’re accustomed to seeing behind the veil of celebrity. In reality, we’ve just agreed to the shared delusion that those “candid” moments are authentic as opposed to them being part of the overall marketing machine.
Fans want Freddie’s larger than life persona to be all of who he is. Bohemian Rhapsody shows a Freddie Mercury who desperately wanted to please everyone around him. A more compelling movie would’ve explored how he reconciled coming as close as anyone ever has to being everything to everybody, while also not really knowing who he wanted himself to be.
Instead, his friends chose to make a movie that graciously explained such reconciliation wasn’t necessary. Bohemian Rhapsody illustrates why people – fans and friends alike – loved Freddie Mercury. It’s the movie he deserved. It’s not what we wanted, but it is what we have – and there’s no truer description of life than that.
