“This is an outrage! Every woman should protest this move by sending a letter of protest to the president of that committee.” Susanah, from France, was reacting to badminton’s new dress code for women. The International Federation that governs badminton decided that women must wear skirts or dresses to play at the international elite level. One other observer from Germany noted that in reality, the international Badminton Federation’s choice to have the elite women wear more feminine atire was a cultural issue, since the majority of badminton players at that level are actually in Asian countries where values regarding modesty are different. He wondered if by being upset that we, in the west, were in fact placing our values on another culture. The German observer has an honest point!
It’s interesting to me that some of us in the self-righteous west are indignant to the point of outrage over whether or not a professional athlete should wear a certain kind of uniform. In this case the charge is that the uniform sexualizes women and would be offensive to some cultures. Wait a minute? Who are we in the west to protest sexualizing women?! The author of the article even justifies the use of bikini’s in beach volley ball because it’s easier to remove sand from a two piece than a one piece suit! Now if any uniform is sexually revealing and sexualizes women, it’s women’s beach volleyball. Why the double standard?!
The furor over a uniform that is normal, modest, and even attractive, for example, in the tennis world is humerous to me. Then again, even modesty is culturally relative. I’m not trying to be overly critical here (okay—maybe a little bit). It just makes me chuckle when western culture, which is so intent on being open and tolerant, acts intolerant and closed minded to the point of outrage, over things that aren’t really that big a deal. We can’t have it both ways. To me it shows the west’s duplicitous character. We in the west ultimately believe that we determine right from wrong. We in the west know truth from error. We, in our declarations and beliefs, have the world’s best interest in mind. But our overarching cultural naratives communicate that in reference to our own personal lives there is no right from wrong, of course, unless we determine what that right or wrong is. in which case there is a right or wrong, but then, not really, because someone can, at that point, foist their values on us and say we are right or wrong, but then, hey, wait a minute---that’s outrageous. Do you see my point?
All the International Badminton Federation did was expose what everyone intuitively knows—there are standards! Deep down inside we all know (dare I say want?) some standards—a right and wrong. And to say that anything, or anybody, that declares what those standards are places us in a moral straight jacket or violates our basic human dignity or freedom, ultimately means we lose the privilege of legitimate outrage!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Judgement Day
I saw the large bill board first in downtown Boston, the weekend of the marathon. JUDGMENT DAY—it declared. May 21, 2011. At first I thought it was a rock group, then I noticed the sponsors tag: Family Radio, neatly along the bottom and assumed it was a conference on May 21. It wasn’t until I got home to New York and saw that the world was going to end at 6:00 pm Eastern time on May 21, that I realized what was happening. “Here we go again,” I thought. “More fodder for those who think of evangelicals as losers and lunatics.”
Doomsday prophets like Harold Camping, the progenitor of the recent Judgement Day scare, have been around for a long time. In the middle part of the 19th century William Miller predicted that Jesus would return sometime between October 21, 1843 and October 21, 1844. They are still waiting. Millers followers eventually became what we now call the Seventh Day Adventists. He has about a half a page description of his sect in Kenneth Latourette’s 1500 page tome on church history. The failure of Christ to return then became known as the Great Disappointment. I’m sure Campings supporters feel a similar set of emotions now. According to the New York Times, people quit their jobs, quit saving college tuition for their kids, and came to New York to usher in the Rapture. In their minds there was no better place to do it than in Grand Central Station where they were lined up in the passage ways near the underground trains challenging people to repent! According to my daughter, they were pretty aggressive. I bet money that Camping will come out and say he got the math wrong and they’ll start the campaign all over again!
To me it’s a no brainer. The scripture says, “The secret things belong to God” and God alone (Deut 29:29)! There is mystery and transcendence in this faith we call Christianity. When people start putting dates on the return of Christ or speaking with absolute confidence about the nature and scope of events like the rapture, they cross a line as far as I’m concerned. Millions of dollars were spent on advertising something Jesus himself said no one will ever know (Mark 13:34). In fact, in his incarnational earthly presence, Jesus, himself didn’t know!
So what can we know theologically for sure? Jesus is going to come back some day and restore all things and part of that involves judgment (Acts 3:21). If you are a Christian, you believe at least that. It’s pretty basic I admit, and not near as sexy as JUDGEMENT DAY. But that is what Christians believe! And we believe it because of revelation—the Bible. We don’t believe it because we can mathmatically figure it out. There is an element of faith in any worldview including secular Atheism. All of us bank our eternal destiny on some faith based belief system. I’m a Christian because Christianity makes sense more than any other world religion. I’m not a Christian because I can prove definitively that the resurrection took place or that the bible is inspired or that God created by the simple command of his voice or that Jesus is coming back. Simply put, Christianity is different. God enters our world and does for us something we can’t do for ourselves. He dies a death we should have died and lives a life we should have lived. By faith in Jesus righteous record we avoid the negative side of judgment day—whenever it happens! There is no other world religion like it. And while I think that there are many good reasons to believe in Jesus and his message, I also realize that ultimately, it’s a faith based belief system. There is no bomb proof truth in this life! The only one who knows truth objectively is God himself.
I hope that as the world snickers, Christians will be sobered; sobered by the reality that lives are seriously disrupted, perhaps even ruined, by Mr. Campings disregard for the clear teaching of scripture. I believe in a judgment day and it is something we should take seriously. But how I as a follower of Jesus present Jesus and his message of hope and redemption will do as much to promote the cause of Christ as wreck it. Perhaps Mr. Camping should take his judgment day belief system seriously and re-evaluate his own wreckless behavior. In the end, he may find that the finger of God’s just judgment pointed at him. And that is a scary thought!
Addendum: After writing this blog, but prior to posting it Harold Camping came out with the new date for the rapture and judgment: October 21, 2011—my wife’s birthday. I think I'll take her out on the 20th! (Just kidding)
Monday, May 9, 2011
A Grief Delayed
On the way back from Seattle in June 2010, I visited my mom. She lives in Detroit and wanted me to help her finalize funeral arrangements—her funeral arrangements. The idea of meeting with my mom, who is very much alive, in the building where she’d be embalmed, laid out in a coffin, then stared at while being very much dead, was not a pleasant experience. The quietness of the funeral home amplified the reality that death is real, life is short, time and youth are fleeting, and that someday all of us will meet God one way or the other.
The process was fairly simple, we chose the funeral arrangements—including the coffin (the word coffin is a euphemism for the box they put you in when you die), then she gave them a check, and we left. It was uncomfortable as it was, but the whole thing turned surreal when, shortly thereafter, my mother asked me to do her funeral. I wish I could say that my mom and I had a close relationship. That is not entirely true. But the idea of doing her funeral just boggles my mind. I’m numb to it. Even as I type these words, I don’t feel what I know will be the emotional weight of this task when it finally becomes a reality. I’ve already begun to work on it including asking my mother what she wants said. I figure if I get a jump on it now, I’ll be able to go through with it when I have to because it will already be done.
The whole experience has made me think. But I can assure you it’s a “grief delayed.” Whenever there is loss or even the potential for loss of any kind you have grief. No one wants to grieve. Grief reminds us of reality. Some of us deny reality, deny the loss, deny the pain, but all that does is seal us alive in the tomb of our unrealized expectations and hopes. We live in the past or in an allusion or worse yet, we live in denial of what is often apparent to others and reality in the future. So how do I process grief and loss? Here’s a couple of thoughts from my Christian worldview.
First, as a follower of Christ, I cry out to God bringing the core of my pain to him. The writer of Psalm 137 said as much when he screamed, “Remember, O Lord… (Psalm 137:7).” I let God in on my grief! Second, I embrace my grief rather than run from it. Grief, while difficult, is a reminder that life is not as it should be. Someday, in the end, at the consummation of God’s Kingdom, all sorrow and tears will be done away. Until that time, I must look forward to my redemption with the deep groaning of grief (Psalm 137:1). Finally, I find my hope in God and the revelation of his Son Jesus. Jesus came, not to take away my grief, but to bear the burden of what caused it in the first place. Jesus work on the cross doesn’t change the reality that we’ll all feel loss, but it does change the reality that we’ll have to experience it forever. There is hope. That hope is not found in the revenge I may want to take out on those whose actions cause me to grieve. The writer of Psalm 137, who rightfully wanted justice, did not see that the way God dealt with justice was not by dashing the sons of the Babylonians against rocks but by dashing his own Son on the rock of Golgatha (Psalm 137:8-9).
Change in life is inevitable and with that change comes grief and loss and sadness and sorrow and anger and confusion. But for me, as a follower of Jesus, I have to learn to see that in every experience of grief there is the seed of reality and the seed of hope. I do not have to live the deluded life of our modern world’s obsession with self and things. If I take my faith seriously, I have the hope of a new life tomorrow with the equal possibility of a changed life today. That alone should make anyone at least consider whether or not Christianity is real because, in the end, we all are going to face death in others in in ourselves. It’s a grief delayed.
The process was fairly simple, we chose the funeral arrangements—including the coffin (the word coffin is a euphemism for the box they put you in when you die), then she gave them a check, and we left. It was uncomfortable as it was, but the whole thing turned surreal when, shortly thereafter, my mother asked me to do her funeral. I wish I could say that my mom and I had a close relationship. That is not entirely true. But the idea of doing her funeral just boggles my mind. I’m numb to it. Even as I type these words, I don’t feel what I know will be the emotional weight of this task when it finally becomes a reality. I’ve already begun to work on it including asking my mother what she wants said. I figure if I get a jump on it now, I’ll be able to go through with it when I have to because it will already be done.
The whole experience has made me think. But I can assure you it’s a “grief delayed.” Whenever there is loss or even the potential for loss of any kind you have grief. No one wants to grieve. Grief reminds us of reality. Some of us deny reality, deny the loss, deny the pain, but all that does is seal us alive in the tomb of our unrealized expectations and hopes. We live in the past or in an allusion or worse yet, we live in denial of what is often apparent to others and reality in the future. So how do I process grief and loss? Here’s a couple of thoughts from my Christian worldview.
First, as a follower of Christ, I cry out to God bringing the core of my pain to him. The writer of Psalm 137 said as much when he screamed, “Remember, O Lord… (Psalm 137:7).” I let God in on my grief! Second, I embrace my grief rather than run from it. Grief, while difficult, is a reminder that life is not as it should be. Someday, in the end, at the consummation of God’s Kingdom, all sorrow and tears will be done away. Until that time, I must look forward to my redemption with the deep groaning of grief (Psalm 137:1). Finally, I find my hope in God and the revelation of his Son Jesus. Jesus came, not to take away my grief, but to bear the burden of what caused it in the first place. Jesus work on the cross doesn’t change the reality that we’ll all feel loss, but it does change the reality that we’ll have to experience it forever. There is hope. That hope is not found in the revenge I may want to take out on those whose actions cause me to grieve. The writer of Psalm 137, who rightfully wanted justice, did not see that the way God dealt with justice was not by dashing the sons of the Babylonians against rocks but by dashing his own Son on the rock of Golgatha (Psalm 137:8-9).
Change in life is inevitable and with that change comes grief and loss and sadness and sorrow and anger and confusion. But for me, as a follower of Jesus, I have to learn to see that in every experience of grief there is the seed of reality and the seed of hope. I do not have to live the deluded life of our modern world’s obsession with self and things. If I take my faith seriously, I have the hope of a new life tomorrow with the equal possibility of a changed life today. That alone should make anyone at least consider whether or not Christianity is real because, in the end, we all are going to face death in others in in ourselves. It’s a grief delayed.
Bin Laden's Bye Bye
Osama Bin Laden met his demise this week at the hands of the Navy Seal elite Team 6. It set up a wave of celebration around the globe—mostly in the United States where Bin Laden had ruled as a King of Terror for years. He was 53 years old, born in 1957. From an age perspective, Bin Laden and I are peers. Other than that, the circumstances in our lives couldn’t have been more different.
I’ll admit that I experienced a smug sense of satisfaction late Sunday night when I got on line and read that Bin Laden was dead. It was even entertaining to read how it was done: the helicopters with the Seals rapelling into the compound and engaging in a fire fight. It could have been taken from a Tom Clancey novel. But something else has come to my mind in the wake of it all. I remember Bin Laden gloating over the destruction of the Twin Towers and the damage to the Pentegon. He was giddy with joy over the casualties. I also recall footage of Muslim children waving flags and shouting in glee over the events. Their version of Islam had given the big bad Americans a bloody nose and used the very freedoms we treasure to do it! They were tickled pink. I was insensed.
But now we are giddy with joy. We are shouting in glee. We are dancing on Bin Laden’s grave. And while I agree with the writer of the Proverbs, “…when the wicked perish, there are shouts of joy” (Prov 11:10), I have found myself feeling a little unsettled over it all. We should be glad over the destruction of an evil man and so I am happy. In my opinion, Bin Laden was Hitler with a turbin. But this happiness, and the smug sense of inner satisfaction it has created in me, has given me pause. Its our turn to celebrate—its true. But for me personally, the celebration is also turning me appropriately inward. I need to check my own heart. Are there injustices that I unwittingly support without even knowing it that would make someone glad at my demise? Are there things that I do, that would cause others to say to me, “Don’t go away mad, just go away!” Am I blind to things in my life that are hurtful to others that in my own self-righteousness, I refuse to be aware of?
I’ve never been in a fire fight on a battle field or seen my friends heads blown off by an enemy bent on our destruction. But I have watched my neighbors grieve the senseless loss of their son on 9/11! And I watched in horror as those buildings came down and was repulsed by the joyful response to it from many Muslims around the world. I’ll never forget the smell that wafted through Queens as what was left of the towers burned underground.
I’m proud to be an American. I am grateful for the freedoms we have and promote. I’m glad that the guy responsible for the intrusive actions from TSA officials, that I face regularly at airports around the country, has met his end. But I’m also aware of how dark my own soul is. In my understanding of Christianity, the gospel gives me the tools to do the self reflection necessary to be honest with my own issues. So while I’m thrilled at Bin Laden’s just and untimely death, I’m also sobered by it all.
I’ll admit that I experienced a smug sense of satisfaction late Sunday night when I got on line and read that Bin Laden was dead. It was even entertaining to read how it was done: the helicopters with the Seals rapelling into the compound and engaging in a fire fight. It could have been taken from a Tom Clancey novel. But something else has come to my mind in the wake of it all. I remember Bin Laden gloating over the destruction of the Twin Towers and the damage to the Pentegon. He was giddy with joy over the casualties. I also recall footage of Muslim children waving flags and shouting in glee over the events. Their version of Islam had given the big bad Americans a bloody nose and used the very freedoms we treasure to do it! They were tickled pink. I was insensed.
But now we are giddy with joy. We are shouting in glee. We are dancing on Bin Laden’s grave. And while I agree with the writer of the Proverbs, “…when the wicked perish, there are shouts of joy” (Prov 11:10), I have found myself feeling a little unsettled over it all. We should be glad over the destruction of an evil man and so I am happy. In my opinion, Bin Laden was Hitler with a turbin. But this happiness, and the smug sense of inner satisfaction it has created in me, has given me pause. Its our turn to celebrate—its true. But for me personally, the celebration is also turning me appropriately inward. I need to check my own heart. Are there injustices that I unwittingly support without even knowing it that would make someone glad at my demise? Are there things that I do, that would cause others to say to me, “Don’t go away mad, just go away!” Am I blind to things in my life that are hurtful to others that in my own self-righteousness, I refuse to be aware of?
I’ve never been in a fire fight on a battle field or seen my friends heads blown off by an enemy bent on our destruction. But I have watched my neighbors grieve the senseless loss of their son on 9/11! And I watched in horror as those buildings came down and was repulsed by the joyful response to it from many Muslims around the world. I’ll never forget the smell that wafted through Queens as what was left of the towers burned underground.
I’m proud to be an American. I am grateful for the freedoms we have and promote. I’m glad that the guy responsible for the intrusive actions from TSA officials, that I face regularly at airports around the country, has met his end. But I’m also aware of how dark my own soul is. In my understanding of Christianity, the gospel gives me the tools to do the self reflection necessary to be honest with my own issues. So while I’m thrilled at Bin Laden’s just and untimely death, I’m also sobered by it all.
Friday, September 3, 2010
No Thanks Mom, I'd Prefer Not To
The conversation started pretty innocuously. “I want you to listen to this sermon the associate pastor gave at our church. He told the congregation that pastors are people too and need a break!” I knew what the comments meant. My mom had another great idea to teach me something. I could learn something from the pastor at her church. That was her motivation. She even brought the CD out so we could listen to it together. There was no way of escape. She was going to have me listen to it regardless of what I wanted. My response was simple, “Mom, help me to understand the reason you want me to listen to the CD?” Things went down hill from there.
The reality is I didn’t want to listen to it for a lot of reasons, none of which are important in this post. But I didn’t handle the situation as well as I could have. There were no harsh words, no shouting, and no threats. I just didn’t want to listen to it and she wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. The dagger in the heart came at the end of this short episode when she burst into tears and ran into her bedroom crying, “I just wanted to share this important part of my life with you. You are too strong for me.” She locked the door and remained there for several hours. The next day she admitted to my wife that the sermon didn’t really mean that much to her. It wasn’t her life that she wanted to share. She wanted me to listen to it because she felt I could learn something from it. So my own mother, the fundamentalist Christian, had lied to me! Talk about discouraging!
For every reader who wrestles with their parents growing old, here’s a thought: Without losing who you are, you are going to have to deal with what your parents become in their old age. And with that in mind, your kids will have to deal with what you become in your old age. What ever issues are in your life now, magnify them dramatically, and that will be what your kids have to address when you get old. Sobering isn’t it.
I think had I simply said, “Mom, I don’t really care to listen to this now. I am exhausted,” that may have delayed the inevitable. But more likely, it would have been smart to say, “Okay mom, lets listen to it.” Who knows, maybe I would have gotten something out of it! There is a tricky balance between hanging on to who you are, being gracious and honoring to aging parents, and having the right to say “no” or “I disagree” or “I don’t want that” with parents (or other people) who bust personal boundaries and think that you should be just like they are. Many people in our culture feel that intimacy or relational closeness equals sameness. That is, if we always do the same things, think the same way, have the same hobbies, buy the same cell phones, or even live in the same house, we will be emotionally intimate or relationally close. Nothing could be farther from the truth. But a simple tolerance for someone’s issues may grease the wheels in an aging persons life. Maybe this is part of what it means in the Decalogue when it says, “Honor your father and mother….” I know it’s way more than that but I wonder if that’s part of it.
I don’t feel I owe my mom an apology and I don’t think she owes me an apology either—really. But I’m at a loss to what to do about this. She’s obviously hurt. Frankly, her behavior is just another in a long list of things that go back to my childhood when mom couldn’t accept differences of opinion or personal choices that had no moral basis. It’s her issue, not mine. But maybe as I relate to her now in her old age, I should be more tolerant of her foibles while not giving up my own identity. Of course, owning my own foibles now while I have my wits about me may save my kids from some uncomfortable situations in the future. It’s thought provoking!
The reality is I didn’t want to listen to it for a lot of reasons, none of which are important in this post. But I didn’t handle the situation as well as I could have. There were no harsh words, no shouting, and no threats. I just didn’t want to listen to it and she wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. The dagger in the heart came at the end of this short episode when she burst into tears and ran into her bedroom crying, “I just wanted to share this important part of my life with you. You are too strong for me.” She locked the door and remained there for several hours. The next day she admitted to my wife that the sermon didn’t really mean that much to her. It wasn’t her life that she wanted to share. She wanted me to listen to it because she felt I could learn something from it. So my own mother, the fundamentalist Christian, had lied to me! Talk about discouraging!
For every reader who wrestles with their parents growing old, here’s a thought: Without losing who you are, you are going to have to deal with what your parents become in their old age. And with that in mind, your kids will have to deal with what you become in your old age. What ever issues are in your life now, magnify them dramatically, and that will be what your kids have to address when you get old. Sobering isn’t it.
I think had I simply said, “Mom, I don’t really care to listen to this now. I am exhausted,” that may have delayed the inevitable. But more likely, it would have been smart to say, “Okay mom, lets listen to it.” Who knows, maybe I would have gotten something out of it! There is a tricky balance between hanging on to who you are, being gracious and honoring to aging parents, and having the right to say “no” or “I disagree” or “I don’t want that” with parents (or other people) who bust personal boundaries and think that you should be just like they are. Many people in our culture feel that intimacy or relational closeness equals sameness. That is, if we always do the same things, think the same way, have the same hobbies, buy the same cell phones, or even live in the same house, we will be emotionally intimate or relationally close. Nothing could be farther from the truth. But a simple tolerance for someone’s issues may grease the wheels in an aging persons life. Maybe this is part of what it means in the Decalogue when it says, “Honor your father and mother….” I know it’s way more than that but I wonder if that’s part of it.
I don’t feel I owe my mom an apology and I don’t think she owes me an apology either—really. But I’m at a loss to what to do about this. She’s obviously hurt. Frankly, her behavior is just another in a long list of things that go back to my childhood when mom couldn’t accept differences of opinion or personal choices that had no moral basis. It’s her issue, not mine. But maybe as I relate to her now in her old age, I should be more tolerant of her foibles while not giving up my own identity. Of course, owning my own foibles now while I have my wits about me may save my kids from some uncomfortable situations in the future. It’s thought provoking!
Monday, June 7, 2010
Babette's Feast--A Review
I recently watched the Danish film Babette’s Feast. It was recommended by a friend who described it as a story of healing and reconciliation. The movie is set on a tiny coastal town in 19th century Denmark, where a small Christian sect quietly live out their lives together. The minister who leads the sect has two beautiful and gifted daughters. The young women never marry but remain true to their father’s wishes to take care of the aging people in the community. Theirs is a life of sacrifice and devotion. As the movie progresses, Babette, a French refugee, finds safety in their home after her husband and family are killed during an uprising in Paris. She faithfully serves them for fourteen years. Her only ongoing connection to France is a lottery ticket purchased by a friend on a yearly basis.
As the movie moves towards a climax, Babette and the aging sisters--their Father long since dead--discover that Babette has won the lottery. She is rich and able to return to France. In response, she makes one simple request: As an act of gratitude and love, she desires to cook a French dinner for the people in the town. Not only does she want to cook it but she desires to pay for it herself. The sisters hesitantly agree. As preparations proceed however, they fear that they have made a terrible mistake; one that could lead them, at best, down the path of ungodly pleasure or, at worst, to outright witchcraft. They decide partake of the dinner but choose to show no delight or satisfaction while eating it. Meanwhile the community is in conflict, people fear for their salvation over past indiscretions, and the sisters do not know what to do.
The meal is the climax of the movie. Its beauty and the careful preparation that goes into it loosen the townspeople up. There is reconciliation, forgiveness, and joy. The movie closes as the sisters sadly wish Babette well in her plans to return to France. But shockingly, she reveals that she will not be returning as she has spent her fortune on the meal for the towns people. Her greatest joy was in using her culinary art to bless those who so generously sheltered her in her time of difficulty.
Babette’s feast is a movie about beauty and its power to bring reconciliation and healing. The beauty of the feast, the artistry of its planning and preparation, the act of love it demonstrates with the obvious religious theme is refreshing. There is no overpowering characters, no excessive drama, and the Christianity displayed is not for proselytizing purposes. But the message is clear: beauty has healing properties. Joy and artistry has a place in redemption. I am reminded of the Psalmists personal declaration, “Surely you have granted [me] eternal blessings and made [me] glad with the joy of your presence” (Psalm 21:6). C.S. Lewis autobiography Surprised by Joy details how simple glimpses of unexplainable joy helped bring him to faith in Christ. And Jonathan Edwards in his sermon on Isaiah 32:2 notes this:
"The soul of every man necessarily craves happiness…Man is of such a nature that he is capable of an exceedingly great degree of happiness…It must therefore be an incomprehensible object that must satisfy the soul; it will never be contented with that, and that only, to which it can see an end, it will never be satisfied with that happiness to which it can find a bottom… Men in their fallen state are in very great want of this happiness…Men in their natural condition may find something to feed their senses, but there is nothing to feed the soul…There is in Christ Jesus provision for the full satisfaction and contentment of such as these. The excellency of Christ is such, that the discovery of it is exceedingly contenting and satisfying to the soul…Christ’s excellency is always fresh and new…" (Jonathon Edwards, “Safety, Fullness, and Sweet Refreshment to be Found in Christ,” Sermon on Isaiah 32:2)
Babette’s Feast points to that refreshment, that fullness, that healing beauty in Christ. I highly recommend it. Bon Appetit.
As the movie moves towards a climax, Babette and the aging sisters--their Father long since dead--discover that Babette has won the lottery. She is rich and able to return to France. In response, she makes one simple request: As an act of gratitude and love, she desires to cook a French dinner for the people in the town. Not only does she want to cook it but she desires to pay for it herself. The sisters hesitantly agree. As preparations proceed however, they fear that they have made a terrible mistake; one that could lead them, at best, down the path of ungodly pleasure or, at worst, to outright witchcraft. They decide partake of the dinner but choose to show no delight or satisfaction while eating it. Meanwhile the community is in conflict, people fear for their salvation over past indiscretions, and the sisters do not know what to do.
The meal is the climax of the movie. Its beauty and the careful preparation that goes into it loosen the townspeople up. There is reconciliation, forgiveness, and joy. The movie closes as the sisters sadly wish Babette well in her plans to return to France. But shockingly, she reveals that she will not be returning as she has spent her fortune on the meal for the towns people. Her greatest joy was in using her culinary art to bless those who so generously sheltered her in her time of difficulty.
Babette’s feast is a movie about beauty and its power to bring reconciliation and healing. The beauty of the feast, the artistry of its planning and preparation, the act of love it demonstrates with the obvious religious theme is refreshing. There is no overpowering characters, no excessive drama, and the Christianity displayed is not for proselytizing purposes. But the message is clear: beauty has healing properties. Joy and artistry has a place in redemption. I am reminded of the Psalmists personal declaration, “Surely you have granted [me] eternal blessings and made [me] glad with the joy of your presence” (Psalm 21:6). C.S. Lewis autobiography Surprised by Joy details how simple glimpses of unexplainable joy helped bring him to faith in Christ. And Jonathan Edwards in his sermon on Isaiah 32:2 notes this:
"The soul of every man necessarily craves happiness…Man is of such a nature that he is capable of an exceedingly great degree of happiness…It must therefore be an incomprehensible object that must satisfy the soul; it will never be contented with that, and that only, to which it can see an end, it will never be satisfied with that happiness to which it can find a bottom… Men in their fallen state are in very great want of this happiness…Men in their natural condition may find something to feed their senses, but there is nothing to feed the soul…There is in Christ Jesus provision for the full satisfaction and contentment of such as these. The excellency of Christ is such, that the discovery of it is exceedingly contenting and satisfying to the soul…Christ’s excellency is always fresh and new…" (Jonathon Edwards, “Safety, Fullness, and Sweet Refreshment to be Found in Christ,” Sermon on Isaiah 32:2)
Babette’s Feast points to that refreshment, that fullness, that healing beauty in Christ. I highly recommend it. Bon Appetit.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
King Leopold's Ghost--A Review
I just finished reading the penetrating story of the material rape of the Belgian Congo in a book called King Leopold’s Ghost. It’s the history of how the greed of one charming man devastated a good portion of the African continent at the turn of the 20th century. Belgium’s King Leopold II bought into the colonizing whirlwind of the day, destroying African societies and killing millions of people in the process. He did this all for the sake of money, power, and colonial prestige. Sadly, he also did so in the name of philanthropy, Christianity and civilization. Pocketing millions of dollars, he built monuments to himself and his country on the backs of the native Congolese population. When they resisted, their spears and shields were no match for the sophisticated machine guns and weaponry of “civilized” Europe. Through forced slavery and despicable acts of injustice, Leopold, who never set foot in the Congo, forever changed central Africa.
It was through the primary intervention of one man, E.D. Morel, that the truth of Leopold’s activities were exposed. Morel, probably not a Christian, uncovered and publicized the atrocities that eventually led to the end of Leopold’s rule over the Congo. Morel had, as the author notes, both the media savvy and personal ability to publicize his message in a way that people came to acknowledge Leopold’s Congo for what it was—a form of tyranny and slavery.
The book has been a challenge to me on a number of fronts: Would I have had Morel’s courage to uncover the evil even if it cost me? Are there social injustices happening around me, which my eyes, being culturally conditioned as they are, do not see? Am I showing the kind of mercy that demonstrates that I’ve indeed become an object of God’s mercy because of the cross (cf. Matt 5:7)? Do I experience “mercy fatigue” because my response to the many opportunities to give or show mercy is rooted not in the grace of God but in my own moralistic tendencies?
Many of those who helped Morel expose Leopold’s Congo for what it was were missionaries who applied the gospel of grace to their lives and the situations around them. This book has made me think, once again, about how easy it is to be a follower of Jesus and yet not apply the gospel. Even some of the missionaries, it seems, had a subtle condescending attitude towards the African population. Read the book! It will make you think.
It was through the primary intervention of one man, E.D. Morel, that the truth of Leopold’s activities were exposed. Morel, probably not a Christian, uncovered and publicized the atrocities that eventually led to the end of Leopold’s rule over the Congo. Morel had, as the author notes, both the media savvy and personal ability to publicize his message in a way that people came to acknowledge Leopold’s Congo for what it was—a form of tyranny and slavery.
The book has been a challenge to me on a number of fronts: Would I have had Morel’s courage to uncover the evil even if it cost me? Are there social injustices happening around me, which my eyes, being culturally conditioned as they are, do not see? Am I showing the kind of mercy that demonstrates that I’ve indeed become an object of God’s mercy because of the cross (cf. Matt 5:7)? Do I experience “mercy fatigue” because my response to the many opportunities to give or show mercy is rooted not in the grace of God but in my own moralistic tendencies?
Many of those who helped Morel expose Leopold’s Congo for what it was were missionaries who applied the gospel of grace to their lives and the situations around them. This book has made me think, once again, about how easy it is to be a follower of Jesus and yet not apply the gospel. Even some of the missionaries, it seems, had a subtle condescending attitude towards the African population. Read the book! It will make you think.
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