Risen – a Review

              Ever since Saving Private Ryan, it seems that movies which want to say much (whether it’s about bonds of brotherhood in war time or seeking revenge, as with The Revenant) are designed to catch your attention right away with a splashy, gritty battle scene. Risen follows the same formula, opening with a well-researched battle sequence pitting a small Roman detachment against under-armed, zealous Jewish freedom-fighters. It’s ferocious and predictable, and it makes first-century Judea look like a bloody, chaotic environment filled with unrest and violence. That impression is completely correct.

              In fact, the overbearing Roman presence within Risen is one of its strengths. Not many Christians today realize just how many Roman crosses were erected around Jesus’ time in his country; thousands – possibly tens of thousands – of Jews were put to death upon Rome’s ultimate symbol of victory.

              So when the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth imposes itself on the attention of the main character (Clavius, a tough and intelligent Roman commander played reliably by Joseph Fiennes) it seems at first like just another quick mopping-up operation, one execution out of many, another body to add to the ever-growing heap of bodies just outside the city gates.

              Clavius finds army life unfulfilling, but sees it as a necessary stepping stone to a peaceful retirement. Naturally then he feels both duty-bound and put out when he not only needs to oversee what essentially amounts to body disposal duties at the tail-end of a crucifixion, but also actual guard duty over a man who obviously, absurdly is not in any kind of shape to get up and make a break for it.

              So once the guards at the tomb turn up missing, along with the body of Jesus, Clavius is ordered to go out and locate the body. Much of the first half of the movie is taken up with the increasingly gruesome search for Jesus among freshly dead corpses. Jesus’ followers are hunted down and dragged in for interrogation. Crisp, militant discussions ensue between Pilate, Clavius and his assistant. It all has the feeling of a Law & Order period piece (which is one of the reasons I enjoyed it so much).

              Then (SPOILER ALERT) about half-way through, I got hit with a twist that was almost as surprising for me as it seems to have been for Clavius. Following up on a lead, he arrives at a non-descript house, inches the door open with his sword and comes face to face with Jesus, now clearly alive and flaunting the scars from his ordeal but none the worse for having been crucified not long before.

              What follows from that point is essentially a completely different movie. Instead of seeing what Jesus’ resurrection might have looked like to an outsider, we get to see some of Jesus’ disciples up close and personal, going through the most tender and intimate moments they experienced with Christ before his ascension. Christ’s invitation to Thomas; Peter splashing up the shore to meet his Savior; Mary Magdalene’s vindication as a witness. And in the middle of it all, Clavius the Roman commander, guest-disciple, whose presence surely would have been mentioned if he’d really been there.

              Ironically, for me the real force of the story actually diminished the moment Jesus turned up on screen. See, I had been under the impression that it was going to be a story about a true outsider confronting the evidence, processing it with all the intellectual tools of a rigorous thinker, and eventually reaching a moment of decision where he realizes that belief had somehow come to life within his own soul through an organic, spiritual process we call faith. Instead I got Saul of Tarsus, redux.

              What convinced Clavius? It wasn’t the disciples’ testimonies, or their willingness to stick to their story in spite of threats and torture. It wasn’t the persistent, inexplicable absence of a body. It wasn’t the magnitude of the first-hand accounts or even the gibbering, incoherent memories of the guards at the tomb. It was direct eyewitness evidence. In short, I expected to see Clavius in the part of a juror, weighing the evidence and slowly becoming convinced. Instead I got to see what the star witness was seeing as he saw it. No wonder he believed.

              You might ask why that makes it less powerful. Surely seeing Jesus with your own eyes is the most powerful proof of all? It would be, I suppose. But my answer is that I didn’t want Clavius to go through the same experience as Thomas or Peter, or even the apostle Paul. I wanted him to go through my experience. I wanted him to have to believe the impossible without having seen it for himself. I wanted him to fulfill the soft rebuke Jesus offered to Thomas at that moment; “Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet believe.”

              In one sense, anybody could believe something they’ve seen with their own eyes. Adding one more fictional eyewitness to an already long list of real eyewitnesses does nothing to strengthen Jesus’ case. Giving people who already believe in Jesus another pleasant cinematic voyage through part of his life is a harmless diversion, and for some people it may even be a moving experience. But I can’t imagine that it will have any effect whatsoever on someone who starts out as a sceptic. It’s a two-hour action-adventure-detective story for Christians. True, that’s not a bad way to spend an afternoon, but in the grand scheme it's unlikely to make a dent.

Peter's Boat

                In 1986 a drought in the Sea of Galilee region exposed mud and silt far off the typical shoreline. Two amateur archaeologists went poking around to see what might have been revealed by the lower water levels, and in the process they discovered a fishing boat - from the time of Jesus Christ. A wooden fishing boat 2,000 years old. It took twelve days to excavate, and then it had to sit in a chemical bath for seven years before it could be displayed.

                I'm sure it didn't belong to any of the apostles, but it was undoubtedly just like the ones they used. I was reading this recently, and it got me thinking about all the time Jesus spent with his disciples in different boats. Especially Peter. Peter had some great moments with Jesus in his fishing boat.

                I think the most famous was probably the time he and the other disciples were alone on the lake, and it was dark, and Jesus walked out to them. I mean, he walked out to them. It was unusual, but by then they'd already seen a number of unusual things. Remember the time they were terrified of drowning in a storm, and Jesus had stood up and ordered the sea to be calm? "Who is this, that even the wind and the waves obey him?" they wondered. He showed his authority over the sea - over nature - and his disciples were terrified.

                But then he trumped that by treating the surface of the water like his own personal sidewalk, from the shore to the ship, his face popping up between the waves like a ghost, scaring the kosher hot dogs out of his disciples, and then Peter had his big moment. Remember? "Lord, if that's you, tell me to come out to you." And it was; so he did. And Peter jumps onto the water and floats on top of it like a duck. And with that one brief, momentary victory, he gave us an enduring picture of faith.

                Then he sank.

                And Jesus grabbed him and rescued him, and told him he had miniature faith and asked him "why did you doubt?". So as long as you keep your eyes on Jesus, you don't have to fear the storm.

                But there was another moment too, similar in some ways. Again, Peter was on a boat with the other disciples, and once again they were all discombobulated (only not because of a storm on the lake, but because of a storm of fear and uncertainty within their own hearts) and like the last time, Jesus wasn't in the boat with them. Then, the same as before, they saw him, and once more, they weren't sure at first. But then (just like before) they saw a miracle. Only now it wasn't that Jesus was walking on water or controlling the weather, it's that he brought the fish into their nets. That's how they knew it was Jesus. But the thing that made this encounter really extraordinary was that just a few days earlier Jesus had been killed by the Romans.

                Now he was alive, and he was there.

                So once again, Peter jumped out of the boat, only this time he did things differently, because he himself was somehow different. You see, he didn't ask Jesus for confirmation. He didn't hesitate or question or dither. He didn't experience a personal miracle - and he didn't care, because he wasn't after a dramatic miracle. He stood up and jumped over the side into the water knowing that he'd have to swim, but not caring one bit. Because this time he heard the voice of his Savior, and the only thought in his mind was to get to him; to leap and swim and thrash his way up onto the shore.

                To be with Jesus.

                You see, there is a kind of faith (quite small, as it turns out) that will obey the voice of Jesus eventually, once it receives a little confirmation, a little reassurance, maybe some coaxing. It's the kind of faith that sometimes needs to be propped up with an amazing or even supernatural display. And often such faith fades away (fortunately, Jesus does not). Then there's another kind of faith; the kind Peter experienced in the boat when the weather was calm and it was an ordinary day and he suddenly realized that Jesus was there - right there - and he jumped out of the boat. He flew out of the boat, because all he wanted was to run to Jesus.

                No reassurances, no promise of safety or coaxing or "proof". He reached the shore and then, like before, Jesus asked him a question. Earlier it was "Why did you doubt?" This time it was a deeper question which got further down into Peter's heart, right to the center of his relationship with Christ; "Do you love me?"

                It's amazing how often Jesus Christ reveals himself to us - his love and his will, his words and his leading. Jesus wants to take you beyond, deeper into your relationship to him. Don't demand prodding, or official confirmation signed in triplicate. Throw aside your caution and fear. Don't hesitate.

                Run.

The Impossible Dilemma of this Presidential Election

The apostle Paul never got to vote for Caesar. When a new emperor took the throne, Paul found out about it more or less along with everyone else. The only action available to him was reaction: He could pray for the emperor and for the empire, speak truth within the empire’s culture, and proclaim the truth to (or in the direction of) the emperor. That’s how monarchies work.

Unfortunately for us today, we have no idea precisely what advice Paul would have given to Christians living in a system like ours, with the power to vote people in and out of office. Unlike Paul, we have more than mere reaction available to us; we can take action to help form the shape and makeup of our government. It’s an almost unbearable responsibility.

I believe that every part of life is subject to the dominion of Jesus Christ. What does that mean for me in an election year? Simply that, since I have the obligation of participation, I anticipate one day having to account to my Lord for precisely how I participated in that system. I believe one day I’ll have to stand before Jesus Christ and account for how I voted.

Because I have to take my future accountability into consideration, 2016 creates some very real problems for me. It seems as though very soon I will be given the precious opportunity to vote for the next president, and that opportunity will be squandered on an impossible choice between two unworthy options.

This is just where the sticking point is found. Let’s say for a moment that you grant me the right to reject the (likely) democratic candidate because I hold the belief that her past actions, her relationship with the truth, and her attitude toward power all make it impossible for me to support her. You may disagree with me (that’s your right, we’re all in the same lifeboat of democracy here) but just allow me to begin with that premise.

What’s my alternative? The (likely) republican candidate is a man whose personal and professional makeup seem to me to be a combination of reprehensible hubris, shameless self-promotion, and sheer chaos. I find myself bewildered by his supporters as much as by the man himself. Can this really be happening?

So I engage in a discussion with my fellow believers. You’ve probably done the same. If he’s nominated, should we vote for him? Some are hoping for an intervention, or a miracle. But many of my believing friends are planning to pull the lever on his name simply because they believe he beats the alternative.

So that’s what it comes down to: An agonizing choice between two terrifying alternatives; a sweat-inducing struggle to weigh two awful options in the scales and see which one carries more baggage. Or, as it’s been put several times to me recently, “It all comes down to the lesser of two evils.”

And there’s the rub. “The lesser of two evils” is a handy phrase. But it now seems to me, after much prayer and consideration, that there comes a point when two choices can both be so bad that, even if one of them is slightly less bad than the other, neither one rises to a minimum threshold of acceptability. If given the choice between getting hit in the face with a banana cream pie or a chocolate mousse, I think I could pick one or the other. But what if I had to choose between being pushed out of a plane without a parachute, or being dropped into a shark tank with a raw steak tied to my ankle?

Now, when you factor in the obligation to vote as a Christian, as someone who knows I will one day have to carry that decision with me into the presence of the Jesus Christ, can I honestly say that either candidate has enough virtue – however negligible or intermittent – to merit my vote? I can’t imagine saying to my Judge “I know this guy made a mockery of his supposedly Christian beliefs, and everything he ever said contradicted my convictions, and his personal life was a travesty of hypocrisy, and his attitude toward humanity in general was the opposite of everything You ever taught us, but I voted for him anyway, because I thought the alternative would be even worse.”

In this situation I really can’t imagine that I’ll be able to defend the strategy of embracing evil so I can avoid embracing evil.

A personal vote in a free society is a precious privilege for the citizen as well as for the candidate; too precious to be given lightly. It ought to be earned; we should stop using the phrase “cast my vote for” and replace it with the phrase “entrusted my vote to” because that’s what’s really taking place. Has either one of the front-runners earned a vote from me? Can I entrust my vote to either one? I don’t see how. Sometimes, when faced with an impossible decision, the only righteous course is to do nothing.

And doing nothing is not a non-action, it is an act. It takes a deliberate act of the will to abstain, to choose to remain silent in the face of accusations or to hold your hands at your side when being beaten. I look into our immediate future as a society and envision myself standing in a booth, looking at a slate of two possible candidates for the highest office in the land, and deliberately refusing either one of them the honor of my vote. Because I just can’t face my King, and admit to him that I voted for either of those individuals to be my president.

Chronological Snobbery

Time is the landscape of our lives. When the first Spirit confronted Ebenezer Scrooge with his own personal history, he chose to explain away his past choices in light of his present accomplishments. The Spirit of Christmas Past listened patiently, then responded by saying “You have explained what you have gained; I will show you what you have lost.” You can’t know what you’re losing out on unless you look back at your story with humility.

CS Lewis understood this. He knew that every generation has blind spots and quirky habits which need to be corrected. Naturally, you can’t correct a present problem by applying present thinking to it; present thinking is too often the culprit, and at any rate it's caught in the same web. Lewis recommended that we open ourselves up to the past and allow the elder generations to speak to us. He knew that many people just assume that the present is always superior to the past (because we have better technology) so he warned us about “chronological snobbery” – assuming we’re right, or better, than people living in the past just because we exist today.

When it comes to seeing ourselves with clarity and humility, the church has a natural advantage. After all, the bible is essentially a record of past events in which God spoke to (or about) his people. It’s the story of God acting, and people reacting. It’s relationship as history, and the Spirit of the Past speaks more loudly and more often from its pages than either the Present of the Future. The long history of God’s people has become our history as well. We’ve been welcomed into it.

But the church has gone on to become many different things. It spread eastward into the heart of the Mongol empire when that was the largest empire on earth. It spread into Africa, putting down deep roots in places like Egypt and Ethiopia. It managed to spread to corners of India and Japan where it remained, nearly forgotten by the world, for centuries. It germinated in the Greek-speaking Eastern Roman empire, and of course it shaped the post-Roman history of Europe, and from there, the whole Western Hemisphere.

Because the church is a world-wide phenomenon without borders or ethnic categories, its history is far more complex than that of the oldest nations. It encompasses languages and wars, persecution and prosperity, egregious sins and failures, stormy dissension and rifts, political watersheds and anonymous minorities, sinners and saints and fools. Every tear shed and every victory won is ours to cherish and to learn from.

Have we?

Do we allow those voices from our past to enter our contemporary conversations and dialogues? Do we even understand the forces which have pushed and moved our modern American Church Culture (such

as it is) into its current habits and forms? If the believers of yesterday could speak to us in our world, with our concerns and convictions, what might they say?

Until we know that, how can we bring them into the conversation?