The "Oppressiveness" of Civil Society
August 20, 2010 - David T. Koyzis
In 1962, Soviet authorities permitted Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn to publish his first book, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. More than two decades before Mikhail Gorbachev's glasnost and perestroika, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev was attempting to loosen the oppressive machinery that had systematically persecuted artists and writers who were not obviously toeing the party line.
Solzhenitsyn's groundbreaking novel told of an ordinary prisoner's single day in one of Stalin's oppressive forced labour camps, a story that grew out of the author's own dehumanizing experience in the Soviet Gulag. Here prisoners worked without pay for meager rations, living under harsh and hazardous conditions with inadequate clothing and shelter. The inmates were sent here for activities that would scarcely be regarded as criminal elsewhere. Ivan was unjustly imprisoned as a spy because the authorities refused to believe he had escaped from a German concentration camp.
The tales of oppression during the last century are countless, with the litany of oppressors familiar to most of us: Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, Mussolini, Mao, Pinochet, Pol Pot, and Idi Amin. Some were motivated by sheer hatred of others—perhaps a visible minority group. Others sought to implement a grand historical vision that would liberate their people—and perhaps all people everywhere—from the oppressions of the past. The sad irony, of course, is that many efforts to end oppression engendered even greater oppression on a larger scale and with more efficient means. During their heyday hundreds of millions lived under genuine oppression at the hands of the followers of totalitarian ideologies.
What is oppression? Thus far I have used this word (or a derivative) nine times, assuming readers know its meaning. According to the OED, to oppress means to "govern tyrannically, keep under by coercion, subject to continual cruelty or injustice." There is general agreement, at least in the English-speaking world, that it is unjust for a government to infringe on such fundamental freedoms as speech, press, assembly, and religion. If Aung San Suu Kyi is kept under house arrest by the Burmese government for expressing opposing political views, we properly conclude that she and her followers are being oppressed. When the former National Party government in South Africa deliberately followed a policy of systematic discrimination against the majority of its citizens, the rest of the world correctly identified this as oppression. And, in the case of the fictional Ivan Denisovich Shukhov, unjust incarceration, coupled with severity of treatment, definitely amounts to oppression.
But what if my church community disapproves of a choice I make? If my chosen course of action was perfectly legal, is my church's expression of disapproval oppressive? Under the reigning liberal worldview, North Americans increasingly tend to assume that the law should prohibit only that which obviously harms another and that individuals must be legally free to do as they please provided no one else is hurt in the process. If government, or any other community, sees fit to depart from this principle for whatever reason, it acts oppressively. If it officially favours some personal choices over others, it is guilty of oppressing those who choose differently. If it favours (heterosexual) marriage over other sexual or nonsexual relationships, it oppresses the unmarried or the polyamorous in so doing. More significantly, if some communities impose standards on their members that go beyond the public law of the state, some will argue that the individuals penalized for breaking these standards are being deprived of their rights and are thus oppressed.
Every so often we hear of a university refusing to approve a Christian student group because the latter requires its members to be believing Christians who support the group's mission. In a misguided effort to encourage inclusivity, such universities—or their student governments—effectively discriminate against overtly confessional groups. Now the U.S. Supreme Court has decided, in the case of the Christian Legal Society v. Martinez, that Hastings School of Law at the University of California may refuse to recognize any student group imposing standards of belief and conduct on its leaders. So who is oppressing whom? Is Hastings, backed by the U.S. judiciary, oppressing the CLS, or is the CLS oppressing aspiring leaders of the group?
In his defence of human rights, Michael Ignatieff, current leader of Canada's federal Liberal Party, goes so far as to argue that rights must always belong to individuals and not to groups. The very language of rights "cannot be translated into a nonindividualistic, communitarian framework. It presumes moral individualism and is nonsensical outside that assumption." Rights have meaning "only if they can be enforced against institutions like the family, the state, and the church." They function furthermore to defend the autonomy of the individual "against the oppression of religion, state, family, and group" (emphasis mine).
Of course, no one denies that members of a group can indeed suffer mistreatment at its hands. Nevertheless, there is more to Ignatieff's approach than meets the eye, as his use of the word oppression already indicates. Individuals must constantly be vigilant against the pretensions of the groups of which they are part, jealously guarding their personal freedom. Yet the word enforced necessarily implies an agent who can protect and advance this freedom over against threatened encroachment—and the only agent with this capacity is the state itself.
McGill University's Douglas Farrow notes the libertarian preference for John Stuart Mill's harm principle: "The only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others." Of course, no flesh-and-blood society has ever existed for which this harm principle forms the primary (much less the sole) basis for freedom. A mature, differentiated society includes multiple non-state communities, each of which has its own identity and standards for membership. These standards necessarily impose constraints on those subject to them. To belong to an Orthodox Jewish community requires one to follow Torah and, more specifically, centuries of rabbinic interpretation of its precepts. If one violates these, one can expect to face sanctions from the community.
Is there something intrinsically oppressive in communities imposing standards on individual members? Though few would go so far as to assert this overtly, the logic of the harm principle must eventually give a positive answer to this question. If so, the state must intervene to "protect" these individuals from having to submit to standards unrelated to this principle. As Farrow correctly understands, this formulation must cut out "the oppressive middle term between the individual and the state," that is, the nonstate communities that command the loyalties of ordinary persons, thereby narrowing the range of our legitimate obligations to only two: those owed to ourselves as individuals and those owed to the state. Farrow continues: "This begs the question, however, as to what does or does not harm another, and who will decide that." Again, the state must take on this role of liberating the individual from the supposed oppression of those institutions that have come collectively to be called civil society.
Although Mill's writings strongly appeal to libertarians, Farrow perceptively concludes that "Mill's ideas aren't really very libertarian after all." Although liberalism has claimed to expand the sphere of individual competence, it has done so by reducing the multiple communities of which we are part to mere voluntary associations, which, ironically, threatens the wellbeing of the individual herself. If every constraint on the individual is potentially oppressive, and if every community is a voluntary collection of individuals, those communities not obviously contractual in character, such as marriage, family, institutional church, and state, must be viewed with deep suspicion—indeed as downright oppressive. Yet we cannot live without them.
Solzhenitsyn once wrote that "a society without any objective legal scale is a terrible one indeed. But a society with no other scale but the legal one is not quite worthy of man either." Indeed, a genuinely human society is characterized by a plurality of social forms and obligations, the most crucial of which cannot be reduced to the individual will. Not only is such a pluriform society necessary for human flourishing, but it is a potent bulwark against genuine oppression by a totalistic individualism backed by a potentially expansive state.
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Cardus - The "Oppressiveness" of Civil Society
Friday, August 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Theology of Jiggly Thighs
A Theology of Jiggly Thighs
What a graying supermodel can teach Jesus' female followers.
Margot Starbuck, guest blogger
Splattered across the media this week is Kristen McMenamy, a supermodel and mother of three who was featured on the August cover of Italian Vogue. She appears inside in a striking (some say offensive) photo spread, lying on her back against jagged rocks, wearing a black feathered dress, in a way designed to mimic the aesthetic of the Gulf oil spill images. But I was more intrigued by the model’s hair: The 45-year-old boldly flaunts her naturally long gray locks, telling Vogue Daily, “You can get older and still be rock-’n’-roll. I thought all that gray hair would make a beautiful picture.
I’m a fan of embracing the way God made us, but I have to confess feeling a little conflicted about the hoopla. I suspect my reticence is not unrelated to the fact that McMenamy still has the body of a Barbie.
At age 41, I have most of my cranial pigment, but I see where things are headed. If I live enough years, if you live enough years, the physical downhill slide is inevitable. The pigment fails. Once-toned arms get flabby. Other things start to jiggle, sag, wrinkle. If all this weren’t insulting enough, physical losses give way to social losses as we lose the ability to turn heads with our beauty.
As is my way, I like to make issues like sagging breasts and jiggly thighs theological. Specifically, I’m dying to get a handle on the divine logic behind the aging situation. What holy madness drives wrinkles and age spots?
I humbly invite you to join me in considering one weird possibility: I wonder if this process that is clearly happening against our wills — as the volume of beauty products that promise to reverse aging’s attests — isn’t what Jesus has been inviting us to embrace, all along, with our wills.
“Hold on, Margot. Jesus never said anything about crows’ feet or yellowing teeth or declining breast altitude.” Not in so many words. But to those who want to gain their lives — and maybe the attention of others — Jesus instructs us to lose our lives. Those who want to be first — say, in the high-school homecoming court — should aim for last place. Those who want to increase — possibly in attractiveness — should decrease. Jesus even taught his friends that those who want to attract God’s good favor should give themselves in ways that don’t attract the good favor of others. Downward social mobility is exactly what Jesus has been inviting us to embrace, all along. Though the apostle Paul wasn’t thinking about eye circles or thinning scalps, he confirms, “We who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body” (2 Cor. 4:11).
According to this kingdom logic, if we want to be seen, we should purpose to really see others. If we want to be heard, we should listen, really listen, to those whose voices haven’t been heard. If we want to be loved, we should knock ourselves out loving the unlovable. Though Jesus placed no particular value on garnering the admiring eye of others, with our shimmering lips or blinding teeth or bouncy locks, he really did knock himself out reminding us to turn our young and middle-aged and old faces toward those whom his Father loves, especially those on the world’s so-called margins.
In the end, the reality of the aging situation effectively dissolves any illusion that this life — or the next one, for that matter — is all about us. As we die to ourselves, whether purposefully or kicking and screaming, we relinquish whatever power we might have had to attract attention with our appearances. When we do it willingly, we live into Jesus’ good will for us. We make more room for others to be seen and heard and known and loved.
If you are young and gorgeous, and maybe have aspirations to be America’s Next Top Model, I completely understand that this whole set up seems unsavory. For those of us who want to age with grace, though, there’s real promise as we choose this Jesus-way. As we begin to embrace the inevitable losses inherent in aging we’re freed up, in a particular way, for the kind of self-giving love for which we were made.
As for Kristen McMenamy, even with the Barbie body she might have something important to teach Christian women.
Margot Starbuck is the author most recently of Unsqueezed: Springing Free from Skinny Jeans, Nose Jobs, Highlights and Stilettos (InterVarsity Press). Alicia Cohn has interviewed her for the women's blog.
Her.meneutics: A Theology of Jiggly Thighs
What a graying supermodel can teach Jesus' female followers.
Margot Starbuck, guest blogger
Splattered across the media this week is Kristen McMenamy, a supermodel and mother of three who was featured on the August cover of Italian Vogue. She appears inside in a striking (some say offensive) photo spread, lying on her back against jagged rocks, wearing a black feathered dress, in a way designed to mimic the aesthetic of the Gulf oil spill images. But I was more intrigued by the model’s hair: The 45-year-old boldly flaunts her naturally long gray locks, telling Vogue Daily, “You can get older and still be rock-’n’-roll. I thought all that gray hair would make a beautiful picture.
I’m a fan of embracing the way God made us, but I have to confess feeling a little conflicted about the hoopla. I suspect my reticence is not unrelated to the fact that McMenamy still has the body of a Barbie.
At age 41, I have most of my cranial pigment, but I see where things are headed. If I live enough years, if you live enough years, the physical downhill slide is inevitable. The pigment fails. Once-toned arms get flabby. Other things start to jiggle, sag, wrinkle. If all this weren’t insulting enough, physical losses give way to social losses as we lose the ability to turn heads with our beauty.
As is my way, I like to make issues like sagging breasts and jiggly thighs theological. Specifically, I’m dying to get a handle on the divine logic behind the aging situation. What holy madness drives wrinkles and age spots?
I humbly invite you to join me in considering one weird possibility: I wonder if this process that is clearly happening against our wills — as the volume of beauty products that promise to reverse aging’s attests — isn’t what Jesus has been inviting us to embrace, all along, with our wills.
“Hold on, Margot. Jesus never said anything about crows’ feet or yellowing teeth or declining breast altitude.” Not in so many words. But to those who want to gain their lives — and maybe the attention of others — Jesus instructs us to lose our lives. Those who want to be first — say, in the high-school homecoming court — should aim for last place. Those who want to increase — possibly in attractiveness — should decrease. Jesus even taught his friends that those who want to attract God’s good favor should give themselves in ways that don’t attract the good favor of others. Downward social mobility is exactly what Jesus has been inviting us to embrace, all along. Though the apostle Paul wasn’t thinking about eye circles or thinning scalps, he confirms, “We who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body” (2 Cor. 4:11).
According to this kingdom logic, if we want to be seen, we should purpose to really see others. If we want to be heard, we should listen, really listen, to those whose voices haven’t been heard. If we want to be loved, we should knock ourselves out loving the unlovable. Though Jesus placed no particular value on garnering the admiring eye of others, with our shimmering lips or blinding teeth or bouncy locks, he really did knock himself out reminding us to turn our young and middle-aged and old faces toward those whom his Father loves, especially those on the world’s so-called margins.
In the end, the reality of the aging situation effectively dissolves any illusion that this life — or the next one, for that matter — is all about us. As we die to ourselves, whether purposefully or kicking and screaming, we relinquish whatever power we might have had to attract attention with our appearances. When we do it willingly, we live into Jesus’ good will for us. We make more room for others to be seen and heard and known and loved.
If you are young and gorgeous, and maybe have aspirations to be America’s Next Top Model, I completely understand that this whole set up seems unsavory. For those of us who want to age with grace, though, there’s real promise as we choose this Jesus-way. As we begin to embrace the inevitable losses inherent in aging we’re freed up, in a particular way, for the kind of self-giving love for which we were made.
As for Kristen McMenamy, even with the Barbie body she might have something important to teach Christian women.
Margot Starbuck is the author most recently of Unsqueezed: Springing Free from Skinny Jeans, Nose Jobs, Highlights and Stilettos (InterVarsity Press). Alicia Cohn has interviewed her for the women's blog.
Her.meneutics: A Theology of Jiggly Thighs
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The 'Low'-Down on Robert Duvall
INTERVIEW
The 'Low'-Down on Robert Duvall
The veteran actor discusses his new film Get Low, a folk tale about an eccentric recluse—and gets a little feisty about The Apostle.
Mark Moring | posted 7/27/2010 04:17AM
Ever wonder what people will say at your funeral? That's pretty much the premise of Get Low, a new film releasing this week and starring Robert Duvall as an eccentric recluse living in the hills—while all the townsfolk share wild (and mostly untrue) stories about him.
A Southern folk tale based in the 1930s—and based on a true story of a Tennessee man who lived at that time—the film features Duvall as Felix Bush, a loner who decides to hold a "living funeral" so he can hear what the people are really saying about him. It's a stellar film, with themes of forgiveness and redemption, and features a dazzling cast, including Oscar winners Duvall and Sissy Spacek and Oscar nominee Bill Murray.
Duvall, who will be 80 in January, tells CT that Get Low is one of his favorite movies that he's made. He compares the story with the Horton Foote-written films in which he's starred, including and Tender Mercies (for which he won the Oscar for Best Actor).
Duvall, who likes to play flawed men because they bring more "drama" to the story, also talked about his role in 1997's The Apostle, a tale rife with moral complexity in which he plays a feisty Southern preacher in need of some anger management. The actor got a little feisty himself when we asked him whether that movie was subtly mocking Pentecostals and charismatics.
You have a history of playing flawed, complicated, broken men. What attracts you to these roles?
Well, they present themselves to me, and those characters make good drama. If people don't have conflicts, contradictions, and faults, then there is no drama there. My favorite part of all time was probably Gus McCrae in Lonesome Dove; I also played Josef Stalin in a TV movie. I also always try to find the vulnerable side and the positive side of the character.
Are you attracted to stories that depict faith and spiritual things?
I could be, but I don't go looking for something with a "message," so to speak. If it's there, it's there. When I did The Apostle, that was a personal kind of thing for me to do that.
You wrote, directed, acted in, and financed The Apostle. Why was it so important to you to make that movie?
Years ago [in the 1960s], I was in a little town in Hughes, Arkansas, to do some research on a play. I wandered out one night and I saw this little Pentecostal church, and a woman preacher. I said, "I gotta put this on film someday. I've never seen this." It was a part of Americana—spiritual but also a cultural thing. It took me years and years to get it done, all with my own money and everything.
You observed a lot of preachers while doing your research, didn't you?
All over America. And mostly in black churches. I love going to black churches, and I love some of these black preachers. The best preacher I ever saw in my life was a 93-year-old in a black church in Hamilton, Virginia. What a preacher! He'd make Mahatma Gandhi look like a Nazi. He was so spiritual, this man. A wonderful man.
Some people thought The Apostle was mocking Southern holiness or Pentecostal preachers …
Who said that?
Oh, some Christians wished it had been a more positive portrayal of a preacher rather than a man with all these …
Let me straighten these people out. And you can put it in print. My guy [Rev. Euliss "Sonny" Dewey, the title character] killed a guy out of anger, right? But he wasn't one half as bad as King David in the Psalms, who sent a man off to be killed so he could be with his wife. Every time I read the Psalms I think of that. But on the other hand, I heard that Billy Graham liked the movie, and many, many preachers did. Rev. James Robison of Fort Worth said I could use anything from any of his services to put in the film. So I'm not mocking.
If Hollywood had done this, they would have mocked these people. No, I did not mock these people. I didn't patronize these people. I've been in many, many churches, Pentecostal churches. I could have made these people look bad if I wanted to. So you can tell these people I did not mock these people or condescend at all. Had I done it in a Hollywood movie, we would have patronized these people. That's why I had to do the movie myself.
Why do you think Hollywood has a tendency to mock Christians and preachers?
Well, it's not just Christians. I mean, I'm a Christian. But they mock the interior of the United States of America, the heartland. They don't go out of their way to understand what's really there.
Let's talk about Get Low. I really enjoyed the movie. A fascinating character study. How would you describe the film to someone?
You can look at it from different angles. Some people see it as a love story, about a man who loved one woman his whole life. But there are other things about the movie that make it a very important movie. My wife (Luciana Pedraza, his spouse since 2004) says it's her favorite film that I've done in 15 years, since The Apostle. There are many wonderful things in it, but it's a love story with a lot of basic humanity in it too. It's kind of a southern folk tale, a fictionalized based-on-fact story of a man who had set up and gone to his own funeral.
How would you describe your character, Felix Bush, and do you have anything in common with him?
Well, I suppose I have something in common with him. He's very individualistic, [but] if he hadn't gone into this kind of isolation as a hermit, to do a certain kind of penance, I think he could have been a lawyer, a school teacher, a world traveler, a merchant marine—he could have been many things. I don't know if I am like him, but I could certainly identify with him.
Are you anything like him in regards to keeping to yourself and out of the public eye? You're not in the tabloids a lot …
Well, I can't live without a woman. I have to have a woman, have to have a wife. And Felix decided not to have that, for all those years. But it was a beautiful project to work on for a number of reasons, like the sense of humanity with Felix looking for personal redemption, looking to find peace with himself. It's a beautifully written story.
I hear the script reminded you of the great script writer—and your good friend—Horton Foote.
Yes. The writing and the movie is somewhat like Horton, the great playwright. I did several of his films—Tender Mercies, To Kill a Mockingbird and several others [The Chase, Tomorrow, and Convicts in film, and The Midnight Caller on stage]. Horton died last year at the age of 93, and still had wonderful plays off Broadway in recent years. He was one of our great playwrights who was great until his final years. I told him I was going do this movie, and I wish he could've seen it. But he passed away—and there's a story there. As I was giving the final speech to the whole crowd [in the film's penultimate scene], my wife's cell phone rings off camera—and it's a message from Horton's son-in-law that he had just died.
That very day?
Yes. It was like full circle, like he was there or something. It was like we'd gone from To Kill a Mockingbird to that time, because I wanted him to see this movie because it is very much like his writing. So it was very ironic that it happened on that particular day as the camera rolled.
What's the best thing you learned from Horton Foote?
We had a good working relationship. I always said if I only had done his films, and the films of Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather, The Godfather II, Apocalypse Now, The Rain People), I would have had a wonderful career. But I learned from Horton how to have friendship and still be able to work together, through thick and thin and still stay friends. How many friends do you have after 50 years? Not many.
Most of us wonder what people will say at our funerals. What do you think people will say at yours?
I don't know. I always figure from the cradle to the grave, we all have our individual journeys, and maybe my journey was a positive one and I accomplished certain things without stepping on too many toes. I hope I left behind a legacy that people will enjoy. But whatever they want to say, I can't predict.
Do you ever plan to retire?
Not until they wipe the drool! No sir! Michael Caine told me, "You don't retire from the movie business; they retire you." So right now, if they can raise the money, there are several [upcoming film projects] that are as good as anything I've ever done.
Like what?
Well, to play Don Quixote in a movie. I'm also looking at The Hatfields and the McCoys, which is a brilliant script, and one called A Night in Old Mexico. So there's three wonderful projects if we can get the money.
We've got less than a minute left. Any last words about Get Low that we didn't cover?
Yeah. Get Low is one of my favorite films in a long time and a wonderful character. "Get low"—I don't even know what that means. I guess it means to get low for Jesus before it's time. Keep above the ground before you go below the ground.
Huh?
You'll probably get a different definition from the producers but that's kind of the way that I look at it. And it's a film that we're real proud of.
Well, I'm looking forward to letting our readers know about …
You tell your readers there is no way that I wanted to make fun of the Pentecostal people! If I had wanted to make them look like bad people, I could have, believe me.
OK, I'll do that! Thanks for your time.
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The 'Low'-Down on Robert Duvall | Movies & TV | Christianity Today
The 'Low'-Down on Robert Duvall
The veteran actor discusses his new film Get Low, a folk tale about an eccentric recluse—and gets a little feisty about The Apostle.
Mark Moring | posted 7/27/2010 04:17AM
Ever wonder what people will say at your funeral? That's pretty much the premise of Get Low, a new film releasing this week and starring Robert Duvall as an eccentric recluse living in the hills—while all the townsfolk share wild (and mostly untrue) stories about him.
A Southern folk tale based in the 1930s—and based on a true story of a Tennessee man who lived at that time—the film features Duvall as Felix Bush, a loner who decides to hold a "living funeral" so he can hear what the people are really saying about him. It's a stellar film, with themes of forgiveness and redemption, and features a dazzling cast, including Oscar winners Duvall and Sissy Spacek and Oscar nominee Bill Murray.
Duvall, who will be 80 in January, tells CT that Get Low is one of his favorite movies that he's made. He compares the story with the Horton Foote-written films in which he's starred, including and Tender Mercies (for which he won the Oscar for Best Actor).
Duvall, who likes to play flawed men because they bring more "drama" to the story, also talked about his role in 1997's The Apostle, a tale rife with moral complexity in which he plays a feisty Southern preacher in need of some anger management. The actor got a little feisty himself when we asked him whether that movie was subtly mocking Pentecostals and charismatics.
You have a history of playing flawed, complicated, broken men. What attracts you to these roles?
Well, they present themselves to me, and those characters make good drama. If people don't have conflicts, contradictions, and faults, then there is no drama there. My favorite part of all time was probably Gus McCrae in Lonesome Dove; I also played Josef Stalin in a TV movie. I also always try to find the vulnerable side and the positive side of the character.
Are you attracted to stories that depict faith and spiritual things?
I could be, but I don't go looking for something with a "message," so to speak. If it's there, it's there. When I did The Apostle, that was a personal kind of thing for me to do that.
You wrote, directed, acted in, and financed The Apostle. Why was it so important to you to make that movie?
Years ago [in the 1960s], I was in a little town in Hughes, Arkansas, to do some research on a play. I wandered out one night and I saw this little Pentecostal church, and a woman preacher. I said, "I gotta put this on film someday. I've never seen this." It was a part of Americana—spiritual but also a cultural thing. It took me years and years to get it done, all with my own money and everything.
You observed a lot of preachers while doing your research, didn't you?
All over America. And mostly in black churches. I love going to black churches, and I love some of these black preachers. The best preacher I ever saw in my life was a 93-year-old in a black church in Hamilton, Virginia. What a preacher! He'd make Mahatma Gandhi look like a Nazi. He was so spiritual, this man. A wonderful man.
Some people thought The Apostle was mocking Southern holiness or Pentecostal preachers …
Who said that?
Oh, some Christians wished it had been a more positive portrayal of a preacher rather than a man with all these …
Let me straighten these people out. And you can put it in print. My guy [Rev. Euliss "Sonny" Dewey, the title character] killed a guy out of anger, right? But he wasn't one half as bad as King David in the Psalms, who sent a man off to be killed so he could be with his wife. Every time I read the Psalms I think of that. But on the other hand, I heard that Billy Graham liked the movie, and many, many preachers did. Rev. James Robison of Fort Worth said I could use anything from any of his services to put in the film. So I'm not mocking.
If Hollywood had done this, they would have mocked these people. No, I did not mock these people. I didn't patronize these people. I've been in many, many churches, Pentecostal churches. I could have made these people look bad if I wanted to. So you can tell these people I did not mock these people or condescend at all. Had I done it in a Hollywood movie, we would have patronized these people. That's why I had to do the movie myself.
Why do you think Hollywood has a tendency to mock Christians and preachers?
Well, it's not just Christians. I mean, I'm a Christian. But they mock the interior of the United States of America, the heartland. They don't go out of their way to understand what's really there.
Let's talk about Get Low. I really enjoyed the movie. A fascinating character study. How would you describe the film to someone?
You can look at it from different angles. Some people see it as a love story, about a man who loved one woman his whole life. But there are other things about the movie that make it a very important movie. My wife (Luciana Pedraza, his spouse since 2004) says it's her favorite film that I've done in 15 years, since The Apostle. There are many wonderful things in it, but it's a love story with a lot of basic humanity in it too. It's kind of a southern folk tale, a fictionalized based-on-fact story of a man who had set up and gone to his own funeral.
How would you describe your character, Felix Bush, and do you have anything in common with him?
Well, I suppose I have something in common with him. He's very individualistic, [but] if he hadn't gone into this kind of isolation as a hermit, to do a certain kind of penance, I think he could have been a lawyer, a school teacher, a world traveler, a merchant marine—he could have been many things. I don't know if I am like him, but I could certainly identify with him.
Are you anything like him in regards to keeping to yourself and out of the public eye? You're not in the tabloids a lot …
Well, I can't live without a woman. I have to have a woman, have to have a wife. And Felix decided not to have that, for all those years. But it was a beautiful project to work on for a number of reasons, like the sense of humanity with Felix looking for personal redemption, looking to find peace with himself. It's a beautifully written story.
I hear the script reminded you of the great script writer—and your good friend—Horton Foote.
Yes. The writing and the movie is somewhat like Horton, the great playwright. I did several of his films—Tender Mercies, To Kill a Mockingbird and several others [The Chase, Tomorrow, and Convicts in film, and The Midnight Caller on stage]. Horton died last year at the age of 93, and still had wonderful plays off Broadway in recent years. He was one of our great playwrights who was great until his final years. I told him I was going do this movie, and I wish he could've seen it. But he passed away—and there's a story there. As I was giving the final speech to the whole crowd [in the film's penultimate scene], my wife's cell phone rings off camera—and it's a message from Horton's son-in-law that he had just died.
That very day?
Yes. It was like full circle, like he was there or something. It was like we'd gone from To Kill a Mockingbird to that time, because I wanted him to see this movie because it is very much like his writing. So it was very ironic that it happened on that particular day as the camera rolled.
What's the best thing you learned from Horton Foote?
We had a good working relationship. I always said if I only had done his films, and the films of Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather, The Godfather II, Apocalypse Now, The Rain People), I would have had a wonderful career. But I learned from Horton how to have friendship and still be able to work together, through thick and thin and still stay friends. How many friends do you have after 50 years? Not many.
Most of us wonder what people will say at our funerals. What do you think people will say at yours?
I don't know. I always figure from the cradle to the grave, we all have our individual journeys, and maybe my journey was a positive one and I accomplished certain things without stepping on too many toes. I hope I left behind a legacy that people will enjoy. But whatever they want to say, I can't predict.
Do you ever plan to retire?
Not until they wipe the drool! No sir! Michael Caine told me, "You don't retire from the movie business; they retire you." So right now, if they can raise the money, there are several [upcoming film projects] that are as good as anything I've ever done.
Like what?
Well, to play Don Quixote in a movie. I'm also looking at The Hatfields and the McCoys, which is a brilliant script, and one called A Night in Old Mexico. So there's three wonderful projects if we can get the money.
We've got less than a minute left. Any last words about Get Low that we didn't cover?
Yeah. Get Low is one of my favorite films in a long time and a wonderful character. "Get low"—I don't even know what that means. I guess it means to get low for Jesus before it's time. Keep above the ground before you go below the ground.
Huh?
You'll probably get a different definition from the producers but that's kind of the way that I look at it. And it's a film that we're real proud of.
Well, I'm looking forward to letting our readers know about …
You tell your readers there is no way that I wanted to make fun of the Pentecostal people! If I had wanted to make them look like bad people, I could have, believe me.
OK, I'll do that! Thanks for your time.
© 2010 Christianity Today International. All rights reserved. Click for reprint information.
The 'Low'-Down on Robert Duvall | Movies & TV | Christianity Today
Friday, July 16, 2010
Yes and and again, Yes -- Materially supporting our Artists
Will paint for food
July 16, 2010 - Dayton Castleman
This article is about materially supporting and compensating artists for their work. As an artist, writing on the subject in such a compressed form feels a bit like taking a quick jog across a live minefield. What the subject deserves is a long, close, careful treatment, and anything less than that feels a bit precarious. There is the question of conflict of interest, the necessary un-nuanced generalizations, and the danger of sounding bitter or cynical. I am not sure whether that makes me courageous or foolish, but I think it is important enough to address regardless.
I had a professor in my first year of college tell us fresh-faced art majors that if there was anything in the entire world that we could imagine doing besides art, we should do that other thing, because art was just too difficult to pursue without an unwavering dedication. He was right, and those of us that stuck with it knew we had been duly warned about what we were getting into. In a sense, the moment we decided not to change majors, we relinquished our right to whine about being underappreciated or undercompensated. What we did receive, however, was a new responsibility regarding stewardship of the discipline into which we had been adopted.
Making, teaching, and thinking about art is my vocation. It is also the reason why I find myself braving aisles of silk flowers, rubber stamps, and seasonal decorations at a store called "Hobby Lobby" on a somewhat regular basis. I brave the store because they sell things I need to do my job, in spite of their less than completely accurate name. I want to highlight this because very real obstacles—regarding knowing when or how to compensate artists—arise when pivotal distinctions between making art as one's hobby and making art as one's dedicated work are misunderstood.
Crafting images and objects can legitimately operate as both a form of recreation and a means of cultural reorganization and critique. Making things in order to enjoyably pass a Sunday afternoon, and making things in order to operate as lenses for interpreting the meaning of the world, are both justified endeavours—but they are not the same endeavour. The problem is that distinguishing between the two is complicated by an insidiously ordinary similarity in material and posture. If we imagine two people standing before two blank canvasses with brushes and paints at the ready, how are we to know which one is trying to unwind after a long week, and which one is trying to change the world? If we assume that every person who stands before a blank canvas finds the process of painting fun and relaxing rather than disciplined and difficult work, or an exercise in releasing tension as opposed to an exercise in embracing and highlighting tensions, then we may easily treat every artist as a person pursuing a sort of hobby. And I'll be the first to agree that we ought not reimburse one another's hobbies.
The work of the artist is often toilsome and, contrary to popular opinion, it is not always enjoyable. It can be difficult and even boring like any other type of work. It is the fleshing out of hard-fought, hard-won wisdom, experience, and skill that comes from years of dedicated, diligent, often uncompensated formal study of a discipline, and the world of ideas that undergirds it. It is art done in order to help others see things in a slightly different way. It is work that eschews self-indulgent "personal expression" in favour of images, objects, installations, performances, presentations, and writings that engage the world around us, and which are intended to enrich, unify, and challenge communities of people. Doing this well generally takes a great deal of time, and it certainly isn't free.
I want to be clear that service and generosity within the church and civic structures are an essential part of good citizenship. Artists are rarely asked to donate their work or time to projects that would not in some way enrich the lives of others. The application of one's calling toward the greater good of other people is, and will always be, an essential part of being human. When we give of ourselves out of the surplus that has been given to us, it beautifully echoes the sacrificial generosity that has been shown to us by our God in the incarnation of Jesus Christ. A person's membership in a particular church or relationship to the Church at large should not be understood as a transactional arrangement. To be a part of the Kingdom of God is to be a servant, and that mandates giving freely, without remuneration, for the sake of the Gospel, and the incarnation of God's presence in the world.
But held in simultaneous tension with our responsibility to be generous is the fundamental challenge to artists in our culture (Christian or not) concerning how to continue actually doing this work of making images while fulfilling the responsibility of supporting one's self, or one's family. An important and wonderful shift within the Church in the last thirty years or so (precipitated by writing and thought that has preceded it by decades) has been a move toward a deeper appreciation of what artists may uniquely contribute to the body of Christ. This growing awareness should not go unnoticed or unappreciated, as it is an essential step toward a richer picture of God's Kingdom within the Church. Yet still lacking in a broad sense within the Church, both among artists and non-artists alike, is an awareness of how very critical a robust and responsible patronage is in enabling artists to perform this role. We cannot grow in our appreciation and utilization of the work of artists without a willingness to grow in providing the resources that will enable and sustain that work.
Ultimately, it is an issue of responsible stewardship both on the part of the artist and the Church, and, frankly, artists seldom help their own cause. One thing every artist desires is to have his or her work seen and its purpose appreciated. Yet this desire, unbridled by a resolute conviction of the intrinsic value of the artist's work, creates an unhealthy cultural dynamic. If an artist understands their work as inessential to healthy cultures, then they are less likely to assume compensation for that work as normative. As it plays out, local congregations (and parachurch organizations) are typically more than willing to ask artists to donate their time and work, and too many artists tend to be more than willing to work without compensation (or to simply ask about it), even in those situations where they ought to be compensated.
As I've tried to clarify, generosity is mandated, but it is essential that artists' generosity be met with the church's willingness to materially support the artist. And it is imperative that both should happen from within a fundamental understanding of the artist's unique and skilled work within the Church being as worthy of financial compensation as rewiring the sanctuary, or auditing the books—and just as important.
Copyright © 1974-2010 Cardus. All Rights Reserved.
July 16, 2010 - Dayton Castleman
This article is about materially supporting and compensating artists for their work. As an artist, writing on the subject in such a compressed form feels a bit like taking a quick jog across a live minefield. What the subject deserves is a long, close, careful treatment, and anything less than that feels a bit precarious. There is the question of conflict of interest, the necessary un-nuanced generalizations, and the danger of sounding bitter or cynical. I am not sure whether that makes me courageous or foolish, but I think it is important enough to address regardless.
I had a professor in my first year of college tell us fresh-faced art majors that if there was anything in the entire world that we could imagine doing besides art, we should do that other thing, because art was just too difficult to pursue without an unwavering dedication. He was right, and those of us that stuck with it knew we had been duly warned about what we were getting into. In a sense, the moment we decided not to change majors, we relinquished our right to whine about being underappreciated or undercompensated. What we did receive, however, was a new responsibility regarding stewardship of the discipline into which we had been adopted.
Making, teaching, and thinking about art is my vocation. It is also the reason why I find myself braving aisles of silk flowers, rubber stamps, and seasonal decorations at a store called "Hobby Lobby" on a somewhat regular basis. I brave the store because they sell things I need to do my job, in spite of their less than completely accurate name. I want to highlight this because very real obstacles—regarding knowing when or how to compensate artists—arise when pivotal distinctions between making art as one's hobby and making art as one's dedicated work are misunderstood.
Crafting images and objects can legitimately operate as both a form of recreation and a means of cultural reorganization and critique. Making things in order to enjoyably pass a Sunday afternoon, and making things in order to operate as lenses for interpreting the meaning of the world, are both justified endeavours—but they are not the same endeavour. The problem is that distinguishing between the two is complicated by an insidiously ordinary similarity in material and posture. If we imagine two people standing before two blank canvasses with brushes and paints at the ready, how are we to know which one is trying to unwind after a long week, and which one is trying to change the world? If we assume that every person who stands before a blank canvas finds the process of painting fun and relaxing rather than disciplined and difficult work, or an exercise in releasing tension as opposed to an exercise in embracing and highlighting tensions, then we may easily treat every artist as a person pursuing a sort of hobby. And I'll be the first to agree that we ought not reimburse one another's hobbies.
The work of the artist is often toilsome and, contrary to popular opinion, it is not always enjoyable. It can be difficult and even boring like any other type of work. It is the fleshing out of hard-fought, hard-won wisdom, experience, and skill that comes from years of dedicated, diligent, often uncompensated formal study of a discipline, and the world of ideas that undergirds it. It is art done in order to help others see things in a slightly different way. It is work that eschews self-indulgent "personal expression" in favour of images, objects, installations, performances, presentations, and writings that engage the world around us, and which are intended to enrich, unify, and challenge communities of people. Doing this well generally takes a great deal of time, and it certainly isn't free.
I want to be clear that service and generosity within the church and civic structures are an essential part of good citizenship. Artists are rarely asked to donate their work or time to projects that would not in some way enrich the lives of others. The application of one's calling toward the greater good of other people is, and will always be, an essential part of being human. When we give of ourselves out of the surplus that has been given to us, it beautifully echoes the sacrificial generosity that has been shown to us by our God in the incarnation of Jesus Christ. A person's membership in a particular church or relationship to the Church at large should not be understood as a transactional arrangement. To be a part of the Kingdom of God is to be a servant, and that mandates giving freely, without remuneration, for the sake of the Gospel, and the incarnation of God's presence in the world.
But held in simultaneous tension with our responsibility to be generous is the fundamental challenge to artists in our culture (Christian or not) concerning how to continue actually doing this work of making images while fulfilling the responsibility of supporting one's self, or one's family. An important and wonderful shift within the Church in the last thirty years or so (precipitated by writing and thought that has preceded it by decades) has been a move toward a deeper appreciation of what artists may uniquely contribute to the body of Christ. This growing awareness should not go unnoticed or unappreciated, as it is an essential step toward a richer picture of God's Kingdom within the Church. Yet still lacking in a broad sense within the Church, both among artists and non-artists alike, is an awareness of how very critical a robust and responsible patronage is in enabling artists to perform this role. We cannot grow in our appreciation and utilization of the work of artists without a willingness to grow in providing the resources that will enable and sustain that work.
Ultimately, it is an issue of responsible stewardship both on the part of the artist and the Church, and, frankly, artists seldom help their own cause. One thing every artist desires is to have his or her work seen and its purpose appreciated. Yet this desire, unbridled by a resolute conviction of the intrinsic value of the artist's work, creates an unhealthy cultural dynamic. If an artist understands their work as inessential to healthy cultures, then they are less likely to assume compensation for that work as normative. As it plays out, local congregations (and parachurch organizations) are typically more than willing to ask artists to donate their time and work, and too many artists tend to be more than willing to work without compensation (or to simply ask about it), even in those situations where they ought to be compensated.
As I've tried to clarify, generosity is mandated, but it is essential that artists' generosity be met with the church's willingness to materially support the artist. And it is imperative that both should happen from within a fundamental understanding of the artist's unique and skilled work within the Church being as worthy of financial compensation as rewiring the sanctuary, or auditing the books—and just as important.
Copyright © 1974-2010 Cardus. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wonder Woman Gets Pants!
By Albert Ching, Newsarama.com / June 30, 2010
Wonder Woman has a bold new look, one of the most dramatic changes of her 70-year history.
Designed by DC Comics co-publisher Jim Lee, Wonder Woman's new costume retains the bracelets and tiara, but is considerably less revealing.
Criticized for years for fighting crime in effectively a one-piece swimsuit — often considered either sexist or simply impractical — the DC Comics icon has a new costume as of this week's Wonder Woman #600, and it's one considerably less revealing, complete with long pants and a jacket. Signature elements such as the character's bracelets, tiara and magic lasso remain. The costume was designed by acclaimed penciler and DC Comics co-publisher Jim Lee.
DC Comics announced the change Tuesday evening.
"It’s a look designed to be taken seriously as a warrior, in partial answer to the many female fans over the years who’ve asked, 'how does she fight in that thing without all her parts falling out?'" said incoming series writer J. Michael Straczynski.
"It reflects her origins in both the outside world and the world of Amazons: tough, elegant...a street-fighter’s look which also incorporates elements of her classic design," Straczynski said. "It reflects the two sides warring for ultimate victory, and underscores the path she must take."
It's also a versatile outfit, according to Straczynski.
"She can close it up to pass unnoticed ... open it for the freedom to fight ... lose the jacket or keep it on ... it has pockets (the other fan question, “where does she carry anything in that outfit?”), it can be accessorized," Straczynski wrote in DC's official release. "it’s a Wonder Woman look designed for the 21st century."
Straczynski also commented on some of the classic elements that were retained.
"The bracelets are still there, but made more colorful, tied on the inside and over the hand, with a script W on each of them that form WW when she holds them side by side...and if you get hit by one of them, it leaves a W mark. This is a Wonder Woman who signs her work ... letting her enemies know that she’s getting closer."
Straczynski noted to DC Comics that the new outfit is Wonder Woman's "first significant change in her appearance since the character debuted in 1941," with the notable exception of a mod bodysuit briefly sported in the '60s.
With the new costume comes a new direction for the title: Thanks to some time-shifting by the Olympian gods who created Wonder Woman, the superheroine's history has been changed so she grew up in a modern, urban environment, with little memory or conection to her mythical origins.
"The Gods, for reasons of their own but which may have something to with their survival and perhaps the survival of Earth itself, have changed the timeline. In the new timeline, years ago the Gods removed their protection from Paradise Island, and left it vulnerable to attack," Straczynski shared in the press release. "And attacked it was. Led by a dark figure, a veritable army descended upon the Island, equipped with weapons that could kill even the Amazons. Outgunned, doomed, Hippolyta gave over her three-year-old daughter to a handful of guardians who spirited her away as Hippolyta led one last desperate battle against the forces that had come to destroy all she had created. In that final battle, she and most of the Amazons were killed, though some managed to escape."
This new direction will also bring Wonder Woman into opposition with new enemies.
"It’s now nearly twenty years later. Diana has been raised in an urban setting, but with a foot in both worlds. She has little or no memory of the other timeline. She knows only what she’s been told by those who raised her On the run, hunted, she must try to survive, help the other refugee Amazons escape the army that is still after them, discover who destroyed Paradise Island and why ... and if the timeline can be corrected or not," Straczynski wrote in DC's official materials. "She also does not yet have access to her full powers, but will be gaining them as she goes. Along the way, she will face a range of enemies — human and otherwise — who we have not seen before."
Essentially, both the new look and new direction amount to a rebirth, wrote Straczynski.
"This is Wonder Woman reborn, literally and metaphorically: fast, elegant, tough, smart ... the savior of her people, their guardian and protector ... avenging the fall of Paradise Island, searching to discover why Paradise Island was abandoned by the gods," Straczynski told to the publisher. "In the end, what she discovers will change her life and the world forever...and she will come face to face with a decision that will mean life or death for the entire human race."
#600 comes out in stores this Wednesday, June 30, written by Straczynski and drawn by Don Kramer and Michael Babinski.
Friday, June 25, 2010
think thickly, speak thinly
Neighbourhood Grace
June 25, 2010 - Eric O. Jacobsen
"My biggest frustration is that I can't seem to get many of the members to put any of their time or effort towards our shared mission."
I listened to his words, but also was aware that I must have had this conversation over a hundred times during my 15 years in ministry. But this time, it wasn't a church member complaining to me about the rampant individualism or consumerism within the church body. This was the District Manager of the Stadium Historic Business District Association (SHBDA) complaining about the lack of involvement with the broader goals of the district among business owners.
I had recently been elected the President of SHBDA and the District Manager was looking to me for support and help in his plight. In some ways, my involvement in the SHBDA was a natural fit, since the church at which I serve as the Senior Pastor is embedded in the heart of the neighbourhood and serves as a visual anchor for the district. On the other hand, the church is not technically a business and the source of my authority at church (the Word of God) is not a recognized authority outside of her walls. So far in my tenure, the awkwardness of this fit had not really crossed my mind, but the framing of the District Manager's concern was familiar enough to cause a momentary lapse in clarity between my two roles.
Had this been one of my lay leaders at church, and had the complaint been about church members, I would have had a better sense for how to frame my response. Perhaps I would have used 1 Peter 4:10 or Ephesians 4:11-13 to help us think about ways to remind our members that they have been given gifts of the Spirit in order to serve one another and build up Christ's kingdom. Not only would this language most likely fall flat on the District Manager, but the truth articulated in those verses would probably not apply to many of the business owners who are not followers of Christ.
As I reflected further on his dilemma, I began to frame a more helpful approach—at least in my own mind. Richard Mouw taught me that in public settings, we are often called to "think thickly and speak thinly." This gave me permission to ground my thinking in scripture and theology, even though my conversation partner may not share these foundations with me. Later, as a second step, I could think about ways to communicate the conclusions I had drawn.
I began with the cultural mandate of Genesis 1:27, in which God instructs humanity to fill the earth. The neocalvinist tradition holds that this reference to "filling" means the development of cultural goods. This mandate is one part of the larger creation mandate that is given before the covenant with Abraham, and so pertinent to all of humanity. I share it not just with the Christian community, but with all people, including the business owners and employees in the Stadium District. It is, first and foremost, an affirmation of their vocation to repair cars, clean teeth, hem pants, lend money, and prepare and serve food. Before we ask them to "do more to support the district," we can begin by affirming what they are already doing.
Then I began thinking about the great biblical notion of shalom. I have come to love the idea of shalom as human wholeness and flourishing in the context of loving relationships. Shalom is a word for God's intent for the good of humanity, and I believe it is attractive to people whether they have a relationship to God or not. According to Jeremiah 29:7, shalom is something we can seek for our unbelieving neighbours and with their cooperation. My favourite image of shalom, from Zechariah 8:4-5, is a picture of intergenerational life on the streets that I can easily picture taking place right in the middle of our Stadium District. I believe that fleshing out this picture may provide a key for getting the District Manager and the business owners to work together to bring about this attractive vision.
This led me to think about common grace. As I considered the plausibility of this vision in this place, I realized that there were other districts in our area that had managed to increase shalom through the collective voluntary efforts of business owners in the area—many of whom were not Christian. The immediate agents for this shalom increase were the business owners; however, we can also claim that God was the cause of this shalom through the blessing of common grace, the non-salvific blessing that God can give to any person. Common grace comes in many forms (natural blessings, the restraint of evil, and so on) but the pertinent form for this discussion is identified as "acts of civic righteousness."
This mental journey helped me reframe the District Manager's question in my mind. Although he didn't know it, he was asking me whether I could help the business owners in the district fulfill their God-given mandate to increase shalom in this place by affirming the goodness of their primary vocation and relying on the blessing of God to help them overcome their self-absorbed disposition in order to serve the greater good.
This thick reframing of his question helped me respond to his dilemma in a way that employed thinner language. I first tried to really listen to his concern and not brush it off. Shalom is meant to be a shared vision for the community, and it is distressing to feel alone in our pursuit of this ideal. He may feel blown off by the other business owners, but I wanted him to know that he had my full attention. I also affirmed his frustration. His picture of what this neighbourhood could be was more than just a projection of his ideal community setting or that which brought him comfort: it was, at some level, inspired by God's expectation for community life. And it is not just frustrating, but wrong when we fail to achieve it or even care about it.
As much as I felt that I needed to validate his frustration, I also recognized that I needed to be careful of indulging it. After all, much what the business owners were doing was simply living out the cultural mandate. He also spoke fairly sharply about the business owners' self-absorption and wanted to make them pay (by subtle censure) for their failure to contribute to the district. Part of his frustration grew from the gap between what the district could be and the effort that each was willing to put towards getting there. But perhaps the greater part of his frustration was the disappointment of discovering how pervasive a self-oriented perspective is within the members of our district.
I was less frustrated because I was less surprised. One of the great advantages of a Christian worldview is that we are not surprised by sin in either its egregious or milder forms. I encouraged the District Manager to have a bit more patience with the business owners, because the idea of putting the needs and desires of others above their own was alien to them. If it was going to be different, it was going to need to be taught and modeled. No amount of scolding was going to bring about shalom. We needed to revise our expectations and to take things a bit more slowly. What we need—what we all need at some point—is to be graciously invited to enjoy the fruits of shalom as we are being asked to contribute to it.
I knew that behind our efforts was a God who is even more interested in bringing about shalom in our neighbourhood than either of us could ever be. I never used the words shalom, sin, or even vocation in expressing this conviction. But I believe that our conversation that day honoured God, and hopefully helped us take one more step towards helping out neighbourhood to be God honouring as well.
Copyright © 1974-2010 Cardus. All Rights Reserved.
June 25, 2010 - Eric O. Jacobsen
"My biggest frustration is that I can't seem to get many of the members to put any of their time or effort towards our shared mission."
I listened to his words, but also was aware that I must have had this conversation over a hundred times during my 15 years in ministry. But this time, it wasn't a church member complaining to me about the rampant individualism or consumerism within the church body. This was the District Manager of the Stadium Historic Business District Association (SHBDA) complaining about the lack of involvement with the broader goals of the district among business owners.
I had recently been elected the President of SHBDA and the District Manager was looking to me for support and help in his plight. In some ways, my involvement in the SHBDA was a natural fit, since the church at which I serve as the Senior Pastor is embedded in the heart of the neighbourhood and serves as a visual anchor for the district. On the other hand, the church is not technically a business and the source of my authority at church (the Word of God) is not a recognized authority outside of her walls. So far in my tenure, the awkwardness of this fit had not really crossed my mind, but the framing of the District Manager's concern was familiar enough to cause a momentary lapse in clarity between my two roles.
Had this been one of my lay leaders at church, and had the complaint been about church members, I would have had a better sense for how to frame my response. Perhaps I would have used 1 Peter 4:10 or Ephesians 4:11-13 to help us think about ways to remind our members that they have been given gifts of the Spirit in order to serve one another and build up Christ's kingdom. Not only would this language most likely fall flat on the District Manager, but the truth articulated in those verses would probably not apply to many of the business owners who are not followers of Christ.
As I reflected further on his dilemma, I began to frame a more helpful approach—at least in my own mind. Richard Mouw taught me that in public settings, we are often called to "think thickly and speak thinly." This gave me permission to ground my thinking in scripture and theology, even though my conversation partner may not share these foundations with me. Later, as a second step, I could think about ways to communicate the conclusions I had drawn.
I began with the cultural mandate of Genesis 1:27, in which God instructs humanity to fill the earth. The neocalvinist tradition holds that this reference to "filling" means the development of cultural goods. This mandate is one part of the larger creation mandate that is given before the covenant with Abraham, and so pertinent to all of humanity. I share it not just with the Christian community, but with all people, including the business owners and employees in the Stadium District. It is, first and foremost, an affirmation of their vocation to repair cars, clean teeth, hem pants, lend money, and prepare and serve food. Before we ask them to "do more to support the district," we can begin by affirming what they are already doing.
Then I began thinking about the great biblical notion of shalom. I have come to love the idea of shalom as human wholeness and flourishing in the context of loving relationships. Shalom is a word for God's intent for the good of humanity, and I believe it is attractive to people whether they have a relationship to God or not. According to Jeremiah 29:7, shalom is something we can seek for our unbelieving neighbours and with their cooperation. My favourite image of shalom, from Zechariah 8:4-5, is a picture of intergenerational life on the streets that I can easily picture taking place right in the middle of our Stadium District. I believe that fleshing out this picture may provide a key for getting the District Manager and the business owners to work together to bring about this attractive vision.
This led me to think about common grace. As I considered the plausibility of this vision in this place, I realized that there were other districts in our area that had managed to increase shalom through the collective voluntary efforts of business owners in the area—many of whom were not Christian. The immediate agents for this shalom increase were the business owners; however, we can also claim that God was the cause of this shalom through the blessing of common grace, the non-salvific blessing that God can give to any person. Common grace comes in many forms (natural blessings, the restraint of evil, and so on) but the pertinent form for this discussion is identified as "acts of civic righteousness."
This mental journey helped me reframe the District Manager's question in my mind. Although he didn't know it, he was asking me whether I could help the business owners in the district fulfill their God-given mandate to increase shalom in this place by affirming the goodness of their primary vocation and relying on the blessing of God to help them overcome their self-absorbed disposition in order to serve the greater good.
This thick reframing of his question helped me respond to his dilemma in a way that employed thinner language. I first tried to really listen to his concern and not brush it off. Shalom is meant to be a shared vision for the community, and it is distressing to feel alone in our pursuit of this ideal. He may feel blown off by the other business owners, but I wanted him to know that he had my full attention. I also affirmed his frustration. His picture of what this neighbourhood could be was more than just a projection of his ideal community setting or that which brought him comfort: it was, at some level, inspired by God's expectation for community life. And it is not just frustrating, but wrong when we fail to achieve it or even care about it.
As much as I felt that I needed to validate his frustration, I also recognized that I needed to be careful of indulging it. After all, much what the business owners were doing was simply living out the cultural mandate. He also spoke fairly sharply about the business owners' self-absorption and wanted to make them pay (by subtle censure) for their failure to contribute to the district. Part of his frustration grew from the gap between what the district could be and the effort that each was willing to put towards getting there. But perhaps the greater part of his frustration was the disappointment of discovering how pervasive a self-oriented perspective is within the members of our district.
I was less frustrated because I was less surprised. One of the great advantages of a Christian worldview is that we are not surprised by sin in either its egregious or milder forms. I encouraged the District Manager to have a bit more patience with the business owners, because the idea of putting the needs and desires of others above their own was alien to them. If it was going to be different, it was going to need to be taught and modeled. No amount of scolding was going to bring about shalom. We needed to revise our expectations and to take things a bit more slowly. What we need—what we all need at some point—is to be graciously invited to enjoy the fruits of shalom as we are being asked to contribute to it.
I knew that behind our efforts was a God who is even more interested in bringing about shalom in our neighbourhood than either of us could ever be. I never used the words shalom, sin, or even vocation in expressing this conviction. But I believe that our conversation that day honoured God, and hopefully helped us take one more step towards helping out neighbourhood to be God honouring as well.
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