I finally had the opportunity to see The Stoning of Soraya M. The film, set in Iran in 1986, is based on the true story of a woman named Soraya. Soraya is a good, compassionate woman; she consoles the local mechanic when his wife dies, and even agrees to work for him, cooking, cleaning, and caring for his mentally handicapped son. When her abusive husband, Ali, desires to marry a younger "woman" (she is fourteen years old), he asks for a divorce, and enlists to local mullah (cleric) to help him. In return, he will grant Soraya a portion of their property and custody of their two daughters (he will, of course, take their sons). Meanwhile, the mullah will attend to any other needs, with the expectation of forming with Soraya a "temporary marriage", called a mut'ah, which is allowed by Sharia (Islamic law). Unwilling to give up her dignity to become what she calls a "holy whore", Soraya refuses to grant the divorce.
Ali, infuriated, conspires with the mullah to charge Soraya with adultery, which is a capital offense according to Sharia. They produce false witnesses, including Soraya's employer, a simpleton who is easily coerced. Together with the spineless mayor, and despite the best efforts of Soraya's noble aunt, Zahra, they convict and brutally stone Soraya to death. Buried waist deep with arms bound, Soraya is forced to watch as her own father, husband and young sons take part in the bloody scene. The next day, an Iranian-French journalist, in need of an auto mechanic, happens upon the small town. With a bit of stealth, Zahra leads the young man to her home, where she insists that he listen to her story, and tell it to the world.
Soraya's story, though saddening, must be heard, especially in the West, where we have such little direct knowledge of Islamic culture. I assert that if there is a tendency to violence in Islam--as there clearly is--it has less to do with "extremism" (whatever that may mean) than with Islam's basic conception of God. As Christians, we believe Deus charitas est, "God is love" (1 John 4:16). The appropriate faith-response to the God who is love is love. Muslims, we might say, believe Deus voluntas est, "God is will". The only appropriate faith-response to this God is submission, hence the name "Islam" (Arabic, "submission"). Because God's will is absolute, it must be done, whether by persuasion or by force.
Muslims have a custom of adding "peace be upon him" whenever they speak the name of Muhammad. I would suggest that Christians, when speaking the name of Jesus, add "who IS peace." Because only in the God who reveals Himself in Jesus Christ, and who provides in Him a model of non-violence, compassion, and love, can we truly have peace.
26 January 2011
23 January 2011
Why Believe in Jesus of Nazareth?
Today, as part of my Lord's Day observance, I watched the excellent documentary, The Case for Christ, based on Lee Strobel's book by the same name. In the film, Strobel, a journalist for the Chicago Tribune and former atheist, ably presents the evidence--collected over the course of years and with a journalist's critical eye--for belief in Christ.
Here are just a few highlights of the film:
The historical reliability of the Gospels. Strobel argues that, while one may choose to believe or not to believe that the four canonical Gospels (i.e. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) are divinely inspired, one cannot deny that they are reliable historical sources. He notes the scholarly consensus that the Gospels were written within the lifetime of the Apostles (i.e. before 90 A.D.). In other words, they were authored by, or with the assistance of, eyewitnesses to Jesus life, death, and resurrection. Further, since the proclamation of these Gospels was a community event, and that many of these eyewitnesses were still living in the community, they surely would have corrected the Gospel accounts had they strayed from the truth.
Strobel also easily refutes the argument that the Gospels are unreliable due to inconsistencies among the different accounts. He demonstrates that these inconsistencies are relatively insignificant and observes that, in a court of law, were the testimonies of many witnesses identical, the first objection would be "collusion", that the witnesses had conspired to produce a false testimony. In this respect, the small variations among the four Gospels only add to their credibility; they do not detract from it.
The consistent witness to the personality of Jesus. Strobel also refutes the argument that it is impossible to know who Jesus really was or what He really did, considering the proliferation of apocryphal "gospels" and other scriptures, particularly originating from the Gnostics (an early Christian sect that taught that matter was inherently evil and that salvation was achieved through esoteric knowledge, in Greek, "gnosis"). These Gospels, however, are universally recognized by scholars as being written well after the Apostolic era, and present a portrait of Jesus that is often disconsonant with the earlier, eye-witness accounts of Jesus and His ministry.
The joint witness of the empty tomb and the blood of the martyrs. For Strobel, as for most Christians, the primary issue is Jesus' resurrection from the dead. He observes several idiosyncrasies (as we might call them) about the Gospel accounts of the resurrection. For instance, the Gospels report that it was women (including Mary Magdalene, a woman with a dubious past) that were the first witnesses to the resurrection. Strobel argues that, had the story been fabricated, the Gospel authors certainly would not have relied on the witness of women, distrusted as they were in first century Palestine. Further, the Gospels report that it was Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish governing body that condemned Jesus to death), who offered his new tomb for the burial of Jesus. Surely the Gospel authors would not have reported this potentially embarrassing fact had they fabricated the story. Finally, Strobel observes that after His resurrection, Jesus appears not to a select few, but to hundreds of people. Many, if not most, of these early witnesses to the resurrection gave up their lives in martyrdom rather than deny what they saw with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, and touched with their own hands. And not only these, but others who were initially opposed to Jesus, such as the Pharisee Saul of Tarsus (a.k.a. Paul the Apostle). It is highly unlikely, Strobel argues, that people would choose to die for what they knew was false.
Strobel, fine journalist that he is, has certainly done his homework. I highly recommend this film to both believer and skeptic alike.
Watch the entire film here (or on Hulu.com):
Here are just a few highlights of the film:
The historical reliability of the Gospels. Strobel argues that, while one may choose to believe or not to believe that the four canonical Gospels (i.e. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) are divinely inspired, one cannot deny that they are reliable historical sources. He notes the scholarly consensus that the Gospels were written within the lifetime of the Apostles (i.e. before 90 A.D.). In other words, they were authored by, or with the assistance of, eyewitnesses to Jesus life, death, and resurrection. Further, since the proclamation of these Gospels was a community event, and that many of these eyewitnesses were still living in the community, they surely would have corrected the Gospel accounts had they strayed from the truth.
Strobel also easily refutes the argument that the Gospels are unreliable due to inconsistencies among the different accounts. He demonstrates that these inconsistencies are relatively insignificant and observes that, in a court of law, were the testimonies of many witnesses identical, the first objection would be "collusion", that the witnesses had conspired to produce a false testimony. In this respect, the small variations among the four Gospels only add to their credibility; they do not detract from it.
The consistent witness to the personality of Jesus. Strobel also refutes the argument that it is impossible to know who Jesus really was or what He really did, considering the proliferation of apocryphal "gospels" and other scriptures, particularly originating from the Gnostics (an early Christian sect that taught that matter was inherently evil and that salvation was achieved through esoteric knowledge, in Greek, "gnosis"). These Gospels, however, are universally recognized by scholars as being written well after the Apostolic era, and present a portrait of Jesus that is often disconsonant with the earlier, eye-witness accounts of Jesus and His ministry.
The joint witness of the empty tomb and the blood of the martyrs. For Strobel, as for most Christians, the primary issue is Jesus' resurrection from the dead. He observes several idiosyncrasies (as we might call them) about the Gospel accounts of the resurrection. For instance, the Gospels report that it was women (including Mary Magdalene, a woman with a dubious past) that were the first witnesses to the resurrection. Strobel argues that, had the story been fabricated, the Gospel authors certainly would not have relied on the witness of women, distrusted as they were in first century Palestine. Further, the Gospels report that it was Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish governing body that condemned Jesus to death), who offered his new tomb for the burial of Jesus. Surely the Gospel authors would not have reported this potentially embarrassing fact had they fabricated the story. Finally, Strobel observes that after His resurrection, Jesus appears not to a select few, but to hundreds of people. Many, if not most, of these early witnesses to the resurrection gave up their lives in martyrdom rather than deny what they saw with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, and touched with their own hands. And not only these, but others who were initially opposed to Jesus, such as the Pharisee Saul of Tarsus (a.k.a. Paul the Apostle). It is highly unlikely, Strobel argues, that people would choose to die for what they knew was false.
Strobel, fine journalist that he is, has certainly done his homework. I highly recommend this film to both believer and skeptic alike.
Watch the entire film here (or on Hulu.com):
18 January 2011
Angels With One Wing
I recently finished Anne Rice's Of Love and Evil, the second novel in the Songs of the Seraphim series. Toby O'Dare, a hit man who has known profound grief, is visited by Malchiah, an seraph who bears a message of God's mercy and the need to make reparation for sin. Thus far, that opportunity has involved travelling back in time and space ("Angel Time") to protect God's chosen people, the Jews, from persecution. In the first novel in the series, Angel Time, Malchiah brings Toby to thirteenth century England where, in the guise of a Dominican friar, he defends a Jewish family that has been falsely accused of murdering their young daughter. Similarly, in this second novel, Toby is taken to sixteenth century Rome, where he intervenes in the case of a Jewish physician, who has been falsely accused of poisoning his Christian patient. It is a delightful series, well-grounded in the Catholic theological tradition with much owed to Thomas Aquinas, the "Angelic Doctor", that creatively explores the rapport between angels and humans. One hopes that Ms. Rice's recent defection from the Church (which is a topic for another post) will not adversely impact the series.
Here a just a few things that I love about the series:
It recognizes angels as the personal representatives of God's love and protection. In other words, God could--and often does--protect and guide us humans directly, but His love is such that He creates spiritual beings for the sole purpose of bearing His love to us.
It acknowledges the reality of spiritual warfare. If there are spiritual beings who have chosen from the moment of their creation to love and serve God and to collaborate in our salvation, then there must also be spiritual beings who have chosen to not love and serve God and who work toward our destruction.
It has an historical perspective. There can be no doubt that Ms. Rice is an enthusiastic student of Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance history. I am particularly appreciative of the fact that Rice has chosen neither to defame the Church (in a Dan Brown-esque way) nor to ignore her very real faults and failures through the centuries. Especially heartbreaking is the mistreatment of the Jews in Medieval and Renaissance Europe.
On a final note, I thought that a quotation prefacing the book reflects well the overarching theme of the series:
Highly recommended.
Here a just a few things that I love about the series:
It recognizes angels as the personal representatives of God's love and protection. In other words, God could--and often does--protect and guide us humans directly, but His love is such that He creates spiritual beings for the sole purpose of bearing His love to us.
It acknowledges the reality of spiritual warfare. If there are spiritual beings who have chosen from the moment of their creation to love and serve God and to collaborate in our salvation, then there must also be spiritual beings who have chosen to not love and serve God and who work toward our destruction.
It has an historical perspective. There can be no doubt that Ms. Rice is an enthusiastic student of Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance history. I am particularly appreciative of the fact that Rice has chosen neither to defame the Church (in a Dan Brown-esque way) nor to ignore her very real faults and failures through the centuries. Especially heartbreaking is the mistreatment of the Jews in Medieval and Renaissance Europe.
On a final note, I thought that a quotation prefacing the book reflects well the overarching theme of the series:
"We are each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another."
--Luciano de Crescenzo
Highly recommended.
06 January 2011
"She Who Conquers the Serpent"
After following with awe and wonder the festivities surrounding the December 12 celebration of Our Lady of Guadalupe--both north and south of the border--I realized that I knew next to nothing about the Morenita, her appearance to Saint Juan Diego or the miraculous tilma imprinted with her image. So, when I happened upon Paul Badde's María of Guadalupe: Shaper of History, Shaper of Hearts in a Catholic book shop in Savannah, I leaped at the chance to learn more. Badde, a German journalist and former papal aide (to John Paul the Great), weaves together the history and science of the tilma with his own journey of discovery, which takes him from Germany to Mexico and from Jerusalem to Rome, in the footsteps of the Morenita.
Perhaps more amazing than the miraculous qualities of the tilma itself (which continue to confound modern science) are the conversions that the encounter with the Morenita has occasioned, from the day of Juan Diego to today. Badde recalls how the Spanish conquistadores, the worst possible missionaries, "were incapable of evangelizing the Aztecs" (145). That came with the appearance of the Blessed Mother to a poor Indian man on Tepeyac Hill (just outside modern Mexico City) in December 1531. She came in the guise of an Aztec princess, proclaiming the Gospel of her divine Son, whom she bore in her womb. As proof of her visitation, she left behind her miraculous image on Juan Diego's tilma (a kind of cloak woven of agave fibers). A shrine was soon built in her honor.
What occurred thereafter is something wholly unique in the annals of world history: not only were the Aztecs converted to the religion of their often brutal conquerors, but the conquerors themselves were inspired to lay down their swords and live in peace with the Aztecs. Badde observes:
A final, interesting fact: it is likely that the Spanish title Guadalupe is a corruption of the Nahuatl (the language spoken by the Aztecs) Coatlaxopeuh, which means "she conquers the sepent" (Cf. Genesis 3:15, wherein "he" has also been interpreted as "she").
Let us pray that Mary, the Queen of Peace, might reconcile all her children to each other and to her divine Son, especially in her own Land.
Perhaps more amazing than the miraculous qualities of the tilma itself (which continue to confound modern science) are the conversions that the encounter with the Morenita has occasioned, from the day of Juan Diego to today. Badde recalls how the Spanish conquistadores, the worst possible missionaries, "were incapable of evangelizing the Aztecs" (145). That came with the appearance of the Blessed Mother to a poor Indian man on Tepeyac Hill (just outside modern Mexico City) in December 1531. She came in the guise of an Aztec princess, proclaiming the Gospel of her divine Son, whom she bore in her womb. As proof of her visitation, she left behind her miraculous image on Juan Diego's tilma (a kind of cloak woven of agave fibers). A shrine was soon built in her honor.
What occurred thereafter is something wholly unique in the annals of world history: not only were the Aztecs converted to the religion of their often brutal conquerors, but the conquerors themselves were inspired to lay down their swords and live in peace with the Aztecs. Badde observes:
After the apparition, both military cultures, people who before were seeking to annihilate each other, literally began to embrace each other like lovers before this picture! ... There are no more Spaniards or Amerindians. From that moment there was a radical new beginning: the Mexicans have been shaped into a new people. (146)Badde observes further:
Evangelization went very deep, with colossal speed, for both Aztec and Spaniard. Eight conquistadors of Hernan Cortés' inner circle became churchmen, Franciscan, Dominican or hermit. No one campaigned as passionately and boldly for the rights and defense of the Aztecs as the mendicant orders. (148)Never has such a reconciliation of peoples and cultures occured in recorded history.
A final, interesting fact: it is likely that the Spanish title Guadalupe is a corruption of the Nahuatl (the language spoken by the Aztecs) Coatlaxopeuh, which means "she conquers the sepent" (Cf. Genesis 3:15, wherein "he" has also been interpreted as "she").
Let us pray that Mary, the Queen of Peace, might reconcile all her children to each other and to her divine Son, especially in her own Land.
03 January 2011
Justice, Mercy, and "True Grit"
I recently saw the Coen brothers' remake of the 1969 classic True Grit, based on the novel by Charles Portis. The film stars Jeff Bridges (formerly John Wayne) as the aging and cantankerous U.S. Marshall Reuben "Rooster" Cogburn. When an Arkansas man is killed in cold blood by the outlaw Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin), his precocious fourteen-year-old daughter, Mattie Ross (Hailee Steinfeld), vows to bring the killer to justice, and hires Coghburn to help her. Joined by LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), a pompous Texas ranger who also has a claim on Chaney, the unlikely pair pursue the outlaw and his gang into Indian territory.
The film begins with a verse from Proverbs: "The wicked flee while no man pursueth" (28:1a). This is a clear reference to Chaney who, after killing Mattie's father and stealing two California gold pieces and a horse, flees the small frontier town, despite the fact that none "could be bothered to give chase." This is consonant with the character's cowardice and slow-wit, but it is also indicative that he still retains a shred of conscience. Indeed, Mattie says, Chaney "must learn that there is nothing free in this world, except the grace of God." The line might strike the viewer as somewhat out of place; what, after all, does God's grace have to do with a story primarily concerned with earthly justice?
[SPOLER ALERT] In the end, Cogburn, with the help of Mattie and LaBoeuf, gets his man, whom Mattie has the pleasure of shooting herself. However, the recoil from the rifle knocks her backward into a pit where she is bitten by a rattlesnake. Cogburn pulls her from the pit, attempts to extract the poison, and rides all day and night to deliver the injured girl to a doctor. As a delirious Mattie looks to the starry heavens, she murmurs, "He's getting away." "Who's getting away, sis?" Cogburn asks. "Chaney," she responds. The line is, I would suggest, an intimation that Chaney, having been served justice on earth, has received grace and mercy in heaven.
In fact, I believe that the entire film is--aside from a rousing good Western--a sustained reflection on justice and mercy (i.e. grace), which are not mutually exclusive categories. Recall Mattie's comment about "the grace of God". This is the law of love, by which God says, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice" (Mat 9:13). This does not mean that criminals like Chaney should go unpunished, which would be a simplistic denial of justice. It does, however, mean that justice must be tempered by mercy, something that Mattie learns the hard way. In the end, we learn that while Cogburn saved Mattie's life, the doctor could not save her arm, which has been amputated. The symbolism is clear: Mattie's single-minded search for justice has taken a part of her. She is, ever after, an incomplete woman.
Indeed, the true model of both justice and mercy (or love) in the film is the uncouth--and often drunken--Cogburn, who selflessly risks his own life to save Mattie's. He descends into the snake pit in order to pull Mattie out (recall Christ's descent into hell), extracts the poison from her hand (note the close association in Latin of the words for "healer" and "savior"), and delivers her to safety. Not only is Mattie an icon of the fallen soul, but Cogburn is an icon of Christ who heals and saves.
The thematic meatiness aside, the film also boasts some wonderful Old Western action. Particularly delightful is the climactic scene wherein Cogburn rides one against four, reigns in teeth, firing two navy pistols. "I mean to kill you today Ned [the film's other villain], or see you hanged" says Cogburn. "I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man" taunts "Lucky" Ned Pepper. "Ned, you son of a b***h!" Cogburn cries, as he charges forward, guns blazing. You can almost hear the Duke laughing with glee from his seat where Justice and Mercy reigns. In fact, it is reminiscent of the second half of that verse from Proverbs: "but the righteous are bold as a lion" (28:1b).
Highly recommended! The Brothers Coen are (to employ a Hebrew pun) the high priests of film!
The film begins with a verse from Proverbs: "The wicked flee while no man pursueth" (28:1a). This is a clear reference to Chaney who, after killing Mattie's father and stealing two California gold pieces and a horse, flees the small frontier town, despite the fact that none "could be bothered to give chase." This is consonant with the character's cowardice and slow-wit, but it is also indicative that he still retains a shred of conscience. Indeed, Mattie says, Chaney "must learn that there is nothing free in this world, except the grace of God." The line might strike the viewer as somewhat out of place; what, after all, does God's grace have to do with a story primarily concerned with earthly justice?
[SPOLER ALERT] In the end, Cogburn, with the help of Mattie and LaBoeuf, gets his man, whom Mattie has the pleasure of shooting herself. However, the recoil from the rifle knocks her backward into a pit where she is bitten by a rattlesnake. Cogburn pulls her from the pit, attempts to extract the poison, and rides all day and night to deliver the injured girl to a doctor. As a delirious Mattie looks to the starry heavens, she murmurs, "He's getting away." "Who's getting away, sis?" Cogburn asks. "Chaney," she responds. The line is, I would suggest, an intimation that Chaney, having been served justice on earth, has received grace and mercy in heaven.
In fact, I believe that the entire film is--aside from a rousing good Western--a sustained reflection on justice and mercy (i.e. grace), which are not mutually exclusive categories. Recall Mattie's comment about "the grace of God". This is the law of love, by which God says, "I desire mercy, and not sacrifice" (Mat 9:13). This does not mean that criminals like Chaney should go unpunished, which would be a simplistic denial of justice. It does, however, mean that justice must be tempered by mercy, something that Mattie learns the hard way. In the end, we learn that while Cogburn saved Mattie's life, the doctor could not save her arm, which has been amputated. The symbolism is clear: Mattie's single-minded search for justice has taken a part of her. She is, ever after, an incomplete woman.
Indeed, the true model of both justice and mercy (or love) in the film is the uncouth--and often drunken--Cogburn, who selflessly risks his own life to save Mattie's. He descends into the snake pit in order to pull Mattie out (recall Christ's descent into hell), extracts the poison from her hand (note the close association in Latin of the words for "healer" and "savior"), and delivers her to safety. Not only is Mattie an icon of the fallen soul, but Cogburn is an icon of Christ who heals and saves.
The thematic meatiness aside, the film also boasts some wonderful Old Western action. Particularly delightful is the climactic scene wherein Cogburn rides one against four, reigns in teeth, firing two navy pistols. "I mean to kill you today Ned [the film's other villain], or see you hanged" says Cogburn. "I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man" taunts "Lucky" Ned Pepper. "Ned, you son of a b***h!" Cogburn cries, as he charges forward, guns blazing. You can almost hear the Duke laughing with glee from his seat where Justice and Mercy reigns. In fact, it is reminiscent of the second half of that verse from Proverbs: "but the righteous are bold as a lion" (28:1b).
Highly recommended! The Brothers Coen are (to employ a Hebrew pun) the high priests of film!
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