inspiral blog

We spent the first part of tonight (after dinner) trying something new, something that does not come naturally to all of us, especially those of us entrenched in the university system: we drew. I wanted us to get in touch with our experience of Jesus, to connect in with the Jesus we know.

Then we watched Jesus of Montreal. It’s a story about a group of actors who are employed by the church to “revamp” the annual Passion play. The more they research and play the characters, the more like they begin to take on the lives of them.

The more I watch this film, the more similarities (and differences) I see between the character of Daniel Coulombe and Jesus, between the film and the stories of Jesus’ life.

Similarities:
Disciples – In is a fairly confronting scene, Coulombe recruits one of his fellow cast members (a disciple) from the voiceover job in an adult film. While it is confronting, it also reminds us that the disciples were not ultra-religious types – they were rough and ready people recruited from some of the roughest jobs around.
Persecution/opposition from the religious establishment – The church in this story is set up as the main opposition to this new Jesus movement – a church that has become so legalistic and lost sight of its founder that it is described by its proponents as a comforting place for people to live out their painful, drab lives, as if its mission is palliative care for the emotionally unstable.
Temptation – At one stage Jesus stands with a lawyer character, who presumably personifies Satan in the film, at the top of a building, looking at the city below, whereupon the lawyer offers “the whole city could be yours”.
Cleansing of the temple – Daniel’s disgust at the exploitation of people to hock cheesy products leads him to throw the only tantrum we see him throw – pushing over tables at the audition, breaking cameras and driving out the ad execs with a whip of electrical cords.
Resurrection/healing - Perhaps I shouldn’t give the detail of the ending away, but it involves some significant parallels with Jesus’ story.
Institutionalized church – It’s interesting how at the end of the film, the lawyer/Satan character wants to make an institution to carry on his legacy. Daniel’s friends agree to this idea, insisting that it hold to his ideals, although you get the sense that those ideals won’t last long. It’s a scathing assessment of the church, particularly in its institutionalized forms, and rings painfully true for those of us committed to both valuing history and following Christ.
Humility – He is asked by the court psychiatrist at one stage whether he, as a popular actor, resents having to play someone as hokey as Jesus. He says no, he couldn’t imagine a better character than Jesus, and that he expected to start at the bottom of the acting totem pole anyway. The court returns with the psychiatrist reports that read: He is better adjusted than most of the clerks in this court.”
Rumours – There is one scene where this “newcomer” is talked about by two separate media reporters, each with widely varying stories on this new, upcoming actor on the Montreal horizon. Again, there is a sense of these rumours flying around about this unknown person.

Differences:
Daniel Coulombe is a rather bland Jesus. He is seen as popular with children, but otherwise a fairly serene person who seems almost to glide through life with little or no emotion (positive or negative), to the point where at one stage even his friends have to tell him to lighten up. That’s not the Jesus I read at all: he frequently got frustrated and angry, but was also a fun enough person to be invited to a heap of parties.
It’s also fairly liberal with the facts; there are several occasions where they claim that things are more vague with respect to historical understanding of Jesus than they really are. Partially that can be explained by the degree of knowledge that has been gained in the intervening 20 years since the film was made, but mostly I think they were just wanting to question what is generally accepted as “gospel truth”.

Overall, a great film that I wish we’d had more time to discuss, particularly in terms of its questions and implications for us. But it forms just another experience of Jesus in pop culture that we build into our road of discipleship together, that challenges and affects us.

Came across this article on op shops…in my thinking about sustainable living, op shops have featured highly in terms of recycling things instead of relying on our throwaway culture, that builds things that are cheap, but only last a short time. The culture and atmosphere of op shops fascinate me, particularly in this area where they are popular sources of clothes and bric-a-brac.

“…South says op shops are a rare place in today’s world, a place where there is no pressure to spend money. “For me, the op shops are both places where people who don’t have a throwaway dollar don’t have to spend money, but also they are about looking at stuff from the past and, I think, processing. When you’re an older person and you’ve seen so much, it’s almost a place to meditate on the fact that you have been in the world for this time.”

Even for me as a ‘younger’ person getting older, they’re great places to reminisce about your childhood, or even to look at things that have been features of other people’s lives. Op shops are a kind of museum of popular culture (or perhaps unpopular culture) where you get a glimpse of how other people lived while I was growing up or even before, and what was important enough to them to buy new; more than that, what was important enough not to become landfill, but to want to pass onto others.

Like all good prophets, his message just seems timeless…

Blowin’ in the wind by Bob Dylan

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, ’n’ how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, ’n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, ’n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, ’n’ how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, ’n’ how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

I’ve loved books ever since I was a kid. There’s something about holding a book, with the promise of an as yet untold story; the experience of that story unfolding before your eyes; and then finally holding that same book having known and experienced its telling in full. I’ve read countless numbers of stories in my short life, but the one I probably thought I knew best of all is the story of Jesus.

After tonight, I think I can say I had only known Jesus’ story as a series of events. We read the book of Mark out loud from start to finish, and we read it together, with different people reading the different parts. I narrated; Lee read Jesus’ words; Julie and Sam read the scribes/Pharisees/religious leaders parts; Sam read the women’s parts; Meryl read the disciples’ parts and Jane read everything else (voice of God, demons, angels, crowds etc.). We read Keith Dyer and Athol Gill’s translation; one that retains the original mixed tenses, the ambiguous pronouns, the frequent ‘straightaway’s. But even apart from those idiosyncrasies, it gave a whole new dimension to the story of Jesus to hear it all as one story, a small section of the life of the person who shapes my life.

Things that stuck out to me: Jesus seems to get frustrated or upset a lot, particularly with his disciples. They just don’t get it. This is both a source of frustration to me, and encouragement; frustration because Jesus at times seems a little harsh on these guys, and encouragement because if even they didn’t get it, maybe I’m still in with a shot.

Lee made the comment that the fact that Jesus got upset, and tired, and hungry made him far more human, and therefore someone he could relate to – and if nothing else, that makes it all worthwhile. But of course, there is more. Lee also made the comment that he was struck by the fact that not everyone liked Jesus. I think we forget that sometimes.

Sam made the comment (as the voice of the women) that women are very much underrepresented in the story, at least as far as voicing. Certainly that has its basis in the culture of the time, but it hasn’t struck me as powerfully as it did when she made mention of it. Makes me more interested in checking out some feminist readings of the gospels, to hear that very underrepresented voice.

Another thing that stuck out to me was how much time Jesus spent helping people, healing them, casting out demons, etc. It was a huge huge part of his recorded life. It’s hard to know what to do with that in these ‘enlightened’ days, but I think it’s imperative that we come to some conclusion given its huge emphasis.

I was struck by the way the story unfolded, from an obscure disciple of John the Baptiser, to miracle worker, to popular fame, to infamy, to betrayal, to death, and finally, to resurrection. Not only that, but the short (original) ending of Mark is very abrupt:

8 And they [the women] went out and fled from the tomb, for they were trembling and ecstatic; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were fearful.

No resurrection appearances; no great commission, no explanation. Just two women who “don’t wanna talk about it” because they’re scared – not exactly the kind of ending you’d found a movement on. It leaves you feeling a little frustrated, like those movies where they end abruptly and you want closure (ie the happily ever after ending). Ultimately though, rather than the neat, cosy ending, the challenge is thrown down: what do I do from here?

Particularly powerful for me (as always) was the story of the father with the mute son (Mk 9:14-24); but Keith’s translation gave it new dimensions:

9.14 And when they came to the disciples, they saw a huge crowd around them and scribes arguing with them. 15 And straightaway after all the crowd saw Jesus they were astonished and ran up to meet him. 16 And he asked them, “What are you arguing with them about?” 17 And one of the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you who has a mute spirit, 18 and whenever it seizes him it knocks him down and he foams at the mouth, grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. I told your disciples so that they might throw it out, but they weren’t strong enough.” 19 He answered to them and says, “What a faithless generation! How long will I be with you? How long will I suffer with you? Bring him to me!” 20 And they brought him to him. And when the spirit saw him, straightaway it convulsed him and he fell on the ground, rolling around foaming at the mouth. 21 And he asked his father, “How long has he been like this?” “Since he was a child”, he replied, 22 “and many times it has even thrown him into fire and into water in order to kill him. If you can do anything, please help us and let your gut ache for us.” 23 But Jesus said to him, “What do you mean: ‘If you can’! All things are possible to the one who faiths.” 24 Straightaway the child’s father cried out and said, “I am faithing, help my lack of faith!”

“I am faithing – help my lack of faith!” Has there ever been a more genuine or heartfelt cry for salvation! For me this paradox sums up my cry to God, my road of discipleship. The usual translation, “Lord, I believe – help my unbelief!” simply doesn’t cut it in comparison. I’m reminded of that profound, heartfelt prayer of (I think) Theresa of Avila – “Lord, I don’t love you, I don’t even want to love you, but I want to want to love you.”

So it was a very worthwhile night, and maybe I got more out of it than anyone else. In the end, I hold onto the promise that “the Word of God will not come back empty.”

they seem to happen a lot if you stop and think about it.

this week I was walking up Lygon St. to the shops, around the corner from here. I often smile and say ‘hi’ to people as I walk by, just a small gesture to make the community a little friendlier, and build trust between people. On this occasion though, I was pre-empted. A homeless guy walking towards me with a weatherbeaten old face and a thick navy blue woollen beanie smiled, cocked his head to the side and pulled his beanie out slightly at me as if tipping his hat. It was as though he was having the best day of his life and wanted to share that happiness with anyone who crossed his path. I smiled and said hi, but I couldn’t help feeling that he had extended a more welcoming and genuine greeting towards me than I to him, and left me feeling as though he genuinely wished me well. He continued on his way with almost a spring in his step, as though he might jump in the air and click his heels together any second.

I guess what struck me about the homeless guy is that as someone with very little, he seemed like he had every reason to look down and angry at the world, or even resentful of me, who has much; but he wasn’t. I just wanted to celebrate this little moment of unexpected grace in my day, and thank that man for his cheerful gesture of love.

I posted this poem/prayer of Leunig’s yesterday (or today maybe).

There are only two feelings.
Love and fear.
There are only two languages.
Love and fear.
There are only two activities.
Love and fear.
There are only two motives,
two procedures, two frameworks,
two results.
Love and fear.
Love and fear.

We were starting to explore what God is like tonight, and so we used this as a framework; love and fear as polar opposites. So, using 1 John 4:11-18 (especially verses 16-18), we decided to test the hypothesis that if God is love (v.16), and fear is the opposite of love (v.18), fear is the opposite of God.

Here’s the New Revised Standard Version text:

Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father has sent his Son as the Savior of the world. God abides in those who confess that Jesus is the Son of God, and they abide in God. So we have known and believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.

Then we used Paul’s description of love in 1 Corinthians 13 both to describe God, and then to see whether when we flipped those descriptions to their opposite, we had a good description of fear. Turns out it works.

4. Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5. or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6. it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. 7. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8. Love never ends.

So that would make it:

4. Fear is impatient; fear is not kind; fear is envious and boastful and arrogant 5. and rude. Fear insists on its own way; it is irritable and resentful; 6. it rejoices in wrongdoing, but does not rejoice in the truth. 7. Fear does not bears all things, believe all things, hope all things, or endure all things. 8. Fear always ends.

Quite powerful stuff really. Like I said tonight, it’s just one framework among many for seeing what God is like, and how to recognize God when we see God in the world around us. For me, the contrast of that last idea is particularly powerful; that fear always ends. Fear ends, but love goes on forever.

Kind of poignant too, considering that all over the news at the moment, the word ‘terror’ is being bandied about like it’s flavour of the month (again). The good news (gospel) is that there is an antidote. And it’s love. Or God.

God is love.

John Howard: These acts are unforgivable.
Jesus: Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.

John Howard: These people are enemies of us all.
Jesus: Pray for your enemies, and do good to those who persecute you.

As I write this, it’s all over the tv stations: bombs exploded on double-decker buses and on trains in the underground. For many people, it’s a case of rolling their eyes and saying “Not again.” Bali, New York, Washington, Madrid, and now London.

I must confess that my usual reaction to the reporting of events like this is to play devil’s advocate. The tendency is for our media to demonize those who are responsible for such horrific acts, immediately polarizing the situation into “us” and “them”, where “us” are the good virtuous guys who ride on white horses, and “them” are the evil, insidious, immoral people. I find myself reacting against such a simplistic reading of the situation, not defending what has been done, but at least trying to understand why it has been done. No-one who is happy with the state of the world sets out to destroy a part of it. Therefore they must have thought something could be gained from, or righted by, doing this, however wrong we might think they are.

This time though, was different, because when I heard that there was a terrorist attack on the London underground, my immediate thought was, “My brother uses the underground.” My immediate reaction, then, was to defend my loved ones. That meant immediately polarizing the perpetrators into the baddies. The personalizing of the potential victims suddenly personalized those on the receiving end for me. At least for a while, it gave me some understanding of why people demonize the perpetrators of such actions.

Maybe it’s because my brother and sister-in-law are fine, and I don’t know anyone who is killed, but I find myself now, upon reflection, reverting to my usual reaction.

I don’t want to oversimplify this, because it’s not like I never felt sympathy for those who died – I was profoundly affected by the events of 9/11, even crying for the families of those involved. But I don’t think that reacting against those who did this is right, both in a principled or pragmatic sense. London of all cities ought to know; the reason the Northern Ireland troubles went on for so long was because of both sides taking an eye-for-an-eye stance. Children who had their parents killed in that war grew up with only one thing in mind; revenge. And thus was the pattern set, a pattern that could only be broken by one thing; forgiveness. Violence only begets violence. Forgiveness breaks that cycle. Peace requires the very difficult process of forgiving and understanding one another.

The way of Jesus is the way of non-violent resistance to evil, and what better example do we have than his death on a cross. The salvation Jesus offers is not only (or even primarily) that he “lived to die” (as one song says) as a substitute for our sins, but that he chose not to resist the evil done to him, and as such was not a victim, but showed that this sacrifice is itself an act of pure love, forgiveness, and salvation from the cycle of violence and hate. In so doing, he showed us that even death is not the end; even death is redeemable. To me, this is the power of Christ; that salvation is possible, even where it seems that there is no victory in sight.

And this victory shows that neither side in this so-called “war on terror” is right as long as one takes a polarizing stance against the other. It is only through self-sacrificial love that we can be saved. That sacrifice is not easy – just ask Jesus, sweating blood in the garden of Gethsemane in anticipation of his impending torturous death. But it is the only way.

There are only two feelings.
Love and fear.
There are only two languages.
Love and fear.
There are only two activities.
Love and fear.
There are only two motives,
two procedures, two frameworks,
two results.
Love and fear.
Love and fear.

— Michael Leunig.

So how was it?

I think I’m still processing it, but I’d have to say it was an excellent experience. Inspiring, encouraging, exciting. It goes completely against my instincts to not just be cool and maintain a cynical distance, but I have to say it was great. That is, I find a lot of people come out of such conferences inspired and fired up, only to lose that feeling when they get back to real life, which I often find frustrating, and so react against that by refusing to be fired up in the first place. Stupid, I know. I have to force myself to experience it, and enjoy whatever follows. I was successful in experiencing and enjoying this weekend, but I am now finding myself battling against that part of me in analysing it. The one thing that is assisting me though is the degree of resonance I felt between what was said and what we are doing with inspiral. And perhaps that’s my saving grace.

And resonance would be the best word I think to describe the whole weekend. Exhausting might be another; a lot of very intellectual people, a lot of very cynical people, and a lot of information crammed into a small amount of time. But there was so much resonance for me, it made it all worthwhile. Here were over 500 people who are all part of a movement that I have felt since I was in my early teens. I think when you see that, it’s abundantly clear that God was in that sense of discontentment, and was building this movement in so many people. There’s a real sense of relief in knowing that others have shared that isolating feeling of discontentment, and that there is no need to feel isolated any more. It’s a kind of homecoming in a way.

In both his sessions, Michael Frost articulated the gospel in a way that seemed like a no-brainer, but was revolutionary for those of us who grew up in the traditional church. I mean, this is stuff that I’ve come to myself over four or five years of theological college that is being articulated by this guy, and some people are realizing for the first time. Awesome.

And more than that, it is right on what’s happened with inspiral. We’re pursuing genuine faith, within people’s real context, being counter-cultural where Jesus is. We’re being Jesus to the world. What more could we be?

On Saturday morning, Michael talked about how revolutionary the seemingly innocuous statement “God is love” is. My cynical side sees a statement like that and rolls its eyes, but when you take it seriously, this is an incredible, revolutionary statement. God IS love. It’s not that God happens to love; God doesn’t just have love in God. God IS love. Love IS God. And that’s not lovey-dovey romantic love, that’s tough, gutsy, committed, self-giving love. Love that always seeks to act in the others’ best interests. THAT is revolutionary. We’ve got a long way to go to understand that.

The Sines talked on Saturday afternoon, basically giving the same spiel as I reported on from the other night. It was great again, but hilarious when I realized this was exactly the same spiel they gave on Thursday, complete with the seemingly off-the-cuff interjections, and the little side comments. Well scripted though, and well executed.

On Saturday night Michael spoke again, this time on the three things Jesus has taught him or “made him do”. He’s full of great stories, and once again hit the nail on the head.

John Smith, formerly of the God Squad, spoke on Sunday morning and blew us all away with his stories of advocating for the poor in other countries, often potentially at the expense of his own life. He’s had to frequently come face to face with what is just a cliche for the rest of us; that “no-one has greater love than that they lay down their life for another”. It was a harrowing talk, especially at a time when our brains were full from the previous day, but incredibly moving and inspiring to see a grandfather still travelling the world, risking life and limb not recklessly, but unselfishly in love for other people.

The final session was fantastic, and I am so glad it was said; I had waited and hoped for it the entire weekend. Kim Hammond spoke about loving one another (indeed, needing one another), and how this is how all people will know that we are Jesus’ disciples, and be drawn to him. He told some hysterical stories, but most of all I was so relieved to hear him build some bridges and name and counsel against some of the combative and unhelpful ways the missional church often operates, creating factions and being negative towards other (even Christian) groups. I have enormous respect for Kim for allowing himself to be led by God to give that message.

It helped me enormously to share the experience with someone too, and to have someone to debrief with after each session; so thanks Mez. By the way:

ple·na·ry
adj.

1. Complete in all respects; unlimited or full: a diplomat with plenary powers.
2. Fully attended by all qualified members: a plenary session of the council.

So apparently it meant the sessions that everyone attends. Thus ends our dictionary reading for the day.

Finally, I think it was significant that it was held at the same time as the Hillsong conference; not only because most of the people who attended did so in reaction against that tradition, but because the missional church movement poses a genuinely positive and compelling alternative. While I wouldn’t agree with absolutely everything said at the conference (or the way it was said), I would certainly say that the Forge conference captured the essence of the gospel far more accurately than Hillsong. Not to be combative or to bag Hillsong at all; they do some things better perhaps than the missional church movement. But we need truth telling in order to love each other too.

So that’s my summary. Whew. I may add more thoughts as they come to me, but that’s enough for now.

I’m so reluctant to be negative about any aspect of this event, because I agree with so much of it, and it’s had waaaaaay more than its fair share of knockers. Just about every man, woman and child and their dog have queued up to bag it out for why it won’t work, why it’s a terrible idea, etc. I actually don’t believe it’s a bad idea. Maybe it’s not the best idea, the most internally consistent idea, but it’s a heck of a lot better than doing absolutely nothing.

My problem with it though has to do with the whole idea of means and ends, that is, whether your means have to be consistent with your ends for it to be morally praiseworthy. I mean, sure, you could say “heck, this is a big enough problem that whatever works is fine.” And maybe if you were so careful to be completely consistent, you would never get anything done; but it strikes me that there could have been a lot more done to be means/end consistent than there was.

A couple of things bugged me in particular. No, a couple of things bugged me and one thing absolutely disgusted me. What bugged me was the advertising signs for Nokia and others. Now leave aside for a second the moral implications of corporations trying to make a buck out of an event like this (which is bad enough), but think of the organizers. It is well and widely known that global corporations such as Nokia are as much the cause of global inequality as any government; maybe more so. Why support these inequalities by allowing them to advertise? Doesn’t that, at least partially, defeat the purpose of being there in the first place?

But there was one thing about Live 8 that actually caused me to have a very strong visceral reaction, to the point where I felt physically ill. Bob Geldof described this person in glowing terms before introducing him: and out walks Bill Gates. My jaw dropped. I mean, of all the people to get in on a campaign against poverty…this man? The man who has more money than half of Africa put together?

But it gets worse. Microsoft has concentrated more money in the hands of fewer people than almost any other company on Earth. They consistently support inequality and job uncertainty by only hiring temps. They use child labour to put their computers and parts together, children who get a few cents an hour if they’re lucky. When they grow too big for their hands to be useful anymore in making the tiny parts, these children are sacked. They may be able to build computers, but as one girl said in Naomi Klein’s No Logo, they wouldn’t know where to start in operating them. This is Microsoft. This is Bill Gates. And somehow he dares to come out on stage with his billions of dollars in his bank account and say “good on you for trying to make poverty history”. He might as well say that; Lord knows he hasn’t done anything to help.

And the gall of this man to use this event as a chance to raise his public profile, and attempt to set himself up as a generous and philanthropic person! Absolutely disgusting. I mean, really!

Rant over. For now. Grr.

*edit*: It has since been brought to my attention that Bill Gates also does a lot of philanthropic work, including donating 5 billion dollars to the Make Poverty History campaign. In the interests of balance (there’s always more than one side to every story) I think it is only fair to say that, and to note that he does donate a lot of money to charity. My objection still stands on the means/end stuff – and may be more poignant given that (seemingly) what he gives with one hand, he takes with the other. *end edit*

Overall though, I think the campaign has been an enormous success. I have never seen so many people at the grassroots level reached with the message of poverty. Yes, they were getting a free concert; but by showing up in such numbers, it may just influence the G8 leaders to make a difference. I’m a fairly principled person, so my instincts are to get the means right, and not just the ends. But there’s no way that I would knock the ends they are achieving with this movement. So hail Bob Geldof, hail Bono, hail all those musicians who participated, and hail all those people who attended the concerts and showed their support in other ways. And let’s pray it makes a difference, not just at the political level, but at the grassroots level in our attitude to poverty.